The Homecoming (18 page)
She, Mrs. Fortini, and poor little Patrick followed the ambulance to the hospital until it lost them going through a traffic light. They’d gotten there just in time to see two men in white coats rolling him past a set of swinging double doors.
That was the last they had seen of him.
After an hour, a doctor had come out, but only to say Collins had suffered a concussion and a severe break in his left leg. The doctor said he had to go, they were set to work on his leg in a few minutes. The three of them were left stranded in the waiting room until after midnight. Finally a nurse insisted they leave. She said there’d be no more news about Collins until morning.
That morning they had rushed back to the hospital just after sunrise.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Katherine said, “could I speak with you a moment?” Katherine saw the head nurse eyeing her from the side, pretending she wasn’t there. Katherine waved her hand and leaned over the counter. “Hello? I’m sorry to be so bold, but we’ve had no word about Mr. Collins since last night.”
The nurse spun in her chair and stood up. She was way too tall for a woman, had to be in her late forties, Katherine thought. She had dark hair, poorly dyed, and a face that looked like it had never smiled.
“Since you called him Mr. Collins, can I assume you’re not a member of the family?”
“Well, no,” Katherine said. “But I—”
“Hospital rules. Can’t give out patient information to non-family members.” She seemed to enjoy saying this. “That his wife over there?” she asked, pointing to Mrs. Fortini.
“No, his wife passed away. That’s Mrs. Fortini, his next-door neighbor.”
“So Mr. Collins has no family members present?”
It may have been the dim lighting, but her eyes looked black as night. “That’s his grandson sitting next to her.”
“Well, we can’t likely give out information to a small boy, can we?” She started to turn, heading back to her chair.
Before she did, Katherine saw the name “Connelly” stitched above her pocket. “Listen, Miss
Connelly
, we’re all the family Mr. Collins has in town. His son is Major Shawn Collins, a big war hero. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? He’s been in the newspapers and on the radio almost every day the last two weeks. Right now, he’s in Boston doing a big War Bond rally with a bunch of Hollywood stars. What do you think the press would say about you treating his father and son this way?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“No . . . I beg
your
pardon. I could call the press right now and just mention Major Collins’s name and what happened last night. The lobby downstairs would be filled with reporters. Do I need to do that to get you to walk through those double doors and get a doctor out here to talk to us?”
Anger flashed across the nurse’s face, but only for an instant. She quickly forced an insincere smile. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Let me go see what I can find out.”
Katherine saw the two other nurses whispering as their commander hurried away. When she smiled at them, they both looked away. She headed back to the waiting room. When she cleared the doorway, Mrs. Fortini stood and clapped gently.
“Very nice, Katherine. You do have a way of getting things done.”
She looked at Patrick. He just smiled. He looked so tired. “Well, let’s see if we get anyone to finally get out here.” She sat down and looked toward the double doors.
“Were you ever able to get through to Shawn?” Mrs. Fortini asked.
“No. I don’t know where he’s staying in Boston. I’ve asked my friend Shirley at work to call that colonel Shawn visited two weeks ago at the Pentagon. He must know.”
“He’ll feel terrible not being here,” said Mrs. Fortini.
“You think Grandpa is going to be all right?”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Katherine said. Mrs. Fortini put her arm around Patrick and drew him close.
Katherine hoped she sounded convincing. He’d looked so terrible last night.
By lunchtime they had still not been able to reach Shawn, but at least they knew what hotel he was staying at—the Kenmore. Katherine was about to place the call. They were back at Mrs. Fortini’s. Patrick was upstairs taking a nap, Mrs. Fortini cleaning up the kitchen.
Before they’d left the hospital, the doctor finally did come out but only revealed a few more details than they had learned the night before. There was nothing life threatening about Collins’s injuries, but then the doctor paused in an unsettling way. When Katherine asked about it, he admitted there was something else, something unexpected that came up, but he insisted he would only talk about it with Shawn. He quickly changed the subject, talking about the broken leg, saying he’d be in a cast for at least two months; because of his age, maybe longer. His concussion was less serious than they’d feared, but something they still needed to monitor closely over the next few weeks. He said the nurses would go over a list of things someone must take responsibility for if Collins were to heal properly once he came home. They allowed Katherine and Mrs. Fortini in for a brief visit. Neither thought he’d ever remember; he was so sedated.
His leg was wrapped in a cast from his toes to his hip, and his head covered in bandages like a mummy. His left eye was swollen and bruised. Shawn would be so upset to see him like this. She dialed the number Shirley had given her.
“Hotel Kenmore, front desk, how can I help you?”
“I’m trying to reach a Major Collins, he’s part of the War Bond tour. I was told he was booked into your hotel last night.”
“Let me check . . . yes, I see it, room 504.”
“Could I please speak with him? It’s very important. I’m his nanny.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t mean
his
nanny, I’m his son’s nanny. Anyway, his father fell down the steps last night. He’s in the hospital.”
“How awful.”
“I really need to speak with him.”
“I’ll ring you through to his room.”
Katherine waited for what seemed too long a time. “I’m sorry, ma’am, there’s been no answer. I tried twice. Want to leave a message in his box?”
“I guess we’ll have to.”
“Ready whenever you are.”
“Just say . . . Major Collins, please call Mrs. Fortini’s right away. Your dad fell on the stairs last night. In the hospital. Broken leg and concussion. Everyone else is fine. Doctor wants to speak with you about something else but won’t tell us what. Sign it ‘Miss Townsend.’ Got it?”
“Think so, let me read it back.” She did.
“Close enough. Thanks so much.”
Katherine hung up and went into the kitchen to update Mrs. Fortini, then wondered again what the doctor was hiding from them.
One moment later, Lieutenant Winston stepped out of the Hotel Kenmore elevator into the crowded lobby. Shawn was right behind him. Almost everyone was headed out the front door, on their way to Fenway Park for the big rally. The War Bond folks occupied the top three floors, the finest suites reserved for the stars.
They followed the stream of band members and dancers moving slowly through the lobby. Things got a little less congested when he got to the center as various ones headed to the front desk.
“Where you going, Lieutenant?” Major Collins asked.
“I’ll be right there, sir, just checking for messages.”
“Can I help you, sir?” a blonde at the front desk asked.
“Any messages for room 505?”
“Let me check.”
Winston watched her touch her finger on an empty slot with his room number right below it. But he saw a white slip of paper in the slot beside it, Major Collins’s room. “Say, could you give me the message there in room 504?”
“But that’s not your room, sir,” she said.
“No, it’s Major Collins’s. I’ll take it to him. I’m his aide.”
“I guess that would be okay.”
“Sure it is, that’s him standing right over there by that plant.”
“Here it is.”
Winston stepped off to the side, then turned so that his back faced Major Collins and read the note from Miss Townsend. “That’s just great,” he muttered. He folded it and put it in his coat pocket. He walked quickly toward the major, all nonchalant.
“Any messages?” the major asked.
“Nothing that can’t wait. We better go.” They waited for a break in the crowd then headed out the door. Winston had worked with the colonel long enough to know how he’d react to this news.
The show must go on.
War Bond rally. Need to raise millions for the war effort. Your country needs you now. Big bands. Patriotic songs. Hedy Lamarr and Bette Davis . . . who wouldn’t want this assignment. War hero. These thoughts tried to occupy Shawn’s mind, but he didn’t let them in. He had barely begun this new tour of duty and was already tired of it.
Lieutenant Winston was driving the last few blocks from the Hotel Kenmore to Fenway Park, chatting all the while about something. “We’ll be parking and entering the field at the same place the celebrities are,” he said.
Wasn’t that something.
As they pulled alongside the big brick entrance, the crowd forced the caravan into a single lane. The two Cadillac limousines they were following came to a stop. The crowd went wild. Everyone waved little American flags, smiling, laughing, pointing. They looked in Shawn’s car with the same enthusiasm as they did the limos. He took some joy at the instant disappointment on their faces as they realized there was no one in the car worth looking at.
He wished he could have talked with Patrick back at the hotel, but no one had answered when he called. Patrick was probably still at school, but Shawn hoped he could at least have talked with his dad, if only a minute. He smiled at the thought. He’d never talked with his dad for an entire minute on the phone before. His dad hated the thing.
“So how’d you do with the speech, sir, you know the bit I wrote up for you?” asked Lieutenant Winston.
Shawn couldn’t believe what he’d read. There wasn’t a single phrase that sounded like him. Winston had actually put the word
swell
in the paragraph three times. “Got it memorized,” Shawn said.
“You did just fine with the interviews this morning, sir. Yes and no answers, and a few well-placed clichés. Let them do all the talking. Now, don’t get spooked about the crowds when you first take the stage. We go out near the end of the rally. By then, they’ll be so worked up they’ll clap at everything you say.”
“How will I know when it’s my turn?”
“I go first, introduce you, then call you out. It’ll be over before you know it. Then we head back to the hotel, grab some chow, and you can either join me tonight back at Scollay Square or just hang out at the Kenmore. They got radios in every room, a movie theater a block away. Tomorrow we get on the train with everyone else and head for Providence, Rhode Island.”
The car stopped, and they got out. Shawn heard the crowd roar to life up ahead. The limousine car door opened, and out stepped Bette Davis. Shawn couldn’t believe it. There she was. Bette Davis in a big fur coat, standing right there, not fifty feet in front of him. She smiled and waved to her fans. People held out programs and slips of paper for autographs, but a well-dressed man blocked the way. Sorry, but they were in a hurry, he said over and over. The people in line beside Shawn’s car pressed forward, trying to get a glimpse.
“Believe it or not,” Winston said, “a lot of folks will be treating you that way after today.”
“Hope not,” Shawn said. It sounded absurd. They followed the entourage of stars and staff along a walkway leading into the stadium. Shawn could already hear a band playing “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree”; the crowd inside instantly reacted with applause.
“Sounds like the Andrews Sisters are about to sing,” said Winston, hurrying forward. “I love this job.”
A temporary stage had been built between the pitcher’s mound and second base, facing the stands. The stage was surrounded by posters featuring all the popular War Bond slogans and dozens of American flags. To get to the area set aside for performers, they had to walk onto the field and come in behind the platform. But no one paid any attention to them. All eyes were on the stage.
Shawn had listened to so many Red Sox games on the radio, almost every time they played the Phillies. But he’d never been to Fenway Park before. As they neared the holding area, he stopped and took a panoramic view. So many things he’d only imagined in his mind. The odd shape of the field itself, the way the bleachers didn’t start until centerfield then swooped upward like a hill. The famous clock in right field, the covered stands that wrapped back around toward home plate. He looked up to the press boxes where they called the games.
The stadium was only half full, but Shawn guessed there were still ten thousand people here. Some comedian Shawn didn’t recognize followed the Andrews Sisters and was now working the crowd.
“Over here, Major,” said Lieutenant Winston. “Behind this curtain. It’s out of the chill. You can still see everything going on, maybe even better.”
Shawn followed. As he got closer, Winston whispered, “Look over there . . . can you believe it? Hedy Lamarr. What a dish.”
Shawn looked to the opposite backstage area. She was a beautiful woman, dressed in a stunning black gown. Her eyes looked toward the stage, watching the comedian. Several men dressed in tuxedos and top hats surrounded her. Her act must be next.
“Can you believe we get to do this?”
“How much longer till we go on?”
Winston looked at his watch. “We’re right on schedule. Miss Lamarr will go out, then Bette Davis, then some other singer—I forget who—then us.”
Shawn found a seat off to the side and pulled out his speech. It really wasn’t very long. He should be able to pull it off. It was just . . . not him. But this was supposed to get the good people of America to part with their money, and that was his new assignment. On one level, Shawn had made peace with the idea that raising money was a necessary task. Before talking to Colonel Simmons, he’d never given it a second thought, but obviously somebody had to do this. He just wished it was somebody, anybody else but him.
What were MacReady and Manzini doing right now, he wondered.
Without effort or intention, his mind returned to England. The sights and sounds around him faded to the fringe. He replayed the moment on their last mission when he and Mac–Ready knew their plane was doomed. Felt the tension and fear mount as they pulled away from the formation. Heard the staccato sounds of machine gun fire smacking into the fuselage, the screams of his men wounded by cannon shells and shrapnel.