The Homecoming (3 page)
Since his big wake-up call, Collins had to admit that most of what she’d said about him was true. But you just don’t say things like that to a man in his own house. She might have at least apologized for her tone after relations between them had improved. What are you gonna do, Collins thought. She was coming over just the same.
He inspected the dining room table, everything set according to Mrs. Fortini’s instructions. All the special occasion stuff from the hutch. The boy from the package store delivered a nice bottle of Chianti. Got the coffeepot set to brew for dessert, supposed to be a homemade cheesecake. Took some doing on Collins’s part to get all the ingredients for Mrs. Fortini. His ration coupons came up a bit short. But cash still made small miracles happen down at Hodgins’s Grocery.
And Collins had plenty of that, as it turned out. Shortly after Shawn came home and settled in, he’d spent some time helping him get a handle on just how much money he had. It was a shock to Shawn, since Collins had come into all this money during their feud. Shawn said he wasn’t that far from being a millionaire. It sounded absurd to hear it, but he figured it could be true. He’d stopped counting. His 5 percent from Carlyle Manufacturing, the company he’d sold his business to, had apparently mushroomed since the war began.
Collins took one more look around but couldn’t think of another thing to do. Plenty of time to light up a nice Cuban and read the paper in his favorite chair. He’d still have time to open the windows, clear the smell out a bit before everyone arrived. He picked up the
Philadelphia Inquirer
, sat down, and began to read the headlines.
Soviet Troops Recapture Kiev
. “Who cares what the Reds are doing?” he said aloud.
32nd Division Kills 1,275 Japs in New Guinea
. “That’s what I wanna hear, more dead Japs.”
Top Marine Ace Pappy Boyington Captured
. “Pappy . . . they got old men flying now?”
Allies Attack the Gustav Line
. “Where the heck is that?”
He took a long smooth draw on his cigar, gently flicked the ash in a brass tray beside his chair, then turned to the sports page. The first story he came to was about Red Ruffing, a pitcher with the Yankees who just got drafted by the army. It said Ruffing was thirty-eight years old and missing four toes. “We really that bad off?” Collins didn’t care for the Yankees, being from Philadelphia. He found it hard to get excited about any of the teams anymore. The best ball players were either off fighting the war or being drafted.
Like poor old Red here with the four missing toes. As he turned the page, the telephone rang. “What now?”
He set the cigar in the ashtray and let out a moan as he rose to answer it. He felt a sudden wave of dizziness as he crossed the wooden floor and had to hold on to the mantel a moment till it passed. Probably the cigar, he thought. Hadn’t been able to smoke hardly at all the last month. “Hello? Collins residence.”
“Is this Mr. Collins, the father of Captain Shawn Collins?”
“It is.”
“An honor to speak with you, sir. This is Colonel James Simmons. I’m calling from Washington DC. Is your son at home?”
“Not at the moment. But I expect him in an hour or two. You say you’re from Washington?”
“Yes, sir . . . could you have him give me a call when he gets in? It’s very important that I speak to him.”
“He know your number?”
“I don’t think so. Can you give it to him?”
“Let me get a pencil here, hold on.” Collins put the mouthpiece part of the phone down. “Okay, go ahead.” The officer gave him the number, repeated it two or three times to make sure he had it right. I’m old, Collins thought, not stupid. “Can I ask what this is about? Shawn told me he’s supposed to have at least a thirty-day leave. Seeing he just got home Christmas Day, I figure he’s still got two weeks left. You heard about the reason he came home, about him losing his wife?”
“We know all about that, Mr. Collins. I’m not calling to cut his time with the family short. We do have to talk with him about his future plans, however. As you know, he had to leave England in quite a hurry, and we really didn’t get much time to talk everything through.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. All I know is . . . he’s got a little boy here who just lost his mom and just now got his father back from the war. I don’t know what all you folks do in a situation like that, but I’m thinking my grandson needs his father a good deal more than the army needs a pilot.”
“I understand, sir, but I can’t really discuss these things with you.”
“Seems like Shawn’s done more than his fair share, you ask me. Got shot down, you know. Then he escaped.”
“I know, Mr. Collins. You should be very proud of him.”
“I am.”
“Well, if you could give Captain Collins the message, I’d be very grateful.”
“So you can’t tell me anything about this?”
“I’m sorry, under orders. I can only discuss the nature of the call with your son.”
“All right, then.”
“But, Mr. Collins, I can tell you this much . . . what I have to tell him is good news, very good news. In fact, I think it will dramatically change your son’s life . . . for the better.”
Katherine looked at her watch as she drove along Baltimore Pike. She was headed toward the Collins home, hoping she hadn’t misjudged the time. The last thing she wanted was to walk in on everyone sitting around the table. She’d hoped the drive over would blot out her troubles. Starting with Bernie Krebb. He’d read her two-week notice that morning and had already begun to treat her as though she were halfway out the door.
When her job ended, so would the paychecks and the use of this car. She had no job prospects and soon would be forced to use the noisy trolleys and smelly buses like everyone else. The only jobs in plentiful supply were at the defense factories. Driving along, she’d been constantly reminded of this through the billboards and signs all over town. You’d think the entire country worked in a defense plant.
One billboard she’d seen twice already declared boldly: “We Can Do It!” depicting “Rosie the Riveter” in blue overalls, face all fierce and determined, showing off her muscles.
Another showed an entire assembly line of airplanes. “This Is America, the Arsenal of Democracy! Keep It Free!”
Just now she drove past another one, mounted on the side of the Carlyle tank plant—a menacing hand ripping through an American flag, thrusting a pointy finger right at her: “Are You Doing Everything You Can?”
“I don’t think I am,” she said aloud. One thing she did know . . . she didn’t want to work in some dirty defense factory: dressing in overalls, hair tied up in a scarf, growing her muscles. But outside of defense work, her choices were slim. A secretary, maybe a waitress. Perhaps she’d find work at a bakery. She shook her head. “I can’t get up at 4:00 a.m.” And she knew she’d put on twenty pounds the first month.
This drive wasn’t washing her troubles away; it was adding new ones.
Up ahead she saw the sign for Springfield Road. Just a few more minutes. A right turn at Clifton Avenue. In the neighborhood now. She hadn’t been back here since Christmas, but it was all becoming familiar.
A picture of Mrs. Fortini’s warm, plump face popped into her mind, prompting a smile. She could just imagine her now, all dressed in black, hair in a bun, rushing between kitchen and table, getting everything just right, but doing it all with kindness and a little humor. She especially loved the way Mrs. Fortini put old Mr. Collins in his place. She thought of Patrick, and it widened her smile. He made it all worthwhile. What would she do in two weeks when they yanked her car and gas coupons away? How would she see him again?
She pulled into the driveway and was surprised to see Captain Collins, Patrick’s father, just stepping up to the vestibule, carrying a small suitcase. She hadn’t seen him since Christmas Day. He turned toward her and stared a moment as if trying to see through the glare of the windshield. He smiled slightly and nodded, then headed into the house.
He looked so sad. But of course he would.
He’d been through so much hardship in such a short span of time. Katherine had only played a small role getting him an extended leave and knew very little of what actually happened after his plane was shot down. She really wanted to hear the story. But no matter how exciting it was, she couldn’t imagine anything that would offset the magnitude of such a loss.
She took a deep breath, put on her gloves, and stepped out into the cold.
Shawn opened the front door. “Daddy! You’re home!” Patrick ran from behind the dining room table across the living room floor and jumped into his arms.
“Hey, my little man. How ya doing?” Shawn dropped his suitcase on the throw rug and spun him around. “Told you I’d be home soon.”
“That wasn’t soon.”
“C’mon, it was just one night.” He set Patrick down, but Patrick clung to his leg as they walked into the room. “Patrick, someone else is coming in right behind me.”
“Who?”
“Go see.” Patrick let go and headed for the door. Shawn smiled.
Thank God, I still have you.
He heard the door swing open behind him.
“Miss Townsend . . . you came!”
“Patrick.”
Shawn looked down at the hand-carved wooden soldier standing watch on the coffee table, Patrick’s Christmas present from Shawn’s father. He thought about what Elizabeth had said in her letter, hoping Patrick might finally get a present from his grandpa this Christmas, however small. Well . . . this one was huge. He was sure Patrick would remember this soldier for the rest of his life. He looked up. The dining room table was all set for dinner. He felt the warmth of the furnace on his face. The stress of the cemetery started to fade. “Hey, Mrs. Fortini, let me help you with that.” She had just stepped in from the kitchen carrying a big basket of something.
“These aren’t heavy, just some rolls.” She walked over and gave him a big hug. “Come, sit down. If you want to do something, you could open the bottle of wine.”
“Sure. Where’s my father?”
“Should be coming downstairs any minute. Miss Townsend,” she said, talking past him. “How good to see you again.”
Shawn turned and followed her back into the living room. Patrick was just releasing Miss Townsend from a hug, and they now walked hand in hand toward the dining room. The scene felt a little off for Shawn. He knew the whole evening was going to feel odd, and he knew why. It was Patrick and this strong affection he had for Miss Townsend. Shawn realized she’d been by his side almost since the moment Elizabeth died, right up until she’d brought him here. Then she’d gone far out of her way to care for him after that, treating Patrick with almost motherly tenderness.
And that was the problem. Elizabeth was his mother. It seemed as though Patrick had almost forgotten his mom and replaced her with Miss Townsend.
“Daddy, you remember Miss Townsend.” Patrick’s face was beaming.
“I certainly do. How are you, Miss Townsend? Nice of you to come.” They shook hands. “As you can see, you’ve made Patrick very happy. Can I get your coat?”
“Thank you. I was so surprised when he called. Are you sure it’s all right? I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding at all.”
“Well, come on, everyone, sit down,” said Mrs. Fortini. “Let’s eat while everything is hot. Patrick, will you go call your grandfather upstairs, tell him dinner is ready?”
Shawn stood until Miss Townsend took a seat then sat across the table from her. “I’ve never gotten the opportunity to properly thank you for all you’ve done for Patrick while I was away.” Mrs. Fortini sat down at the far end of the table, where Shawn’s mother used to sit, strengthening his odd feeling.
“It didn’t feel like work at all, caring for Patrick,” Miss Townsend said. “I’ve worked with dozens of kids over the last two years. I’ve never met anyone like him.”
“Patrick’s a very special boy,” Mrs. Fortini added.
“I don’t know how I’d make it through all this without him,” Shawn said.
“Without who?” asked Patrick, walking in.
“You, you little squirt.” Shawn poked him in the ribs. “Here, you sit right here next to me.” Shawn heard heavy thumps coming down the stairs. He looked up to see his father rounding the stairway.
“Sorry, everyone, moving a little slower these days.”
“Just these days?” Mrs. Fortini asked.
The elder Collins made a face at her and took his seat at the head of the table. “Everything looks . . . well, it looks fit to eat,” the elder Collins said.
“Fit to eat,” Shawn repeated. “It looks incredible.”
“Miss Townsend,” said Patrick. “Isn’t it so great, my daddy being home from the war?”
“It most certainly is,” she said. “Do you know how much time off they’re giving you?”
“He’s home for good, right, Daddy?”
Shawn looked down at Patrick and smiled but didn’t answer. He didn’t have the heart to tell him yet that he was only home on leave. He rubbed his head and changed the subject. “So you’ve worked with Child Services for two years?” he asked Miss Townsend.
“Just about,” she said. “But my days there are numbered, I’m afraid.”
“Oh no,” said Mrs. Fortini. “I hope they didn’t fire you because of us . . . they didn’t, did they?”
“Well, not really, it was a mutual decision. I don’t think I’m cut out for social work. And I think getting involved with Patrick just made it very clear.” She was looking right at him, and he back at her . . . big smiles all around.
“So what are you going to do now?” Shawn asked.
“Now?” She thought a moment. “I have absolutely no idea.”
“I’m sure you will find something worthwhile,” said Mrs. Fortini. “You are obviously a very competent young woman.”
“Thank you,” Katherine said.
“Maybe you could work at Mr. Hodgins’s Grocery,” said Patrick. “That boy Harold had a birthday and now he’s joining the navy. It’s right down the street, remember? And it’s so close.”
“That’s an idea,” Katherine said. “The problem is . . . it’s not close to where I live, and this car belongs to the agency.”
“So you won’t have a car in a few weeks,” Mrs. Fortini repeated.