happy pumpkin. She moved toward him, arms reaching out. Instinctively, he backed up farther into the dining room. Even beneath her coat, she was dressed in black, right down to her stockings. But her eyes were so bright and caring. In a moment, he was engulfed in her arms.
“What a beautiful boy. You must be so proud,” she said, pulling back slightly. She bent down and grabbed his cheeks in her icy hands, squeezing them affectionately. He couldn’t help but smile.
Collins walked over to the coffee table and peeked beneath the tinfoil cover. “Cookies,” he said with disgust. “I see what’s going on here. That Miss Townsend send you over here? Yesterday she sets Father O’Malley on me, and today she sends you. Well, I’ve had just about as much of that young woman as I’m gonna take.”
“What are you going on about, you old stinker?”
“The boy!” he yelled back. “She thinks I can’t take care of the boy.”
Instantly, the woman put her hands, big as catchers’ mitts, over Patrick’s ears. But he could still hear most of what she said. She said she didn’t have any idea what he was talking about, that she’d never heard of a Miss Townsend, and that he had some nerve talking so harshly in front of “the boy” after all he’d been through. His grandfather made some kind of reply, though he didn’t quite catch it. But his expression was satisfying, like a child who’d just received a licking. She must be a powerful woman, Patrick thought. He instantly decided he liked her a great deal.
She took her palms off his ears and reached over toward the covered plate. She pulled out a thick chocolate chip cookie. “Do you like this kind?”
“Very much.”
“Well, here,” she said, handing it to him. “You go sit over at the table, and I’ll fix you some milk. Can’t have cookies without milk. You got any milk?” she asked Collins over her shoulder.
“I don’t know. He used it last. Ask him.”
“There’s a little left,” Patrick answered. “Maybe half a glass.”
She moaned as she straightened up. “Well, I’ll get that. You go have a seat.” She turned to face Collins. “When’s the last time the milkman came?”
“He was due this morning, but he didn’t show. I don’t normally run out.”
“He probably refused to walk through your snowbanks. You know you’re the only one on the block who doesn’t have your walk cleared?”
“I’d hired the Matthews boy to do it a couple of days ago, but he hasn’t shown up.”
“You didn’t hear? He had a birthday this week and joined the army.”
“Would have been nice if he told me!”
“Well, you go back to your paper, and I’ll get Patrick his milk. And you leave a note for that milkman about Patrick, so he can start dropping off an extra quart. Growing boys need their milk.”
She headed for the kitchen. Collins just stood there under the arch between the living and dining rooms, a stunned look on his face. Patrick watched as she rummaged through the cabinets, then the icebox. “This is terrible,” she said.
He looked back at his grandfather, who was still standing in the same spot. Collins shook his head and sighed. “What’s the matter now?” he asked.
Mrs. Fortini stormed out of the kitchen. “You’ve got nothing here for a little boy.”
“We’re just fine.”
“You’re not fine. There’s no treats, no snacks, no cereal, no—”
“He’s been eating oatmeal in the morning.”
“Is that what you’re going to feed him every morning?”
“He’s only going to be here till his father comes to get him. Few days at the most.”
“He can’t eat the same thing every morning. Maybe you can, but little boys need variety in their diet.”
“He’s fine, Mrs. Fortini.” He looked at Patrick. “Aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
“Don’t ask him,” she interrupted. “Do you honestly expect him to disagree with you? Here,” she said, holding out her hand. “You’ve got money. Give me
“What a beautiful boy. You must be so proud,” she said, pulling back slightly. She bent down and grabbed his cheeks in her icy hands, squeezing them affectionately. He couldn’t help but smile.
Collins walked over to the coffee table and peeked beneath the tinfoil cover. “Cookies,” he said with disgust. “I see what’s going on here. That Miss Townsend send you over here? Yesterday she sets Father O’Malley on me, and today she sends you. Well, I’ve had just about as much of that young woman as I’m gonna take.”
“What are you going on about, you old stinker?”
“The boy!” he yelled back. “She thinks I can’t take care of the boy.”
Instantly, the woman put her hands, big as catchers’ mitts, over Patrick’s ears. But he could still hear most of what she said. She said she didn’t have any idea what he was talking about, that she’d never heard of a Miss Townsend, and that he had some nerve talking so harshly in front of “the boy” after all he’d been through. His grandfather made some kind of reply, though he didn’t quite catch it. But his expression was satisfying, like a child who’d just received a licking. She must be a powerful woman, Patrick thought. He instantly decided he liked her a great deal.
She took her palms off his ears and reached over toward the covered plate. She pulled out a thick chocolate chip cookie. “Do you like this kind?”
“Very much.”
“Well, here,” she said, handing it to him. “You go sit over at the table, and I’ll fix you some milk. Can’t have cookies without milk. You got any milk?” she asked Collins over her shoulder.
“I don’t know. He used it last. Ask him.”
“There’s a little left,” Patrick answered. “Maybe half a glass.”
She moaned as she straightened up. “Well, I’ll get that. You go have a seat.” She turned to face Collins. “When’s the last time the milkman came?”
“He was due this morning, but he didn’t show. I don’t normally run out.”
“He probably refused to walk through your snowbanks. You know you’re the only one on the block who doesn’t have your walk cleared?”
“I’d hired the Matthews boy to do it a couple of days ago, but he hasn’t shown up.”
“You didn’t hear? He had a birthday this week and joined the army.”
“Would have been nice if he told me!”
“Well, you go back to your paper, and I’ll get Patrick his milk. And you leave a note for that milkman about Patrick, so he can start dropping off an extra quart. Growing boys need their milk.”
She headed for the kitchen. Collins just stood there under the arch between the living and dining rooms, a stunned look on his face. Patrick watched as she rummaged through the cabinets, then the icebox. “This is terrible,” she said.
He looked back at his grandfather, who was still standing in the same spot. Collins shook his head and sighed. “What’s the matter now?” he asked.
Mrs. Fortini stormed out of the kitchen. “You’ve got nothing here for a little boy.”
“We’re just fine.”
“You’re not fine. There’s no treats, no snacks, no cereal, no—”
“He’s been eating oatmeal in the morning.”
“Is that what you’re going to feed him every morning?”
“He’s only going to be here till his father comes to get him. Few days at the most.”
“He can’t eat the same thing every morning. Maybe you can, but little boys need variety in their diet.”
“He’s fine, Mrs. Fortini.” He looked at Patrick. “Aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
“Don’t ask him,” she interrupted. “Do you honestly expect him to disagree with you? Here,” she said, holding out her hand. “You’ve got money. Give me
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