some, and I’ll go down to Hodgins’s and buy something decent.”
Collins just stood there looking confused.
“Come on,” she said.
“My wallet’s upstairs.”
“Not a big problem. I’ll wait right here.”
Patrick stood up and lifted his glass off the table.
She turned and said in a gentler tone, “What are you doing?”
“I’m just cleaning up.”
“I’ll do that. Would you like another cookie?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Are you still here?” she said to Collins. He turned and walked toward the stairs. “And don’t forget the ration books,” she said as he climbed out of sight. “Both red and blue. I haven’t got enough for both of us.” She walked over and snatched another cookie from the tray. “You eat that,” she said. “I’ll clean up and write myself a little list.”
A few minutes later, Collins came down with some cash and his ration books. Mrs. Fortini was just finishing her list at the table. She got up and inspected his cash offering, then her list. “That should be enough. Did this government lady give you any additional ration coupons for your grandson?”
“Uh, now that you mention it, no she did not.”
“You know cash is never enough anymore. You don’t have sufficient points, and you don’t buy.”
“I know.”
“Well, I suggest you get right on that phone and ask them to send some over. I’ll use some of mine for now, but I’ll need them replaced. By rights, he has them coming.”
“All right, I’ll take care of it.”
“Patrick, would you like to go with me?” She walked over and put on her coat, stuffing the cash and ration books in the oversized pockets.
“He can’t go out there. It’s freezing.”
“It’s not as bad as yesterday,” she said. “The sun is shining. It’s stopped snowing. The wind isn’t even blowing. You have a winter coat, right, Patrick?”
“And a hat and gloves,” he said.
“See?”
“He’ll catch a cold, and then that Miss Townsend will be breathing fire out her nose.”
“Mr. Collins, little boys play outside in the snow all the time, and they generally live to tell the tale.”
Collins sighed again and rolled his eyes.
“Any more excuses?”
He turned and started into the living room.
“Where you going?”
“To get his coat and gloves,” he said.
She bent down and whispered in Patrick’s ear, “See, he didn’t want you to get sick. He really does care about you. We just have to help him see.”
Thirteen
Miss Katherine Townsend worked on the third floor of a bland office building in downtown Philadelphia, about five blocks west of Independence Hall. She sat in her tiny windowless cubicle as she did every morning, sipping lukewarm coffee, surrounded by a sea of tiny cubicles. All occupied by women. The window offices were reserved for the management positions, all occupied by men.
She didn’t know how much longer she could put up with this job at Child Services. So many tragedies to wade through each day and only a handful of cases over the last two years where she felt she had made any difference at all. But she held in her hands a file containing the most hopeful case she’d had in a long time.
Little Patrick Collins.
Just thinking about Patrick again brought an involuntary smile to her face. But it was so hard to think of him stuck in that house with that terrible old man. All day yesterday she’d fought off the impulse to drive down to Allingdale and check on him. Her job protocols mandated she stay away the first few days unless there was proof the child was in some danger; give the principals in the case time to get used to each other.
She decided she couldn’t wait any longer; forget the protocols, she would see Patrick today.
He might just be the most handsome little boy she had ever seen. Such bright blue eyes, and that dimpled smile. More than how delightful it looked on his face, the fact that it appeared at all was what so intrigued her. She’d seen so many children who’d
Collins just stood there looking confused.
“Come on,” she said.
“My wallet’s upstairs.”
“Not a big problem. I’ll wait right here.”
Patrick stood up and lifted his glass off the table.
She turned and said in a gentler tone, “What are you doing?”
“I’m just cleaning up.”
“I’ll do that. Would you like another cookie?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Are you still here?” she said to Collins. He turned and walked toward the stairs. “And don’t forget the ration books,” she said as he climbed out of sight. “Both red and blue. I haven’t got enough for both of us.” She walked over and snatched another cookie from the tray. “You eat that,” she said. “I’ll clean up and write myself a little list.”
A few minutes later, Collins came down with some cash and his ration books. Mrs. Fortini was just finishing her list at the table. She got up and inspected his cash offering, then her list. “That should be enough. Did this government lady give you any additional ration coupons for your grandson?”
“Uh, now that you mention it, no she did not.”
“You know cash is never enough anymore. You don’t have sufficient points, and you don’t buy.”
“I know.”
“Well, I suggest you get right on that phone and ask them to send some over. I’ll use some of mine for now, but I’ll need them replaced. By rights, he has them coming.”
“All right, I’ll take care of it.”
“Patrick, would you like to go with me?” She walked over and put on her coat, stuffing the cash and ration books in the oversized pockets.
“He can’t go out there. It’s freezing.”
“It’s not as bad as yesterday,” she said. “The sun is shining. It’s stopped snowing. The wind isn’t even blowing. You have a winter coat, right, Patrick?”
“And a hat and gloves,” he said.
“See?”
“He’ll catch a cold, and then that Miss Townsend will be breathing fire out her nose.”
“Mr. Collins, little boys play outside in the snow all the time, and they generally live to tell the tale.”
Collins sighed again and rolled his eyes.
“Any more excuses?”
He turned and started into the living room.
“Where you going?”
“To get his coat and gloves,” he said.
She bent down and whispered in Patrick’s ear, “See, he didn’t want you to get sick. He really does care about you. We just have to help him see.”
Thirteen
Miss Katherine Townsend worked on the third floor of a bland office building in downtown Philadelphia, about five blocks west of Independence Hall. She sat in her tiny windowless cubicle as she did every morning, sipping lukewarm coffee, surrounded by a sea of tiny cubicles. All occupied by women. The window offices were reserved for the management positions, all occupied by men.
She didn’t know how much longer she could put up with this job at Child Services. So many tragedies to wade through each day and only a handful of cases over the last two years where she felt she had made any difference at all. But she held in her hands a file containing the most hopeful case she’d had in a long time.
Little Patrick Collins.
Just thinking about Patrick again brought an involuntary smile to her face. But it was so hard to think of him stuck in that house with that terrible old man. All day yesterday she’d fought off the impulse to drive down to Allingdale and check on him. Her job protocols mandated she stay away the first few days unless there was proof the child was in some danger; give the principals in the case time to get used to each other.
She decided she couldn’t wait any longer; forget the protocols, she would see Patrick today.
He might just be the most handsome little boy she had ever seen. Such bright blue eyes, and that dimpled smile. More than how delightful it looked on his face, the fact that it appeared at all was what so intrigued her. She’d seen so many children who’d
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