The Homecoming Read Free Page B

wasn’t about to let anything come between them again. And Collins had to admit, having a big meal every week or so wasn’t too bad, either. He’d never say it, but he’d come to believe Mrs. Fortini’s cooking—albeit an Italian version— was every bit as good as his wife Ida’s had been.
    Collins glanced up at the mantel clock. Almost 4:30. Shawn had called a short time ago, saying he’d be home about 6:00. His grandson, Patrick, was next door helping Mrs. Fortini make some rolls. He wished he could’ve found a way to get her to prepare the meal over here, just to have the smells filling up the house. But every idea he’d come up with sounded too much like a compliment.
    Before heading next door, Patrick had mentioned they’d invited Miss Townsend, the government lady, to join them tonight. It was the only sticky point in the evening for him. It was still his house, after all, and it might have been nice if they’d included him in the decision. She and Collins had some pretty harsh words in the weeks before Christmas, back when Patrick had first arrived.
    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