The Unfinished Gift by Dan Walsh

was involved. If she lost her job over it, so be it. At least she could sleep well at night. And she could still keep seeing Patrick.
    How bad could it be working in a factory, anyway?

    When Katherine got back to her office, there was a message on her desk. It looked like Shirley O’Donnell’s writing. Shirley worked in the cubicle next door. It said:
    Major Jennings from the Air Force called.
You spoke with him earlier today. Please
return call right away. He said extremely
urgent!
    She couldn’t believe he’d gotten back to her so quickly. Wouldn’t it be great to finally have some good news for Patrick? She leaned over the cubicle and looked down at Shirley bent over her desk reading a file. “Shirley, you take this call for me?”
    “What?”
    “This is your handwriting, isn’t it? When did Major Jennings call?”
    “Three times since you left.”
    “Three times,” Katherine repeated. She waited for some elaboration. “Did he say anything else?”
    “Just what the note says.”
    “That’s it?”
    “Katherine . . .” She sounded a little annoyed.
    “I’m sorry. This is important.”
    “Well, if it’s important, sit down and call him back.”
    “Did he sound happy or sad to you?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You don’t know if he sounded happy or sad?”
    “I guess I’d call it more like serious.”
    “You sure it wasn’t just businesslike?”
    “No, I’d say more like serious. Just call him, Kath. What are you getting so nervous about? What’s it to you, anyway?”
    “Nothing,” said Katherine. “Thanks for taking the calls.”
    “No problem,” she said, swiveling in her chair to face Katherine. “Thought I should tell you, though,” she said quietly. “Krebb took notice of you coming in late from lunch, gave you the evil eye, and then . . . that other look.”
    “But I wasn’t at lunch; I was on a call.”
    “Guess he didn’t know. I said that’s where you were.”
    “Thanks for covering for me.”
    “No problem.”
    Katherine sat at her desk, staring at the note. So Major Jennings had called three times, his voice a definite serious. She sighed heavily.
    Would he call three times about good news?

Seventeen
    “What’d you do with the boy?” Collins asked as he watched Mrs. Fortini marching in through the vestibule, holding two bags in her arms.
    “I sold him to some gypsies. What do you think I did with him?” She rounded the corner and disappeared into the kitchen.
    He closed the door. “Why I asked . . . I don’t know. That Miss Townsend find you? You give him to her?”
    “What a delightful young girl.” Mrs. Fortini peeked her head out from the kitchen doorway. “You made her sound like some old hag.”
    “You still haven’t told me what you did with the boy.”
    “Little boys like the snow, in case you don’t remember. He asked if he could do something in the snow for a little while, and I said yes. You want me to call him in?”
    Collins thought a moment and said, “I suppose it’s all right. But he hasn’t eaten lunch yet.”
    “After I put these things away, I’ll make you both something.”
    Collins pulled his cigar out of his mouth. Either the cold, the wind, or the dampness had put it out. This front door has been opening way too much these last few days, Collins thought, and he didn’t much like it. He walked over to the fireplace mantel to fetch a matchbook, listening to all the clanging and banging and rearranging going on in the kitchen. Mrs. Fortini was—her cooking qualities notwithstanding—such a loud woman. He knew this would happen once the boy came. In no time at all, his whole life would be turned upside down. Mrs. Fortini’s wanting him to change this way, Miss Townsend wanting him to change that way. The boy asking for this, the boy asking for that. He walked over to the radiator to try and take some of the chill out of his bones.
    He had to admit, though, all in all, the boy wasn’t as bad as he could be. After he had gone off