The Unfinished Gift by Dan Walsh Page A

with Mrs. Fortini, Collins had gone upstairs to use the bathroom. The boy had made up his room once again, in fine military order. He cleaned up after himself pretty well in the kitchen too. Whatever else was wrong with the boy’s mother, she seemed to instill some respect in him for other people’s things.
    Except for that wooden soldier in the attic.
    Collins couldn’t believe the boy’s audacity, just picking something up that didn’t belong to him and walking down the stairs with it. And of the thousands of oddball things lying around up there, why’d he have to fixate on that? Collins still wasn’t over the pain just seeing that thing had dredged up in his heart.
    Just another reason why the boy had to go. He was an instigator. At this stage in life, Collins didn’t need or want instigation. He figured he deserved some peace and quiet, a little sameness and routine, if you please. That asking so much?

    After Mrs. Fortini had finished putting away the food she had bought Collins and straightened up a bit, she made them both some lunch meat and cheese sandwiches. She’d have liked to stay awhile longer to look after Patrick, but she bought some things for herself at Ray’s Meats that needed to go in her own icebox. She set the sandwiches on the dining room table along with two glasses of cold milk.
    “Come and get it,” she yelled to Collins as she walked into the living room. “I’ll see to Patrick.”
    Collins got up out of his chair, moaning excessively. “Any change left from your shopping spree? Any ration coupons?”
    “Next to my purse on the hutch,” she said as she opened the front door. My, but it was cold. She stepped into the vestibule, hoping to spot Patrick without having to go outside.
    She couldn’t believe what she saw.
    It nearly took her breath away. She had expected to find Patrick in the middle of building a snowman. “Hey, old man, get up. You have got to see this.”
    Collins had just set down to his sandwich. “What?”
    “Come here, quick.”
    “I’m just getting ready to eat here. Can’t you just tell me?”
    “No, you have to see it.” She heard his sigh all the way into the living room. She looked back outside at Patrick. From the first moment she had laid eyes on him, she had known he was special. Ida had told her about him over the years, always away from Collins’s presence, fearing her secret relationship would be exposed and halted. Ida could only see Patrick through the occasional picture and letter sent to her by his mother, Elizabeth. Ida had never blamed Elizabeth for the feud and said she had quickly understood why Shawn had loved her so. Ida thought Elizabeth to be a most remarkable mom.
    Now Mrs. Fortini could see why.
    “What is it?” Collins mumbled as he stepped past her. “It’s too blasted cold to leave this door open, woman.”
    “Oh, hush and look, look at your grandson.” Collins turned and saw. She looked at his eyes, knowing he wouldn’t be able to say what he truly felt about something like this. First she observed surprise. Then confusion as he processed the images. The confusion lingered a few seconds, replaced by a battle between cynicism and admiration. Admiration won out, resulting in a slight smile appearing on Collins’s face. It was there just a moment, and she knew he’d never admit to it if she pointed it out. It was enough that she’d seen it for herself. His icy heart could still feel and care. It provided a pinch of hope.
    “Who put him up to that?” Collins asked.
    “No one.” She turned and looked at Patrick again. He hadn’t been doing any number of things a seven-year-old boy should be doing in the snow. Somewhere he’d gotten hold of a snow shovel. He had the whole walkway cleared from the front door to the driveway, and was presently digging a narrow walk through the driveway toward the street. His cheeks were blood red. He was obviously exhausted, but he kept at it. One shovelful at a time.
    “You better call