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No. He knew where they lived. If she evaded him now, he’d only be back. Better to find out what he wanted and be rid of him, and thank God he’d come while the children were away.
He gave no sign of launching into an explanation, just ran a hand over the storage compartments fitted into the walls. “Cunning design, that.”
“Are you on leave?” she asked, even though she knew it didn’t fit, not with the timing of when he had visited Mamma. The navy didn’t let their seamen wander off for weeks at a time.
Now he turned to her. “The navy ... didn’t pan out.” There was a glint in his eyes that told her not to press for details, and she didn’t. Whether her husband had deserted, been discharged, or faked a disqualifying injury, none of that mattered. The worst news was already clear: he had found them.
“I’ve gotten back into fishing. Took out a loan for a trawler,hired a crew of my own. Been doing well, if I do say so myself.” He flashed a smile that gleamed as brightly as the cuff links at his wrist, also new. “Most of the younger fishermen left their nets and followed Uncle Sam, so the rest of us are making a killing. Supply and demand. It’s the American way.”
As if she might not know what was American and what wasn’t. “What are youreallydoing here, Patrick?”
“Thought maybe I’d say hello to you. And the kids.” He glanced around, as if they might be hiding under the narrow divan.
“If you care so much about them,”she wanted to demand,“then why did you leave them? Why haven’t you asked a single question about them?”
But it wasn’t worth stirring up trouble. Not when Patrick didn’t seem to be there to pick a fight.
“Maybe it’s better they’re away. You would have to explain to Gio that you’re not a military man anymore.”
A frown flitted across Patrick’s face. “Ah. Someone else to be disappointed in me.” His finger traced a rough pencil drawing of a dog, taped to a rare open space on the wall. “Rosa would be happy to see me, anyway, even without a uniform.”
It was true. She never saw the darker side to her father, though she knew he sometimes went away more than other little girls’ daddies. Martina had been careful to shield her where she could, and Patrick had never spoken a harsh word to her. Yet.
“They’re all right, then?” He spoke in a guarded way, like he didn’t want to be seen caring too much.
But still, he had asked, and maybe he deserved to know at least that much.
“Yes. Both are healthy and happy.” No thanks to a father who had walked out on them three separate times, always slinking back when he needed something, only to disappear once more.
“And you?” he said, wedging his broad shoulders into thedinette table bench, undaunted by her sparse answers. “What’re you up to these days, Marti?”
Chances are, he already knew where she was working. How else could he have found her? Even so, better to play along. When she stayed on script and he was sober, Patrick didn’t turn mean. Usually.
“I’m doing my share for the war effort.” She kept it vague in case he didn’t have Bristol-Banks’s name yet. “It’s a good job.”
That earned a snort. “Never thought a wife of mine would be working in a factory. They pay you decent, at least?”
“Why? Do you need money?” She had only a modest amount of savings, but if it would get Patrick to leave them be, she’d spare some, even knowing it might send him back to whatever bar or brothel he was wasting it on.
“You think that’s what this is?” His voice was part anger, part hurt. “Can’t a fellow even visit his wife without getting the third degree?”
“I only meant ... the questions you asked...” She struggled to soften her tone. “You can’t blame me for wondering.”
It worked enough for him to unclench his fist and reach for her coffee mug. “Guess I can’t. But I’ve got plenty of money this time. Living in rented rooms for now as we go up the coast.” He took a sip, then spat the coffee back inside, cold and bitter after an hour of neglect. “We—the fellows on my crew—are looking to settle down somewhere as a base for fall and winter. Could be here, if the fishing’s good.”
Please let the fishing be bad.The Lord had made his disciples find fish when there should have been none, so surely he could grant quiet seas and empty nets. A reverse miracle, a plague, the ocean outside of Derby turned to blood. Whatever it took to get Patrick to move on.
Patrick sighed, long and loud, jammed his hands into his pockets, and then tilted his head toward her. “Look, Martina, I came to ask if you wanted to get out of this dump.”
And that made the heat rise up on her neck, the way his veiled boasts and pompous questions hadn’t.
Didn’t he see the geraniums out on the stoop, the rug she’d braided, the pillows she’d taken such care to sew and arrange on the divan? The way every surface of the small trailer’s kitchen was polished and clean? How could he call it a dump?
“You’re still my wife, Martina, whatever we might’ve said when we were mad. And I want you back.”
She chose her words carefully, her tone even. “We had a saying back in Italy. Be careful ofminestra riscaldata—reheated soup.”
“But see, you’re not in Italy anymore.” He stood and touched her shoulder, not seeming to notice when she flinched away. “That’s your problem. That’s always been your problem.”
