Finn was risking a court martial by leaving Camp Mills without authorization, but he needed to check on Delia before his surgery tomorrow.
It had been ten years since he’d seen her, and he needed to be sure she was okay. Almost drowning in a muddy Belgian field brought old regrets roaring back to life with painful clarity. Before risking his life on an operating table, Finn needed to put things right.
Not that he hadn’t already tried. The last time he saw Delia, she was so furious she wouldn’t even take the money from his hand when he tried to repay her. Back then she’d been in secretarial school. Had she ever gotten her certificate? Or found a respectable job? Working as a fish gutter wasn’t a fate he’d wish on anyone, but that was how he and Dee earned a living after they left the orphanage.
He was sweating when the streetcar stopped at the Lower East Side destination. It took forever to ease himself through the opening of the streetcar, but the driver was patient. Everyone treated wounded men in uniform as if they walked on air, and a nearby pretzel vendor rushed forward to lend a hand as Finn gingerly stepped down onto the pavement.
“Can I give you a lift somewhere, sir?” the vendor asked.
“Thanks, but no,” Finn said. The Hester Street Secretarial School was straight ahead, and he could get there on his own steam. He grasped the head of his cane and limped forward, focusing on the school’s front doors as he walked. It would be better if there hadn’t been a short flight of stairs in front of the building, but he’d endured worse.
Five minutes later, he was seated on a hard bench in the administrative office, waiting for the secretary to flip through a box of index cards that tracked the school’s graduates. The Hester Street Secretarial School boasted of their fine track record for placing their graduates in professional positions, and Finn prayed that had been the case for Delia.
“The Chandler Law Firm,” the clerk said as she held a card aloft. “Miss Byrne has been working with them for six years.”
A spurt of elation made him sit taller. “She is? What sort of job is it?”
“The card doesn’t say, but I’m sure Miss Byrne is a credit to our school.”
“Is she ... does she still go by Miss Byrne?” He thought she would be married by now. Not that it was any of his business. Delia made it blindingly clear that she never wanted to see him again, and he intended to honor her request, but he still wanted to know.
“I’m sure I can’t say,” the clerk said as she wiggled Delia’s card back into the file box.
It didn’t matter whether she was married or not. Finn had lost his chance with her but still needed to assure himself she was doing well. Not all law firms were classy. New York was filled with shady lawyers who’d do anything to earn a fast buck. It was only three o’clock, and he could get a peek at the place where she worked and still make it back to Camp Mills before the evening roll call. Delia was worth the risk.
The Chandler Law Firm was located off Fifth Avenue in a ritzy part of Midtown. It took an hour for Finn to get there, and he parked himself at a café across the street to nurse a cup of coffee while scrutinizing the building. It had six stories, a big front window with gold stenciling, and all kinds of fancy molding on the stone facade. They probably had the money to pay their secretaries a decent wage.
At five o’clock the door opened, and a woman came out. Dark-haired, elegant, well-dressed. He snapped the newspaper open to hide behind and peeked around its edge.
There was no doubt. It was Delia.
He’d never seen her so finely dressed. When they were kids, they got handouts from the charity bin, but Delia’s tailored dress was no handout. The blue gown with black piping looked custom-made for her. That pale shade of powder blue had always been Delia’s favorite color. His too. It was the color of the sky. They used to lay on their backs on the orphanage rooftop, watching cloud formations drift and reshape against the cerulean sky.
Those afternoons on the rooftop felt like a million years ago.It was a magnificent time. Wasn’t that odd? Their years at the orphanage were hard, gritty, and tough, but they’d both been happy. He thought they were merely having a good time. He didn’t know they were making memories that would become the foundation of his life.
He twisted in his chair, angling the paper so he could watch as Delia strode down the street, a spiffy leather case in her hand and a straw boater perched atop her head. She looked prosperous and successful, and he was so proud of her that he wanted to cheer.
They’d both come a long way after leaving the orphanage, back in the days when she looked at him as though he were a hero. He had confided all his flaws to Delia, and she still respected him. He could tell heranything. One cloudy summer day, he even told her how he got the burn marks on his right hand.
Instead of scowling, she cradled his hand and kissed the scars. “It’s okay, Finn. I’m not perfect either.” They held each other and wept. It was the most profound moment of his life. The communion of two souls—both needy, both wounded. It seemed as if the clouds that had hovered over him for years parted, and he was given a glimpse of a future with Delia at his side. He had found a soul mate whose wounds were as deep as his, and yet they still gazed beyond the clouds to build castles in the sky.
For a while they believed they could do anything, even though they were two orphans who possessed nothing but their dreams. If Delia hadn’t been so timid, perhaps they could have made those dreams come true.
Was she still timid? She looked quite determined as she arrived at a streetcar stop a block away. It was tempting to grab his cane and hobble after her. Call out to her. Talk to her. He could reach her before the streetcar arrived, but he’d have to move quickly.
Except Delia had stated she never wanted to see him again, and so far he’d honored her request. He squeezed the handle of his cane, drinking in the sight of her. Was she still angry at him? Perhaps she’d forgiven him, and they could wish each other well.Congratulate each other because, against all odds, they had both made something of themselves.
Then again, maybe she was still angry and his trying to speak with her would be ripping the bandage off a still-raw wound.
He settled back into his chair. It was easier to imagine Delia had made peace with what happened between them than to face the possibility that she still despised him.
It was time to go back to his world and let her go about her own. She looked healthy and prosperous. He couldn’t ask for more.
A streetcar lumbered to a stop, and Delia joined the cluster of people waiting to board.
“Good luck, Delia,” he whispered as the streetcar carried her away.
6
