Free Coming Home by Laurie Breton Page A

his
limitations, knew his strengths and weaknesses as a vocalist, and she worked
with Rob to write the songs which would best showcase his talents.  Those
afternoons became her lifeline, for during those few hours each week she lived
and breathed music.
     
    ***
     
    Boston Common was blanketed with snow.   On Tremont Street, bumper-to-bumper
traffic crept from traffic light to traffic light, spraying slush on those
pedestrians brave enough to attempt crossing.  Every few blocks, a
tired-looking Santa stood next to a black pot, ringing a brass bell.  It was
the season of love, the season of giving, the season when short-tempered
shoppers gave new meaning to the word rudeness as they mowed each other down in
a mad race to reach the bargain table.
    Casey forged her way through the crowds clotting the sidewalk,
carrying the chopsticks and the paper parasol she’d picked up in a dusty little
shop in Chinatown.  She’d spent an exhausting half-hour worming through the
crush of shoppers in Filene’s Basement, only to find that they’d just sold the
last of the watches that Danny had been dropping hints about for weeks.  She’d
been disappointed, but even the sour temper of the salesgirl hadn’t dampened
her spirits.  She loved Christmas, loved the crass commercialism, the hokey
carols that permeated the air, the colored glass and the bright lights and the
tinsel.
    The lights strung in the leafless branches of the trees on the
Common winked on as she climbed the incline from Park Street Church to Beacon
Street.  She stopped at the bakery on the corner and bought a loaf of French
bread.  Tonight was one of Danny’s rare evenings at home, and she had planned a
special dinner that would also be a celebration, for she had news she couldn’t
wait to share with him.
    The apartment was freezing.  Casey stashed her purchases in her
bedroom closet and tried to remember where Danny had left the hammer.  After a
brief search, she found it in the kitchen drawer.  She carried it to the
bedroom, gave the radiator valve a couple of good raps.  The resultant hiss was
reassuring.  Rubbing her hands together for warmth, Casey returned the hammer
to its rightful place in the closet beneath the stairs, stopping to plug in the
Christmas tree before starting supper.
    She sang along with Eric Clapton while she peeled potatoes.  After
she put them on to boil, she marched into the bathroom and dumped the hamper
upside down on the floor and began sorting laundry.  Danny found her there,
standing in a pile of towels and underwear, attempting to sweet-talk the
reluctant Maytag into beginning its spin cycle.  “Hi, beautiful,” he said, bending
for a kiss.
    “Lord, this thing is temperamental.  Hi,” she added distractedly,
her ears attuned to that tiny click of the dial that meant the cycle was about
to kick in.  The washer clicked, then lumbered into painful life, creaking and
groaning as the tub began to spin.  “By George,” she said, “I think I’ve got
it.”  She stood on tiptoe then to kiss him.  “The radiator was off again.”
    “I’ll look at it tonight.  What’s for dinner?”
    “It’s a surprise.”
    He raised his eyebrows.  “What if I don’t like it?”
    “You’ll like it.  Besides,” she added saucily, “you get me for
dessert.”  Arms wound around his neck, she lay her head against his chest and
closed her eyes.  “Danny,” she said, “something wonderful happened today.”
    He kissed the top of her head.  “What?”
    “I got a job.”
    He went stiff in her arms.  “A job?” he said.  “I didn’t know you
were looking for a job.”
    “We need the money.  And I can only kill so much time washing
dishes and scrubbing the toilet.”
    “What kind of job?”
    “Working as a nurse’s aide in the children’s wing at St. Peter’s
Hospital.  About half the children there are terminally ill.  They’re so brave,
they just break your heart.”
    When he didn’t respond, she