Free I'll Be Seeing You by Suzanne Hayes Page B

walked us over to her sister’s apartment.
    Zia Gialina was the neighborhood medium, or quack, depending on how you looked at life. Zia led me and a wide-eyed Toby into her back bedroom, where a bloodred velvet coverlet lay across the largest bed I’d ever seen. She sat on a mountain of embroidered pillows and motioned for us to join her.
    “My sister says there’s been trouble,” she said.
    I nodded.
    “Give me your hand.”
    I held it out to her, palm up.
    She studied my lines, seemed unimpressed with what she saw and gave me back my hand. “Now the boy,” she demanded.
    I didn’t want her to scrutinize Toby’s palm. But he straightened his skinny back and stretched out his arm.
    She ran her sausage-thick fingers over his smooth palm for a very long time. “I see what it is,” she finally said. “His soul is crowded.”
    “You can’t be serious,” I said.
    Zia must have been used to resistance. Instead of addressing my lack of respect she called Mrs. Vincenzo in for a conference in Italian. When they finished, Mrs. Vincenzo said, “He needs open spaces or the black cloud will come back. You need to move.”
    I was forming a smart retort when I saw the tears in her eyes. Toby was one of her greatest loves. She must have really believed Zia if she was considering sending us away.
    And since she believed it so strongly, I believed it.
    “We need to convince Sal to take that job,” she said.
    Sal had been offered a position at the University of Iowa by an old college friend. It was a standard research/teaching position, nothing special, so Sal planned on keeping his lab job at Cook County.
    I told Sal what his aunt said, and about my worries. He didn’t laugh at Zia Gialina’s reading. “Do you want to move?” he asked. I nodded. He went to bed to sleep on it.
    The next day Sal called his friend and accepted the position. We took a house on a quiet street in Iowa City, not far from the Pharmacy Building.
    Sal flourished. His lab work satisfied him and his classes were popular, filling up before the terms began.
    Mostly I was happy, but a small part of me—the mothering part—failed to thrive properly. I grew so worried for Toby’s safety I kept him too close. He did the normal childhood things, but always with the veil of my protectiveness thrown over his head. Zia Gialina worried our crowded Chicago block was impinging on Toby’s soul, but it was me. My fears kept him fenced in.
    But push hard and your kid will push back harder. At first Toby ran toward the open spaces in his head, gobbling up books about the solar system, New York skyscrapers, the mountains of Africa.
    Later he ran toward the wide-open Pacific Ocean.
    But I fear Toby’s made a mistake. He’s on a ship, packed close as a sardine. I worry his soul is being smothered....
    Oh, Glory, I’m sorry. Here I am rambling like a drunk. I’ve turned this into a letter about me. It’s not right to attach my shame and regret to you. It’s horrid to assume that my response will be your response, that Robbie’s illness will cause you to—
    [Letter never sent—stuffed in a drawer.]

  
    September 13, 1943
    IOWA CITY, IOWA
    Dearest Glory,

    I’ve been thinking of little Robbie every morning, and of you and Corrine and your husband. I don’t know what use my thoughts are, but each one carries with it a wish for healing, and for happiness.
    I also asked Father Denneny to call your name with the weekly intentions. I’m not sure what kind of pull he has, but there are a hundred tea-stained elderly ladies on their knees come Sunday, every one of them desperate for more reasons to beat their breasts and cry out to Our Lord. You’d think they’d have enough reasons these days....
    I wish there was something more I could do for you. I suppose the only thing I can offer is more advice: don’t blame yourself, hon. There are some people who believe everything happens by chance, and others who think every outcome was set into motion long ago. I