She caught a glimpse of Jack’s landlady, and in an instant she was chasing after her. “Mrs. O’Malley…Mrs. O’Malley…” Christina called, until Mrs. O’Malley stopped. “Mrs. O’Malley, I’m Jack McKittrick’s friend, Christina. Was he home? Is he okay?”
Mrs. O’Malley gave her a puzzled look. “Jack?”
“Yes, Jack McKittrick. He rents from you.”
“Are you his sister?”
“No, I’m his friend, Christina.”
“I always thought you were his sister.”
What was she talking about?
“He’s not home,” Mrs. O’Malley said. “I don’t know where he is.”
“At work,” Christina said. “He’s at work. Right?”
“I hope so, dear.”
—
THE WORLD MAY HAVE BEEN falling apart but at Dr. O’s office everything was serene. Christina pulled down the hastily scribbled note taped to the office door apologizing for the emergency that had taken both Daisy and Dr. O away. She got out of her muddy shoes before unlocking the door with the key Daisy had given to her at Christmas. She was safe now. She prayed Jack was safe, too. She scrubbed her feet in the toilet, flushing again and again, wiped herself clean with disposable towels and changed into her white lab coat and shoes. She had no clean socks, no stockings. She’d have to wear her shoes with bare feet. She pinned up her dark hair, washed her face and gargled with Lavoris. Only then did she sit in Daisy’s swivel chair, in front of the Remington typewriter and the leather appointment book, calmly calling patients, asking them to call tomorrow to reschedule.
She felt grown-up, helpful, even important, until her sister, Athena, phoned and gave her hell. “Why didn’t you call us? We’ve been worried sick. Really, Christina—grow up! Take responsibility. Did you give a second’s thought to Mama, who’s going out of her mind with worry?”
“I’m sorry,” Christina said. “I tried to call but I couldn’t get through.” This was a lie. She hadn’t been thinking about her mother or Athena.
“You should have come here.” Athena was using her holier-than-thou voice. “How far is the shop from your job? I’d say, five minutes, if that. And you should have stopped in at the restaurant to see Baba.”
“You’re right,” Christina said. She’d learned the best way to avoid an argument with her sister was to agree. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“That’s no excuse,” Athena told her.
“In case you’re interested,” Christina said, “I saw it happen. The plane came right over Battin. I was outside on Williamson Street a minute after it crashed and exploded.” She was getting worked up, her voice rising with her emotions. “I was there, Athena. I was there when people ran out of their houses screaming, on fire. Do you know what that was like? Do you even care?”
Before she could slam down the receiver her sister said, “Well, that sounds terrible but I don’t see why you’re angry at me.”
This time Christina did slam down the receiver. The palm of her right hand was bleeding from digging her fingernails so deeply into it. She hated Athena!
She ran into the small, narrow lab where Daisy kept a row of white plaster-of-Paris figurines lined up on a shelf, each one a foot high, waiting for Dr. O to smash if he felt a temper coming on. Christina had witnessed his fury just once and it had scared her. How could this kind and generous man have such inner rage? What set him off? She only knew it never happened when there were patients in the office. She only knew that smashing one of the plaster-of-Paris figurines made him feel better. After, Daisy would sweep up the remains and Dr. O would carry on as if nothing had happened.
Now, as the rage boiled up inside of her, Christina grabbed one of those figurines and smashed it. She thought she would feel better, but she didn’t. She slumped to the floor, her eyes closed against the headache coming on. She sat there, surrounded by the remains of Dopey, or whichever one of the Seven Dwarfs she’d smashed, until the phone rang. She went back to Daisy’s desk and picked it up, praying it wasn’t Athena again, or worse, her mother. “Good afternoon, Dr. Osner’s office,” she said, trying to sound professional.
“Is this Daisy?”
“No, it’s Christina.”
“Oh, Christina. This is Mrs. Jones. Someone called earlier to cancel our appointment.”
Mrs. Jones’s voice went very low and soft as if she were about to share a secret. “I was wondering if you happen to know if the pilot was Mrs. Barnes’s son?”
Mrs. Barnes’s son? Mrs. Barnes, who she’d met once, when Daisy sent her to the Osners’ house with a package? Mrs. Barnes’s son was in that flaming wreck?
“Christina? Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m still here.” Her voice sounded small and unsure of itself. She cleared her throat several times.
“I’m asking because I know Mrs. Barnes from working at the Osners’,” Mrs. Jones said, “and if…well, I’d like to be there.”