All right, Lord. I've paid my dues. I'm through with this chapter. Let's turn the page and move on to the next, okay?
But he had to wait until he was given the green light. In addition to vows of poverty and celibacy, he had also taken a vow of obedience when he had become a Jesuit. He had to go where the Society of Jesus sent him. He just hoped the Society sent him away from here soon.
"You've got no business going through my papers."
Nicky shrugged. "Yeah, but it helps to know that we kids aren't the only ones around here who get rejected. Don't feel bad. Look at me. I'm a pro at being rejected."
"We'll find you a place."
"You can be honest with me, Father. I know you've been trying to bail out since you arrived. It's okay. You're no different from anyone else under a hundred years old who comes through here."
Bill was stung. He thought he had been pretty discreet.
"How do you know?"
" Ve haf verrry interrresting vays of learning zings ve vish to know," he said in a fair imitation of Arte Johnson's German soldier.
Bill had noted that Nicky never failed to be in the first row when the boys watched Laugh-in on Monday nights. He couldn't be sure if the attraction was the quick humor or the bodypainted girls in bikinis.
The phone rang.
"Oh, hello, Mr. Walters," Bill said when he recognized the voice.
Immediately he wished he hadn't spoken the man's name. Nicky's head snapped around. Bill could almost see his ears pricking up with interest. Mr. and Mrs. Walters were interested in adopting a boy, and Nicky had spent a few days with them this week.
The story Mr. Walters told was a familiar one: Yes, Nicky was a nice enough boy, but they just didn't think he'd fit in with their way of life. Now they were reconsidering the whole idea of adopting. Bill tried to reason with the man as best he could with Nicky listening to every word, but finally he was forced to allow the conversation to end. The Walters would call back when they had thought it over some more.
Nicky's smile was forced. "George and Ellen don't want me either, right?"
"Nicholas…"
"It's okay, Father. I told you. I'm a pro at rejection."
But Bill saw the boy's lips quivering and tears welling in his lower lids. It broke his heart to see this happen time after time. Not just with Nicky but with some of the other boys too.
"You intimidate people, Nicky."
There was a sob hiding within Nicky's voice. "I… I don't mean to. It just happens."
He threw an arm over Nicky's shoulder. The gesture felt awkward, stiff, nowhere near as warm as he would have wished. "Don't worry, kid. I'll find you a place."
Nicky pulled away, his expression shifting quickly from misery to anger.
"Oh, right! Sure you will! You don't care about us! All you care about is getting out of here!"
That hurt. Bill was speechless for a moment. Forget the disrespect. That didn't matter. What did matter was that the kid was speaking from the heart—and speaking the truth. Bill had been doing a half-assed job here. Not a bad job, but certainly not a good one.
That's because I don't belong here! I wasn't cut out for this type of thing!
Right. Granted. But at least he could give it his best shot. He owed the kids and the Society at least that much. But something about Nicky's extraordinary run of bad luck bothered Bill.
"Tell me, Nicky: Are you trying?"
"Of course I am!"
Bill wondered about that. Had Nicky been rejected so many times in the past that he was now deliberately sabotaging the trial visits? In effect, rejecting the prospective adoptive parents before they could reject him?
On impulse Bill said, "I'll make you a promise, Nicky. I'm going to see you adopted before I leave here."
The boy blinked. "You don't have to do that. I didn't mean what I—"
"But I've got to see you trying a little harder with people. You can't expect people to warm up to you if you go around acting like Clifton Webb playing Mr. Belvedere."
Nicky smiled. "But I like Mr. Belvedere!"
Bill knew that. Nicky had watched Sitting Pretty at least a dozen times. He scanned TV Guide every week to see if it was on. Lynn Belvedere was his hero.
"But that's not real life. No one wants to live with a ten-year-old who's got all the answers."
"But I'm usually right!"
"That's even worse. Adults like to be right once in a while, too, you know."
"Okay. I'll try."
Bill sent up a silent prayer that he wouldn't regret his promise to Nicky. But it seemed like a safe bet. He wasn't going anywhere. Every place he had contacted so far about an instructorship had turned him down. It looked like he was going to be at St. F.'s for some time to come.
The intercom buzzed. Sister Miriam's voice said:
"A young couple is here and they want some information from the old adoption records. Father Anthony is out and I'm not sure what to do."
Bill quickly tightened the earpiece screw on Nicky's glasses and scooted him out of the office.
"I'll be right down."
2
This is it, Jim thought as he and Carol stood in the foyer of St. Francis. This is where my history begins.
Entering the place never failed to raise a lump in his throat. He owed these priests and nuns a lot. They had taken him in when his real parents had no use for him, and had found him a home where he was wanted. He tended to be suspicious of altruism, but he felt he had certainly received a lot from St. F.'s while unable to offer a thing in return. That must be what the nuns in school had meant when they talked about "good works."
The drafty foyer was as drab as the rest of the building. The whole place was pretty forbidding, actually, with its worn granite exterior and flaking paint on the wood trim around the windows and doors. The molding and trim had been painted and repainted so many times that whatever detail had been carved into the original wood was now blunted into vague ripples and irregular ridges.
He shivered, not just with the February cold that was still trapped within the fabric of his corduroy jacket, but also with the anticipation that he was finally going to be able to move backward in time, beyond the day he was left here. In all his previous trips to St. F.'s, that day in January of 1942 had proven an impenetrable barrier, impervious to all his assaults. But he had found a key today. Maybe it would open the door.
"It's starting to become real to me," he said to Carol.
"What?"
"The Hanley thing."
"Not to me. I still can't believe it."
"It's going to take awhile, but this is going to open all the doors for me. I'm finally going to find out where I came from. I can feel it."
There was concern in Carol's eyes. "I hope it's worth the effort."
"Maybe I can really start to concentrate on what's ahead, if I can stop looking back and wondering what was there."
Carol only smiled and squeezed his hand in reply.
Maybe he could get a better grip on the novels if he could find the answers to all the whys that cluttered his mind.
Like why had he been dumped here?
If Dr. Roderick Hanley was his natural father, it stood to reason that the old boy may have felt that his reputation would be damaged by acknowledging a bastard child.
Fine. Jim could live with that.
But what about his mother? Why had she deserted him as a newborn? He was sure she had a good reason—she must have! He wouldn't hold anything against her. He just wanted to know.