The Boston Girl(36)

One look was enough for me but Ernie couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“It’s from a true story,” he said. “Do you see the blood in the water, there? Do you see that his foot is missing?”

“What an awful way to die,” I said.

“But he didn’t die.” Ernie limped across the gallery to a bench facing the painting and I sat down with him. He was still staring at the painting. “This was the first place my nurse took me when I got out of the wheelchair. She said if Watson could be the mayor of London without a foot, there was no reason I couldn’t get myself up and out of the house.”

“And you did,” I said.

Ernie put elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands and sat like that for a long time. He didn’t answer me when I said we should go, and eventually one of the guards came over to see if something was wrong. Ernie didn’t say another word all day.

That night, I decided to break it off. I felt guilty—like I was abandoning a puppy I had adopted. And there was even something unpatriotic about walking away from a veteran of the war. But Ernie had been getting moodier and quieter, and then there was the physical element, or the complete lack of it.

The next morning, Ernie called me at work and said how much he enjoyed our time at the museum, as if nothing had happened. He asked if I’d go to the movies with him on Sunday, but I said I couldn’t because I was going to Revere Beach with Betty and the family. He told me he didn’t like going to the shore so I thought I was off the hook.

But later that day I got a bunch of daisies and the note said, “Maybe you could teach me how to like the beach.” It was so sweet, I thought, Okay, one more chance. But by the weekend I was praying it would rain so I wouldn’t have to see him again.

No such luck. Sunday was sunny and hot and Ernie met me with a daisy in his hand. “You look pretty,” he said, and I could see how hard he was trying. “Your hair is pretty, too.”

There wasn’t room in Levine’s car for us to ride with them, but I wanted to take the trolley anyway. With everyone going to the beach, it was like a party. There were hampers in the aisles and children running around and strangers debating where to get the best ice cream. I thought it was fun, but Ernie pulled his hat low on his forehead to shut it all out.

I told him it would be better once we got off, but it wasn’t. The boardwalk was mobbed like downtown at Christmas, only with the roller coaster roaring overhead. The beach was even worse. It was like an obstacle course of blankets and people. It was hard for him to walk on sand and the cane didn’t help at all.

When we found Betty and Levine, Eddy shrieked and held out his arms for me to pick him up. Jake was jumping up and down. “Aunt Addie, tell Pop to let me go to the arcade. I’ll win a toy for Eddy. Tell him I’m big enough to go by myself.”

Betty said, “Take him to the arcade, Herman. I have company now so you don’t have to worry about me.” She was very pregnant and trying to cool off with a big straw fan. “The baby makes me even hotter than usual. At least I don’t have swollen ankles like when I was pregnant before. Herman thinks it means I’m having a girl, which is what he wants.” She patted her belly. “This one is moving around just as much as my other boys. But no matter what comes out, this is the last one.”

I could see that Ernie was mortified by the way she was talking about her body; he didn’t know where to look and was sweating through his jacket. I asked Betty if she’d be okay for a few minutes if we walked to the water to find a breeze.

It wasn’t any cooler there and we ended up near a bunch of boys who were setting off firecrackers left over from the Fourth of July. The popping made Ernie nervous so we started back and that’s when the first rocket exploded over our heads. Ernie jumped and tried to walk faster.

The next blast was so strong, I could feel it in my chest, and babies started crying. Ernie threw himself down on the sand face-first, his hands around the back of his head. I crouched over him and said it was just kids making noise, but then a whole string of loud explosions went off, echoing up and down the beach.

Ernie pulled himself up and ran, dragging his bad leg behind him. He was running blind, with his head down and his hands over his ears, so he had no idea that he’d knocked a little boy to the ground or that the boy’s father was chasing him. He was a short man with muscular legs and it took him no time to catch up to poor lame Ernie in his shoes full of sand. He tackled Ernie, who curled up in a ball and started making those terrible choking noises men make when they cry.

The man stood over him for a moment, but then he kneeled down and started patting Ernie on the back, saying things like “It’s all right now, soldier. I know. I was there, too, but it’s all right now. You’re home.”

When he noticed me holding Ernie’s hat and cane, he said, “Are you the wife?”

“Friend of the family,” I said, ashamed of how fast I’d answered so no one would think I was married to this poor lunatic. “What should I do?”

“Let’s get him out of here,” he said and hoisted Ernie up by the armpits and dragged him toward the boardwalk. A man with an empty sleeve met us and said, “There’s a police car down by the carousel.”

I said I’d go and ran down the street as fast as I could. When the cops heard that Ernie was a veteran, they turned on the siren. They were very kind to him as they got him into backseat—they must have been in the war, too.