'Is Carol up, Mrs. Gilbert?'
'Why yes, come in, Bill. Anything wrong?' The door was speedily closed behind him.
'No, I'd just like to talk to her.'
'Sure,' smiled Mrs. Gilbert. It was hard for the young people when they were almost married to have to go bouncing back and forth between houses. 'Carol?' she called upstairs. 'Bill's here.'
Carol Gilbert knew herself to be lucky. She had the boy she wanted. Everything about it was just perfect. Everybody thought so, even her parents. Even her mother, who left the two of them alone with a cup of coffee each in the living room.
He looked up at her and Carol reminded herself how good-looking he was, how reliable, how nice. He needed to talk, so Carol listened, like you were supposed to do. He talked to Carol about some old lady in the Home.
'You can't let it get to you like this, Billy,' said Carol, stroking the hair at the back of his neck.
'It's just she's been in there so long. Can you imagine how strange that must feel?'
'You can't imagine how she feels and neither can I. It's sad, Billy, but she went mad and had to be put away.'
'She asked me to drown her.' Bill looked down at his big hands that could so easily kill.
He was so nice. Big and handsome and sweet. Carol took the back of his neck in both of her hands and pulled him to her and kissed him. She thought of the life they were going to have together. May not be rich, but we'll be happy. Why couldn't he just fix his mind on that?
'Anyway,' said Carol, 'tomorrow's Sunday. We can go looking for the house again.'
'Oh!' said Bill, but it was a groan. 'I promised I'd go talk to her tomorrow.'
'Well,' sighed Carol. 'You got a choice. Me or an old mad lady.'
He tried to smile and gave her a quick and slightly dismissive little kiss.
'How long you got before the Army?' she asked. She would hate being alone.
'Just a couple of months, I guess. Still haven't had my notice.'
'Well,' said Carol firmly. 'We have got plenty to do before then.' The wedding was going to be before then, and that too would be just perfect.
On Monday morning, Bill ran up the steps of the Home. He'd had an idea.
First he went to see Dotty. She sat in a wheelchair with her beautiful smile focused far away.
'Good morning, Dotty,' he said. 'This is Bill.'
She didn't respond.
'Remember me? After the TV show?'
She began to hum nervously, in a high, frail, barely audible voice, shutting him out. That old song again.
Bill knelt by her chair and hung his head. A fine help you've been, Bill Davison. Between you and that television that got brought in here because of you, this old lady is worse than ever.
'I'm sorry, Dotty,' he told her, whispering. He didn't want anyone else on the staff to hear. People had been fired for caring too much.
Then he went to see Gwen Anderson, in Admin.
Gwenny was one of his mother's many friends, a funny little widowed lady whose conversation Bill permitted himself to find tedious. It ran in a tight repetitive circle of cooking and homemaking. He had not visited Gwen since coming to work at the Home, and he felt bad about that. He felt worse now. He was going to ask a favor of her.
It was a bit better when he saw her. She let him off easy.
'Bill!' she exclaimed. 'Hiya, honey. You haven't been to see me. I was just telling your mother.'
'Oh. You know how it is. There's so much stuff to be done before the wedding and all.'
Bill felt guilty again. He talked to her about the church's Christmas plans, and about the seat covers his mother was making for her, and how delicious her lemon sponge was. He also talked about the wedding, though he was surprised at how little he had to say about it. So was Gwenny. There was just a little lurch in her face as he ran out of things to tell her.
'Well, a February wedding will be such a treat,' she said. 'It'll come just when it seems that winter will never end. You must be real happy.'
'Real happy, yeah,' said Bill. 'Carol's a good girl.'
'I bet,' said Gwenny. Her glasses seemed to smile for her.
And finally, Bill felt able to say, 'Gwen, there's a patient here and I feel real sorry for her. Any chance that there'd be a file on her or something? I'd really like to know a bit more about her.'
Gwenny was only too pleased to help. The files were supposed to be confidential but there wasn't an untrustworthy bone in Bill Davison's body. The file was big and fat. Bill could sit there in the office since the boss was late. Gwenny unfolded the wax paper around the white bread sandwiches that she took to work in place of breakfast. Breakfast made her feel sick. She ate daintily as Bill read.
Old Dynamite's name really was Dorothy Gale, or rather Gael. The spelling was different. That's what the latest reports said, but maybe they were wrong. Bill went all the way back through limp brown folders to the oldest layer of papers. There was a stiff shiny folder, with printed scrolls and lettering with leaves intertwined. Waposage
