Early the next morning, Will started to walk to the doctor’s office on the second story of the University in the right wing. The sky was foggy, the air cold and brisk, so he pulled up the collar on his heavy coat. The air was clean and crisp, but he’d forgotten how cold it could get in Boston. He could see the ships moving around the harbor on the way to their destinations, and thought that a beautiful day lay ahead of him, no matter the outcome of the meeting with the doctor. He was home for the first time in years, and with his family. He was no longer keeping the law, but he was doing important work, and helping his loved ones. He could hear the water of the harbor slapping up against the piers, and the sounds of birds as they hunted for their morning meal. They were sounds that made him feel comfortable and safe.
He was glad to be back in Boston. He missed the sounds and smells of his childhood, and found them slightly different now. He was an adult, rather than the young, ambitious man he’d been in his early twenties. He remembered being extremely anxious to leave and explore and “see the world.” At that time, he’d felt tied to this city and confined within its tiny borders, and he wanted to see other things. Now, after seeing what lay outside of Boston, or at least a small part, he was glad to be home. He remembered not feeling needed as a child. He remembered feeling edgy and nervous about remaining, and scared about not seeing and doing more. Now he saw that his family needed him and appreciated having him home. Though he’d lost much of his family, he was glad to play an important part in the family business.
He was enjoying getting to know Benjamin, Elisia, and their children again. He found them to be very bright and interesting to talk to. They told him stories about his childhood that he’d forgotten about, and Will caught himself wishing he could stay for good every now and again.
As he walked, he decided to take some extra time to get to the doctor’s office so that he could walk around town. He went to the piers and watched barges being unloaded, envying the longshoremen with their two working arms. It had been so long since he’d been able to use his right shoulder that he was starting to forget how it felt. Turning, he went to visit the old cemetery on Charter Street, walking through it to view some of the burial sites of the original residents of Boston. From there he strolled down Commercial Street to the open-air food stands, which were open for morning shopping.
He gazed around, lost in his own thoughts of the city, when he looked up and noticed that he was standing in front of St. Patrick’s church, where Father Dunnigan was pastor. Will hadn’t been inside a church since he was a boy and Aunt Hannah had taken him there, but there was a familiar figure in this church, which made it slightly less intimidating. He thought that he should probably be on his way to the doctor’s office, but something made him turn and walk inside the church. He pulled on the large wooden doors, and immediately felt a wind pulling him inside, allowing the smell of burning incense to overcome him. He stepped inside the vestibule and closed the doors gently behind him, looking around. To his right was a short, dark hallway, with a set of stairs leading upwards. To his left was another short hallway, where another wooden door with a stained glass panel in the middle looked as though it led to a separate room. He paused for a moment, then decided to walk forward to another door, which was propped open.
This door led to the larger sanctuary, where he heard an organist practicing softly in the loft above. Several people sat in the wooden and polished pews ahead of him, scattered in various locations. They sat and knelt on either side of the large aisle that led up to the large and brightly lit alter. Off to the side, a woman dressed in a black dress and coat, wearing a black veil and black gloves, stood in front of the row of white candles. She took a long matchstick from a tray in the front, lit it with an existing candle, and then lit another candle, muttering something to herself. Then she slowly dropped to the padded kneeler in front of the set of candles, making the sign of the cross and folding her hands upward in front of her, looking downward at her hands. Will watched her for a couple of minutes, his heart going out to her, and then saw her get up and sit down in a nearby wooden pew, staring blankly ahead of her. She must have lost someone recently, he realized; that was the numb look of fresh grief, much like he saw every morning on Frank’s face.
Aunt Hannah, Uncle Frank, and Grandma and Grandpa had walked to this church on Sundays before opening the store, to attend early mass. They dressed up in their finest clothes, best hats, and shiniest shoes, and came here for the priest’s sermon and lesson for the day. On the way back, Aunt Hannah and Grandma had strolled ahead, walking side by side, talking about the sermon and how they, their friends, and neighbors could apply the lesson to their lives for the upcoming week. Along the way, they would pick up fresh ingredients for dinner that evening. Uncle Frank and Grandpa would chat as they walked behind the women, picking up a copy of the Commonwealth newspaper from the local newspaper boy and reviewing the news from the city and beyond. Frank had told Will all about their trips the day after Hannah died, wondering numbly if they could have done more, or if their time at church would see her soul to Heaven.
Will found himself sitting in a pew in the back of the church, gazing at the candles, and wondering if he should light them for his family. After a moment he noticed Father Dunnigan walking toward him, down the middle of the main aisle. Will tried to look away, hoping the priest wouldn’t see him, but Father Dunnigan put his right hand on Will’s right shoulder in greeting. He must have seen the visitor when he entered, Will realized.
“Good to see you here, Will,” the priest said quietly. “Hannah would be very happy.”
Will sighs deeply and nodded, sending the priest on his way. His thoughts made him want solitude, not company. After a few minutes, he decided that it is time to go to the doctor’s office. If he didn’t leave now, he would be late for the meeting, and that would be extremely rude. He got up and ducked out the front door, walking the few blocks toward the university. When he turned up the set of marble steps, he saw a large glass door in front of him – the entrance to education and knowledge. A part of him shook at the thought of the meeting he was about to have, but he took his nerves firmly in hand, jumped up the steps, and stepped inside. There was a receptionist in a white uniform and white hat at a desk just ahead, and Will waited patiently for his turn to talk to her. When she was finished with one of the nurses, she turned toward him, lifting her brows in query.
“Hello! I’m here to see Doctor Zuroli,” he said quietly.
“Do you have an appointment, sir?” she asked.
“No, not at this time. I was told to come by his office and set up a time to meet with him first to discuss my … I mean, my condition …Well, my situation,” he stuttered, not wanting to go into detail with this stranger. Though he was well aware that most people could see that his shoulder didn’t work, it made him self-conscious to talk to anyone about it. Better to get in and see the doctor as quickly as possible.
The nurse saw Will holding his right arm close and nodded in understanding. “Dr. Zuroli is a great doctor. I am sure he can help you,” she said reassuringly. “Just follow those stairs behind you,” she points behind him, “up to the second floor, and you’ll see his office door off to your left. His assistant can help you from there.”
“Thank you very much, ma’am. I appreciate your help.” Will turned on his boot heels and walked quickly up the stairs, covering two stairs at a time. Though he’d been nervous before, he was suddenly anxious to meet with this doctor who might heal him. He reached the top of the stairs and saw a door with a painted sign on it that said, “Dr. Antonio Zuroli, Movement Specialist.” Will stopped suddenly before putting his hand on the doorknob. Movement Specialist, he thought to himself. What does that mean? He looked at the door again and the name on the door.
“Well, that’s the right name,” he said aloud. This must be the right place. He pushed open the door and found himself standing in front of an open, friendly office. Another woman in a nurse’s uniform looked up from a clean, white desk.
“Hello! May I help you, sir?” she asked politely with a big smile and friendly eyes.
“Sure you can. My name is William Austin, and I was referred to Dr. Zuroli by a friend of mine, Professor Brown at the University.”
“Oh, the sheriff from Texas,” she answered knowingly, reaching over to retrieve a pad of paper.
“Um, yes ma’am,” he answered, surprised that they already knew who he was. He’d expected to have to introduce himself, but it looked like Professor Brown had already taken care of that for him. He wondered suddenly what else his friend had told the doctor. Hopefully it wasn’t anything bad!
The nurse saw the discomfort on Will’s face and quickly asked, “Would you like me to call you Mr. Austin instead?”
He shook his head. “No, Will is fine. I was just surprised that you already knew of me.”
“Well, Will, the professor wanted us to know what to expect, I suppose, so that we can help you as best we might. I have a couple of short forms for you to fill out, and then we can set up a time for you to meet with Dr. Zuroli. I think he does have time in the next couple of days before and after his classes, if you’d like to come back.”
“That would be fine, ma’am. Thank you very much. Morning is better, since I help run my family’s store in the afternoon.” Will took the forms and sat down at a nearby table to start to work on them. He’d expected to see the doctor today, but it made sense to make an appointment. After all, this was an important man, and a professor to boot. Of course he wouldn’t be sitting around in his office all day!
Just as Will had that thought, though, a man in a white doctor’s coat came strolling through the door at the back of the room. He noticed Will sitting at the table and walked toward him. “Are you my next patient, son?”
The nurse interrupted, motioning to get the doctor’s attention. “No, Doctor, Mr. Fitzpatrick over here is your next patient.” She waved her hand toward Will and said, “That’s Will Austin. He’s a new patient, referred by Professor Brown. He’s filling out his forms so we can make an appointment for him.”
“Ah, the sheriff from Texas,” the doctor laughed. “The professor told me all about you. He said you would be coming by to see me. I’m Dr. Antonio Zuroli, and I’m glad you made it here. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” He extended his left hand to Will, and Will, rising from the chair, offered his left hand in return. Before Will realized what had just happened, Dr. Zuroli smiled and winked. “I see your left hand is in working order, at least. When are you available to come by?”
“Well, I know I’ll need to set something up according to your schedule, but mornings are best since –”
“Great! How about tomorrow morning?” the doctor asked quickly, interrupting Will.
“Tomorrow morning would be great!” Will answered excitedly.
“But, Doctor, you have breakfast tomorrow morning with –” she began, concerned.
The doctor waved her off. “Cancel that! He’ll understand. I want to get started as soon as possible with Mr. Austin.”
“Can you make it by 9 AM, Mr. Austin?” the nurse asked, shrugging and writing in her appointment book.
“Yes, that would be great! I’m excited to start!” Will couldn’t believe his good luck. He’d thought he would meet with the doctor today, but had resigned himself to waiting a week, and now it looked like he would be meeting with him tomorrow. His shoulder was already starting to feel better.
“Great! See you tomorrow morning, Will,” Dr. Zuroli said. He turned and motioned Mr. Fitzpatrick into his room, bringing the conversation to a close, and Will grinned, dropped off his papers, and turned to leave. He couldn’t wait to tell his aunt and uncle about the appointment.
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