pregnant.”
Sal closed his eyes, clutched his heart with one hand, and made the sign of the cross with the other. “I don’t feel so well.”
“Don’t pull that baloney with me,” Pop said. “If you got chest pains, tell me now and I’ll have Lorraine get you to the emergency room.”
Sal’s eyes snapped open and he jerked toward Pop. “Don’t you dare say one word to Lorraine.”
“So.” Now he had him. Let the old geezer try to weasel out of this one. “Why not? You can’t keep this from her, you know that.”
“I don’t have any chest pains.”
A whisper would come out louder than those words. “Huh? Didn’t hear you.” Pop leaned closer, said, “Speak up.”
“I don’t have any chest pains.” Pause, and then, “But I don’t want to talk about my grandson.”
“’Cause you don’t have a grandson.” Pop ignored the look his friend gave him and went on. “I saw the boy, too, don’t forget that.” Mimi Pendergrass heard the Morrisens were in Renova and drove Pop and Sal to the boy’s school, where they camped out in Mimi’s truck eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and drinking hibiscus tea, while they waited for Sal’s supposed “grandson” to emerge. “Even if that boy had hair and eyes the color of an espresso, the shape of the nose was off, the chin was too wide, and wouldn’t he have at least one cowlick? The kid was fair-skinned. Not a Ventori, that’s for sure.”
Sal shrugged. “His name’s Zachary.” Pause, a frown. “Maybe the genes got all mixed up.”
Pop let out a snort. “Or maybe the daddy’s names did.” He slid Sal a knowing look. “Admit it or not, but you knew the second you saw that boy that he was not Roman’s son. Why on earth you kept up the tale is beyond me. It did no good but to spread ill will between you and your son. And for what? To save face?”
Sal’s complexion paled beneath his weather-beaten skin. “Why would Paula’s father lie to me? He said it was Roman.”
“The question you ought to be asking is why would my son lie to me. And the other question you should ask is why did the whole family up and move out of town, resurface eight months ago in a three-story brick house in Renova. Got a pool, too.”
Sal shrugged. “Guess I held on because that would mean I had a grandchild somewhere, even if the child didn’t know my name.” When he pushed out the next words, his voice cracked and split open like an overripe watermelon. “Ventori blood would run through him, and maybe one day we’d meet.”
Pop shook his head, kept his words gentle. “I’ll bet a year’s worth of pizzelles that boy doesn’t have a drop of Ventori blood in his veins, and I’ll bet another year’s worth the whole Morrisen clan knows it, and somebody’s been paying them to keep quiet.” Who in blazes would do that? Had to be somebody with a nice-sized bank account and a big reason to keep quiet. Hmm. He’d have to think on that. Pop knew there was something fishy about the whole deal when the family up and disappeared, but he didn’t think he’d ever find out why or where they went. And then eight months ago, they just reappeared with their fancy house and a thirteen-year-old boy that looked nothing like Roman Ventori, the supposed father.
“Who would pay them to lie?”
“People who don’t want a secret to come out.”
Sal removed his glasses, ran a hand over his face. “I just want a grandchild before I draw my last breath. Is that too much to ask?”
“’Course not. But you’re going about it all wrong. You got to set things right with Roman first, and then you got to nudge him in the right direction.” Oh, yes, the right direction was key and Pop knew all about directions and relationships.
Before Sal could respond, Lucy’s sweet voice filled the room with a lullaby. Pop and Sal turned toward the sound, and there she stood, a vision dressed in white, red hair tied back, her pale skin glowing. In her arms, she held
Sal closed his eyes, clutched his heart with one hand, and made the sign of the cross with the other. “I don’t feel so well.”
“Don’t pull that baloney with me,” Pop said. “If you got chest pains, tell me now and I’ll have Lorraine get you to the emergency room.”
Sal’s eyes snapped open and he jerked toward Pop. “Don’t you dare say one word to Lorraine.”
“So.” Now he had him. Let the old geezer try to weasel out of this one. “Why not? You can’t keep this from her, you know that.”
“I don’t have any chest pains.”
A whisper would come out louder than those words. “Huh? Didn’t hear you.” Pop leaned closer, said, “Speak up.”
“I don’t have any chest pains.” Pause, and then, “But I don’t want to talk about my grandson.”
“’Cause you don’t have a grandson.” Pop ignored the look his friend gave him and went on. “I saw the boy, too, don’t forget that.” Mimi Pendergrass heard the Morrisens were in Renova and drove Pop and Sal to the boy’s school, where they camped out in Mimi’s truck eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and drinking hibiscus tea, while they waited for Sal’s supposed “grandson” to emerge. “Even if that boy had hair and eyes the color of an espresso, the shape of the nose was off, the chin was too wide, and wouldn’t he have at least one cowlick? The kid was fair-skinned. Not a Ventori, that’s for sure.”
Sal shrugged. “His name’s Zachary.” Pause, a frown. “Maybe the genes got all mixed up.”
Pop let out a snort. “Or maybe the daddy’s names did.” He slid Sal a knowing look. “Admit it or not, but you knew the second you saw that boy that he was not Roman’s son. Why on earth you kept up the tale is beyond me. It did no good but to spread ill will between you and your son. And for what? To save face?”
Sal’s complexion paled beneath his weather-beaten skin. “Why would Paula’s father lie to me? He said it was Roman.”
“The question you ought to be asking is why would my son lie to me. And the other question you should ask is why did the whole family up and move out of town, resurface eight months ago in a three-story brick house in Renova. Got a pool, too.”
Sal shrugged. “Guess I held on because that would mean I had a grandchild somewhere, even if the child didn’t know my name.” When he pushed out the next words, his voice cracked and split open like an overripe watermelon. “Ventori blood would run through him, and maybe one day we’d meet.”
Pop shook his head, kept his words gentle. “I’ll bet a year’s worth of pizzelles that boy doesn’t have a drop of Ventori blood in his veins, and I’ll bet another year’s worth the whole Morrisen clan knows it, and somebody’s been paying them to keep quiet.” Who in blazes would do that? Had to be somebody with a nice-sized bank account and a big reason to keep quiet. Hmm. He’d have to think on that. Pop knew there was something fishy about the whole deal when the family up and disappeared, but he didn’t think he’d ever find out why or where they went. And then eight months ago, they just reappeared with their fancy house and a thirteen-year-old boy that looked nothing like Roman Ventori, the supposed father.
“Who would pay them to lie?”
“People who don’t want a secret to come out.”
Sal removed his glasses, ran a hand over his face. “I just want a grandchild before I draw my last breath. Is that too much to ask?”
“’Course not. But you’re going about it all wrong. You got to set things right with Roman first, and then you got to nudge him in the right direction.” Oh, yes, the right direction was key and Pop knew all about directions and relationships.
Before Sal could respond, Lucy’s sweet voice filled the room with a lullaby. Pop and Sal turned toward the sound, and there she stood, a vision dressed in white, red hair tied back, her pale skin glowing. In her arms, she held
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