Home for the Holidays by Steven R. Schirripa Page A

were deep into a round of
BlackPlanet Two
when Nicky's father looked in on them an hour later.
    “Can I have Clarence drop you guys somewhere?” he asked. “I've got this meeting in Newark.”
    “What's in Newark?” Nicky asked.
    “The building commission,” his father said. “I have to make my pitch to them, with Peter Van Allen. Wish us luck.”
    “Okay,” Nicky said. “Can Clarence take us to the mall?”
    “Or you could stay and have coffee with Grandma Tutti and Father David and the old ladies from St. Monica's.”
    “The mall, please.”
    “Take your cell phone, then,” his father said. “Call Clarence when you're ready to come home.”
    The after-Christmas sales had started. The stores were humming with activity. But the food court was almost empty, and no one was in line at the movie theater. Nicky and Tommy bought lemonades in the food court and stood staring at the marquee.
    “Kid stuff,” Tommy said.
    “Sequels,” Nicky said.
    “Let's check out the arcade,” Tommy said.
    “Okay,” Nicky said. “But I'm warning you, it's lame.”
    The boys spent the next two hours playing old-fashioned pinball machines, taking breaks now and then to go back to the food court so Tommy could “steal” a refill on his lemonade. Tommy was very sneaky about it. He was having so much fun that Nicky didn't have the heart to tell him the food court offered unlimited free refills on all their drinks.
    “We're killing these guys,” Tommy said as he sipped his fourth refill. “But I gotta go to the bathroom.”
    “That's what you get,” Nicky said. “They're down here.”
    On the way back, Tommy said, “Hey—there's your ma.”
    Nicky looked. Tommy was right. Nicky said, “Mom! Hey, Mom!”
    Far down the mall, Nicky's mother seemed to stop and glance at the two boys. Next to her was a tall man with dark hair. Then Nicky's mother darted into a store.
    Nicky said, “C'mon!” He and Tommy jogged down the mall.
    But there was no sign of her.
    Tommy said, “No way that wasn't her, right?”
    “It sure
looked
like her.”
    “Who was the guy with her?”
    “I don't know. But this is the art supply store where I get my paints and stuff.”
    “Let's go inside.”
    Nicky led Tommy down an aisle that had fat charcoals and big pads of sketch paper. The aisle, and the store, was empty. Nicky waved at the man behind the counter.
    “Who's that?” Tommy asked.
    “Mr. Silver,” Nicky said. “He owns this place.”
    “Is that who your mom was with?”
    “No.”
    “So who was it?”
    “Someone she knows from one of her charities, I guess.”
    “Then what was she running away for? And where'd she go?”
    “I don't know,” Nicky said. “Maybe it wasn't her. But again, I walked into the living room the other day and she was whispering on the phone to someone, and she freaked out when she saw me.”
    “Wow,” Tommy said. “You think she could be working on some scam or something?”
    “Tommy—it's my mom.”
    “Then maybe she's got a boyfriend.”
    “Tommy! Shut up!”
    “I don't know!” Tommy said. “Could it be some kind of weird vegetarian thing?”
    “Like what?”
    “I don't know,” Tommy said. “I'm betting on the boyfriend scenario.”
    “No way!” Nicky said. “That's just crazy.”
    “Then, what?”
    “I don't know,” Nicky said. “But not
that.
Forget that. Don't say that again.”
    “Okay,” Tommy said. “I'm sorry. You wanna try that other pinball machine now?”
    “No,” Nicky said. “Let's go home. I'll call Clarence.”
    She wasn't sure whether Nicky had seen her. It had been a close call, though. She was getting sloppy. Going to her car, she said, “We have to be more careful about this. Maybe you shouldn't park your car so close to the house. And you should call me first, too, to make sure he's not there.”
    “You don't think he knows?”
    “I
know
he doesn't,” she said. “And if he finds out— well, I don't know what I'll do. He
mustn't.
It would ruin