Dom took his seat at the opposite end of the table from Jo. “I ate pastina when I was two weeks old. Jo, have your mother instruct Elsa on the proper way to feed Italian babies.”
“My mother doesn’t remember.” Jo winked at Elsa.
“If she could, she’d tell you to give him pastina,” Dom barked.
“Pop, he’s half Polish, so we’re going to wait to give him the pastina,” Elsa said agreeably.
Nonna shifted in her chair by the server. Mabel tucked the afghan around her feet. Nonna sighed. Her health had been compromised by a stroke she endured during the war.
“Do whatever you want.” Dom held up his hands in surrender, not meaning it. “My own mother, who rests with the angels, mashed up whatever was lying around and added milk to it and put it in a bottle and fed it to me just like that. She had to make the nipple hole bigger with a safety pin, but you do what you got to do when it comes to building strong bones in a boy.”
“Thank you, Pop.” Elsa placed her napkin on her lap.
Lena shot Mabel a look. Lena was a newlywed who would do whatever Pop ordered. Elsa had a way of doing what she wanted without directly confronting their father-in-law. Mabel and Lena considered the way Elsa handled Pop an art form.
“Gio,” Dom said, turning toward his son, “Jack Carrao came to see me today.”
“What for?” Gio swigged his wine.
“I renewed the insurance on the shop, and he told me that you’ve been playing cards over at Casella’s.”
“It’s strictly a leisure activity, Pop.”
“It can be, if you’re playing for pennies.”
“I do a little wagering here and there. That’s all.”
“Jack said the pot went to twelve hundred dollars Saturday night.”
“Gio!” Mabel sat back in her chair. “That’s a house!” She threw her hands in the air, which made the collar on her maternity blouse flip up, nearly poking her in the eye. She patted it down. “You said you weren’t playing cards anymore.”
He shrugged. “I don’t get in deep, honey.”
“It stops today,” Dom ordered. “We aren’t the kind of people who work all day and piss away our profits at night. We work, we save, we live. Right, Jo?”
“That’s right.”
“So knock it off, Gio.”
“Okay, Pop.”
Mabel stared at her husband across the table. Gio didn’t meet her gaze; instead he cut the sausage on his plate into thin circles before spearing them, putting them in his mouth, and swallowing without chewing as if they were pills.
“I made a deal with Fiore’s Funeral Home today,” Nino announced.
“You booked Gio’s wake?” Dominic joked.
“That’s only in the event Pop kills him.” Nino played along.
“Or I do,” Mabel said as she buttered her bread.
The family laughed.
“I’m not laughing,” Gio snarled.
“What deal did you make, Nino?” Dom asked.
“He needs an extra sedan from time to time for his bigger funerals, and he’s been using Pronto’s.”
“Don’t say that name in this house. Who names a company after nobody?”
“You took the Palazzini name, Dominic. It’s been sixteen years. Give it a rest already,” Jo said calmly.
“Anyhow, Fiore told me the quality is not so great, and he’d like to use us. So I said we’d appreciate the business, and he’s coming to see you.”
Dom shook his fork at Gio. “See that? See your brother? He brings business home, not consternation. I want you to clean up your act, Gio. I grew up with my father the bookmaker, banging on the party wall, tapping out bets on Christmas Eve. I remember a raid at Midnight Mass that scarred me. When you see your priest hauled off in handcuffs, you question your faith, believe you me. And when God’s replacement here on earth is parked in a prison cell next to your own father, your gut twists like a python. I don’t want the future generations in this family to live with that shroud over their heads.”
“Cloud, Dom. Cloud,” Jo said softly.
“Pop, I said I’d quit.” Gio looked at Mabel and back at his father. “It’s enough now. I respect you.”
“I agree. If this subject was braciole, the meat would be paper-thin by now.” Jo glared at her husband. “If you want to reprimand, do it after we eat.”
“In other business—” Uncle Dom began.
“I thought we were eating dinner. A peaceful, civilized meal. Is this a business meeting?” Dominic interrupted.
“It’s called consolidation of time and effort,” his father explained. “We have to sell Car Number Four.”
“What will Nicky drive?” Gio asked.
“The sedan, until we procure a new cab.”
“Why sell it?” Dominic asked his father.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear. We had a dead body in there. You want to ride in such a vehicle?”
“It’s not still in the car, is it?”
The boys laughed, and their wives joined in.
“No,” Dom said curtly.
“So what’s the problem, Pop? Things happen, you clean them up and move forward.”
“In normal circumstances you can do that. This is not one of those times.”
“Yoo-hoo,” Hortense Mooney called out from the kitchen. “I’ll leave the bag in the freezer.”
“Mrs. Mooney, come in,” Dom hollered.
Hortense appeared in her hat, coat, and gloves in the doorway. “I put the accounting sheet in the bank bag. Take it out before you do the night drop.”
“How did we do last week?”
“Excellent, Mr. Palazzini. The boys are working hard, and for whatever reason, it was a big week for telegrams.”
“Memorial Day coming up,” Nino offered.
“Could be. I’d like to put in for the week of July fourth for my vacation.”
“No problem, Mrs. Mooney,” Dom agreed.
“Where are you going this year?” Jo asked.
“I’m going to paint my kitchen.” Hortense smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good evening.”
Hortense left through the back door as quietly as she had arrived. Once she was outside, she looked back into the dining room window and observed the Palazzini family seated at the table inside. In her mind, it was the thing these Italians got right: not an evening went by that they didn’t share a meal together. There was something about that, something good.
“Uncle Dom, you don’t have to sell number four,” Nicky said, then sipped his water. “I cleaned it up real nice. You’d never know what happened in the back seat.”
“I’m not worried about you, the driver. I’m worried about the passenger that has to sit where that guy had a heart attack and then worse.”
“What worse?” Lena asked. “What’s worse than dying?”
“Dominic, don’t say it,” Jo warned him. “We’re eating.”
“The girls are about to clear.”
“I’m having another meatball,” Gio said as he stabbed the last one on the platter. “But go ahead, Pop.”
“Haven’t we had enough business tonight? Let’s move on to a pleasant topic. Like Nicky’s wedding. October twenty-ninth is the big day.”
The cousins ribbed Nicky. He slid down in his chair.
“Settle down, boys,” Jo admonished her sons.
“We can’t wait for Nicky to get married,” Gio said.
“So he knows what true happiness is?” Mabel stabbed a pork slab and placed it on her plate.
“Yeah honey. That’s it.” Gio rolled his eyes.