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Seventeen
I walk, I lift up, I lift up heart, eyes,
Down all that glory in the heavens to glean our Savior;
And éyes, héart, what looks, what lips yet gave you a
Rapturous love’s greeting of realer, of rounder replies?
—Gerard Manley Hopkins,
from “Hurrahing in Harvest”
The sun glinted off the small white ball that arced through the air, landed with a thud, and rolled to a rest in the grass. Lorenzo picked up his two green bocce balls and gauged the distance to the pallino. The park didn’t have a backboard or sand court, so they were playing by Manny’s rules—throw the pallino anywhere they wanted and see which team could get closest with their bocce balls.
“Prepare to be humiliated, old men,” Tony taunted with a grin, stepping up beside Lorenzo with his similar green balls.
Their father scoffed. “You hear him, Manny? As if we have not been playing bocce since before they were born!”
“Insolent pups,” Manny said with a grin.
Familiar refrains, both of them. For as long as he could remember, Lorenzo and his brother had been playing the two older men on Independence Day. It was as much a part of the celebration as the Italian sausages roasting on the grill, the firecrackers kids kept setting off, and the multi-lingual shouts of greeting from the entire neighborhood as picnics were unloaded and shared.
Today, however, his attention wasn’t focused on the game. He kept glancing over to where the women were setting up their food, his eyes on Sabina.
She looked cool and gorgeous in her white dress, but distant. Hollow. Like she’d looked last year, the year before, rather than how she’d been looking for the past month. Something had happened. What, though? He’d tried to find time to come over for the last few evenings, but the murder case he was assisting would be heard in court tomorrow, and his choice was either to work late in the evenings or to come in today. He’d voted for having the holiday off.
Maybe he’d made the wrong call.
“Focus, Enzo.” Tony punched him lightly in the shoulder, his face wreathed in grins. “We have to prove that last year wasn’t a fluke.”
Sabina chose that moment to look up and catch his gaze. Her lips curled up into a soft smile that did wonders to ease his worry, and life glinted through that haze of emptiness. Whatever had her upset, it must not be his fault. She even headed his way, settling onto a blanket beside Val and Little G to watch the game.
Lorenzo grinned and turned to his older brother. “I’m focused.”
“Yeah, now.” Tony tried for a disgusted look but lost the battle to a grin. “Just think, little bro. At next year’s picnic, she might be sitting there with your bambino in her arms.”
Manny threw the first ball, which rolled to a stop mere inches from the pallino. Lorenzo smiled anyway. “A happy thought indeed. You taking the lead, Tony?”
His brother replied by taking up position and swinging his green ball through the air. It landed with a thud practically on top of Manny’s, pushing the elder’s red one out of the way. Their young audience erupted into wild cheers.
Manny narrowed his eyes and shook a playful finger. “Antonio, you are asking for it. Show your upstart sons how it’s done, Vanni.” He stepped up beside Lorenzo while Father took careful aim. “Will your landlady be at home tomorrow, Enzo?”
Lorenzo moved into position behind his father, determined not to let the off-the-wall question throw him. “Should be.” He gauged the weight of the ball and the distance it needed to travel, then let it loose, smiling when it rolled right up to the white ball and gently tapped it. “She usually is. Why?”
Manny took his next turn, cursing mildly when his ball landed a few feet away from the cluster. “I’m having a phone installed in your apartment.”
“What?” Lorenzo stepped out of Tony’s way without taking his eyes from Manny’s face. “Why?”
Manny grinned. “What if I need to reach you quickly, but it isn’t during business hours? Especially once you and Sabina marry. Although I have heard that there may be a house on Claremont Avenue for sale soon too—if you’d prefer we wait to install your line there, I suppose we could.”
Lorenzo forced himself to swallow. He didn’t mind having a telephone. What he minded was Manny not asking him if he wanted one, and then only giving him two choices—tomorrow or when he bought them a house. Which he also didn’t want, or at least, not with Manny’s money. “Manny...” For all his years of law school, Lorenzo still didn’t know how to say such things. He sighed. “You know I appreciate all you do for us. But Sabina and I will choose our own house when we’re ready for one.”
Manny weighed the ball in his hand, though it was Father’s turn now. “It’s how it’s done, Lorenzo.”
“No, it’s how it used to be done in Sicily.” He sighed again and waved a hand at the banners of red, white, and blue that fluttered at intervals. “We’re not in Sicily anymore.”
From his other side, Tony sing-songed, “Wasting your breath.”
