“You are the reason I could afford to get her the treatment. You and Sal.”
“Sal?” Shelly asked. “And who’s Sal?” “My dad.”
“Wait, so it was you who sent Lizzie to me?” Shelly asked, pointing at Nick and then at herself. “Small world.”
“Well, not you in particular,” Nick answered. “But to St.
Theresa’s. And we only helped with the co-pay.”
“Co-pay, schmo-pay,” said Joe with the help of his hands. “Lotsa money. And now my Lizzie is in the ninth grade, healthy and happy thanks to both of you. Now, enough of this talk. Let’s get you seated.”
Nick and Shelly exchanged looks, fully realizing that, yes, they were on a real date. Together. Go figure.
Joe walked them back to the table by the window and gestured to his waiter, Tony. As they sat, Nick looked around for his dad.
“Beautiful view, beautiful night, and from the bottom of my heart, thank you for what you have done for my family,” Joe said to Shelly. She appeared touched by his graciousness, something Nick never got used to either, but that was Joe’s style—a true heart- on-his-sleeve type of guy.
“You would do the same for any child, Joe, so pass it on,” said
Shelly.
Joe made his way back to the kitchen. “Pass it on, huh?” Nick
asked.
“It’s from an old folk song from the ’60s. I’ve always liked it.” “That’s the same song my mom would sing to me.”
“Do you remember the lyrics?” she asked.
“Well,” he said, “I’m not going to sing, but it begins ‘It only takes
a spark to get a fire going …’ ”
Shelly smiled, nodding. “I heard that one at the hospital during Mass,” she added. “It’s a great song.”
As Tony took their order, Shelly looked toward the back of the
restaurant. “Who is that guy?” she asked. “Do I know him?” “Who?”
“There’s a guy back there waving at us.”
Nick turned around. There was Sal, in a cook’s hat and an apron, now waving a spoon.
“Ah, Poppa Sal,” interjected the waiter.