was limited. Mom always made sure everyone was taken care of. So now, it’s sort of my job.”
“Again, I’m sorry about your mom—and about Chucky.” “Chucky was a long time ago,” said Nick as he sipped his wine.
“We used to play catch in the front yard. He would get so tired. It was just when they had opened St. Theresa’s. So off we went.” He paused. “We used to stay in his room. It was like camping. Doris yelled at us for playing catch. I would stand in the hall and Chuck would throw the ball from his bed.” Nick returned to his wine, lost in thought for a bit.
"Now he’s buried next to my mom over at Liberty Point,” he continued.
“That’s where my mom is,” Shelly said. “Next to the cross. I buried her here so we could be close. A little selfish, I know.”
“Not at all. Mom and Chuck are on the big hill. She always
wanted a view.”
Two plates of steaming noodles, chicken, and sauce appeared in front of them, halting the conversation. Shelly gave a big sigh. Nick looked up to see Sal standing outside of the kitchen waiting for a review.
“Wow,” said Shelly. “If it tastes as good as it smells …” She took a forkful and sighed again in bliss. “It does,” she said to Nick, then kissed her lips to her fingers in traditional Italian fashion. “That’s for you, Sal.”
*****
Wilshire Park, across the street from the restaurant, was a popular place for families to sit or stroll along cobblestone pathways. The greenspace was well lit, and although this was a cool evening, a fair share of locals were out and about.
“So, out of curiosity,” Nick said as they walked along the path,
“how’s the evening going so far?”
“I must say, the company was great and having your dad cook
that wonderful meal—it’s not a bad night.”
“If Dad had cooked that meal at home, it wouldn’t have cost me
thirty dollars a plate.”
“Does he cook like that at home?” “Almost every night.”