“Copy that,” Colt said and Cal flipped his phone closed.

He whistled and Vinnie jerked around to look at him. Cal lifted his hand and flicked his finger in the air. Vinnie nodded. Cal turned, slid open the door and walked through, wracking his brain as to what he’d say to Vi to explain his needing to go to the Station.

Then he slid the door closed behind him.

* * * * *

Dad, Gary and Uncle Vinnie were outside in the front yard inspecting the sod Joe and Keira had laid. I was sitting in the living room with Bea and Aunt Theresa. We were sipping coffee with the girls on the floor playing with Mooch. I was thinking about Joe’s hasty exit which he vaguely explained and also thinking about the squad car that was parked across the street, the fact that it slid up and stopped before Joe kissed me and walked out the door and the fact that it didn’t move an inch in the ten minutes Joe had been gone.

These thoughts exited my head when Aunt Theresa picked up her big, mailbag sized purse and plopped it on her lap.

“Who knows how long Cal’ll be gone, gotta get this done,” Aunt Theresa muttered, sounding distracted but in a businesslike way and I looked at her then at Bea then at the girls.

“What done?” Keira asked but Aunt Theresa didn’t look up from rummaging around in her small-piece-of-luggage-sized purse.

“You find the time but you find it to give him this,” she ordered oddly. “It’s time Cal had Nicky back.”

I sucked in breath at her words and my eyes flew to Kate but Kate and Keira were both staring at Aunt Theresa’s bag.

“Who’s Nicky?” Bea whispered.

“Cal’s son,” Aunt Theresa answered without even a little ado then went on still without any, “died when he was a baby. Stupid skank of a wife left him in the bath. Drowned…” Bea gasped and her eyes came to me but Aunt Theresa pulled out a big square thing wrapped in a black scarf and turned to me. Whipping off the scarf, she announced, “Nicky.”

Then she handed me a photo frame.

Automatically my hand reached out and I took it. Then I brought it toward me and stared.

In it was Joe sitting on one of the benches just inside Vinnie’s Pizzeria. There was no one sitting with him. He was alone and in profile, the scarred side of his much younger face to the camera.

It was a black and white but the sun was shining through the windows of the door and it gleamed against the highly polished wood all around Joe. His shoulders were to the high back of the bench, his legs were stretched straight in front of him, his feet crossed at the ankles.

Smack in the center of his big chest was a little baby, Joe’s arm curved around his baby bottom, the baby tucked in that baby ball only babies could make. His baby knees under him, his baby booty in the air.

The baby was asleep, his face turned toward the camera, his cheek on Joe’s chest, his little baby fist also resting on Joe’s chest close to his beautiful little baby face.

Joe’s head was leaning back against the bench, his eyes closed. He looked asleep too. Even if he was asleep, the way he had his son nestled against his chest, safe in the protection of his powerful arm, his bicep stretching the material of his ever-present t-shirt tight, screamed the fact that Joe would allow nothing to hurt his boy, asleep, awake, ever.

Unless he wasn’t there.

Which, when something hurt his son, he wasn’t.

I stared at Joe’s profile. He didn’t look happy, he looked at peace and that peace had nothing to do with sleep.

Father and son taking a catnap at the family Pizzeria.

God, but they were beautiful.

Silent tears slid down my cheeks.

“I don’t know if he has photos,” Aunt Theresa said. “He wasn’t around much after so we didn’t come down much and then we stopped because he was never around at all.”

Kate and Keira had scooted to me and then they surrounded me. Both put a hand to the photo and I felt Bea lean in.

“I got tons of pictures of him. Some with the skank in and Manny says he can scan them and do somethin’ called ‘Photoshop’ her out. But I figure Cal’ll know she was there and I don’t want him to have that reminder of her with him and Nicky,” Aunt Theresa said, still businesslike, even brusque and I knew she had to be because if she wasn’t at that moment she’d be a mess just like me.

“No,” I choked, my eyes still riveted to the picture, “no, you’re right. Bonnie doesn’t get that.”

“But enough time has passed. Nicky needs to come home,” Aunt Theresa declared. “So we’ll start with that one and, later, I’ll give you the rest.”

“Yes,” I whispered, the tears still sliding down my cheeks, “Nicky needs to come home.”

And I knew where Nicky would live. By Tim and Sam on our shelves. Tim and Sam would take care of him. They’d always be together and they’d always be with us.

“That Joe’s boy?” Kate whispered from beside me and I nodded then turned my head to my daughter and, as hers was so close, I leaned in and kissed her hair. Then I inhaled its scent and I memorized it even though I already had it memorized.

“Yeesh,” Keira breathed, “Joe’s even hot holdin’ a baby.”

“Keira!” Kate snapped but a short giggle came out of me and I turned to my youngest and kissed her hair too.

“Can I see?” Bea asked softly and me and my girls turned to her.

“Yeah,” I said softly back, handed her the frame and wiped the tears from my cheeks

She took it and bent her head to study it.

Then, her eyes not leaving the photo, she whispered, “He lost his son.”

It hit me belatedly that this was something they shared and it hit hard and sharp, piercing my heart.

“Bea,” I murmured, my hand moving to curl around her leg and Keira shifted to sit on the floor at her feet where she leaned in and put her cheek to her Gramma’s knee.

Bea settled a hand on Keira’s hair as Kate moved around the back of the couch to sit on the armrest by Bea and she leaned in to put her cheek to the top of her Gramma’s head.

Bea’s eyes moved to me.

“I know how that feels,” she said quietly.

“I know you do,” I said on a throaty whisper as fresh tears hit my cheeks.

“I had mine longer, though,” she went on and her gaze went to Theresa, “he had time to give me my babies.”

“Yes, cara, count your blessings even through your loss,” Aunt Theresa advised gently, knowing, too, what it felt like to lose a son.