“I’ll rephrase. You got until Sunday.”

Suddenly, Benny wasn’t finding this amusing and he didn’t hesitate to get into why.

“You comin’ up to let your woman commune with Francesca, or are you comin’ up to make sure I’m not f**kin’ that shit up?”

“Two birds,” Cal replied.

Yes, he was no longer finding this amusing.

“Reminder, Cal, you let your life stay f**ked for nearly two decades and it was only Vi pullin’ your head outta your ass that bought you what you got today.”

“Yeah, so, I learned. Now I’m makin’ sure a man who means somethin’ to me doesn’t waste as much time or more, and worse, lets the woman who should be in his bed waste her life waitin’ for him to pull his head outta his ass.”

Definitely not finding this amusing.

“I got this,” Benny said low.

“And I’m gonna give my woman time with the woman who kept her company during a serious-as-shit situation, let my girls meet the woman who kept their mother company and kept her alive, and rejoice in the fact that you got the other shit under control.”

Benny decided to shut this down. “We done talkin’?”

“Yep.”

“See you Sunday.”

Cal might have said something, but Benny didn’t hear it. He’d disconnected.

He parked in his garage and was walking up his back walk when he saw his mother come out the back door and down the stoop.

“Where you goin’?” he asked, his body tensing, hoping like f**k she wasn’t escaping because things went shit with Frankie.

“Frankie’s,” she answered, bustling to him, eyes to the massive handbag over her shoulder that she was digging into. She yanked out a sheet of paper and stopped just short of slamming into him, which was why he’d stopped one step earlier. She waved the sheet of paper at him. “I got a list. She needs to get back to normal, not be wanderin’ around in nightgowns. Gonna pick up some stuff.”

That he would allow. Frankie wandering around his house and lying on his bed in nightgowns was not conducive to him having patience through the delicate operation he was attempting. As was evidenced by his ludicrous overreaction to seeing her—all her hair, that body of hers, and her flawless skin—in his bed hours before.

“Right,” he said to his mother. “Her purse is in my truck.”

“Okay, caro,” she muttered, leaning up distractedly to kiss his cheek before she was bustling toward his garage.

“Ma,” he called. She stopped and turned back. “All good with you two?”

He watched her face get soft and she nodded.

Thank f**k. She wanted that and Frankie gave it to her.

That said a lot about Frankie. He couldn’t say he was in her shoes, he’d ever give that shit to anyone. They’d treated her like garbage, all of them, Benny especially, with Theresa not far behind. If it was him, he’d hold on to it until the day they died and then he’d spit on their grave.

It was good to know Frankie wasn’t going to put his folks through that. Fuck, it was just good to know she was the kind of woman who had that kind of forgiveness in her.

The tough stuff over, Benny got to the good stuff. “Cal and Vi are comin’ up on Sunday, bringin’ the girls.”

He watched then as his mother’s face lit with joy and Benny smiled at her.

After years of Cal’s distance that he took while he was nursing wounds most men would never recover from, having him back was good for his ma, his pop, him.

Having Frankie would be icing, a thick, rich layer of it.

But, hope to God, he succeeded in talking Frankie around to his way of thinking, Benny would be the one who’d get to eat it.

He watched his ma smile back.

The family all back together, healthy, happy, and growing with the addition of Vi and her girls. The only thing his mother ever wanted in her life she was going to get and Ben liked to see her get it.

“Good news,” she said.

“Yeah,” he replied.

Her smile got bigger. She waved and, again, started bustling away.

Benny moved to his house.

Frankie was not in the kitchen and he didn’t bother searching downstairs. He went upstairs and straight to his bedroom.

When he hit it, though, she wasn’t there. The bathroom door was open and he couldn’t see the whole of it, but he also couldn’t imagine her being in it for any purpose where she didn’t close the door.

He turned and looked down the hall, stopping when he saw the bathroom door open, as usual, one of the bedroom doors closed, as usual, and the other one open, not as usual.

He moved to the room he called his office, but it was just another room where he and members of his family dumped shit.

When he bought the house, it was four bedrooms. All the occupants of the bedrooms, when he filled them up one day, would need to share that hall bath.

This meant the only thing he changed was converting the smallest bedroom, which was the size of a big closet, to a master bath.

He’d liked doing it. It reminded him of working construction, something he also liked doing. Building things. Using his hands, his body, seeing something form from his work. He also liked working days, having nights off to go out and throw back a few, shoot the shit with the guys, watch a game, pick up a woman who had promise, see how that panned out.

Working in the kitchen at the restaurant was hot and it was a pain in the ass dealing with the kids who worked with him. Kids who were more worried if the girl they texted would text back in a way that meant they’d soon get laid than getting the pies out of the oven or not burning the meatballs.

He’d often catch himself in that kitchen and wonder what the f**k he was doing there, working his ass off, killer hours, all of them so busy half the time he was on autopilot to get it done.

Then he’d get a whiff of the sauce his pop taught him how to make, sauce his grandmother taught his father how to make (and so on), and it was f**king crazy, totally insane, but he’d know why he was there. Not only that, he’d know there was no other place for him.

That was where he was meant to be.

These thoughts came to him as he walked down the hall and stopped in the doorway of his office, seeing Frankie sitting in his pop’s huge, old desk chair with its cracked leather. She was staring at the computer on the desk that she’d turned on.

He leaned a shoulder against the jamb and noted, “Not connected to the Internet, babe, so can’t send your SOS that way.”