1:07 p.m.
“Hello, my friends, come in, come in,” the pizza man said to the three small faces staring in from the sidewalk. A cloud of white dust puffed into the air as he slapped a ball of dough onto the counter and began kneading it into shape.
The pizza man was an Indian named Patel. (“An Indian from India,” he always laughed.) Like everyone, he’d been glued to the news all day, watching on a tiny TV by the cash register. But now he flipped it off and waved them inside.
“Drink and a slice?”
Nunu nodded. Radar licked his chops.
Alex read the sign taped to the register: “Two slice + Coke = $5.95.”
His stomach rumbled, but he shook his head. “No thanks.”
“I’m hungry,” whispered Nunu.
“We don’t have any money,” Alex mumbled.
Mr. Patel frowned. “I see. Not even a dollar?”
Alex shook his head again. Mr. Patel lifted his bushy black eyebrows.
“That is a shame. Because today the lunch special is two for one dollar.”
Alex’s stomach rumbled again.
“But,” continued Mr. Patel, “the one dollar special comes with a one dollar rebate. Paid in advance. So, here you go. Your one dollar rebate.”
He opened the till, plucked out a dollar, and handed it to Alex. Alex took it, confused.
“Ah, lunch for two, sir? That will be one dollar.” Mr. Patel took the dollar from Alex’s hand and put it back in the till. “Please sit anywhere you like.”
The tiny restaurant was called Antonio’s Pizza di Napoli. Mr. Patel had kept the name when he bought it from Antonio eighteen years ago. Alex settled them at a table by the window. The Indian pizza man didn’t bat an eye as Radar followed them inside.
Mr. Patel brought over their slices, piping hot and fresh from the oven.
“Blow on it first,” Alex told Nunu. “Or you’ll burn your mouth.”
Mr. Patel also set a bowl of meatballs on the floor for Radar, who sniffed them once, drooled, and buried his muzzle into the bowl.
Alex loved watching Radar eat. He loved everything about his dog.
But he knew if he ever hoped to see his father again, he had to take Radar home.
He wished there were another way.
Outside the window, a fire engine rolled slowly by. Alex counted six firefighters on the truck: four in the cab, and two on the running seats, facing backwards. As they passed, one of the backwards-facing firemen looked up and met eyes with Alex. Alex raised his hand in a little wave. The fireman waved back with a smile.
Alex wished he were a fireman right now.
Then he could be a hero and go rescue his dad.
Alex stared after the truck until it disappeared around a bend in the road.
“Can we have another?” Nunu asked, snapping him back to reality.
“Coming right up,” Mr. Patel replied, and put two slices in the oven before Alex could say no.
“Thank you,” said Alex.
Mr. Patel nodded seriously. “It is the least I can do.”