The next morning, a boisterous crowd gathered in the Perrino kitchen. Everyone was eating cannoli and apple turnovers along with cut fruit and juice. They shared coffee cake and drank espresso. Angela sat at the head of the table, while family and friends scattered around the room, telling stories and reminiscing about the time Sal took the kids camping and forgot the sleeping bags. Or the time Tommy bet the wrong horse for Sal at Pimlico and won twelve hundred dollars by mistake. Tully was no longer standing guard by the front door. It was more joyous now. They were able to celebrate Sal’s life with more enthusiasm knowing the Chechens were out of the picture.
Tommy, Cara, Nick, and Matt sat at the table with Angela.
Cara reached over to steal a strawberry from Tommy’s plate, and he slapped her hand. “Cut that out,” Tommy said.
Cara managed to swipe the piece and shove it in her mouth with a big grin. She’d spent a couple of hours in the ER getting her thigh stitched up, so she was still sleep deprived.
Nick had Julie on Facetime and held his phone up so everyone could say hi, and they did. Julie said, “Tully, you have cannoli cream all over your mouth.”
Everyone laughed while Tully wiped his face with his bare hand.
“Matt and I are leaving in an hour,” Nick told Julie. “Be home before noon.”
“Good, because someone is wanting to throw the ball with you when you get here,” she said with Thomas waving a baseball behind her.
Nick glanced out the window and saw the overcast sky. “Definitely long sleeve weather, but nothing is going to stop me from playing ball with my boy today.”
“See you soon,” Julie said, then blew Nick a kiss and ended the transmission.
Jackie came from the front door with a large bouquet of flowers and placed it on the counter.
“From Al Mancini,” Jackie said casually, then handed Angela the card that came with it.
Angela read the card, then quickly closed it and placed it on her heart. “That was very sweet.”
“Are you going to tell us what it said?” Cara asked.
“No,” Angela said with a smile. “Let’s just say, Sal touched a lot of people along the way.”
Tommy pointed to Matt. “You never told me what happened to Malkin.”
“He’s in the hospital, but nothing life threatening,” Matt said, sipping some coffee from a mug.
“I’m curious,” Cara said. “How did you ever get so good at shooting a gun?”
Matt looked at his partner who rolled his eyes. “Go ahead,” Nick said.
“When I was eight my dad took me to the state fair,” Matt said. “You know how they have those games, throw the ping pong ball into the tiny cup of water and win a prize?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I’d never been to one before, but the guy makes it look so easy because he’s standing on the other side of the partition, so I gave it a try. I was too young to know that it was supposed to be hard. The first one I threw went in, but the guy asked if I wanted to go double or nothing for a bigger prize.”
“Typical sucker move,” Tommy said.
“Yeah, except I’m too young to know that. So I try again and make it. Then the guy points to the shelves with all the toys. Stuffed animals, balls, balloons. The top shelf has all the highest point items. He says I can have anything on that top shelf if I throw the ping pong ball into the farthest cup away from me. One try.”
“Another sucker bet,” Tommy said.
“Of course. But my dad wanted me to learn a life lesson, so he encouraged me to go for it. Just as I’m about to throw the ball I notice the guy leaning on the platform holding the cups slightly away from me, and somehow I knew he was going to stop leaning on the platform the second I let go of the ball, so I compensated for the difference.”
“And?” Cara said.
“I made it.” Matt said. “Boy, was that guy pissed.”
“Tell them what prize you won,” Nick said.
“A brand new Red Ryder BB gun,” Matt told them. “And I never looked back.”
“Well, Mathew,” Angela said. “For everything you’ve done for us, you are an honorary Perrino in my book.”
“Here, here,” Tommy said, as they all held up their coffee cups.
Cara looked at her phone and said, “Oh . . .my . . .”
“What?” Tommy asked, leaning over to peek at her cell.
“I sent dad’s book to my old editor at Penguin and he just texted me,” Cara said, reading as she was going along. “He says he loves it and wants to buy it.”
“You sent Dad’s book to a publisher?” Angela asked. “Isn’t that a little personal?”
“Mom, it’s a novel. Everything in it is fiction, remember?”
“Right,” Angela nodded. “Of course.”
“He wants to make a few changes, but said he loves the ending.”
“That’s good,” Tommy said and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Because the ending is my favorite part.”
The End