Drain the egg noodles and toss with the butter/carrot mixture and fresh dill. Cover to keep warm.
PRESENTATION
Arrange a piece of veal alongside some egg noodles on each serving plate. Spoon about ¼-cup sauce over the veal and top with 1 teaspoon minced parsley and a pinch of lemon zest. Delicious served with steamed green beans that have been tossed with butter and sautéed minced garlic.
* * *
For dessert, Angelina served an apple tarte tatin and coffee.
“Angelina,” asked Mr. Pettibone as she poured his decaf, “if you don’t mind my asking, how did you make the sauce? Did you make a liaison?”
“Yes, I did,” said Angelina, impressed.
“A liaison? Really, Mr. Pettibone?” said Basil. “I thought that’s what I was doing when I snuck behind the schoolhouse with Louise O’Donnell when I was fifteen.”
Jerry nearly choked on his coffee. Angelina laughed and punched him playfully in the arm.
“Oh, be quiet,” Angelina said. “Mr. Pettibone is exactly right. If you’re not careful and bring everything up to temperature nice and slow, you get a sauce full of scrambled eggs.”
“Yes,” said Pettibone. “And the acid in the lemon and capers—a magnificent choice, by the way—balanced the creaminess, so that it didn’t taste too rich. It was fantastic.”
“As usual,” said Guy.
Jerry led them all in light applause.
“Mr. Pettibone,” said Basil, “You could be a food critic or something. How did you come by your appreciation of food? Very erudite, I must say.”
“I’ve taken some courses of study. And, happily, I grew up in a household where great food was celebrated,” said Pettibone. “My father was a psychologist and had his office in our house. My mother was often unwell, unfortunately, so my father did most of the cooking and developed quite a passion for it after a while. He was an inspiration to the avid cook, especially skilled at Asian cuisine, funnily enough.”
“Chinese food?” said Johnny. “I didn’t know you could make it, I thought you had to get takeout.”
That got a laugh from everyone, though some lively discussion followed about whether he was actually right about that.
For the last week or so, Johnny had insisted on staying after and helping out with the dishes. He hadn’t said a word about it, he just disappeared into the kitchen one night and started washing up. Angelina knew better than to call attention to this new development, realizing that it would make him uncomfortable. She appreciated the help but felt a little guilty about letting him take on the extra chore.
Johnny started clearing after everyone had gone except Don Eddie and Phil.
“Angelina,” asked Eddie, “Would you mind making me a couple pieces of toast and putting those marrowbones on a plate for me, dear?”
Angelina understood what he wanted at once and returned with two pieces of toast and some of the veal bones, slightly warmed on the plate. Eddie rubbed his hands together and began scraping the succulent marrow from them onto the plate with the wrong end of his fork. He spread the marrow onto the points of the toast and savored every bite. Phil was patiently settled in nearby in a living room chair with the Daily News.
“You know,” Eddie said to Angelina as he ate, “When I was a boy, my mother, Rose, Philly’s grandmother, used to make the veal bones and always saved them for me at the end of dinner. I was the littlest, and my brother and sister usually got to the food faster than I did, so she always made me a treat after. I don’t think I’ve had this since she died.”
“How’d she die?” asked Angelina.
“Cancer. Phil was her only grandkid. He lived with her through school and all after his mother and father passed away. My mother thought the sun rose and set on that little guy.”
Angelina noticed, as Eddie said that, that Phil’s paper had lowered an inch or two. She was sure she saw him wipe a tear away. She returned to the kitchen for a moment, then went into the parlor and came up behind him unannounced.
“Phil? Would you like to try some?”
He was startled, but Angelina just put a napkin on his lap and handed him a fork and his own plate of toast and marrowbones.
“Thank you, Mrs. D’Angelo. Very much.”
“Okay, enjoy.”
Angelina glanced back and watched him dig in with just as much enthusiasm as Eddie had, and the sight of it warmed her heart. She hadn’t realized until tonight that, as quiet as he was, Phil listened to and thought about everything.
When Phil and the Don had gone, Angelina washed while Johnny stacked and dried.
“You know, Johnny, you really don’t have to help out with the dishes. It’s all part of the deal.”
Johnny kept drying diligently. “I couldn’t just walk out of the house and leave you with all the dishes, Mrs. D’Angelo. Besides, if my grandmother found out I’d been doing that, she’d hunt me down. And she’d be right.”
“How’s she doing at the home?”
Johnny smiled. “Real good. She’s like the queen bee over there.”
“Since you’re so nice, I’m going to bake some cookies, so you can bring some over to her and the sisters.”
“Aw, she’d love it.”
He went silent for three plates. Angelina tried to catch a glance at his face. She decided he was trying to get up his nerve to say something.
“Actually,” Johnny started, “And besides that, I’ve been trying to get a chance to talk to you alone.”
Angelina made sure to concentrate on her dishes and give him room to speak his mind.
“Really?” she said casually. “What about?”
“Romance.”
He had obviously searched long and hard for the right word and he said it quickly, like pulling off a Band-Aid.
Angelina knew immediately where he was heading, but she couldn’t help herself; she batted her eyes at him when she handed him the next dish. “Johnny, don’t you think I’m too old for you?”
That scored a big, red blush on both cheeks. Angelina nudged him playfully with her hip.
“That—that’s not what I mean … ,” Johnny stammered.
“Oh, no, look at that face!” she said merrily. “I know, sweetie, I’m sorry, I was just teasing you. I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, yes … about Tina.”
“Of course, about Tina. So, what did you want to know?”
Johnny put the last dry dish on the stack and looked at Angelina with the most serious expression and said confidentially, “I’m really nuts about Tina.”
Angelina took the towel from his hands and dried her own. “I think the secret’s out, Johnny.” She laughed. “You two have been making eyes at each other since the day you met.”
“But, here’s my question. We’ve been going out and I feel like Tina’s just the right girl for me, and I think we have an understanding and all, but, what’s the right time for … for a … ”
“A proposal?”
Johnny looked relieved that she had said the word for him. “Yeah.”
Angelina folded her arms and leaned against the counter. Her thoughts wandered of their own accord back to the soft-focus, shiny days of her own courtship. “The answer is, it’s its own answer. You’ll know when the time is right. It’ll jump right out at you.”
“Really?”
“Before Frank proposed to me, he told me he carried the ring around in his pocket for three weeks.”
“No kidding.”
“He waited, until he knew the time was right.”
“When was the time?” asked Johnny.
When she caught the sweet, earnest look on his face, Angelina saw in Johnny notes of the qualities that Tina must have just loved to death.
“Well,” said Angelina, “That’s personal. He got it right, though. So will you. Trust me.”
Johnny unfolded the towel and spread it on the rack to dry.
“Okay, I’ll take your advice,” he said. “I’ll just know.�
�
She could almost see his plans coming together in his head. Johnny and Tina seemed so right; what luck, that they had found one another. No matter what, if and when they got married, no matter the ups and downs, the good times and sad, it would be the adventure of their lives. What I wouldn’t give to have one more day married to Frank.
She gave Johnny a quick hug.
“You will. Trust me. You’re still going to help out with the dishes though, right?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
The next day, thankfully, was Saturday, and Angelina slept until eleven o’clock. She awoke feeling deeply groggy with a dragging heaviness in her arms and legs and took a full half hour to climb out of her nice, warm bed.
She hardly ever slept in, especially this late, but she put her sluggishness down to stress and overwork—she’d been going nonstop, day in, day out, and after so many years of just cooking for two. Angelina felt tired all the way through the middle of the day and hoped she wasn’t coming down with anything. She decided to take it easy, put on a pot of potato-and-leek soup, and curled up on the couch for most of the afternoon.
At about a quarter past four, there was a knock at the door, and Angelina found Guy standing on the front steps.
“Hello,” he said, smiling.
“Hi. You know it’s Saturday, right?”
“Sure,” said Guy, reasonably confident in his facts.
“I’m not cooking tonight. Saturday’s our day off.”
“Right,” he said in full agreement.
Angelina had resigned herself long ago to the phenomenon that the men in her life seldom, if ever, came to the point quickly.
“So,” she said finally, “See you tomorrow?”
The next pause lasted long enough to approach awkwardness, and she nearly had the door closed when he spoke up.
“Hey.”
She opened the door again and said politely, “Yes?”
“Um, I wanted to know, are you busy tonight?”
“Me?”
“There’s a function at the church hall tonight. Basil told me about it. I was wondering if you would like to go. To it.”
“With you?”
“Not like a date or anything. But I … we could definitely walk over together.”
She thought about it. It might be nice to get out of the house for a change and see some people.
“Yeah, okay,” she said finally.
“Great.”
Answer received, mission accomplished, Guy made it halfway down the steps, then came back up all in a rush.
“Okay. What time?”
“Don’t you have to tell me?” said Angelina.
He checked for the watch on his wrist, realized he wasn’t wearing it, and said, “Seven o’clock?”
“Okay. See you then. Bye.”
She closed the door and through the curtains watched Guy hurry back across the street. She stopped and took a minute to think things through. As long as it wasn’t a date, she supposed it was fine, but now she was feeling a twinge of buyer’s remorse. Maybe she should have taken some time to mull it over. But, then again, what harm could there be in getting out of the kitchen for a change? None, she decided, and went back in to ladle herself a cup of hot soup.
The basement rec hall at Saint Joseph’s was paneled in plywood, and the green carpet had seen its best days more than a few years back. But it was warm and cozy with a few homey touches, such as comfortable overstuffed armchairs donated from local living rooms. With some festive bunting, it became a perfectly lovely place to hold a dance or a raffle to raise money for whatever the latest worthy cause might be.
Angelina and Guy walked over together, chatting easily as they made their way through the double doors and down the stairs to the party. A lot of the folks from the neighborhood were there, old-timers who had been church supporters forever, their kids and grandkids, housewives manning the soft drinks and sandwiches, men from the Knights of Columbus handing out long-neck beers and selling chances. Danny DeFino was spinning records, the same ones and in practically the same order as he did whenever his PA system and vintage collection of vinyl LPs were pressed into service.
Basil spotted them right away and greeted Angelina with a big hug.
“Angelina, you made it.” He then clapped Guy on the back. “Good job, Guy. I didn’t know if you had it in you, boy.”
Angelina shot Basil a piercing look as a fleetingly guilty expression flitted across his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.
“It just seemed to me that you were staying in too much on a Saturday night,” Basil said. “Don’t look at us, it was Dottie’s idea—and a good one at that. I’m very glad you came.” Basil gave her arm a warm squeeze.
“Why don’t I get us something to drink—Angelina, punch okay?” Guy asked.
“I’ll take a 7UP. Thanks.”
Guy walked off, neatly making his way through the handful of couples on the dance floor.
Angelina took a step closer to Basil. “You know,” she said quietly, “You don’t seem to remember that I just lost my husband. I’m not interested in being set up on any dates, Mr. Cupertino—and especially not with any of your dining companions.”
Basil was bobbing in time to the music. “It’s not a date, it’s an outing.”
“Outing, schmouting.”
“Ethical problem?” asked Basil, amused.
“In a way, yes,” Angelina said, raising her voice a touch to emphasize her point.
Basil never broke his rhythm and said, “Ethical implications aside, I don’t think he’s interested in you, anyhow.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Why not?” she asked, feeling a prickle of wounded pride, even though Basil had just told her what she wanted to hear.
“Not that he might not be interested. It’s just that I’ve known him since he was a kid and he is not someone who rushes into anything. In fact, uncertainty may be his defining characteristic. Not sure about playing ball, what school to go to, wasn’t sure about going in the service, wasn’t sure about staying in the service. One thing I’m sure about is that he’s not sure.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That’s why he’s here,” said Basil. “He’s not sure.”
“About what?”
Basil leaned in and spoke a little softer. “About the seminary.”
Angelina’s eyes opened wide. “He’s a priest?” she whispered.
“Not yet he isn’t. He was studying to be a priest, out at St. Charles Seminary on City Line. Two months from graduation, then he left it and came to us.”
“Why’d he leave?”
“I’m curious myself. I guess he’s not sure he wants to be a priest.”
Just then Guy appeared with a beer and a bottle of soda with a bendy straw in it. “The meatballs look pretty good. You two want to get something to eat?” asked Guy, handing Angelina her drink.
“You go,” said Basil. “I already had three meatball sandwiches. On Saturdays, I eat to live. Every other day, I live to eat.” He saluted Angelina with a nifty little bow. “I’m going to find someone to dance with. You know, live a little.”
He danced away from them with a surprisingly graceful two-step.
Angelina relaxed a little now that Basil had confirmed that Guy’s intentions toward her were not romantic. She ate and drank and listened to the old men tell bad jokes and talked to a couple of girlfriends she felt as if she hadn’t seen in ages. Guy stayed close to her most of the time, though he seemed to be attracting a lot of female attention.
Angelina wasn’t sure what to make of it when she saw some of the women chattering and glancing their way. Maybe she’d come out too soon. She wasn’t emotionally braced for the possibility of having unnecessarily subjected herself to gossip. Angelina tensed visibly when Teri D’Orazio, whom God knew liked to talk about everybody, started making her way toward them.
“Hi, Angelina. I’m surprised to see you here,” said Teri, nodding a h
ello to Guy. “I wanted to ask you something.” Angelina caught her breath. “Do you think you could make us one of your cherry cheesecakes for the next fund-raiser?”
Angelina exhaled. “Oh, well, yes, I mean, for a fundraiser, of course.”
“Oh, good. You’re a doll,” said Teri.
Teri gave Angelina a half hug, smiled curiously at Guy, then turned and walked away.
“You look pale, are you all right?” asked Guy.
“Yes. Sorry. It’s just … I think I’ve had my fill of socializing. Do you feel like getting out of here?”
“Sure, let’s roll.”
They strolled out into the fresh night air. It wasn’t late at all, hardly past nine thirty, and a lot of people were out and about, couples and groups of kids walking to their next destination or to no place special. It occurred to Angelina that she hadn’t gone anywhere except grocery shopping since Frank died—it felt as if she’d hardly ever left the stove.
She looked at Guy. They were walking perfectly in step with one another. He had a really nice profile.
“I guess I should thank you for getting me out of the house,” she said.
“It was Basil’s idea, but, really, it was my pleasure.”
“So, is it weird for you, being at the church and all?” Angelina asked tentatively.
Guy looked up, momentarily unsure of her meaning until he realized Basil must have let the cat out of the bag. “Because I left the seminary?”
“Yeah. I mean, once you get there, I don’t imagine a lot of guys quit.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“So, why did you leave?”
He looked thoughtful, as if he were hoping that he might reach out and find an easy answer this time to a question he’d been pondering for a while. “Hard to say. I’m old for the seminary, you know. I went through college, went into the Marines, and I had a couple of jobs before I went in.”
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