Damaged

by Lisa Scottoline

  Mary cut the ignition, took her purse, and got out of the car, but noticed that The Tonys, her father’s three best friends, were carrying cardboard boxes away, down the street. The boxes looked heavy, so she hustled to catch up with them, catching Pigeon Tony Lucia, who was bringing up the rear like an antique caboose. He was in his eighties, and his lined skin was as brown as a nut because he spent so much time outdoors, tending his pigeon loft.

  “Come stai,” Mary said, which was all the Italian she had energy for tonight.

  “Maria! Ciao bella!” Pigeon Tony’s face lit up. He always reminded Mary of a bird himself because his neat head was completely bald, his eyes were perfectly round and black, and his nose divided them in the middle, hooked as a beak.

  “Please, let me help with that.” Mary reached for the open box.

  “No, Maria, is okay!” Pigeon Tony pulled the box away, but it fell to the ground. Round packs of red, white, and green streamers rolled down the sidewalk.

  “Oh, sorry!” Mary scurried to pick up the packs before they rolled into the gutter.

  “Alla good, Maria!” Pigeon Tony scrambled to pick up the other packs, then righted the box full of arts and craft supplies. Meanwhile the two other Tonys were turning, delighted to see Mary. On the left was Tony “From-Down-The-Block” LoMonaco and on the right was Tony “Two Feet” Pensiera, who went by Feet, since his nickname had a nickname. Mary remembered that Machiavelli had made some wisecrack about him, but she pushed that to the back of her mind.

  “Mary, how you doin’?” Tony-From-Down-The-Block set down his box, then straightened up with a hand on his replacement hip. He had on a white T-shirt and plaid Bermuda shorts, which he always wore with black socks, rubbery brown sandals, and enough aftershave to bring Aqua Velva back.

  “Good, how about you?” Mary tossed the streamers into the box, and Tony-From-Down-The-Block gave her a big hug.

  “I can’t believe you’re getting married! You’re too young!”

  “I agree!” Mary grinned, having known The Tonys since she was little. In fact, all three were her godfathers, an octogenarian trifecta she considered her surrogate uncles and, sometimes, her crack investigative team.

  “Don’t get married, Mare! Play the field like me!”

  Mary could only laugh. Tony-From-Down-The-Block had been married three times and was still actively dating. She guessed he had a new girlfriend since his remaining hair was a suspicious pitch black. The color was an improvement on his more recent orange, which looked better on orangutans.

  Feet waddled over, his hooded eyes blinking behind his Mr. Potatohead trifocals. He had to walk slower than the others because he’d broken his foot working for her on a case. He also had on a white T-shirt, Bermuda shorts, and sandals, and Mary started to wonder if they were dressing alike after a lifetime of friendship. She wondered briefly if that would happen to her and Judy, and if so, which way that would cut.

  “Mare, how’s my baby girl?” Feet called out, raising his arms for a hug.

  “Good!” Mary gave him a hug, breathing in his familiar scent of cigar smoke, onions, and BenGay. When he let her go, she gestured at the boxes sitting on the sidewalk. “What are you doing?”

  “We’re decoratin’ the car. We’re goin’ to drive in the parade like big mahafs!” Feet gestured at his massive green Bonneville.

  “What parade?” Mary asked, then remembered. “Oh, Columbus Day.”

  “Right, it’s tomorrow!” Feet answered, pronouncing it tammarah.

  “Mare, really?” Tony-From-Down-The-Block placed a gnarled hand on her shoulder. “Did you forget? Aren’t you comin’?”

  “I can’t, I have to work.” Mary knew that her father would be disappointed. He loved his drive down Broad Street in the Columbus Day Parade, a homegrown promenade of high-school bands, local dignitaries, and saturated fats. Her father and The Tonys belonged to the same Sons of Italy lodge, and tomorrow was their Super Bowl.

  Feet added, “Mare, they got a rhyme to help you remember. ‘In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue.’ So you can’t forget. That’s when Columbus discovered America!”

  “Oh, right, of course.” Mary had read there were going to be protestors at the parade, since not everybody worshipped Christopher Columbus, especially those with Wikipedia. “You know, there might be protests by people who don’t think Columbus discovered America.”

  “Stupid!” said Tony-From-Down-The-Block.

  “Dummies!” added Feet.

  Pigeon Tony didn’t reply, his beady eyes darting from one Tony to the other, and Mary suspected he knew more English, as well as world history, than he let on.

  Mary tried again. “Guys, there are some people who say that the Vikings discovered America.”

  “What do they know?” Tony-From-Down-The-Block dismissed her with a wave. “The Vikings didn’t discover nothin’!”

  “The Vikings?” Feet snorted. “Ever see what they wear? Fred Flintstone clothes!”

  Pigeon Tony looked away.

  Mary took another swing. “Didn’t you read in the paper, they say that Christopher Columbus did some bad things.”

  “Like what?” asked Tony-From-Down-The-Block.

  “Yeah, like what?” added Feet.

  Mary was about to answer, she hated to destroy the only idol they had left, now that Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin were both gone. Thank God for Tony Bennett. She took a deep breath. “Ah, you’re right! What do they know? Happy Columbus Day!”

  “Right!” Tony-From-Down-The-Block cheered.

  “Yeah!” Feet joined in.

  “Bravo, Cristoforo!” Pigeon Tony shook his little brown fist in the air, and Mary decided she had to get going. She said good-bye to each one, kissed them on the cheeks, and gave them each a hug big enough to last until she saw them again, which would probably be in fifteen minutes.

  Mary headed toward the house, thinking about how she was going to break the news to her parents, which was when she realized that maybe she could take a lesson from what had just happened. She walked up her parents’ front step, reached the screen door, and had an epiphany. She wouldn’t tell them about Anthony’s wish to move them to California. Her parents adored Anthony but they would never forgive him. And the decision she had to make by morning was about Patrick.

  She stepped inside the house. “Ma! Pop!” she called out, happy to be home.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Mary sat in the kitchen explaining the situation, and her parents sat across from her, listening. Tomato sauce, called gravy in the South Philly vernacular, bubbled away in the dented pot on the stove, and freshly percolated coffee sat cooling in cups near their hands. The air was scented with garlic and oregano, and the kitchen looked the way it had since forever: small, white, and clean, ringed by white wood cabinets, an ancient church calendar, and faded photos of Jesus Christ, John F. Kennedy, and Pope John. Evidently Pope Francis had joined the DiNunzios’ All-Star Team, in the form of a newspaper photo of the Pontiff waving from his black Fiat during the Papal Visit.

  Her mother didn’t ask any questions, but her father turned into an assistant district attorney. His mind was still sharp as a tack, but his back had been deteriorating after a lifetime of setting tile. He was bald and adorably pudgy in his white T-shirt and Bermuda shorts, and he wore trifocals with black frames. His eyes were still good, though her mother’s had worsened from a childhood spent sewing piecework in the basement of this very rowhouse. Being home only confirmed the correctness of Mary’s decision not to tell them about Anthony’s wish to move to California. It was a DiNunzio family tradition never to leave. The kitchen.

  “So, what do you think?” Mary asked, when she was finished. “Anthony doesn’t want me to take Patrick, but I’m thinking that I should. What should I do?”

  “MARE,” her father shouted. He was hard of hearing and his hearing aid did nothing but plug his ears, so he spoke only in high decibels. “OF COURSE YOU SHOULD TAKE HIM! YOU GOTTA TAKE HIM. IF YOU DON’T TAKE HIM
, YOUR MOTHER AND I WILL TAKE HIM.” Her father looked over at her mother. “RIGHT, VEET?”

  Her mother nodded but still didn’t say anything, and Mary could see her mother’s eyes glistening behind her thick glasses.

  “THAT’S HOW WE RAISED YOU. THAT’S WHAT WE BELIEVE. THAT’S WHO WE ARE. YOU GIVE TO PEOPLE, ’SPECIALLY KIDS. YOU CAN’T LET HIM GO TO NO FOSTER HOME. HE’S AN ORPHAN.”

  Her mother nodded, blinking wetness from her eyes.

  “WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO WITH HIM WHEN YOU’RE AT WORK?”

  “I’m going to cut back on my workload and work at home as much as I can. I could get a nanny to come to the house, too.”

  “PSSH!” Her father waved her off with a chubby hand. “I’LL PICK HIM UP AT SCHOOL. WHERE’S THAT SCHOOL YOU’RE TALKIN’ ABOUT? IN FAIRMOUNT?”

  “Yes,” Mary answered. Fairmount Prep was in the upscale, tree-lined neighborhood where Bennie lived, around the Art Museum.

  “IT’S ONLY FIFTEEN MINUTES AWAY. I’LL PICK HIM UP AND TAKE HIM HERE. THEN I’LL BRING HIM TO YOUR HOUSE WHEN YOU’RE DONE WORK.”

  “Pop, that’s a lot of driving.”

  “SO WHAT? I LIKE TO DRIVE. WHAT ELSE I GOTTA DO? NO STRANGER’S GONNA BABYSIT MY GRANDSON.”

  Mary felt touched at the sound of the word. Grandson.

  “EVERY DAY AFTER SCHOOL, YOUR MOTHER, SHE’LL FEED HIM HOMEMADES.”

  Mary knew he wasn’t kidding. Nothing tasted better than cold spaghetti after school, and the DiNunzios had been known to pack spaghetti in a sandwich for school.

  “YOU AND ANGIE, YOU’RE GIVERS LIKE YOUR MOTHER. YOU ALWAYS WERE. THE TWO OF YOU. PEAS IN A POD. TWINS.”

  Mary felt her chest tighten. She wished Angie could be at her wedding, but she knew it was impossible. Angie was half a world away on another mission, and Mary missed her twin every day.

  “WE MISS ANGIE BUT WE KNOW SHE’S DOIN’ THE RIGHT THING. SHE KNOWS IT INSIDE.” Her father shrugged his heavy shoulders. “THAT’S JUST HOW IT IS. TO DO THE RIGHT THING, YOU GOTTA SACRIFICE.”

  Mary felt all of his words resonating deep within her chest, and she realized that she had grown up with these values. All of her instincts had been to take Patrick and she still felt the same way, deep inside. But there was still one problem. “What about Anthony?” Mary asked them.

  “HE HAS TO SUCK IT UP. THAT’S HOW IT IS FOR THE HUSBAND. HAPPY WIFE, HAPPY LIFE. HE BETTER GET USED TO IT.”

  “Pop, don’t you think I should consider what he says? We’re about to get married. It’s less than two weeks now.”

  “YOU DID CONSIDER IT. DON’T MEAN YOU HAVE TO AGREE. HE’S WRONG. HE KNOWS IT INSIDE. HE WAS RAISED THE SAME WAY YOU WERE. EVEN THAT CRAZY ELVIRA KNOWS BETTER. WANT ME TO CALL HER?” Her father gestured at the old tan wall phone. “I BET HE DIDN’T EVEN ASK HER. HE KNOWS WHAT SHE’D SAY.”

  Mary realized that her father was onto something, and Anthony would never tell El Virus about Patrick. Anthony would keep Patrick as secret as she did the idea of moving to California.

  “ELVIRA WOULD BE VERY DISAPPOINTED IN HIM. IT’S NOT LIKE HIM. HE KNOWS BETTER. LET ME CALL HER. SHE’LL STRAIGHTEN HIM OUT.” Her father was about to stand up, but Mary put her hand on his forearm.

  “No, don’t. Don’t tell her. Don’t say anything. This is a private conversation.”

  Her father looked at her mother. “VEET, WHADDAYA THINK? SHOULD I CALL?”

  Her mother shook her head no, and her father resettled into his chair.

  Mary breathed a relieved sigh, since she was now playing emotional chicken with her beloved fiancé.

  “SO WE MADE A DECISION. RIGHT, MARE? WE’RE TAKIN’ HIM? RIGHT?”

  Mary still wanted to hear from her mother. “Ma? Do you think we should take him?”

  “Si, si.” Her mother reached for her napkin, lifted up her acetate glasses, and wiped underneath her eyes.

  “Aw, Ma.” Mary leaned over and rubbed her soft back, soft in the cotton housedress. “Thank you both for being so wonderful. I think it’s the right decision. I really do.”

  “Si, yes.” Her mother nodded, holding back her tears.

  “IT’S DEFINITELY THE RIGHT DECISION, MARE. WHEN DO WE GET HIM?” her father asked, his hooded eyes lighting up behind his trifocals. “CAN WE GET HIM IN TIME FOR THE PARADE?”

  “No, that’s why I can’t go to the parade, I’m sorry. I have to go to court to get him, tomorrow.”

  “WHAT KINDA COURT’S OPEN ON COLUMBUS DAY? THAT SHOULD BE ILLEGAL! IT’S A NATIONAL HOLIDAY!”

  “Family Court never closes,” Mary told him, without elaborating. “If we win, I can get him by the end of the day.”

  “AW, YOU’LL WIN, MARE. YOU WANT US TO COME TO COURT? WE CAN TELL THE JUDGE WE’LL TAKE GOOD CARE OF HIM.”

  “No, that’s okay, Pop. You drive in the parade. The Tonys are excited.”

  “SO WHEN’S COURT OVER? WE GOTTA GET READY FOR HIM. YOUR MOTHER’S GOTTA GO FOOD SHOPPIN’. I GOTTA GO TO THE TOY STORE.”

  “Hold on.” Mary held up her hand, but her parents were already revivified. Her father’s eyes danced behind his glasses, and her mother gave a little shiver of excitement in her housedress.

  “LET’S GO TELL THE BOYS. THEY’RE DECORATIN’ FEET’S CAR.” Her father started to get up, but Mary put a hand on his forearm.

  “Ma, Pop, there’s one important thing we all have to agree on. We don’t get to keep Patrick forever. Like I said, we’re only getting him over the hump, with his grandfather dying and his new school. Someday we’ll have to let him go, so he can be permanently adopted.”

  “Si, yes,” her mother answered, with a sly smile.

  Her father snorted. “MARE, WHO ARE YOU KIDDING?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Monday morning was clear and sunny, perfect weather for the Columbus Day Parade, and Mary felt happy for her father, The Tonys, and their decorated Pontiac, which looked like the Italian flag on wheels. Instead, she was walking down the street to the courthouse next to John, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.

  Mary glanced over at John, and everything about him looked reassuring. His perfectly clean glasses, his fresh shave, his dark reddish hair layered into place, and his lightweight gray striped suit, with a rep tie. She had never been a witness before, but she couldn’t be any more prepared than she was, and she had on a conservative navy-blue suit with low heels, trying to look worthy of being somebody’s guardian.

  Mary held her head high, hoisting her purse and messenger bag on her shoulder as they passed Love Park, so named for the iconic sculpture by Robert Indiana that spelled LOVE in red letters. It felt too ironic, given what she was doing today. She knew it was the right thing to step up for Patrick, even if it would make Anthony unhappy. He hadn’t called her or texted last night, and she hadn’t called or texted him. She gathered that they were both tabling their LOVE, hopefully only for the time being.

  THE FAMILY COURT OF PHILADELPHIA, read the metal letters over the glistening steel-and-glass monolith that anchored the corner of seventeenth and Arch Street. The new, modern building didn’t look that different from the other skyscrapers except for a handful of children, at its entrance, oblivious to the fact that they were entering a courthouse, where the biggest decisions in their young lives would be made, with or without their consultation.

  Mary walked past a man on the corner handing out flyers, and he thrust one into her hands, which she glanced at on the fly, not completely surprised that it was from a lawyer. It read, Don’t go to Family Court without a lawyer! I listen, I fight, I make them hear you! I am here for you, so call now! My office is only minutes away!

  “Come,” John said, gesturing her to the left. “The attorneys’ entrance is around the side.”

  “Thanks.” Mary tossed the flyer into a wastebasket and they walked along the shiny façade of the building, then took a right into a smoked-glass entrance hall that had only a few lawyers in line behind a massive bank of metal detectors.

  “You need
your bar card and ID. They improved the security measures here. Did you know that Family Court judges are the most threatened judges in the city?”

  “No.” Mary dug in her wallet and showed her credentials to a uniformed sheriff, then they went through security, finding themselves in a lobby with gray-marble floors and walls, which ended in a black-marble wall that held the Family Court of Philadelphia emblem, flanked by the American flag and the cobalt-blue flag of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.

  “The escalator is this way.” John led the way, but Mary heard someone call her name and turned around. It was Machiavelli. His black hair was slicked back and he had on a dark suit, expensively tailored with a silk tie, and in his hand was a black leather briefcase.

  “Mary!” he said, with a grin. “What are you doing here?”

  Mary’s mouth went dry. She didn’t want Machiavelli to know why they were here. John was ahead of her but he paused, waiting. She prayed John didn’t blow their cover. “I have a case.”

  “I didn’t know you did family law.”

  “You don’t know everything about me.”

  “Aw.” Machiavelli mock-pouted, taking a step closer. “Are you mad at me because I’m deposing Up-Chucky?”

  “I don’t care enough about you to be mad at you. I have to go.” Mary turned to leave, but Machiavelli took her arm.

  “You can still settle. It’s the only way to save Dennis the Menace from his deposition.”

  Mary tugged her arm from his hand. “I’m going to object to your deposing him.”

  “Of course you are, but we both know you’re going to lose. Settle while you can, for only two hundred grand.” Machiavelli shrugged with an ironic smile. “Yes, my demand went up. I’m punishing you for saying no. I hate that.”

  “I have to go.” Mary turned away and hurried toward John.