A Mobster's Independence Day Picnic (2 page)

“Was that a toast or a prayer?” Carla whispered to Jeremy.

“I think that there was more in her lemonade than she let on,” Jeremy answered. “How’s your tofu salad?”

“Awful,” Carla said.

“What?”

“I’m trying to eat healthy for the baby, but I have to admit I’m not a tofu fan. I like the salad part, though.”

“See now,” Harry said, leaning in. “You’re already a good mother, not wanting your child to turn into a bean. It’s very touching.”

“I have to admit, I’m craving meat,” Carla said. “I think my morning sickness has finally passed, and I’m getting my appetite back.”

“When I was in high school, I ate twenty-three hamburgers in one sitting,” Harry said.

“That’s just not right,” Aunt Shirley said. “I can’t believe what you put your mother through.”

“What are you talking about? My dad got a shipment of surplus burgers the night before, and my mom had to cook them before they all went bad. I didn’t eat after that for days.”

“Really, I think we should talk about politics,” Jeremy said. “Even religion.”

“I think we should talk about your wedding reception,” Mary Charlotte said. “That was one doozy of a party last month. I’ve never seen people exit a building faster than that day. Even the old people like me ran out of there.”

Jeremy’s shoulders slumped, and Carla gazed up at the sky in a silent prayer.

“I thought we weren’t going to bring up the reception,” Jeremy said. “We initiated the fifty-year vow of silence rule.”

“I think it’s been fifty years in old-people time, since there’s no telling when we’re going to kick off,” Betty said. “Old-people time is like cat or dog years, only…faster.”

“I swear on my sweet mother’s grave, I didn’t know that those doves were going to flock together,” Charlie said. He was standing at the side, trying to clean off the lemonade from his arms and face with a wet wipe. “Talk about bird poop.”

“Here we go again, talking about bodily functions,” Aunt Shirley said.

“You know that some cultures believe if a bird poops on your head, it’s good luck,” Annalisa said.

Charlie was hopping from one foot to another, still trying to wipe off his arms. “Yeah, but it’s not good luck in my culture,” he said.

“Are you dancing?” Uncle Frank asked, squinting at him. “Is this some kind of new dance? It looks kind of awkward.”

“It’s not dancing. It’s ANTS!” Charlie yelled. “They’re on to my lemonade scent, and they’re climbing up my shorts.”

“You know when ants swarm together it could mean bad weather is coming,” Annalisa added. She peered up into the cloudless sky.

“Stop with the superstitions,” Aunt Shirley said. She told Charlie to go to the restrooms to wash off.

“It’s too late,” Charlie said. “They’re in my shorts and shirt!” He tossed the wet wipe aside and tore off his shirt and shorts. He circled the picnic tables, swatting at his skin.

“For goodness sake,” Aunt Shirley said. “Put your clothes back on. And just where did you get red-white-and-blue boxers?”

“Swim trunks!” Charlie yelled as he continued to swat the ants away. “I wore swim trunks in case we went swimming.” A man and woman stopped on the path, openly staring at Charlie. The woman had a white-knuckle grip on a baby stroller.

“You realize there’s no pool or lake in this park, right?” Harry asked Charlie.

“I wore them in case Connie Patchachi invited me to her house for the holiday. She has a Jacuzzi.”

“Don’t worry,” Annalisa yelled over to the young couple. “We’re just a normal family.”

The man and woman hurried off, pushing the stroller ahead of them.

Charlie gave up trying to brush the ants away and ran off towards the pavilion.

Uncle Frank cleared his throat. “I think we should stop trying to be a normal family. There is no such thing as a normal family. The world is filled with abnormal families. That’s what’s normal. Just look at all the people around us, they’re as normal as we are.”

Other park patrons were giving the family’s picnic area a wide berth, deciding to walk on the grass instead of the path. Annalisa invited several of them over for lemonade, but the walkers just hurried on.

“What’s the big deal about being normal, anyway?” Harry asked. “Who started all this normal business? I think we should just be comfortable with the way we are.”

“You’re suggesting we be comfortable in our dysfunction?” Annalisa said. “That doesn’t really sound healthy to me.”

“Stop with the psychology, please,” Aunt Shirley said. Uncle Frank put his fork down and stared straight ahead, breathing evenly. Most of the family took this as a cue to return to their meals.

“Speaking of superstitions, I carry around a lucky penny,” Harry said. He pulled out his wallet and fished the penny out, holding it up. “My dad gave it to me for my eighth birthday. I’ve been carrying it around ever since.”

Uncle Tommy leaned across the table and inspected the penny. “That’s a 1943 copper penny,” he stated evenly.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “My dad said it was one of a kind and would give me luck with whatever I do. I’ve found that it’s worked pretty good except for Connie Patchachi at the deli. I keep on asking her out, but she never says yes.”

“That’s a very valuable coin,” Uncle Tommy said, returning to his salad.

“Tell me about it,” Harry said. “I can’t tell you the times it’s worked finding merchandise that’s fallen off of trucks. It’s almost like it leads me there.”

“I mean that the coin itself is valuable,” Uncle Tommy said. “It’s not one of a kind, there were actually about forty made.”

“I didn’t know you were a coin collector,” Aunt Shirley said. “How nice for you to have a hobby besides taking care of the family.”

Uncle Tommy opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself.

Charlie came walking back to the picnic table, sopping wet. “Water balloons,” he said by way of explanation. “The kids pelted me with them and that finally got the ants away.” He put his shirt and pants back on, and Harry made room for him at the table.

“How valuable do you think it is?” Harry asked Uncle Tommy. “I mean, should I keep it in a piece of plastic, maybe? Should I laminate it?”

“I think a bank vault would be more appropriate,” Uncle Tommy answered. “Virtually all the pennies made in 1943 were made of steel. They’ve only found a dozen or so of the ones that were made of copper.”

Everyone at the table stopped eating to look at him.

“Just how much is it worth?” Carla asked.

“I heard of one recently sold for over $100,000,” Uncle Tommy said calmly.

Harry choked on his lemonade, and Jeremy absently patted him on the back. “You’re sure?” Harry asked Uncle Tommy, handing him the penny.

Uncle Tommy took it and turned it over in his palm. “You’ll have to get it appraised, of course,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure.” He handed it back to Harry and returned to his salad.

“Holy cow, you’re a penny tycoon,” Charlie said. “What are you going to do now that you’re rich?”

Harry rubbed the penny between his fingers. “Wow, the whole world seems open to me now. I’m kind of tongue-tied.”

“What have you always dreamed about doing?” Jeremy asked him. “My dream was to discover a new cranberry flavor for Thanksgiving, but that didn’t work out for me. My cupcake business dream has worked out really well.”

“Do?” Harry asked, still slightly dazed. “You mean what would I do besides work for the family? I’ve always worked for the family. It’s my life.”

“Just pretend that you’ve got a huge hunk of cash, and you can do anything you want,” Carla suggested. “You can sit on a beach in the Caribbean. You can buy real estate. You could give some money away to charity. You could have a job in the library. Just let your mind go. That’s what I did when I discovered my love for icing cupcakes. I asked myself if I could do anything in the world, what would it be?” Carla paused, considering the container of cupcakes in the center of the table. “Speaking of cupcakes…” she said, pulling out a cupcake frosted in white icing with sprinkles on the top. “I don’t think one little cupcake will be bad for the baby.”

Everyone reached in and grabbed a cupcake before Carla could close the cover.

“If you make babies half as good as you make cupcakes, you’re going to have a beautiful genius child,” Charlie said. He turned to Harry. “Really, what’s your dream?”

“Well—” Harry started, his face turning an alarming shade of red.

Aunt Shirley gasped. “Really? You’ve been thinking about leaving the family business? You’ve been in the business since you were old enough to run numbers for Vito. I remember you running around on your tricycle with a fistful of paper picks.”

“Everybody has dreams, Aunt Shirley,” Jeremy said. “I don’t think it’s an affront to the family. What is it, Harry?”

Harry hesitated, focusing on the penny.

“It’s all right,” Carla said, reaching over to touch his arm. “What is it?”

“I’ve always wanted to own my own flower cart,” Harry said, biting his lip and looking around the table. “You know, one of those carts people roll out onto a city sidewalk? I was picking up a shipment of hot Japanese folding fans in San Francisco with my dad when I was seven, and there was a guy selling flowers on a corner. I loved everything about it—the colors in the flowers, the variety of his selection, the hat the guy wore, the way he made friends with everybody passing by. Everybody was happy when they bought flowers from him. I know it’s weird, but—”

“It’s not weird,” Annalisa said. “I think it’s charming.”

“It’s definitely not what I think of you doing,” Charlie said after a pause. “But everybody’s got their own dream. When I was little, I dreamt of being an astronaut. It was the whole math thing that destroyed that dream.”

“I think you should do it,” Jeremy said with conviction. “Sell your lucky penny, and buy yourself a flower cart. With the weather around here, you could be open for business a full nine months out of the year.”

“Wouldn’t he lose his luck if he sold his lucky penny?” Annalisa said.

Everyone sat still, considering her question.

“I think there’s an exemption,” Charlie said. “If your lucky piece has a value of more than six hundred dollars, you can sell it and retain all your luck.”

“I think that rule has something to do with the Internal Revenue Service, not luck,” Jeremy said.

“I know!” Charlie exclaimed. “We’ll just have to get him a new lucky charm.” He glanced around the park. “We could find him a four leaf clover or even a rabbit’s foot—”

“Eeew,” Annalisa said. “You will not be giving him a rabbit’s foot. That’s barbaric.”

“Well, I didn’t mean let’s get him a rabbit’s foot right
now
,” Charlie said. “We’d have to special order one from eBay. And I don’t think they really use an actual rabbit’s foot. That
would be
barbaric.”

“Still,” Annalisa said. “I think a four leaf clover is a fine idea. Traditionally, each leaf represents an idea. In this case, it’s faith, hope, love, and luck.” She joined Charlie searching in the grass. Uncle Frank abandoned his gelatin to help them.

“Gosh, I think it’s great that you’re studying superstitions instead of psychology,” Harry said, peering at the ground. “I didn’t know how much more dysfunction I could take.”

“Holy crow,” Uncle Frank said, trying to sit upright. “I think I’ve got one.” He gripped a clover between his thumb and index finger.

Uncle Tommy leaned in, lifting up his sunglasses. “There are five leaves on that clover,” he said.

“Five leaves!” Harry said. “Does that mean I get extra luck?”

“Maybe it’s an anti-luck leaf. You get faith, hope, love, luck, and destruction,” Charlie said. “I’d be careful of that clover.” He turned to Annalisa. “So really what does a five leaf clover mean? “

“I don’t think I’ve gotten that far yet,” she said. “I’ll have to do more research.”

“Well,” I’m going with the extra-luck theory,” Harry said.

“Hey, what’s that?” Carla asked, looking towards the station wagon. Red smoke was leaking out of one of the fireworks boxes under the tree.

“Oh, no,” Charlie said. “The sun was too much for it. It’s going to blow. It’s the fifth leaf. It’s raining death and destruction on our picnic!”

Charlie started to walk to the boxes, but Uncle Tommy snagged his collar. “Not a good idea.”

“Those firecrackers are dangerous,” Aunt Shirley said. “I’ve heard even smoke bombs can kill you.”

Sixty minutes later, the bomb squad had finished securing all three fireworks boxes. Although nothing had exploded, everyone in the park had seen the red smoke. A collection of fire trucks and emergency vehicles were parked haphazardly throughout the entire parking lot. A huge crowd of people ringed the lot, watching them finish up. Jeremy and Carla handed out cupcakes to all the emergency personnel, and they stood around, licking icing off their fingers.

“Good thing they didn’t know who brought those boxes,” Harry said.

“I think it’s a sign,” Aunt Shirley said. “A message from God telling us not to buy contraband fireworks any more. She paused. “Maybe contraband
anything
.”

Everyone in the family stared at her, open-mouthed.

“Excuse me,” Jeremy asked. “What did you just say?”

“Everyone heard me,” Aunt Shirley answered. “I think that smoke bomb was like Moses’ burning bush. It sent us a message.”

“We have to ask Pharaoh to let our people go?” Mary Charlotte asked. “Honestly, I don’t think Egypt has Pharaohs anymore. And unless a lot has changed since I was at the nunnery, I think God stopped using plagues a while ago.”

“No, I think the message is for us to look at…alternative family business arrangements,” Aunt Shirley said.

“But we’re mobsters,” Charlie said. “The only thing I know how to do is pick up stuff that’s fallen off trucks and run numbers. Even though we’re a gentle family, without all the violence and stuff.”

“Well, I moved away from the family business,” Jeremy said. “Cupcakes have certainly worked for me.”

“I’ve always wanted to sail the world in a boat,” Aunt Shirley said. “It doesn’t have to be a big boat. Just large enough for a captain and a couple of family members and a wine rack.”