Home for the Holidays (7 page)

“Maybe she secretly thinks you're a hero,” Nicky said.

“Maybe she secretly thinks I'm an idiot,” Tommy said.

“Not secretly,” Donna said.

“Thanks,” Tommy said.

“Well, at least you got Dirk off our backs,” Nicky said.

“For now,” Tommy said. “But he's not done. We haven't seen the end of that guy.”

Back at the house, Nicky's mother had set up the guest room for Donna and put a futon mattress on the floor, next to Nicky's bed, for Tommy.

“Look at this,” Tommy said. “My fourth night in the country, and I get kicked out of my own bed.”

“Quit whining,” Donna said. “Sleepovers are fun. It's like camping.”

“Yeah!” Nicky said. “Let's make some more s'mores.”

“S'more s'mores,” Tommy said. “Let's make
lots
more.”

Downstairs, Nicky's mother said, “Tommy, don't you think you should call your mother?”

“I don't know,” Tommy said. “What for?”

“To let her know you're okay,” she said. “You can use the telephone in the library.”

When she had gone, Tommy said, “Which one is the library?”

Nicky led him there. Tommy looked at his watch.

“This is stupid,” he said. “My mom and Harvey will be krunked by now, if they're home. And Gramps will be asleep.”

Nicky thought about that for a moment, then said, “What do you mean, ‘krunked’?”

“I mean, it's nine o'clock,” Tommy said. “She'll be drunk.”

Nicky remembered sitting in Tommy's apartment with him. He remembered Tommy's mom, and his gramps. He understood.

“Well, you don't
have
to call now, if you don't think it's a good idea,” Nicky said.

“It's not,” Tommy said. “Let's don't and say we did.”

“Let's don't and not say anything,” Nicky said. “You can try again tomorrow.”

“I'll try again tomorrow.”

“So, s'mores?”

“S'mores.”

6

S
allie the Butcher was back at the Borelli house early the next morning to pick up his daughter and to tell Frankie and Nicky's father to come to Newton.

“We're playing poker,” he said. “A marathon game. All day long. All the guys.”

“Deal me in,” Frankie said.

“Deal me out,” Nicky's father said. “I've got to work.”

“It's Christmas!” Sallie said. “It's New Year's!”

“I've got an important meeting. You guys go ahead. I'll try and come down later.”

It was after ten-thirty when Tommy and Nicky went downstairs.

“You sleepyheads!” Grandma Tutti said. “You missed breakfast.”

“No breakfast?” Tommy said. “I could eat a horse!”

“We don't got horse,” Grandma Tutti said. “But I can make pancakes or waffles.”

“Waffles!” Nicky and Tommy said at the same time.

“You help, then,” she said. “Nicky, get the eggs. Tommy, get a big bowl from that cupboard.”

Stuffed with hot food, the two boys were deep into a round of
BlackPlanet Two
when Nicky's father looked in on them an hour later.

“Can I have Clarence drop you guys somewhere?” he asked. “I've got this meeting in Newark.”

“What's in Newark?” Nicky asked.

“The building commission,” his father said. “I have to make my pitch to them, with Peter Van Allen. Wish us luck.”

“Okay,” Nicky said. “Can Clarence take us to the mall?”

“Or you could stay and have coffee with Grandma Tutti and Father David and the old ladies from St. Monica's.”

“The mall, please.”

“Take your cell phone, then,” his father said. “Call Clarence when you're ready to come home.”

The after-Christmas sales had started. The stores were humming with activity. But the food court was almost empty, and no one was in line at the movie theater. Nicky and Tommy bought lemonades in the food court and stood staring at the marquee.

“Kid stuff,” Tommy said.

“Sequels,” Nicky said.

“Let's check out the arcade,” Tommy said.

“Okay,” Nicky said. “But I'm warning you, it's lame.”

The boys spent the next two hours playing old-fashioned pinball machines, taking breaks now and then to go back to the food court so Tommy could “steal” a refill on his lemonade. Tommy was very sneaky about it. He was having so much fun that Nicky didn't have the heart to tell him the food court offered unlimited free refills on all their drinks.

“We're killing these guys,” Tommy said as he sipped his fourth refill. “But I gotta go to the bathroom.”

“That's what you get,” Nicky said. “They're down here.”

On the way back, Tommy said, “Hey—there's your ma.”

Nicky looked. Tommy was right. Nicky said, “Mom! Hey, Mom!”

Far down the mall, Nicky's mother seemed to stop and glance at the two boys. Next to her was a tall man with dark hair. Then Nicky's mother darted into a store.

Nicky said, “C'mon!” He and Tommy jogged down the mall.

But there was no sign of her.

Tommy said, “No way that wasn't her, right?”

“It sure
looked
like her.”

“Who was the guy with her?”

“I don't know. But this is the art supply store where I get my paints and stuff.”

“Let's go inside.”

Nicky led Tommy down an aisle that had fat charcoals and big pads of sketch paper. The aisle, and the store, was empty. Nicky waved at the man behind the counter.

“Who's that?” Tommy asked.

“Mr. Silver,” Nicky said. “He owns this place.”

“Is that who your mom was with?”

“No.”

“So who was it?”

“Someone she knows from one of her charities, I guess.”

“Then what was she running away for? And where'd she go?”

“I don't know,” Nicky said. “Maybe it wasn't her. But again, I walked into the living room the other day and she was whispering on the phone to someone, and she freaked out when she saw me.”

“Wow,” Tommy said. “You think she could be working on some scam or something?”

“Tommy—it's my mom.”

“Then maybe she's got a boyfriend.”

“Tommy! Shut up!”

“I don't know!” Tommy said. “Could it be some kind of weird vegetarian thing?”

“Like what?”

“I don't know,” Tommy said. “I'm betting on the boyfriend scenario.”

“No way!” Nicky said. “That's just crazy.”

“Then, what?”

“I don't know,” Nicky said. “But not
that.
Forget that. Don't say that again.”

“Okay,” Tommy said. “I'm sorry. You wanna try that other pinball machine now?”

“No,” Nicky said. “Let's go home. I'll call Clarence.”

She wasn't sure whether Nicky had seen her. It had been a close call, though. She was getting sloppy. Going to her car, she said, “We have to be more careful about this. Maybe you shouldn't park your car so close to the house. And you should call me first, too, to make sure he's not there.”

“You don't think he knows?”

“I
know
he doesn't,” she said. “And if he finds out— well, I don't know what I'll do. He
mustn't.
It would ruin everything.”

Nicky reached Clarence in the car. He and Nicky's father were driving back from Newark and were not far from the mall. Clarence said, “We'll meet you out front in about fifteen minutes.”

Nicky was quiet on the drive home. Tommy said, “We played pinball and drank lemonade.”

“Well, I had a productive day, too,” Nicky's father said. “Van Allen is along for the ride. The building commission gave us provisional permission to go forward.”

“That sounds good,” Tommy said, “if you're sure he's not a creep like his kid.”

“No, I think he's okay,” Nicky's father said. “Nicky's met him. Didn't you think he seemed like a good guy, Nick?”

“I guess,” Nicky said.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” his father said. “But you'll see.”

Dinner was weird. Nicky couldn't look his mother in the eye. Grandma Tutti had cooked a feast, as usual— mozzarella marinara, chicken parmesan, broccoli with garlic—but Nicky had no appetite. Tommy watched his friend squirm. He tried to help.

“So what'd you do today, Mrs. Borelli?” he asked.

“Oh, this and that,” Nicky's mother said, giving Tommy a careful look. “Errands, mostly. There's still so much to do for the big party.”

“Really?” Tommy said. “Did you go shopping at the mall?”

“Not today, no,” Nicky's mother said. “Although it feels like I practically
lived
there during Christmas.”

“Really? 'Cause me and Nicky—ow!”

Tommy reached down and clutched his ankle. Nicky had just kicked him hard under the table.

“What in the world was that?” Nicky's mother said.

“I twisted my ankle at the skate park,” Tommy said. “It's still bothering me a little.”

“You should put ice,” Grandma Tutti said. “After dinner, I'll make you an ice pack.”

“Great, 'cause I think it's swollen—
now,”
Tommy said.

∗ ∗ ∗

After dinner, Tommy said, “What about another swim?” “What about if you call your mom?” “What about if you shut up and mind your own business?” Tommy said. “Anyway, it's too late.”

“Okay,” Nicky said. “In that case, we could … What about … What about if you teach me to, you know, uh …” Tommy grinned. “After last night, right?” Nicky said, “Yes. I just think I need some, like, moves.” Tommy grinned some more. “You
know
you do. You need to learn how to handle yourself.” “Exactly.”

“You need to learn how to take care of business.” “Well …”

“You wanna feel like a
manl”
Tommy grinned. “All
right.

I promise you, in half an hour I can have you ready to go

head to head with almost anybody—except me, of course.”

“I don't have to be better than you—yet.”

“Don't get ahead of yourself,” Tommy said. “Where do

you want to do this?”

“We can go in the library,” Nicky said. “There's a CD player in there.”

“Hey, there's nothing wrong with a little music.” In the library, Nicky said, “What should I put on?” “Whatever you want,” Tommy said. “It doesn't matter.” “Should it be something slow, or something with a beat?” “Who cares?” Tommy said. “Whatever inspires you. ‘Eye of the Tiger.’ Or the theme song from
Rocky.”
“Not a dance song, like ‘Macarena’ or something?”

Tommy gave him a long look. “Why? Is the other guy Spanish or something?”

“I don't know,” Nicky said. “What other guy?”

“Look, it doesn't matter,” Tommy said. “C'mere. Watch me. The most important thing to start with is the footwork, okay? Stand there. Spread your feet out a little. Bend your knees a little, too. Now, get your hands up, about like so.”

Nicky did what Tommy said. He stood facing him, feet apart, knees bent, hands at shoulder height.

“Now make a fist, but with your thumbs
outside
the fist, not inside, like this,” Tommy said, and showed Nicky his fists.

“What's that for?” Nicky asked. “Why do you make a fist?”

“Very funny,” Tommy said. “Now, start moving your feet a little, like this, right? Shift your shoulders. You're watching the other guy. You're waiting for him to move. You're getting ready.”

“Should I start the music now?”

Tommy put his hands down. “What is it with you and the music? Do you think there's going to be an orchestra playing when this stuff goes down?”

“Isn't there?” Nicky was confused. “It just makes sense. Shouldn't you be listening to music when you learn to dance?”

“Dance?”
Tommy stared at him.

“Well, yeah,” Nicky said. “What did you think?”

“I thought you wanted me to teach you how to
fight.”

“No!” Nicky said. “I want to learn how to dance.”

“Oh. All right,” Tommy said, but he looked a little let down. “I can do that. Maybe later I can teach you how to fight, too.”

Nicky got some CDs from his room and brought them down to the library. Tommy inspected them—“Too fast. Too depressing. Not bad.”—and made his selections.

“We'll start with the easy stuff, okay?” he said. “Look at me. Stand here. Now, you feel the beat? Just pick up your feet a little and move your arms.”

Nicky did, while Tommy watched.

“Oh boy,” Tommy said. “This could take a while.”

They practiced for an hour. Nicky began to feel like a dancer. Tommy showed him the simple stuff, then the more difficult stuff.

“You're doing great,” Tommy said. “Remember, it takes most guys years to develop these moves.”

“It took me a long time to learn the box step and the fox-trot,” Nicky said. “I had to go to cotillion for, like, two years to learn that and the waltz and a bunch of other junk.”

“I bet you could teach me pretty quick, though, huh?” Tommy said.

“Why would you want to know?”

“I don't know,” Tommy said. “But it seems like, with a girl like Amy, you probably ought to know how to do the slow-dance stuff.”

“A girl like Amy, eh?” Nicky said. “You little devil.”

Tommy blushed. “I'm not saying anything.”

“Well, I'll show you anyway—just in case,” Nicky said. “Put on something slow.”

“Yeah? Then?” Tommy said.

“Give me your hand,” Nicky said. “Like this.”

It felt a little weird. Nicky stood with his left hand raised, holding Tommy's right hand, and his other hand on Tommy's hip. But Tommy was a good student. Within minutes, he was going one-two-and-three-four like a pro.