At Peace (The 'Burg #2)(186)

Then she handed me a photo frame.

Automatically my hand reached out and I took it. Then I brought it toward me and stared.

In it was Joe sitting on one of the benches just inside Vinnie’s Pizzeria. There was no one sitting with him. He was alone and in profile, the scarred side of his much younger face to the camera.

It was a black and white but the sun was shining through the windows of the door and it gleamed against the highly polished wood all around Joe. His shoulders were to the high back of the bench, his legs were stretched straight in front of him, his feet crossed at the ankles.

Smack in the center of his big chest was a little baby, Joe’s arm curved around his baby bottom, the baby tucked in that baby ball only babies could make. His baby knees under him, his baby booty in the air.

The baby was asleep, his face turned toward the camera, his cheek on Joe’s chest, his little baby fist also resting on Joe’s chest close to his beautiful little baby face.

Joe’s head was leaning back against the bench, his eyes closed. He looked asleep too. Even if he was asleep, the way he had his son nestled against his chest, safe in the protection of his powerful arm, his bicep stretching the material of his ever-present t-shirt tight, screamed the fact that Joe would allow nothing to hurt his boy, asleep, awake, ever.

Unless he wasn’t there.

Which, when something hurt his son, he wasn’t.

I stared at Joe’s profile. He didn’t look happy, he looked at peace and that peace had nothing to do with sleep.

Father and son taking a catnap at the family Pizzeria.

God, but they were beautiful.

Silent tears slid down my cheeks.

“I don’t know if he has photos,” Aunt Theresa said. “He wasn’t around much after so we didn’t come down much and then we stopped because he was never around at all.”

Kate and Keira had scooted to me and then they surrounded me. Both put a hand to the photo and I felt Bea lean in.

“I got tons of pictures of him. Some with the skank in and Manny says he can scan them and do somethin’ called ‘Photoshop’ her out. But I figure Cal’ll know she was there and I don’t want him to have that reminder of her with him and Nicky,” Aunt Theresa said, still businesslike, even brusque and I knew she had to be because if she wasn’t at that moment she’d be a mess just like me.

“No,” I choked, my eyes still riveted to the picture, “no, you’re right. Bonnie doesn’t get that.”

“But enough time has passed. Nicky needs to come home,” Aunt Theresa declared. “So we’ll start with that one and, later, I’ll give you the rest.”

“Yes,” I whispered, the tears still sliding down my cheeks, “Nicky needs to come home.”

And I knew where Nicky would live. By Tim and Sam on our shelves. Tim and Sam would take care of him. They’d always be together and they’d always be with us.

“That Joe’s boy?” Kate whispered from beside me and I nodded then turned my head to my daughter and, as hers was so close, I leaned in and kissed her hair. Then I inhaled its scent and I memorized it even though I already had it memorized.

“Yeesh,” Keira breathed, “Joe’s even hot holdin’ a baby.”

“Keira!” Kate snapped but a short giggle came out of me and I turned to my youngest and kissed her hair too.

“Can I see?” Bea asked softly and me and my girls turned to her.

“Yeah,” I said softly back, handed her the frame and wiped the tears from my cheeks

She took it and bent her head to study it.

Then, her eyes not leaving the photo, she whispered, “He lost his son.”

It hit me belatedly that this was something they shared and it hit hard and sharp, piercing my heart.

“Bea,” I murmured, my hand moving to curl around her leg and Keira shifted to sit on the floor at her feet where she leaned in and put her cheek to her Gramma’s knee.

Bea settled a hand on Keira’s hair as Kate moved around the back of the couch to sit on the armrest by Bea and she leaned in to put her cheek to the top of her Gramma’s head.

Bea’s eyes moved to me.

“I know how that feels,” she said quietly.

“I know you do,” I said on a throaty whisper as fresh tears hit my cheeks.

“I had mine longer, though,” she went on and her gaze went to Theresa, “he had time to give me my babies.”

“Yes, cara, count your blessings even through your loss,” Aunt Theresa advised gently, knowing, too, what it felt like to lose a son.

Bea looked at me and handed back the picture.

“I like him, hon,” she said quietly, “but…”

“What, Bea?” I prompted when she stopped talking.

“You think he liked my pie?” she asked.

I felt my brows inch together at her strange question and Kate’s head came up but her arm slid around her Gramma and she gave her a squeeze.

“He loved your pie, Gram.”

“Yeah,” Keira affirmed, looking up at Bea, “he had another piece after you left.”

“He did?” Bea asked her voice weirdly hopeful.

“Yeah,” Keira answered, smiling, “he did.”

Bea looked at me again. “You think…?” she started then stopped.