Home for the Holidays (11 page)

Tommy looked disappointed. “Free? I stole all those drinks for nothing?”

“Yeah. Kinda. Listen, did you ever do paintball?”

“No.”

“Me neither. I want to do paintball.”

“Me too,” Tommy said. “What's that?”

That
was Walter Wager, from Nicky's school. He was jogging down the center of the mall, carrying four or five large bags from the department store, in a hurry. Chasing him were three other kids, led by Dirk Van Allen. One kid punched a hole in one of Walter's bags. Something fell out. Walter bent down to pick it up. Another kid grabbed Walter's shoelaces and untied them. Walter said, “Cut it out!” and set his bags down to tie his shoes. The third kid kicked one of Walter's bags like it was a soccer ball. It skidded down the mall while Walter cried out, “No! Stop it!”

Then Dirk grabbed him and tugged at his pants from behind. Walter was standing in the middle of the Car-rington Mall with his shoes untied, his packages scattered all around him, and tears started to stream down his face.

Dirk was cackling madly. “Boo hoo, Wally,” he said as he swatted Wally's backside. “Boo hoo hoo.”

“That's it.” Tommy was moving before Nicky could stop him.

He ran across the mall, Nicky chasing him, and planted himself in front of Dirk. “How about fighting someone who can fight back, huh?” he said. “How about that?”

Dirk didn't put his fists up. Instead, he grinned strangely and said, “Gee, let me think about it for a second.”

Nicky saw why. He shouted, “Tommy! Look out!” but it was too late. Dirk's three friends came at Tommy from behind. The first slugged him in the back of the head just
as the second dove into the backs of his knees. Tommy went down hard. Then all four boys were on top of him.

Tommy could handle Dirk, but Nicky knew he was no match for Dirk and three friends, even if Nicky helped. He ran back to the lemonade stand and said, “Call security! Quick!”

The security men were already on their way, running down the mall, shouting and blowing whistles. They pulled the boys away from each other.

Tommy's jeans were ripped, and one of his shoes was missing, but otherwise he looked okay.

“We're taking you in,” the security man said.

“Why me?” Dirk said. “I didn't do anything! This guy went crazy and attacked me. My friends were just trying to get him off me.”

The two security men looked at each other. They hadn't seen what had happened. But they knew Dirk Van Allen and his friends—and his father.

And they'd never seen Tommy before. One security man said to Dirk, “Okay. Take off.” Then he looked at Tommy. “You, come with me.”

Nicky's mother and father were
not
happy. They sat in the den with the two boys. The sun had gone down. From somewhere in the house, a clock chimed five times. Nicky's father sighed deeply.

“We talked about this over the summer, Tommy,” he said. “I can't have you dragging Nicholas into this kind of violence.”

“Dad, he didn't drag me into—”

“Don't interrupt your father,” Nicky's mother said.

“But we—”

“Nicholas!” his mother said. “It's bad enough that this has happened. You're making it worse by inventing a story about Tommy rescuing some boy who was being beaten up.”

“But, Mom! It's true! Walter—”

“We went over this with the security people at the mall,” she said. “They said there was no other boy involved.”

“You're just lucky the people over there know me,” Nicky's father said to Tommy. “Otherwise they might have turned you over to the police. Assault is no laughing matter around here.”

The doorbell rang. Nicky's mother looked at her watch and said, “Now who could
that
be?”

Nicky's father said, “Don't move. I'm not finished with you.”

He came back in a moment. Behind him were a man and a woman Nicky didn't recognize. Behind
them
was Walter Wager.

“We've come to thank Nicky's friend for stepping in and helping our son today,” the man said. “It's Tommy, isn't it? You're the boy from Brooklyn?”

Tommy, looking nervously at Nicky's father, nodded.

“Well, thank you,” the man said. “What you did today was quite heroic. Are you feeling all right?”

Tommy nodded. “They didn't really get me.”

“Who didn't?” Nicky's father asked. “Maybe you'd better explain what happened.”

“My son Walter here was being pushed around by that Dirk Van Allen and some of his friends,” the man said. “Tommy jumped in and made them stop. One boy against four. That's real bravery.”

“Or stupidity,” Nicky's father said. “I didn't realize … That is, the boys were just explaining what happened.”

“He deserves a commendation,” Walter's father said. “Or at the very least, a token of our appreciation. I don't know if you're familiar with the Bookworm, in Canfield, but that's our store. I have a couple of gift certificates here for you boys. I hope you'll come by and pick something out for yourselves.”

Walter's father presented Nicky and Tommy with matching envelopes that said
The Bookworm
on the outside.

“Thank you both, again,” the man said. “Thank you for watching out for my boy. Walter, don't you have something to say?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Walter said, staring at the floor. “I mean, you know, like—thanks.”

“Fugheddaboudit,”
Tommy said.

Walter looked up from the floor and said, “Huh?”

“He means, ‘no problem,’” Nicky said.

When the Wagers had gone, Nicky's father said, “I'm not sure that makes things any different. Fighting is fighting, even if the other guys start it. I don't ever want to have this conversation again—understand?”

Both boys nodded.

“All right,” he said. “Now let's see if we can get down to the party before those animals have devoured all the food.”

Nicky and his parents, with Grandma Tutti and Tommy, got to the Newton bed-and-breakfast well before seven. The food wasn't gone yet. In fact, the guys from Brooklyn had laid on a feast. There were a ham and a roast beef. There were prosciutto and mozzarella. There were regular lasagna and spinach lasagna. There were baskets of bread and jugs of wine. Everyone seemed to be eating and drinking—a lot.

Nicky had never seen anything like it. He'd never seen grown-ups have this kind of fun. Parties in Carrington were always very polite. These grown-ups appeared to be really enjoying themselves.

Charlie Cement had taken a lampshade off a lamp and was pretending that it was a sombrero. He was singing the “Mexican Hat Dance” and skipping around the room. Jimmy the Iceman was trying to slow dance with his girlfriend, Janice, but she was trying to finish a conversation with Sallie the Butcher's wife—Donna's mother. When Bobby Car Service noticed that there was a piano in the parlor, he started playing it. Everyone gathered around and listened tearfully while he sang “'O Sole Mio” in Italian, and then they laughed while he sang “That's Amore” just like Dean Martin.

Nicky, sitting with Donna and Tommy, said, “How often do they get like this?”

“Just for special occasions,” Donna said.

“New Year's Day, Columbus Day, Friday …,” Tommy said. “Unless it's my mom, in which case it's every day.”

After the food was all gone, Oscar the Undertaker made a speech. Charlie Cement proposed a toast. Uncle Frankie told Nicky's father he loved him. Grandma Tutti cried. Nicky's father said, “I think this is the start of a wonderful new year. I wish each and every one of you all the health and happiness in the world. My only resolution is to see more of you all, more often. To the happy new year!”

“Happy new year!” everyone shouted, and raised their glasses.

It was late when the party broke up. Nicky and Tommy fell asleep in the car going home. When they arrived, they stumbled out of the car and up the stairs to Nicky's bedroom.

But then Nicky had trouble falling asleep. Too much had happened. Too much was going on. He felt like he had a lot to worry about. He heard Tommy shifting around in bed, too.

“You can't sleep, either, huh?” Nicky said. “Does your head hurt?”

“A little,” Tommy said. “One of those guys really smacked me.”

“It looked like it,” Nicky said. “I hate to think what would've happened if those security guys hadn't come.”

“Are you kidding? I woulda
killed
them guys. What I wouldn't give to see 'em again.”

“You might get another chance, at the Snow Ball,” Nicky said. “Maybe we should think about not going.”

Tommy rose up on one elbow and looked at Nicky. “Why not?”

“Well, you know Dirk is going to be there, with his friends. Now that we know who his dad really is, maybe we should stay out of his way.”

“Wow,” Tommy said. “I completely forgot about that. He could have us whacked.”

The boys thought about that for a minute. Then Tommy said, “But that's stupid. No one's going to whack a couple of teenagers in public, in a place like Carrington, at a thing like the Snow Ball. Right?”

“Right,” Nicky said. “Right?”

“Right,” Tommy said. “Besides, you already invited Donna, and I already agreed to take Amy. We gotta show up, or we'll look like weenies … which is worse than getting whacked.”

9

T
he boys from Brooklyn had all gone home. Sallie the Butcher had agreed to let Donna come back to Car-rington for the Snow Ball but had decided to take her back to Brooklyn until then.

That morning Frankie was up early again. He found Grandma Tutti in the kitchen drinking coffee and kneading dough.

“Morning, Ma,” he said. “You making bread?” “No, I'm making meat loaf,” she said. “What does it look like?”

“I don't know, Ma. You know me and cooking.” “I know you and
eating.
Where are you going so early? Don't you have time for breakfast?”

“No, Ma,” Frankie said, and kissed Grandma Tutti on the cheek. “I said I'd go into town and meet Nick.”

Grandma Tutti beamed. “My boys! Together again! Are you going to come work for him?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Frankie said. “He just wants to show me his building. So I gotta go shave.”

Nicky and Tommy woke up while Frankie was getting ready. They went downstairs to the smells of baking bread and frying bacon. Grandma Tutti was working at the stove.

“How do you want your eggs?” she asked.

“Scrambled,” Nicky said.

“Me too,” Tommy said.

“Sit,” Grandma Tutti said.

Just then Nicky's cell phone rang. He dashed from the room to take the call.

“This is Sean O'Farrell,” a man with an Irish accent said to him. “I'm returning a call to this number.”

“Yes, thank you,” Nicky said. “I want to come talk to you about that Patrick Arlen thing.”

“Well, come, then,” the reporter said. “The press never sleeps.”

“I can be there in an hour or two,” Nicky said.

“Ta-ta for now, then.”

Nicky hung up and met his father coming into the kitchen. “You're taking calls pretty early,” he said. “Try to keep it down, okay? Your mother's not feeling well.”

“What's wrong with her?” Nicky asked.

“Probably a cold,” his father answered. “Maybe she's tired. She just wants to sleep in.”

“If she'd eat my chicken soup, I'd have her up in an hour,” Grandma Tutti said.

“Don't start, Ma, please,” Nicky's father said. “What do you boys have cooked up for the day?”

“Nothing, yet,” Nicky said. “I wish it wasn't so cold. We can't really ride bikes, or skate, or do anything out of doors.”

“Maybe you should go to Canfield, to that bookstore.”

“Maybe,” Nicky said.

“Or you should work on your dance moves,” his father said, and winked.

Nicky blushed. “Dad! How did—”

“I'm sorry,” his father said. “I shouldn't kid you about it, but Clarence told me you guys were working up some kind of routine.”

“I just wanted to learn to dance a little.”

“I think it's great,” his father said. “Me, I never learned how to dance. Frankie's a great dancer—a natural. But I was always too shy. To this day, except for two minutes at my wedding, I've never danced a step.”

“It was a beautiful wedding,” Grandma Tutti said. “Not like Frankie's, since it wasn't all Italian—but beautiful.”

“If I live to be a hundred, I'll never hear the end of this,” Nicky's father said. “Try to remember you're a guest in my house, Ma. Try to be nice.”

“I am trying,” Grandma Tutti said. “This is the best I can do.”

“Try harder,” Nicky's father said. “And tell your favorite
son, if he ever comes down here, that I'm warming up the car.”

After breakfast, Nicky said, “I'm gonna go up and see Mom.”

“Ask her if she wants some breakfast,” Grandma Tutti said.

Nicky found her sitting in bed, in dim light, with a book on her lap, and her eyes closed. Nicky looked and then started to leave.

“Nicky? What's wrong?”

He went to her. “Nothing, Mom. I just came up to see how you were doing. Grandma wants to know if you want breakfast.”

“I'm fine,” she said. “But no breakfast. I might get up for lunch.”

“Could I bring it up here? Or get you some tea or something?”

“You're sweet,” she said, and smiled. She seemed so weak. And sick. She was never sick. Seeing her like this was scary to Nicky.