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  It was good advice.

  I ended up sitting on the stairs with him beside me on the stoop, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He had finally calmed enough to address his daughter.

  “You were supposed to be with Aurora, but when we went by to get you, you weren’t there.”

  “No, I know, I’m so sorry.”

  “Aurora said you were studying with Michael, but since I don’t know any Michael and I don’t know his family or who’s at home with him while you’re there, I came over here to see what was what.”

  “And you brought Mom?”

  “I insisted,” Mrs. Tulia chimed in. “I didn’t want your father to kill anybody.”

  Seemed reasonable, I thought, even as I cleared my throat. “They were alone for a bit, Mr. Tulia, I won’t lie, but I get home every day around five, so I was there soon after, and they had soup and sandwiches.”

  Mrs. Tulia wanted to know what kind of soup, and I said tomato and then told her about the grilled cheese without being asked.

  “That combination is always good.” She smiled.

  “I think so,” I agreed.

  “I’m sorry I hit ya.”

  “Thanks.” I grinned, turning to Mr. Tulia. The way he had almost snapped out the apology told me it was sincere. He was mad at himself; it was there in his voice.

  “So you’re Michael’s father?”

  “You’re up,” I told my friend the lothario.

  Michael explained that I was his friend and that he actually lived with his uncle.

  “Who’s your uncle?”

  “It’s not a big deal, Mr. Tulia.”

  “Michael?” Danielle looked at him oddly. “What?”

  “Just—”

  “His uncle’s name is Andreo. Andreo Fiore.” Danielle smiled at her father.

  The gasp from Mrs. Tulia surprised me, as did the hand she clasped over her mouth.

  “What?” Danielle asked.

  Mr. Tulia swore under his breath, and I turned to peer at him.

  He took a shuddering breath before he turned to me, his jaw set, unable to hide how scared he suddenly was but ready to face the firing squad. “When do you expect Mr. Fiore?”

  I shook my head slowly. “We don’t expect him. He’ll be home whenever, I guess, but this is between us, Mr. Tulia. Michael’s a good boy, and I appreciate you letting Dani come by. I promise you that he’ll be a gentleman at your house and that when Dani comes over here in the future that either Dreo or—”

  “You can vouch for him, can you? You know Michael well enough?”

  I looked up at the long, lanky boy with the lopsided grin and dark brown-black eyes who always carried around just a hint of sadness in the set of his shoulders. “Yes.”

  “Nate?”

  I returned my eyes to the older man.

  “You have kids?”

  “A son.”

  “Okay, so you get it, that you need to know where they are, who they’re with.”

  “Course.”

  “Fine.”

  But it didn’t sound like it was. “Mr. Tulia?”

  He took a breath. “I can’t have my girl over here in Dreo Fiore’s house, Nate.”

  “What?”

  “I have no problem with Mr. Fiore or Mr. Romelli.”

  “I don’t know Mr. Romelli.”

  “That’s Dreo’s boss,” Michael told me.

  “Oh, okay.” I smiled at Mr. Tulia. “Well, if you’re not comfortable with Danielle—”

  “Michael can come by our house, all right, Nate?”

  “Oh.” I was both surprised and happy. “Thank you,” I said, because the rest of it was lost on me, but I knew Michael wanted to be allowed to see the girl who made him breathless and twitchy with anticipation.

  He nodded. “How do you know Dreo Fiore, Nate?”

  “We’re neighbors,” I told him, thinking of something. “Mr. Tulia, Michael and I are going to the opera tomorrow night; would you allow Danielle to go with us?”

  “You’re going to the opera?” Mrs. Tulia asked me, finding her voice finally.

  “Yes, we are,” I said, standing and putting an arm around Michael’s shoulders. “And Michael and I will be in our suits, so—”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Tulia nodded. “Danielle can go.”

  My smile was big because I saw it in her face—she trusted me with her kid.

  “What is it you do, Nate?”

  I explained that I was an English professor at the University of Chicago and what kind of classes I taught, and the longer I talked, the more the Tulias’ eyes started to glaze over, just like everyone’s always did, because I was going on and on about Chaucer and Milton and Jesus God could I please just frickin’ stop?

  It was just so ordinary and benign, and Danielle was nodding because she really liked Michael, and the more I spoke and bored the hell out of her folks, the more everything seemed like it had swung back over to normal.

  Michael had his hand on the back of my topcoat, and I could feel the weight of it as he held on. And it was doubtful that he was even registering that he was touching me, but I understood because Jared used to do that as well. In Michael’s head, I was the adult, he was the kid, and so, just for a moment, he sought comfort.

  Mr. Tulia listened to me, looked at Michael, and watched his daughter.

  Mrs. Tulia took my hand, nodded, and apologized for her husband’s temper.

  As I looked at them, I had to smile. They were such stereotypical parents, him all glowering and protective and his wife trying to inject the gentleness and warmth after the flaring of anger. I liked them both already even though the man had left another bruise on my face.

  “You understand, Nate; this is the man’s daughter that we were over here to check on.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I never had a girl, so I don’t know exactly what that’s like, but I did raise a boy, so I get the frustration over an adult not being home. I mean, that was the problem, right? Where the hell was I? What the hell kind of chaperone am I?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Tulia said like finally I got it.

  “Come with us,” Mrs. Tulia said suddenly. “Our son Johnny has a restaurant off Clybourn. You’ll love it.”

  But I had a date.

  Michael’s hands were like a vise on my bicep. Danielle’s hand slipped into mine. Both of them were screwing with my love life with the pleading puppy dog looks on their faces.

  “Sure,” I said with a sigh. “But you guys get to ride with me and listen to my music.”

  Michael groaned loudly. “Fine, just no Hall and Oates, okay?”

  I cackled, and Mr. Tulia laughed too.

  “Let me go get my phone,” I told the small assembly, and I was excused to return to my apartment to retrieve it.

  I had missed five calls, and they were all from Sean.

  “Nate?”

  “Yeah,” I said as I took the elevator back down. “I’m so sorry; I forgot my phone when I left my apartment to take Michael—”

  “It’s okay, and I’m sorry to cut you off, but I have to go to work right now.”

  “Oh.” I was disappointed, and it was stupid because I would have been canceling on him anyway, but the idea that he was blowing me off was sort of depressing.

  “No-no-no, please don’t think that I’m not ready to beg you to reschedule. It’s just that I want to be a pediatric surgeon, and we have this case that—”

  “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain.”

  “Nate, listen. There’s this amazing surgeon operating, and he asked for two other doctors to assist, and my chief, he suggested me. It’s a huge deal, and if I don’t take him up on it I just feel like that would be like the worst idea ever, you know?”

  “I do know.”

  “But I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I want you to let me take you out tomorrow instead, please.”

  “Tomorrow I’m taking a couple of kids to the opera. How about Thursday?”

  “Really?” He sounded very happy.

  I smiled into the phone. “Yes, really.”

  “Just like that? No begging, no game playing?”

  “We’re being honest, right?” I asked. “I mean, you really do want us to have dinner, don’t you?”

  “More than you can imagine.”

  “And I was looking forward to it all day, but it sounds like Thursday would be better for both of us.”

  “It would.”

  “Okay, so then why would I second-guess you?”

  “Jesus, Nate, I don’t know what I’m going to do with all this honesty. It’s so rare.”

  I chuckled. “So Thursday for sure, same time? Seven?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll be there.”

  “See you then. I hope everything goes well for you and even better for your patient.”

  There was a pause. “Thank you,” he said oddly.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I hung up, and when I got downstairs, everyone was waiting on me. I told Michael I was going to sing in the car.

  His groan of disgust was loud.

  Chapter 4

  THE restaurant was amazing. Tucchetti’s was small and warm, and the chicken tetrazzini I had was really good and just a little spicy. I watched the kids lean close and whisper to one another, and listened to the Tulias talk to their son Johnny, who came to the booth to sit down. As the older brother, he gave Michael the requisite crap about taking out his sister. Like how they would never find his body if she missed curfew.

  I nodded, and Johnny leaned sideways and gave me a hug.

  “See, he knows,” Mr. Tulia, Ray now, pointed at me. “I bet your boy Jared always brings his dates home on time.”

  Well, now he had a girlfriend that he lived with, but I took the compliment for what it was. Mrs. Tulia, Carmen, wanted to know more about Michael, and so I explained about the basketball and how he and I went to the homeless shelter on Dearborn one Saturday a month and that he was a lazy student but that we were working on it.

  “You take good care of him.” Carmen smiled.

  “Dreo takes good care of him; I just try and polish him up a little, make him fit for company.”

  She laughed, and I saw the way her husband and son looked, the warmth in their eyes, the smiles for me.

  “My mother,” Danielle told me later as we were having oranges in marsala sauce for dessert, “she has cancer.”

  “Oh.” I caught my breath because it was hard news to hear.

  “No.” She shook her head. “She’s in remission now, and we’re all okay right this second, you know?”

  I took her hand, and she leaned sideways into me.

  “But when you sit here and make her laugh, well… we’re gonna look at you like that, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Something was said rapidly in Italian, and when I looked back at Carmen, she was shooing someone away from the table before she retook her seat across from me.

  “What was that about?” I asked her, looking at the very attractive blonde woman sashaying away.

  “My niece, Angelique, she thought you were very handsome when you came in, Nate, but I told her no, you are gay, so she has no chance to have your baby to get a ring.”

  So many things at once. “First, how’d you know I was gay?”

  “Michael told us when you were in the bathroom. I asked where your wife was, such a handsome man, and he said you were gay but that you and your best friend made a child together.”

  It had been a lot if information for him convey in a matter of minutes. “Thank you.”

  “For?”

  “Thinking I’m cute,” I teased her.

  “I said handsome, and you are.”

  “And your niece?”

  “Is a whore.” She smiled. “And even if you liked girls, I would not let you near her.”

  I nodded, and she reached out and put a hand on my cheek.

  “This is for what?”

  “What are we talking about?”

  “This beard, this mustache, why do you hide?”

  “Makes me look scholarly, don’t you think?”

  “I think it’s time to get rid of it. You have a good face; we should see it.”

  I grunted.

  “So like a man.”

  I took her hand in mine, and her smile was dazzling. It was easy to understand why her family wanted to see more of it. “I was actually thinking of getting rid of it, but shaving every day is a pain in the you-know-what.”

  She shrugged. “Tell me, how did you get the bruises on your face?”

  I pointed at her husband.

  Her laughter was there again, and her husband leaned forward to look at me.

  “What happened really?”

  It was fun to explain about the night before and the mugging I had stopped.

  “Now I feel worse,” Ray told me.

  “Good.” I smirked. “’Cause I think I need some Tylenol or something.”

  “Or another cappuccino?” Johnny offered.

  “Both, please.”

  As I watched his son leave, I saw Ray’s smile. He liked me. His whole family liked me, and feeling Michael’s knee wedged next to mine under the table, I knew my being there had helped.

  “So, Casanova,” I said, smiling, “what did we learn?”

  “Not to skip basketball practice when you’re trying to get laid?” he said under his breath, having leaned close to my ear.

  “You’re a riot.”

  He bumped my shoulder, and I asked how his grandmother was when he saw her the night before.

  “She’s fine. She’s getting out today.”

  “What was it?”

  “They had to put a stent in her heart.”

  “But she’s okay.”

  “Yeah, they said she could go home.”

  “How is your uncle?”

  “He’s okay; he was sort of weird last night after, but I think that’s your fault.”

  “My fault?”

  “He was really upset you got hurt.”

  I shook my head. “You’re mistaken.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Michael, who’s your uncle?” Johnny asked.

  “His uncle is Andreo Fiore,” his father told him.

  “Figlio di puttana,” Johnny said under his breath.

  “Johnny!” Carmen yelled at her son.

  “I’m guessing that was bad?” I smiled at Michael.

  When we left after lots of hugging and goodbye kisses from Carmen and Danielle, with a doggy bag that looked more like we had been shopping at Walmart, I asked Michael in the car what it was that Dreo actually did.

  “He works for Vincent Romelli.”

  “I still don’t know who that is,” I assured him, turning at a light, “but I’m guessing from everyone’s reaction that Mr. Romelli is some scary guy.”

  “Yeah, I think he’s a scary guy, and so most people think Dreo is too. I don’t know; I don’t ask. Dreo carries a gun, and he’s never left it at home, even when he goes out on dates. I am never, ever, allowed in his room, but for all I know that’s because he’s got a shitload of porn in there. He’s a really good guy, but I can’t vouch for what he doesn’t tell me.”

  Which made sense.

  Once we were back, he followed me to my door, and when I told him to go home, he laughed and said that he was going to take a shower and come do homework at my house. It was fine, I didn’t care, and I told him the door would be open because I had to take a shower myself. I needed to get the day off me.

  When I emerged, Michael’s books were spread out all over my coffee table. He had poured himself a glass of apple juice, and he was watching some hockey game on ESPN at the same time. I went to my kitchen table, deciding to work out there instead of in my office to keep him company, and we sat in companionable silence except for the game. It was in the third period when the doorbell rang.

  Answering it, I found Dreo there in the hall, brows furrowed, looking upset and concerned at the same time.

  “Come in,” I offered, stepping aside.

  He wasn’t alone, and when he didn’t move, I wasn’t sure what he was waiting for.

  “Did your friends want to come in too?”

  “Just for a minute.”

  “Sure.”

  Five men, not counting Dreo, walked into my living room, but when I moved to shut the door, he stopped me.

  “They’re not gonna stay. I just wanted them to meet you.”

  It was strange, but I plastered on a smile and offered the first man my hand. “Nate Qells.”

  They all shook my hand, and I met an Anthony and a Gianni and a Frank and a Paul and a Sal.

  “I always wanted to meet a Sal.” I grinned and was surprised when he smiled back, even giving me a hard pat on the arm.

  “You got hurt there, huh, Professor?”

  Funny that they knew what I did. I wouldn’t have thought that bit of information important enough for Dreo to share with them.

  “Some guys by the park yesterday,” I told him.

  “Yeah, we heard about that.” Sal nodded. “But maybe when you walk by there tomorrow, you won’t see those guys no more.”

  “No,” I assured him, “they’re always there.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe not.”

  But it was doubtful.

  “We heard something else happened tonight too, huh?”

  I chuckled. “You mean Mr. Tulia?”

  “Yeah.” Dreo coughed softly, his deep dark eyes flicking to Anthony. “Tulia.”

  “That was just a misunderstanding,” I soothed. “But we’ve got it all figured out now. No need for you to even get involved.”

  “Hey,” Michael called from the couch, not moving.

  Dreo gave him a head tip, and then his eyes, dark and bottomless, were back on me. “So this man, he hit you?”

  “Just a love tap. He fed us.”

  “Fed who?”

  “Me and Michael. We have leftovers.”

  “The good kind of leftovers!” Michael vouched for them from the couch.

  “Are you hungry? Any of you?”

  “Oh, no, Professor,” Frank, I thought, said to me, smiling. “We’re gonna go. Thanks, though, that’s real good of you to ask. I’ll bring you by some of my mother’s carbonara tomorrow.”

  “Friday,” I told him.

  “What?”

  “Carbonara is a favorite of mine, and I bet your mom’s is fantastic, so I would love to take you up on your offer, but tomorrow I’m taking Michael to the opera, and Thursday I have a date. So Friday, if that’s okay?”

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