Mary looked up as her father appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, the shoulders of his windbreaker dappled with raindrops. She felt her heart break for her mother, because she could tell from his face that the rumor was true. His forehead creased with guilt, and his pained eyes focused completely on his wife.
“Veet?” he said, too upset to talk loud, for once.
Mary looked back at her mother, so stiff and small, her head tilted down as if her neck had frozen in place. She was staring at the wet ball of Kleenex clutched in her hands, saying nothing. Her silence had a depth of its own, and Mary had never seen her so still. It reminded her of an Italian proverb her mother always quoted, Dolori sono muti. Great griefs are mute.
Mary rose, turning to her father. “Pop, can this really be true? What were you thinking?”
Her father’s lips parted, and his gaze remained on her mother. “Veet, what you heard, I’m so, so sorry. It didn’t mean anything.”
Her mother didn’t look up, still silent, and Mary went to lawyer mode.
“Pop, what did you do? You were kissing Fiorella?”
Her father raised a finger, hushing her, and he took a step toward her mother. “Veet, I did not kiss her. We were eatin’ and talkin’ and all of a sudden, she leaned over the table and kissed me, on the cheek. But it was wrong, I know that, and I kind of came to my senses, and I said it was time for her to go back to Italy. She’s goin’ back tonight.”
Mary said nothing, and her mother remained frozen.
“I’m so sorry, Veet. It’s like, I don’ know, somethin’ came over me.” Her father threw up his hands, and they fell back to his sides with a flapping sound. “She made me feel all handsome and strong. It’s like a los’ my head for a while, but now I’m back and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Mary’s throat caught, and her father looked over at her.
“Mare, you were right. I was flirtin’ back. It’s wrong and it’s disrespectful of your mother and it’s a sin, and I’m sorry to you, too.”
Mary felt his words touch her heart, but his wrong was ultimately against her mother, and only she could absolve him. “Pop, where is Fiorella now?”
“That’s a whole ’nother story.” Her father sighed, shaking his head. “After this happened, I said we should come home so she could pack, and we were on our way to the car and all of a sudden she said she got a bad feeling, like something bad was happening to Bennie.”
“Bennie, my Bennie?” Mary asked, surprised, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother raise her head.
“Yes, and she wouldn’t stop worrying about her, so I went to a pay phone and called your office to ask you if Bennie was okay, and Marshall said Bennie and Judy went out to dinner and you went home, so I came here.”
“Where’s Fiorella now?”
“She’s gone. Before I could stop her, she gets a cab and jumps in. I think she went to the restaurant.”
“What restaurant?”
“It was named Kangaroo, or something like that.”
“Roux?”
“I think that’s the one. Marshall heard Bennie tell Judy where they were goin’.”
“Pop, no!” Mary’s head exploded. “Bennie and Judy are meeting new clients there. Fiorella will ruin it!”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” her father said, and her mother moaned.
“I have to warn Bennie.” Mary slid out her BlackBerry, speed-dialed Bennie, and let it ring, but there was no answer. She speed-dialed Judy, but it went to voicemail. “Maybe we can still catch Fiorella. South Philly’s closer to the restaurant than the Art Museum.”
“Andiamo!” her mother said, already on her orthopedic shoes.
Mary hurried them from the kitchen, grabbed Grady on the fly, and went to rescue Bennie.