OHANA
follows "Renewal"

Chapter 3

               ***April 26, 2024*** [continued]

As Alex ended the call that came in on the vintage dial phone later that morning, she was happy it hadn't come in on her cell because she needed the satisfaction of slamming down the receiver. Olivia had been reading in her bedroom with the door open as Bobby disposed of some superannuated food from the refrigerator; both came to attention as she stalked back into the kitchen.

Wordlessly, she removed the small stack of plastic containers from Bobby's hand, bringing them to the sink. She worked silently, disposing of some moldy vegetables in a grocery bag and rinsing noisome soup down the drain, and they waited until she had calmed herself.

"That was Bruno's attorney," she finally told them. "I didn't see any reference to a viewing in the death notice online this morning, so I sent a text. Bruno asked that there not be one, just the funeral ceremony. I also asked if Bruno's family might need a ride from the airport today. I was told that 'Mrs. Volpe is working a "critical merger negotiation," and the negotiations have "bled over" into Saturday.' Julian and his family won't be arriving until late tomorrow. Her father-in-law died, and she can't ask for a postponement? Surely the other company would understand!"

A scowl flitted over Bobby's face so quickly that it could have been an illusion. "Maybe...the other company wouldn't agree? But it's disappointing," he commented evenly. "I was hoping to meet them before the funeral."

"I wondered if Julian might be taking a separate, earlier flight, but 'No, Mr. and Mrs. Volpe stated that they always travel together, especially with the children,'" said Alex, quoting the attorney. "I got the impression from Em that none of them wanted to spend any appreciable amount of time here. 'Both Mr. and Mrs. Volpe are very busy people,' I was told, plus that Mrs. Volpe was adamant about the children not missing too much school. Julian had considered coming alone, but his wife thought it would be 'bad form' for them all not to attend."

"'B-Bad form'? Do I get the feeling Em doesn't like either of them very much?"

"Julian's very words, according to Emery," Alex confirmed. "And that feeling in spades."

"That doesn't sound right." Olivia was standing in her bedroom doorway, looking puzzled. "Mr. Volpe was always chuffed about his family. He was just sad because he didn't get to see them."

Bobby leaned against the refrigerator. "I know. I suppose we'll...um...have to wait until the funeral to find out why."

They were busy with laundry and other chores for the rest of the day, as well as fielding condolence calls from the neighbors, and it was only when Alex set the security alarm that she noticed Bobby had mounted her plaque at eye level between the front door and the window.

"Why not in the Rogue's Gallery?" Alex asked him at bedtime, referring to the corner of the living room next to the stairs to the second story, where he and Alex displayed their law enforcement memorabilia.

"I wanted it," he said with a kiss to her forehead, "where everyone would see it."

               ***April 28, 2024***

"How do I look?" a small voice asked.

Alex was adjusting Bobby's tie, and he was adjusting a cross pendant around her neck. They turned to see Olivia standing in the doorway to their bedroom in a navy blue pleated skirt and vest with a dark blue long-sleeved blouse, navy leotards, and her black Mary Janes, with her hair restrained by a dark blue headband.

"Very respectful," Alex approved, not knowing of a more appropriate comment for correct funeral dress. They'd kept the previous day low-key for Olivia's benefit; Shard had canceled trivia at the Dark Crystal, and when Dr. Allyson called that afternoon to check on her, Olivia had spoken with her at length. When she retreated to her bedroom to "read," they kept an eye on her, but otherwise allowed her to grieve. She had a sleepwalking episode during the night and appeared at their bedroom door calling "Mama" repeatedly, so Alex spent the rest of the night with her while Bobby sat up for some hours reading and brooding, and as a result, all three were rather heavy-eyed.

Alex glanced one last time in the bureau mirror—she was in her best black dress, hose, and pumps. Bobby looked even more subdued in his black suit with a dark blue shirt and a black tie, with his venerable American flag pin as his tie-tack. Sam began barking from the living room. "There's Viola, right on time."

Alex said, "She always is," as she retrieved her black purse.

Viola Perrino parked her grey Toyota Camry behind Bobby's Camaro, and the occupants had just emerged to greet them as they locked the front door. All four dressed in black or navy blue, Mrs. Perrino in a vintage dotted-veil black bonnet, and struggling to hold back tears. The septuagenarian, with her white-and-silver curly hair and bright blue eyes, was once Alex's neighbor for nine months. She had run errands for Bruno Volpe for the past two years and was as fond of him as if she'd known him a lifetime. Without a word, Carlos passed her tissues from his abuela's purse. Abril Diaz, who was not short, looked smaller in her lace-trimmed black dress, her long, dark silver-shot hair braided into a coil at the nape of her neck, when flanked by her growing grandchildren.

When Ana stepped forward to unlatch the driveway gate for the Gorens, Olivia's tears began afresh, and Ana rushed to hug her.

"We'll get through this, mi hermana," she told Olivia.

Carlos' shiner had faded slightly, the swelling on his lip nearly gone; in an adult manner, he asked Mrs. Perrino, "Are you sure you can drive? I know how."

"Not without a driver's license. I've got it, Carlito," and she patted his arm. "You're a good hombre."

Ana noticed the string of automobiles idling at the right curb of Courant Street. "What's with the cars lined up, Mr. G?"

"Waiting for us to leave," Bobby said. "The Danielsons are taking Mrs. Krentz. The Novinos. The Athertons. Nate and Andy Berkowitz. When..we drive past The Dark Crystal, Shard and TJ and the others will follow, and a few more neighbors."

A car horn beeped from the opposite direction; in surprise, they pivoted to see a family-sized silver rental van pull up in front of the house. When the passenger door opened, Olivia Benson stepped from its interior.

"I'm glad to see we made it in time. Fin volunteered to drive, and now I'm sure he's sorry he did," she said with a wry smile.

The passenger side windows rolled down to reveal why the oversized vehicle had been necessary: Dominick Carisi with his wife Amanda Rollins—former SVU detective, now a lecturer at Fordham—along with their family, as well as Fin Tutuola and Olivia's son Noah, made up the rest of the party.

The three of them walked up to the fence. "Thank you for coming," Bobby said gratefully. "You didn't–"

"We already discussed this with Alex," Carisi interjected, gazing out the window with his head between those of his two adopted daughters. "We're ohana, right, ladies?"

Eight-year-old Jesse said stoutly, "'Ohana means family, and family means nobody gets left behind'..."

She paused deliberately, then nudged her little sister, five-year-old Billie, and the youngster piped up, "'or forgotten'!"

"I expect Nicky is being spoiled by his grandparents this afternoon?" Bobby asked with a small smile.

"Count on it," replied Carisi, while Rollins smiled and shook her head behind him.

Benson moved aside so that Noah could slip out of the van. In his dark suit over an open-collared powder blue shirt, his hands crossed in front of his stomach, he regarded them solemnly from under dark curly hair and asked, "Mr. and Mrs. Goren, may I ride with you and Olivia?"

"Would you like that, Min?" Alex prompted.

"Yes, please," was the whispered response, and Noah stepped forward to stand beside her.

"We should get going," Bobby said, then called, "Fin! Fin! I need a favor, please!"

Fin stepped partially out of the driver's seat in response, his head cocked quizzically. "What's up, Bobby?"

Bobby requested, "I hate to make you tail-end Charlie, Fin, but I need a...a r-reliable rear anchor man. Can you get behind this line of cars so we stay together, and then stop at Sycamore Street so that the cars assembling at the restaurant can get on line?"

Fin nodded. "Will do, man. Let me get this crate in place, and then you and the others take the lead."

It had rained most of the night, fitting everyone's mood, but now in early afternoon, the clouds were higher, sun attempting to break through them as the queue of vehicles made its orderly way north to St. Brendan's Church just outside Woodbury, filing into parking spaces, occupants exchanging greetings as they emerged. As the group walked to the front of the church in a small phalanx around the Gorens, Olivia gasped when she saw who was waiting at the top of the steps. Donna Hastings opened her arms, and Olivia dashed directly into her embrace with a hard bump against her heavily pregnant former tutor. Zes Hastings steadied his wife, while Penelope Saltonstall Hogarth steadied Olivia. "Oh, Donna–"

"You didn't think I'd abandon my kitten today of all days?" Donna asked gently. Her always-vibrant former tutor looked muted in navy blue, her usually riotous curly hair bundled in a dark snood. She took Olivia's hand and laid it on her belly. Olivia gave a tiny smile as she felt the baby kick. "See? A loss and a life. They balance each other out."

Once inside the vestibule, Alex and Olivia were distracted by the arrival of the remainder of the neighbors and the staff of the Dark Crystal. Bobby, eyes dark and grieved, retreated to the side, watching Sharon, Mickey, and the others stop to talk to his family, then file through the doors into the church, until a gruff voice from behind asked him how he was doing.

He wheeled to find Mike Logan standing with his hands stuffed in his trouser pockets, his bearded face grave. "Maybe I shouldn't have asked. You look like hell."

Bobby shrugged. "It's been a...long three days." He peered around his friend. "Where's Carla?"

"Bensonhurst, with her mom. Annamaria hasn't been feeling well. They send their regards." Mike jerked his head toward a darker part of the vestibule near the restrooms. "C'mere a minute."

There were two scarred, sturdy wooden armchairs in one corner under a stained glass window with imagery of a haloed lamb, and Logan pulled one up and pushed the other toward Bobby. "Alex tells me this is eating you up, man, even if most of the time you're keeping it to yourself. You know you couldn't have done anything about Bruno. It was his time–"

"I knew that," Bobby flared suddenly. "I knew he was f-failing this past year, especially after we got home from the tour. I knew I'd have to accept it. It's Olivia...I just wish Min hadn't been there."

Logan sighed. "You're not precognitive, Bobby. You couldn't have known—besides, do you think it'd been easier on her if he just up and collapsed in the front yard one day? Or if Viola delivered his groceries and found him dead in bed? Olivia would have been hurt, no matter what. How's she doing?"

"Nightmares, sleepwalking, tears," Bobby sighed. "I should've been more careful."

"Of what? Allowing her near anyone over the age of 65? No more Viola Perrino, Abbi Diaz, Penelope, Matt, the Danielsons, the Athertons? Not to mention yours truly here... Sure, maybe it'll keep her from being hurt...but hey, you realize that means two Augusts from now she'll have to steer clear of you–"

"Stop!" Bobby held up his hands. "I get it."

Logan nodded as he folded his hands in his lap and leaned forward in his chair. "It's life, Bobby. Sometimes it sucks. And she's a brave kid. You both did what you could, Alex told me."

"Yeah," Bobby sighed, and for a few seconds, there was only the chatter from the vestibule. Then Logan chuckled. "Bruno was something, wasn't he? Sure skunked me at chess enough times last summer. Kept me company a lot while Carla was plugging through her thesis. You know he played pool, right? About once a week, we'd drive to Mulvaney's in Waterbury and play a couple of sets. Had some great stories about snookering other Army guys who figured he was some kinda pansy because he was a conchie. Said they got steamed afterwards. I told him it served them right—you don't get your manhood by pointing a gun."

Bobby smiled a little then. "We talked about it a few times. My favorite story was the one where he beat the p-pants off a second lieutenant. Said the guy had steam coming out of his ears—literally. Turned out he'd put a cigarette behind his ear to...um..take the last shot and lit his hair on fire."

"No kidding," Logan chuckled. "He didn't tell me that one." He leaned back in the chair. "Well, if Father Shea is right, maybe Bruno and Lennie are somewhere playing pool together. Wonder who'd win? One thing's for sure: Lennie won't be setting his hair on fire."

"Uncle Mike!" Next thing Logan knew, Olivia had run into his arms for a hug. "Where's Aunt Carla?"

"She's with her mother, who's not feeling well." Logan felt the child shiver and pulled back from her to meet her eyes. "Hey, it's nothing serious, midget. Her mom has arthritis, and it's been acting up lately. So she's visiting and housecleaning so Annamaria can rest. Nothing to worry about."

"I thought Mr. Volpe only had a cold," Olivia said in a small voice.

"His body was just worn out," Logan told her gently. "Look at all the stuff he went through in the war. And he was 91—think of that. When he was a little boy, they didn't even have television. Heck, talkies were only a few years old back then."

He heard Alex chuckle; when he looked up, she was at Bobby's side with her right arm around his shoulders. He arched an eyebrow at her. "What? I can't know historical facts? Bobby the Brain here isn't the only one who knows trivia."

Then he rose to envelop Alex in a hug. "You'll stay for dinner?" she asked.

"Nah, I can't—need to leave here after the cemetery. There's this kid I gotta talk outta quitting school–"

Bobby looked amused. "Michael Logan, guidance counselor?"

Logan spread his hands, palms upward in supplication. Since his retirement, he'd volunteered with what his superiors called "at-risk" teenage boys at the Lower Manhattan Boys' and Girls' Club. "Hey, I can't have my boys turn out like me, can I?" Bobby had risen from his chair, and the two men looked eye-to-eye. "You'd do the same for the kids at Big Brothers."

Alex said fondly, "I don't know, Mike. I think if your 'boys' turn out anything like you, you've done a pretty good job."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Eames," he replied wryly, then jerked his chin toward the church doors. "Time to get inside, I think. You realize I'm only setting foot in a church for Bruno, right?"

St. Brendan's was an older church with the traditional layout of a center aisle with pews flanking each side in the nave, leading up to the sanctuary with the altar at the center; Stations of the Cross lined up on either wall, intimately familiar to both Alex and Bobby from their childhood. The sweet/sharp scent of incense and the warm odor of lit wax candles filled the structure. A curved apse at the rear featured a mural of the Crucifixion, the tomb, and the Resurrection worked in a muted palette of colors. Bruno's casket, draped in an American flag, rested on a bier before the altar.

As they moved closer to the sanctuary, they came under the scrutiny of the four people seated in the first row at right: Bruno's son, daughter-in-law, and two children, who seemed surprised by the crowd filing into the nave. Julian Volpe, his dark hair laced with silver and receding from a still visible widow's peak, wore a sleek Armani suit and watered silk shirt, a jacquard silk tie, custom shoes, and a diamond stickpin; his wife, an oval-faced, dignified woman at least a decade younger than him, was chic in a bishop-sleeved black designer dress with what looked like authentic jet jewelry, her warm brown hair swept up in a French braid; and the son and daughter, boredom evident on their faces, were in outfits Alex had only seen in current upscale clothing store ads.

The usher seated them in the left front row, opposite the Volpes, at which the Volpe daughter looked in askance. Olivia kept stealing curious glances at the youngest family member, a sour-faced boy with thick cinnamon-colored hair who appeared to be eleven or twelve. After catching her staring at him, he discreetly gave her the finger. Noah, seated behind Olivia with his mother, cleared his throat angrily, and anyone glancing at Alex at that second would have seen what Bobby called her "glacier face," which could still turn his insides to water. Bruno's grandson got the message and hastily turned away.

A traditional Requiem Mass followed, and then the undertakers' assistants handed out placards for the funeral procession that would wind four miles through a tree-lined residential area to the Woodbury Cemetery. The Gorens were assigned a place behind the limousine that carried the family, which caused Julian to check them out a second time, now whispering to a slender, silver-haired man in a pinstripe black suit who came to stand with the family after the service.

"Lawyer," Alex said instantly, to which Bobby concurred.

A roofed pavilion supported by columns illustrating the four gospels at the cemetery was the setting for a second ceremony. Bruno's attorney had requested a military presence at the funeral service, and three Army officers stood at the head of the casket. A lieutenant colonel reviewed Bruno's military service with much more complimentary prose than would have been rendered in the 1950s, when the words "conscientious objector" were scorned. Julian's family remained stoic throughout this event, even though Bobby could not get through his few words about his friendship with Bruno without needing to mop his eyes, and Olivia sat fidgeting and sniffling. Several of the neighbors also offered stories, and Alex kept her arm around the little girl while, from behind, Donna's cool, dry hand on her shoulder was a comforting presence. Viola Perrino was inconsolable throughout both services, even with Abbi Diaz holding one hand and Carlos clasping the other.

The final honor was a three-gun salute, followed by two riflemen performing the flag-folding ceremony that closed the service, ending with the lieutenant colonel presenting Julian Volpe with the triangular flag.

The Gorens filed out before the Volpes, and Alex cleared her throat as they passed the other family because Olivia even more discreetly returned the Volpe boy's gesture.

As the crowd filed from the pavilion, several of them fanning themselves with the memorial program, for the day had turned warm, Richard Carver called out, "Folks! Folks, may I have your attention, please?" The chatter subsided until he could announce, "There will be a celebration of the life of Bruno Vincenzo Volpe at our restaurant, the Dark Crystal, in one hour. Please join us on Main Street in Milbury, just south of here off Route 67. Parking is free, and side streets available."

Olivia stood watching the Volpes and the man Alex identified as an attorney when Bobby came up behind her. "Min? I need you to do a favor before we leave."

"Yes, Papa?" she answered.

"I would like you to...um...apologize to young Mr. Volpe."

She protested, "Papa, he started it."

"It doesn't matter who started it," Bobby responded quietly. "Just because he was rude to you doesn't mean you should be rude back. And it was d-disrespectful of you to do it at what was still a religious service."

"I don't believe in God," Olivia reminded him with a flash of temper.

"We understand that. But this isn't about faith," he returned, "it's about respect. I would expect you to act civilly at any religious service. And please...moderate your attitude."

"Mama-" she appealed to Alex.

"I agree with your father," was the firm response.

"But you were angry—"

"And if you had initiated it, I would have been angry with you as well."

Olivia sighed, squared her shoulders, then turned to comply. When she was out of earshot, Alex emitted an equally deep sigh. "He deserved it."

Bobby answered, "I know."

"Hey, you two, I gotta split—my Uber's here," Mike Logan said as they watched Olivia trudge toward the Volpes, and they turned away to say farewell. Bobby reached out to shake hands, but Logan pulled him into a rough embrace instead, patting his back.

"Everything's gonna be okay, man. Hang in there. Say goodbye to the kid for me."

He gave Alex a quick hug and hurried off.

In the meantime, Olivia approached "young Mr. Volpe" in resignation, her opinions still intact. She mused that he wasn't a bad-looking boy—maybe a little like Draco Malfoy in the Harry Potter books, only not so pale and skinny—but she thought he'd be more appealing if he wiped the frown from his face.

"Pardon me," she said, laying on her British accent a bit thick, aware that it usually gave her an advantage, and he pivoted to face her. "I wanted to apologize. It was a very rude gesture for me to make at a funeral service."

She didn't believe it was possible, but his scowl deepened, his brows knitting over his eyes. "Bet your pop made you apologize."

Olivia quirked an eyebrow. "And my mother, too. But I still wish to do it."

He didn't acknowledge her conciliatory gesture, instead asking truculently, "What were you crying about, anyway? He was my grandfather."

"So why weren't you crying?" Olivia returned sharply. "After all, he was your grandfather!"

"Never saw him much," the boy shrugged.

Olivia hitched up her shoulders. Unable to hear the conversation, a watchful Bobby and Alex knew what that particular gesture meant—she was losing patience. "Well, that was your loss. Your grandfather was a splendid person. My Papa has known him for over three years, and I've known him for a year. He told me all sorts of stories, including about being in the Army."

"My pop says he was a loser...I bet because he was a coward in the war."

Her voice rose indignantly. "That's a bloody lie! He went into a war without any gun, which is braver than anyone. Did you even listen to the lieutenant colonel at the flag ceremony? 'He showed "cool courage under fire" and never lost a man.' Let's see you go into a battle without a weapon and see how brave you are."

The boy's sister, with a similar narrow face but darker brown hair worn long and tied back with a silk scarf, her eyes the shade of fresh coffee, detached herself from her parents and the attorney to stand behind her brother. She had laid on her mascara and eye shadow a bit thick for Olivia, who loftily thought, Neither Maman nor Mama ever saw any need to look like a lemur! She was, however, envious of the teen's dress, an A-line dark green wool with an asymmetric hem, much more suitable for someone of university age, she decided.

"Who's this?" the girl asked her brother, and Olivia said primly, "My name is Olivia Goren, and my parents and I are...I mean, we were your grandfather's neighbors. Papa and I had brought him breakfast when we found him ill. We called 911, and Papa went outside to wait for the EMTs–" She swallowed. "And I held his hand until they came, but he had died by then." She bowed her head. "My parents died last year in April, too."

"So you're an orphan?" the older girl asked bluntly.

The word stung. "Not any longer," was the firm reply. Olivia inclined her head toward Alex and Bobby. "I was legally adopted in December." She lifted her chin and added in cavalier tones, "Both my parents used to be detectives on the New York police force, and now Papa is an FBI agent. He used to be a field agent and then a consultant, and now he's an instructor."

"He is not," the boy scoffed. "Nobody's dad is in the FBI."

"If you ask him politely, maybe he'll show you his identification," was the frosty response, "but he probably won't because you're rude. You haven't even introduced yourselves. My Maman would have said something about that."

"Mamaaaaan," the girl mocked. "Are you French?"

"I'm still a French citizen, thank you, and have a dual passport," was Olivia's stiff reply. "My biological father was a French diplomat. My biological mother was Australian and a scholar of English literature."

"Hello. Who's this, kids?" inquired a friendly baritone voice as Julian stepped behind his children. He appeared to have inherited his mother Emma's height and long, narrow face; Olivia didn't see much resemblance to Bruno.

"I'm Olivia Goren, sir," and, by long training, she curtsied as her former nanny Luisa had instructed. "My parents are Robert Goren and Alexandra Eames." She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. "And we live–"

"Goren?" Julian boomed before she could finish. "Isn't he my dad's neighbor? I didn't know he was married or had a child."

"Perhaps you hadn't spoken with your father in a while," Olivia said, almost too politely. "Mama and Papa have been married since November 2021. They legally adopted me last December."

Then she felt the light touch of a big hand on her right shoulder, slender fingers resting on her left. Bobby was outstretching his right hand to Julian. "You must be Julian Volpe. Your father always talked about you. I'm sorry not to have met you under better circumstances."

Alex smiled at Julian for courtesy's sake and took her turn to shake hands, but she was thinking, Bragged about you, and never mentioned how upset he was to be ignored.

The adults exchanged more pleasantries and words of sympathy, and then Julian asked his children, "You've introduced yourselves, I hope, you two?"

"We were about to," the girl said, looking bored. "I'm Gianella—just 'Gia,' please—and this is Leandro."

"'Leo'!" the boy insisted.

"I'm pleased to meet you," Olivia said courteously, extending her hand like the adults. Gia and Leo exchanged glances as if she were some alien creature, but they shook hands nonetheless.

"I hope you and your wife and children will come to the gathering at The Dark Crystal," Alex said pleasantly. "The neighbors were very fond of Bruno, and Shard and TJ arranged the event especially for family and friends."

"We noticed so many people at the church—I didn't realize Dad- But I don't know," Julian said reluctantly. "My wife has some work she needs–"

"Ma wants to blow this pizza joint," Leo muttered, and Gia nudged him.

"Perhaps...you could just come for...um...a few minutes, just to say hello?" Bobby asked diplomatically. "So many of the neighbors remember you and your brother."

"I can't imagine why. It feels like I left here a thousand years ago. As I grew older, I found the place...stifling. Is that strange lady still around? The one with the trees? She gave me hell once for breaking a limb on an oak tree with a long drive—I was out batting balls with Enz in the yard."

"You must mean Mrs. Krentz," responded Bobby, amused.

"She still loves those trees," Alex said diplomatically. "But please come. I know they'd love to see you."

"Da-aad–" Gia protested.

"We'll speak with your mother," Julian said briskly, "and explain that it's important."

Leo idly surveyed each group of people outside the pavilion, busily chatting with each other, and suddenly exclaimed, "Hey, Gia, check out the wimp with the curly hair!"

Olivia realized he meant Noah and was about to explode when Bobby gripped her shoulder tightly. Alex said hastily, "Bobby, Olivia, we should go. My car may be blocking someone in the lot. We hope to see you and your family at the restaurant, Mr. Volpe. It's a left turn out of the cemetery and then south to get back to your old neighborhood."

As they strolled away, they heard Julian scold, "Leo, that wasn't..."

His voice faded, allowing Alex to ask in a tart voice, "You think a Dale Carnegie course would help?"

Olivia's eyes were on fire. "I'm never speaking to that horrid boy again!"

"If they come to the Dark Crystal," Bobby advised, "you'll need to be polite."

"Well, if I must, I'll speak to him to be polite, but otherwise, I'd rather eat worms." She paused. "No, I'd rather do algebra."

Alex said dryly, "Me, too."

They encountered the Volpes once more en route to the car, and Olivia muttered, "Quel dommard!" as Leo passed. Neither chastised her. Indeed, they were surprised when the Volpes showed up at the Dark Crystal, emerging from their rental car a second after Alex had parked the CRV.

Julian Volpe stopped to regard the 1904 façade in wonder as his family approached the building. "I remember this place—it used to be the old Ben Franklin store! Enzo and I came here for gum and candy, checked out the parakeets and the toys. Later, we sneaked here to buy cigarettes. Dad forbade us to smoke. For the entire time I lived here, the cashier was a spinster named Helen Sheridan, a tall, skinny woman with what people called back then "a horse face." Sorry to say that both Enzo and I joined in the horse jokes. The place was her whole life. Can you imagine spending all your life as a cashier?"

Bobby said mildly, "Maybe she liked people. As a cashier, she would have met everyone in town and all types of personalities. My...um...father was like that. Everyone was his buddy." He managed to state it without acrimony, but unsaid were the words Everybody but me.

Julian shrugged, checking out the cool, dim interior as they entered. "It certainly has changed. Everything inside was wood—all the shelving, the checkout counters, the works. The walls were...a pale green is what I remember, the display cases dark wood and glass. There was a big white Bulova clock with the Ben Franklin logo on that back wall—you could see it all over the store and from the front window. Older folks set their watches–"

"Dad, why are you going into all that tired old stuff?" Gia asked impatiently, and he seemed to shake off the memories like rainwater. "Sorry, Gee. Don't know why all that came back. Useless. Who cares?"

"Look what Shard and Viola set up for Bruno," Alex spoke up to cover the uncomfortable silence that followed. Behind the row of tables set up with various appetizers—TJ's wings, bacon-wrapped scallops, potato skins, Hawai'ian rolls next to a charcuterie board, and more—was the portrait of Bruno in his 60s that had been used at the church, set up on an easel. Viola Perrino had just finished draping a garland of artificial pansies around the top.

"Rare when we got Dad to have his photo taken. Birthday I think," Julian commented shortly. "My brother took it. I wasn't here," then turned to join his family at the buffet line. He was taken aback when he was greeted enthusiastically by his former neighbors, who remembered him and his brother as children, crowding around him, eager to talk.

"I would have liked to have seen it," Olivia said, slipping her hand into Bobby's as they followed in the queue. "I like old things—they tell stories, like books. I'm glad you and Mama aren't like that."

"Some people do have other interests," returned Bobby reasonably, covering his disappointment. "Mathematics, sports, fashion, card games...you can't be judgmental because they don't like the same things you do."

"I s'pose. Mrs. Volpe's frock is very pretty," Olivia finally offered, "and Gia's, too."

Alex nodded. "Mrs. Volpe's dress is from that new designer—Calliope, I think is the name—who 'does a new take on old fashion.'"

"Echoes of Dior," Bobby agreed, to which Olivia's eyes popped open. "Papa?"

"Men do know some fashion," he reminded her with a half smile. "Especially...if the dress would suit someone they know."

"But not that particular dress," Alex said dryly. "It's worth our entire month's mortgage."

Anitra Volpe had entered the Dark Crystal with a laptop case in one hand, and now they saw her separate from the rest of the family to stroll into the Crystal's overflow area in the old Rite-Aid drugstore carrying a plate of four hors d'oeuvres and a gin and tonic Carmella had served her from the bar. She was slender yet full-figured; the watered fabric of her full-skirted black dress accented her body without flaunting it. A matching pair of Jimmy Choo spike heels and her silver necklace with three matching triangles of jet completed the ensemble. Her hair was the same color as Leo's, and if she had pulled her son's scowl, their faces might have uncannily matched.

Alex followed Anitra with her eyes. "I wonder if Anitra feels out of place. The neighbors certainly are lionizing Julian. Maybe I should play Good Samaritan."

"Shall we divide and conquer?" suggested Bobby.

Olivia answered sourly, "So long as I don't have to talk to him again."

"Be good, Min," Bobby bade, patting her shoulder, then nodded toward the corner booth near the front window where Noah sat with Jesse and Billie. "There's some good company for you."

Alex picked up a few favorite foods and sparkling blackberry water for herself before seeking Anitra out in the furthest corner of the establishment. Bobby silently joined the queue of neighbors reacquainting themselves with Julian, selecting chicken tenders and clam cakes on the way.

Fifteen minutes after taking a plate with a few wings and potato skins and gathering with her friends, Olivia temporarily left Noah, Jesse, Billie, Ana, and Carlos to use the restroom. To her dismay, in the hallway, she came face-to-face with Leo.

"You really like that girly kid with the curls?" he smirked.

Olivia wanted to respond, "If you call Noah that again, I'll slap you, and I don't care how many weeks I'm grounded." Instead, she counted to three and said in a still-irritated voice, "Do you always go out of your way to be rude and make people dislike you? Because it works very well!"

Leo shrugged. "I was just jackin' around."

Olivia had heard Carlos and the boys use the word and scowled. "No, you insulted my friend, one of the first friends I had when I came to live here. Now, please let me pass."

Leo remained in place deliberately. "Who is he, anyway?"

"His name's Noah Porter-Benson, and his mother is Olivia Benson. She's captain of the SVU in the New York City police department. You can look up for yourself what 'SVU' means. He's adopted, too, so we look after each other. Now, unless you want me to piss on your shoes, move over."

He hastily vacated the space, and when she emerged, he was gone.

Once they were home and had removed what Bobby teasingly called their "monkey suits" in favor of more comfortable clothing, Alex sighed as she emerged from the bedroom with Bobby behind her. "Well, that was...a bit grim."

Olivia trailed out of her bedroom with her stuffed fox cuddled in her arms. "Not even half! I made the mistake of asking Gia about her frock. She went on for ten minutes about how it was from Mango and how she had many more expensive—and better—dresses at home. I get it, you didn't think it was worth wearing your best posh frock to your grandfather's funeral. She acted like we lived out in the bush. Then Leo showed up. They have a huge house. It's almost four thousand square feet. It has a home theater. It has a pool. It has a hot tub. It has a four-car garage. Their dad bought them ATVs. They have servants." She moved the fingers and thumb of her left hand as if she were operating a hand puppet. "Brag, brag, brag."

Alex hugged her, thinking of the little girl not so long ago who had lived occasionally in a similar home with the same wealthy amenities. "Her mother had the same song. When I told her your father and I were both from New York City, she asked how we could live such a 'stifled existence' 'out here in the country.' I wanted to drop her off in the woods outside of Scranton and let her see what real 'country' was."

Olivia shook her head. "I'm going down to the Bodey to read if that's okay." She'd nicknamed her reading nook in the basement "The Bodleian" after the library at Oxford University, now furnished with two more small bookcases than when Mike and Carla Logan had set it up for her nine months earlier.

"No problem," responded Bobby. "'Bunter' will call if we need you," this being the joking nickname he'd given to their "smart home" system, after Lord Peter Wimsey's efficient gentleman's gentleman. Alex had purchased it chiefly as an intercom between Bobby's library/office, the main floor, and the basement, but Olivia enjoyed asking it research questions.

Olivia called for Sam, and the collie emerged from the living room, tail waving, ready to follow her downstairs. But at the basement door, she paused and sighed, turning to them with a sad face. "Not one of them cried. It's not right." Then she and the collie vanished.

"Damn straight," Alex grumbled, and Bobby draped his arm over her shoulder as they walked into the living room. Bandit immediately chirped a welcome, then sprang to the bars of his cage.

"C'mon out, buddy," Bobby said, opening the bird cage, and the budgie coursed the room and then landed with a little bump on Bobby's head. He fished the bird out of his hair, then handed him off to Alex, who bobbed a forefinger at him; the white-and-grey bird obligingly fluffed his head and tilted it to one side to be scratched.

Alex flopped onto the sofa, and Bobby settled across from her in his recliner, where he laid his head back, staring at the ceiling and fingers drumming on the arms of the chair.

"You spoke with Anitra?" he half-questioned/half-stated.

"Well, my thought that she might be feeling left out was wrong—she was tucked in the back deliberately, on the free wifi, working. The merger, apparently, waits for nothing, even death and Sundays. She did stop for a few moments to talk to me—like an audience with a king, since she's very devoted to her work." She smiled at him. "my mother would have said, 'Now, Allie, there's the pot calling the kettle black!' I remember how intent we were, how we threw ourselves into it—the long hours, 20-hour days, lost weekends... Sometimes we took it to the edge–" She gave him a troubled look. "I remember those bad years you had...you clung to your work until it became all about the job. It took me a long time to understand...too long–"

"Alex," he interrupted softly, "I hardly understood myself for a long time, and if I couldn't parse my own mind, no one could. Maybe if I'd talked with someone earlier... But you know me...stubborn."

"Stubborn? Only you?" Her eyes twinkled briefly. "Two of a kind we were. I have to confess that when I saw Anitra in that dress, I thought she was a fashionista. That'll teach me to judge. I introduced myself and then complimented it. She told me she'd done research and adopted the particular style she wears to appeal to her clients."

She added flippantly, "So what, I wonder, should we have worn in Major Case...Grateful Dead t-shirts?"

Bobby snorted, and she continued, "Aside from a few observations, like our 'living in the wilderness,' her conversation was strictly about her bank position. For a while, I wasn't sure if we were talking about our lives or if she was trying to get me to open an investment account! I did find out she's never seen any of Leo's soccer games or Gia's cheerleading competitions. Julian does that. The ATVs were his idea—she thought they were foolishness. I just think they're dangerous—but she was concerned that the children weren't more involved in activities that would help them 'prepare for their life's work.' Those words. Exactly. Leo's twelve, and Gia fifteen. Now is when they should be enjoying themselves—not going to 'investment camp' like she has planned for their summer!"

"Evidently, she's of the Thomas Gradgrind school of life," was Bobby's wry response.

"Who?"

"Your required reading in high school must not have included Dickens' Hard Times like mine did."

"I must have lucked out—A Christmas Carol and A Tale of Two Cities is what we got of Dickens. I read Oliver Twist on my own."

"Gradgrind believes children should be brought up to know only reality—no Santa Claus, fairies, or fantasies. No imagination. They should be stuffed with facts and t-turned into little adults as quickly as possible."

"She mentioned something like that—her father told her from childhood that the ambitious ones, the ones who stick to business, they're the ones who get ahead."

"So her philosophy of life ranges from Grandgrind to Ebenezer Scrooge pre-transformation? Interesting. A very masculine ideology, bored into little boys' heads for years. Anitra reminds me a little of Evangeline Pepin," and then he chuckled at the face Alex made, "but I didn't mean that in the m-murderous, bigoted sense.

"Anitra's a legacy banker the way you were a legacy police officer and Madame was heir to Duplantix. Researched the family when I...couldn't sleep last night. Very little about their personal lives, but pages about the family business, the Hearthstone Savings Bank. Horatio Alger would've been proud. Anitra's grandfather was self-made; worked sixteen-hour days surviving on black coffee and canned beans to rise from bank teller to bank president and bank owner. M-Married a fellow teller as poor as he was. Anitra's father expanded the chain; now there are twenty branches across Northern California, sound and solid while other businesses are failing. The merger with a smaller chain, Sacramento Savings, will form a larger chain. She continues the family tradition."

"But even the Dragon Lady took time to collect her art and screw her attorney!" Alex responded, and here Bobby laughed. "There seems to be nothing in Anitra's life but the bank. We know people living from paycheck to paycheck who get more joy from their lives, while she pushes herself with their future already secure. And they're...disconnected from each other. She does her work, Julian does his, and the children have their own lives. It seems bleak to me—but...it's not my life."

Bobby mused, "The company is secure, but is Anitra?"

"She's...afraid? Of what?"

Bobby rested his chin on his left fist. "Losing it all. Grandpa Adelbert Haydn—charity student from Austria—comes to the United States with, as the cliché goes, 'the clothes on his back.' He struggles for years; M-Mortimer Hayes—the surname was changed at Ellis Island—recalls in his web bio that before he was born, to keep the bank going, his parents skimped on themselves, survived on pretty much...um...secondhand clothes and Hamburger Helper, beans, potatoes, and home-grown vegetables before dad finally started to make good. During Mortimer's childhood, it went from breaking even to a private school and an exclusive community. Parents...pass along fears to their children, sometimes unconsciously. However Mortimer and his wife Adela reacted, it seems to have left Anitra driven. So the nose-to-the-grindstone woman meets the practical man–"

"–and turns him to the Dark Side of the Force?" Alex asked cynically.

Bobby shook his head decidedly. "It didn't take much to turn Julian. He'd decided his path years earlier. But Bruno was always proud of Julian's ambition. It must have been a jolt when he realized it had broken his family in two."

"Is that conclusion a result of your interaction?" she asked.

"Some. Julian's champing at the bit to get out of here," was the offhanded response, but she could see regret in his eyes. "When I could finally pry him away from Bess—they were talking about his best friend, her son Jimmy, who lives in Florida now—he told me he was still surprised at the fuss the neighbors made over him. He told me he always felt like an...outsider here. He went to St. Gregory's—back when it was mostly a rich man's school—and was disappointed that Bruno wasn't more ambitious like his friends' fathers, who were bankers and stockbrokers."

"So what you told me...that Bruno thought Julian held his being a conch against him... wasn't true at all?"

"That's right. He told me he was reading 'Business Week' and 'Fortune' on the sly off the magazine stand at the Ben Franklin from when he was ten, joined Junior Achievement in middle school, and was disturbed because his father was 'very clever with figures' and he couldn't figure out why he h-hadn't become an accountant or majored in business administration—couldn't understand why his father didn't want to 'better himself'—rather than follow 'the dead-end path' he did."

"But Bruno was a teacher. Surely Julian doesn't consider teaching a 'dead-end' career!"

His only answer was an ironic smile before he laid his head back on the sofa. Alex pursed her lips, murmuring "Wow" as she ran her thumb over her fingertips.

Finally, Bobby continued, "The only reason they aren't already at Bradley for a flight back to S-Sacramento is that Julian's waiting for Bruno's will to be read in two days."

"So that was an attorney with him?" she asked.

He rubbed his neck, troubled. "Yes. Julian's 'keeping him in the loop.' He's hired specifically for the 'disposition of property.' The m-moment the will is read, Mr. Stanley Trent will put the house up for sale and...arrange for the furniture to be shipped to their home in California—although I got the idea that...um...Mrs. Volpe won't want it in her home. She's not a fan of antiques. Strictly a Le Corbusier/Bauhaus sort—metal, leather, clean lines. My guess is she'll talk him into selling it all since it 'is a valuable commodity."

Alex looked puzzled. "Furniture?"

"Bruno talked about it occasionally, but...um...I confess I usually tuned it out. Instead of investing in stocks as Julian would have preferred, Bruno and Emma's hobby w-was collecting antiques. Bruno's dad was a cabinetmaker back in Italy and taught him to refinish and repair vintage tables, chairs, etc. Professional-level restoration—not painting flea market seconds, but using traditional methods and materials. No...um...polyurethane for Volpe furniture—shellac and varnish and period stain only! Julian told me that on most Sundays when he was a b-boy they went to antique stores or sales and flea markets. Both his parents could spot a bargain that was really a find. They favored Queen Anne mostly, w-with the fan pattern, like my mom's highboy dresser. 'Beautiful items,' Julian said, 'real mahogany.' There were some w-walnut pieces, too; the more practical pieces for every day, but he didn't care about those." Bobby paused, then frowned. "He talked about the furniture and helping his parents with the refinishing so nostalgically that I was starting to warm to him when he said, 'It all must be worth a fortune.'"

Alex tapped a fingertip on her lips. "God knows, Bobby, I'm as fond of money as the next person, but…as far as I can tell, it's all about the money." Then she added darkly, "And it definitely pissed me off the way that boy kept harassing Min. I mentioned it to his mother, but she put on that indulgent little smile entitled people have and said, 'Oh, that's just his way of telling girls he likes them.' Bullshit! I remember boys doing that when we were kids, pulling girls' hair and all that. It's bullying, plain and simple, and he made no friends by insulting Noah.

"That reminds me," and she instructed the hockey-puck-sized smart-home device to put thank-you cards on their shopping list. When Bobby tilted his head at her inquiringly, she told him, "Liv and the others didn't have to come today, nor did Mike, nor Donna and Zes, or Penelope. I want our friends...our family...to know they're appreciated."

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