OHANA
follows "Renewal"

Chapter 5

              *** April 30, 2024 ***

Leo looked Olivia up and down with a pitying expression. "You go to Catholic school? You poor kid!"

"It's nondenominational, and the instructors are very nice and very smart," was Olivia's dignified response. She was sitting primly next to Alex in her school uniform, with her kitsune pin tacked under the blazer's lapel for good luck. "We're not required to pray, which is good because I'm an atheist."

Leo's eyes widened, then he retreated when his sister crossly called him.

Bobby shifted in his seat, looking over his shoulder. Alex assured, "He's on his way."

Emery Moretti's desk sat before three side-by-side windows in what had formerly been the living room of a residence, and a 55-inch flat-screen television was positioned to its right. Two guest chairs with russet leather upholstered seats and backs flanked her plush office chair, and the desktop contained only a blotter on which lay a thin brown file folder. Folding chairs formed a straight row in front of her desk. As they waited, Moretti's secretary, a smiling young Black man who waved at the Goren family, came in to lay three pens and three glasses of water on the desk and close the blinds.

Seconds before Emery Moretti claimed her seat at the desk, Anthony Ambrose Fessiden slipped in the side door, removing his raincoat and hanging it on the coat tree. "Car fire on the interstate," he whispered, taking a seat behind Bobby. Then he checked out Julian Volpe's attorney. "Seriously? Stanley Trent? He retained someone who advertises on billboards?"

Tony said the final three words in slightly louder tones, and Trent snapped his head to the right to see who'd spoken. He blanched at the sight of the Gorens' pugnacious, slight, and balding attorney.

"Didn't know you were a legal snob, Tony," Bobby murmured.

When Moretti finally entered the room with her briefcase, she was followed, to their surprise, by Viola Perrino and Abril Diaz. The former was as tear-stained as she had been at the funeral, while Carlos and Ana's grandmother held her arm and spoke soothingly to her. Moretti bade them to sit.

"We all seem to be present," Moretti addressed the assembled group, switching on the television. "I have Mr. Volpe's will here, but Bruno wanted to provide something besides a legal document; he wanted to speak to all of you...well, 'in person,' so to speak." She clicked a few keys on her laptop until the Welsh dresser in Bruno's kitchen was displayed on the television, with one of the kitchen chairs set in front of it. Then Bruno appeared, wearing a plaid flannel shirt, blue jeans, and orthopedic shoes, moving gingerly with his cane to take a seat.

"This was filmed in winter," Bobby said. "See Emma's little snowmen on the hutch?"

"February 29, this year. Leap Year Day," Mrs. Perrino said softly from behind them. "He asked me–"

"Hello, folks," Bruno announced from the video as he sat down. "I'm filming...is that still the right word?...well, making a video with the help of my good friend Viola Perrino, who's been a godsend the last couple of years."

Behind them, Mrs. Perrino sniffled. Bobby turned to lend her his handkerchief, only to find Mrs. Diaz handing her tissues. They smiled at each other as Mrs. Diaz patted her friend's hand.

"If you're watching this video, it means I've shed the mortal coil at last–" Now the sniffling came from the video itself, and Bruno soothed, "Now, Viola, you know I have to do this. I'm at the age, after all. Don't cry, please."

"I'm...sorry," her voice murmured on the video.

"My attorney, Emily Emery Moretti, has all the legal documents signed and notarized, but I wanted to make this video as well. And just so there is no mistake after the will is read, either about my health or my general mental well-being, Ms. Moretti also holds documentation signed just today by my doctor, Philip Abernathy, which stated that I'm of reasonably sound body for my age and have all my mental faculties, both at the time of the making of my will and of this video."

He went on to summarize his early life: childhood in Springfield, Army service, marriage to Emma Lonardo, work as a mathematics teacher and boxing/wrestling coach, purchase of the house at 2 Courant Street from Alistair Morrison, an attorney who later practiced in Naugatuck. He spared a few sentences for the neighbors: eccentric Mrs. Krentz and her beloved trees, the Athertons (especially Bess Atherton and her affection for territorial little Rip the Pomeranian), the "hippie couple" Danielsons, and others.

"It was the best neighborhood to bring up our boys," he said, smiling fondly. "Giacomo...Jack...sorry, son, Julian or Guiliano, I can't get used to it. You were named after my father, and that's how I think of you. Jack was our eldest. I never worried about him. He was a go-getter from childhood, with a paper route by the time he was nine, earned and saved for anything he wanted. He graduated St. Gregory's with honors as well as his university, and, like any father of my generation, I hoped that soon he'd get married, and—if that's what he and his wife wanted, of course—I might be a grandfather.

"He told me he wouldn't rush into marriage; Jack wanted someone with similar goals, and he wanted it to last, like my relationship with his mother. He finally met the daughter of one of his clients, Anitra Hayes. She was several years younger than him, a 'classic beauty,' he told me proudly, well-bred." Leo looked over his shoulder with a smirk at Olivia. She didn't react, and his scowl returned. "Jack was prudent and wanted to provide well for her; they weren't married until he'd established himself in the insurance industry. He climbed the corporate ladder in due time, while she gradually took over running the family business. They bought a beautiful home and even a beach cottage. Sometime afterward, he decided to get involved in city politics in Sunset Vines, the California community where he and Anitra raised their children. I liked that, too. As a former member of the military, I think it's a fine thing for a man to do his civic duty. A little over a decade ago, I became a grandfather to beautiful Gianella and handsome Leandro.

"I regret not having seen them more in person. Jack and Anitra visited only a few times when the children were small, and then really not again after they began school. But once this internet thing took off, we did visit through...well, whatever it's called, the video calling. Enzo set it up for me so I just had to click a few boxes."

Now Bruno's face sobered. "Vincenzo was my younger boy. He wasn't a go-getter in business like his older brother, more laid-back, but smart, a good boy, too. Decent grades, respected his mother, and helped around the house. Got a Master's degree in civil engineering, but unlike Jack, he was a homebody. Had a job with the county in Hartford, keeping the municipal infrastructure in working order. He was engaged to Lavender Danielson when he contracted late-onset muscular dystrophy. He broke the engagement; Lavender was a free spirit, like her folks, and he said it wasn't fair for her to spend her life nursing him. MD tormented him for twenty years. When he got really bad, I slept in a cot in the room, and I had nursing staff. Anything he needed to make him comfortable, to make him happy, I got for him." He swallowed. "I held his hand when he died."

Bobby put his arm around Olivia when she sniffled.

"For a long time, I didn't get over it," Bruno admitted. "Jack and his family came for the funeral—but, of course, he couldn't leave his work and civic duties too long. I understood. In fact, I suppose it was providential that Enzo was taken when he was; the lockdown came only a few weeks later. When people started traveling again, I hoped Jack might make arrangements for me to visit, but...he said almost no one was home most of the time—he had work and politics, Anitra had the banks to run, and the children were in school or activities most of the time. They keep very busy.

"Then one day in October after Enzo died, I was raking my lawn. Jack would chide me over the phone, ask me why I didn't hire it out—but I liked doing it. Got me outside, gave me time to think about the seasons passing. I knew Paul next door had finally rented out that little Cape Cod of his, but that particular day the man who'd moved in asked me if I needed help with the leaves. Big strapping young fellow...well, younger than me, anyway. He said his name was Robert Goren. He was ex-NYPD, retired..." And here Bruno snorted. "Said he was retired FBI. Don't know why he kept saying that 'retired' part, but it wasn't my place to ask."

Alex patted Bobby on the knee, and his wan smile was one of recollection. The next few minutes of Bruno's tale weren't much different from what he'd told the inspectors canvassing the neighbors before Olivia's adoption: how they became friends talking about their shared experiences in the Army, the town, the past. Bobby had filled an empty spot in his heart.

"About a year later, Bob introduced me to a beautiful lady—well, beautiful from what I could see of her since she was wearing one of his jackets!" Head bowed self-consciously, Alex recalled herself swimming in Bobby's hoodie. "I saw only pretty brown eyes and realized this was the woman he always talked about: levelheaded, dependable, trustworthy Alex. Brains and beauty. Courage of a lion. Eyes that looked into your soul. And I saw something in his eyes I'd missed before—hope. I prayed that night that she'd stay. She did. Viola's always said they complete each other. And so they do.

"Things were lively after that: there was always Bobby's dog, and they bought and fixed up the house, Bobby's friend Mike would come to visit—I liked swapping stories with Mike; he's a real hot sketch. Occasionally, a couple of kids came to play there, Ana and Carlos. I loved to watch them. That's how I met Viola and Abbi. Abbi Diaz—the children's grandmother—had no car, and Viola would take her on errands. Eventually, Viola started running errands for me, too. It was a happy arrangement."

Here virtual Mrs. Perrino operating the cell phone camera, and Viola Perrino in Moretti's office emitted a sob in tandem.

"Almost a year ago now, the Gorens sent me a text to let me know they had left town unexpectedly. They came back with a child—a wide-eyed, scared but game little girl. I'd hardly gotten to know her before they left on a four-month bus tour...but once they were home...little by little, she became the granddaughter I'd always dreamed about. When I let the three kids play in my backyard, I'd hear them enjoying themselves, and it was like Jack and Enzo were young again. Sometimes I could almost feel Emma by my side." He looked directly into the camera. "I'll miss you, Olivia. I hope all your memories of me are good ones."

Olivia pressed her face into Bobby's sleeve, sniffling.

"Well, Emery, I've finished my bit. Time for you to do yours. Thank you for all your help. I have an appointment with Emma and Enzo now." Bruno gave a warm, anticipatory smile. "I'm looking forward to it, you know."

He gave a thumbs-up, then the video stopped.

When Moretti spoke again, her voice was thick and she pulled a tissue from her desk drawer to wipe her eyes. "Bruno always did have his say. Thank you for recording that, Viola." She took a deep breath. "Mr. Trent, Mr. Fessiden, will you join me? I have copies of the will for each of you, and you may read along as I summarize the bequests. The will is brief," and she smiled at a solemn Olivia, "so you won't be missing too much more school, young lady."

Fessiden nodded to Alex as he joined Trent at the table, and they watched him page through the document left for him. His impassive face gave nothing away—Alex had already resolved never to play poker with him—then he turned to Moretti, waiting for her to begin. Trent, in turn, kept his eyes fixed on the document and did not acknowledge her.

"Since the respective attorneys can read the official documents for themselves, I will just sum up the initial bequests," Moretti continued. "After payment of certain expenses and the quarterly property tax, a balance of approximately $30,000 remains in Bruno's savings accounts, to be apportioned as follows: $10,000 is bequeathed to Mrs. Viola Perrino..." and the woman's head jerked upward, wide-eyed, "...with a note from Bruno as follows, 'For my dearest friend Vi to do with as she pleases, but let this old man suggest one thing: please use some to visit your grandchildren. Take it from someone who wished he'd done things differently.'"

Abbi Diaz touched her arm. "You should, querida."

Moretti continued, "'The remaining $20,000 will be split equally and invested by my attorney Emery Moretti into two high-yield 529 educational accounts to be activated when Ms. Luciana Serrano and Mr. Carlos Serrano finish high school.' Bruno's note states that the funds apply to any higher education of their choice."

It was Mrs. Diaz's turn to look surprised. "I do not understand."

Mrs. Perrino whispered, "Bruno has left Ana and Carlos $10,000 each to continue their schooling." In less than a minute, she had to comfort the comforter as Abril Diaz's eyes filled with tears.

"There are minor bequests to people who are not present: 'to Lena Krentz, my Wolfgarten tree trimmer and accessories since she admired them; to Bess Atherton, the St. Anthony statue from the front yard; to Alvin and Jane Danielson, my collection of classic 60s records; to Richard Carver, the 1950s AMI jukebox in my basement, for his restaurant.'"

Moretti now took a deep breath and read directly from the will: "'To my son Giacomo, my daughter-in-law Anitra, my granddaughter Gianella, and my grandson Leandro, I leave the most precious things I own, my Emma's engagement ring, and the diamond pendant I bought her for our twentieth anniversary, in the hopes that perhaps Gia or a special someone in Leo's life will wear them someday.'"

"And the final bequest is as follows," and the attorney paused, her eyes searching the faces of the people before her. Julian Volpe straightened in his seat, confusion spilling over his face when Trent would not meet his eyes. "'To my good friend Robert O. Goren, who was always there when I needed him...'"

Bobby's shoulders dropped. Alex's mouth formed the words "he didn't–" without making a sound, and his hand tightened on her arm.

"'...and Alexandra V. Eames Goren, who was there when we both needed her, and to Mignon Olivia Goren, who has made the past year the happiest since my boys still lived at home,'" and here Moretti gave a deep breath, "'I leave the entirety of my property at 2 Courant Street, including outbuildings and any remaining contents of the house—so Alex won't have to worry any longer about where to put all the books. Also, to Robert O. Goren, I leave the contents of Storage Locker #17 at the Nutmeg Hill Storage facility, knowing he will appreciate it, along with papers I will have entrusted to him.'

"That concludes the Last Will and Testament of Bruno Vincenzo Volpe," concluded Emery Moretti.

Julian sat, frozen, his mouth parted.

"I should have expected this," Anitra Volpe said matter-of-factly. "I knew it was a wasted trip."

"He left me...a stupid ring and a necklace?" Gia objected.

Only Leo did not react; instead, he watched Olivia, whose face was streaked with tears as she turned to Bobby. "Papa...Papa—did you hear? He left us the library. The library, for all our books, and a place for Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Jack to stay..."

"I know, Min, but I'd rather have him back."

"Me, too, Papa," she said, hugging him.

Trent turned to Moretti, his eyes flaring with anger. "I plan to contest this."

Fessiden said, unconcerned, "You do that, Stan. I'm not an inheritance specialist, but I'm sure I can find one licensed to practice in this state. Maybe Saltonstall and Saltonstall will fit the bill."

Julian remained so still that Moretti was irritated. Already frustrated by his attitude for the past four days, she asked curiously, "What is it you don't understand, Jack?" and when he reacted mutely to her question, she added patiently, "God in heaven, how did someone so smart and capable as you become so thickheaded? Calabrese! your dad would have said. All he wanted was one week of your time per year. One week. Seven measly days out of your life, and then you could have gone back to your actuaries and your constituents—you had plenty of time for them, didn't you? You never visited, you never offered to fly him out, you were always too busy. One...call. One connection. Love takes work, Jack. It doesn't exist in a vacuum."

She extended the palm of her hand toward Olivia. "He got more love from that child in a year than you and your wife allowed your children to give in fourteen. 'God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.' That's St. Paul, but others have said it just as well." She dropped her gaze. "Maybe I'm out of line—but your dad was my favorite client. He always made me smile."

Anitra's briefly indignant expression smoothed out; she arose stiffly, then touched her husband's shoulder. "Let's go, Julian. We need to get ready to leave. I have meetings on Thursday, remember, and need time to prepare."

Gia just shook her head as she flounced from her seat. "What a washout! Still better than crappy school, though. I'll be outside, Mom. I'm gonna call DeeDee."

She stalked out, her mother in her wake. Julian slowly rose from his chair, his face pale and incredulous, as Trent roughly shoved his seat back. "I'll start the paperwork the moment I get back to my office, Mr. Volpe."

"No," Julian said in a dignified voice. "My father made his wishes clear, Mr. Trent. I won't be contesting the will."

Trent protested, "We can fight this! You're his family, his blood relatives," and his upper lip curled, "not some opportunistic strangers–" He waved his hand cavalierly at the Gorens. Bobby sat up straight, eyes flashing, and Alex's fury projected from her "glacier face," but Julian only had eyes for Olivia's woebegone expression.

"You truly loved him?" he asked her softly.

"Yes, sir," she whispered, which appeared to steel his resolve.

"I will not contest the will, Mr. Trent," Julian repeated in the same tones in which he addressed board meetings, and Trent thrust his copy of the document into his briefcase, snapping it shut, then snatched the case from the desk, heading for the door. "I'll be sending you a statement then, Mr. Volpe, with an additional fee for wasted time."

"You do that," Julian said quietly, and at that moment, even Olivia could see it was Jack Volpe speaking, not his carefully crafted public persona. He patted Leo on the shoulder. "Let's go, son."

He started to step away, but Leo reached forward to touch Olivia's arm. "Hey–"

Olivia fixed frosty eyes on him. "Hay is for horses."

Leo froze, then amended meekly, "Excuse me, Ms. Goren. May I write to you? Or maybe text? If it's okay with your parents?"

Alex's mouth parted in surprise; Bobby looked down to check Olivia's reaction, but she only regarded Leo thoughtfully, then said, "As I told you, I'm on Blogger. My blog is called 'From Two Worlds.' You can search on Google. You could read my entries and write to me there."

"Okay," he nodded.

She reminded him, "Papa and Mama moderate all my comments, so mind what you say," to which he nodded again. Finally, she chewed her lower lip for a second, then added, "Have a safe trip home, Leo. I- I'm sorry I was rude to you yesterday. It's okay to like whatever you want."

"Julian," Bobby said quietly, stepping forward to touch the younger man on his shoulder. "I swear we knew nothing about this. But I want you to know...to understand that your father loved you. D-Deeply. He always talked about you...always positively. He admired your character. Your initiative...he called it your 'get up and go.' Your independence. He was proud of you. And when he talked about you, your brother, your mother—they were always good memories. His face would light up. You and Enzo playing ball, having space b-battles in the backyard, helping with the furniture, the big Christmas celebrations your mother put on- I wish–" He swallowed and then confessed, "I wish to God my dad had felt about me...um...the way yours felt about you."

Julian regarded him, his eyes grave, then extended a hand. "Thank you, Mr. Goren." He shook hands with Alex, then leaned over to gently tell Olivia, "Thank you for the love you gave my father. I hope...you're as happy in that house as Enzo and I were."

"Bye, Olivia," Leo said softly, and they were gone.

Fessiden murmured in Alex's ear, "You're gonna need a shotgun with that one."

She smiled. "Oh, I don't know. I think Olivia will always be able to hold her own."

Fessiden chuckled. "Call me if you need me," and took his leave.

"Papa," Olivia said soberly, "I need to get to school now, please."

Moretti worked her way to Bobby's side as they said goodbye to Viola Perrino, still mopping her eyes with tissues, and Abril Diaz. She handed Bobby what looked like a key to a padlock suspended from a loop of doubled, grimy butcher's twine and an envelope, and he asked her the obvious question.

She smiled. "The only thing Bruno couldn't sell. Do yourself a favor, Bob: locker first, then the envelope."

"I have my sound turned off," Olivia pleaded when they dropped her off at St. Gregory's Academy, "but promise you'll text me when you see what's in the locker. Please! I swear, I won't peek during class. I'll only check between periods or during lunch. Jure sur mon coeur. She made a swift "X" gesture over her heart.

For Christmas that year, they had purchased an inexpensive smartphone for her, with every parental control locking it down, a tracking app installed, and strict instructions about texting and messages from strangers. (Olivia told Ana darkly that the only thing they hadn't made her do was swear on a Bible.) So Bobby promised, and now he and Alex were standing in front of a 12-foot by 24-foot metal-walled locker at the rear of the storage facility.

"Yes, Mr. Goren," the cheerful thirty-something attendant had assured him. "This is number 17. I'm guessing you won't be renewing the lease? I'll go prepare the paperwork closing out the locker while you check the contents."

Bobby cocked his head. "You know what's in there?"

"Yessir, I was here when Mr. Volpe rented the locker, February of 2020, just before the lockdown. And I've been here once a month when Mr. Volpe made sure everything was okay. He came by himself at first, then after a while with a white-haired lady—you couldn't miss her with those blue eyes—except for a few months last summer when he had some guy your age with him a coupla times." And he loped toward the office on long legs.

"Sounds as if Viola was doing more for Bruno than grocery shopping and trips to Walmart," Bobby said, amused, then noticed the elfin grin on Alex's face. "What?"

She tilted her head at him, still smiling, then sobered. "After we woke up Thursday and you took Sam out, I didn't want certain folks to find out about Bruno secondhand. I called Viola, Abbi, Bess, the Danielsons, Shard and TJ...just quick calls. When I went out later, to pick up the baguette, Viola's car was in Bruno's driveway, and she was loading a suitcase into it. I didn't let her see me, but I guessed what it meant."

Bobby appeared nonplussed, then bowed his head. "They kept it so close to the vest, I never even- Poor Vi. No wonder she's been so torn up. And Abbi Diaz must have known; she was keeping her close." He dangled the key from its string, now thoughtful. "Will you still be hanging out with me when I'm 91, Princess Ozma?"

"Till the very last breath, my Wizard," she promised, meeting his eyes, then inclined her chin toward the locker door. "You want me to do the honors? Maybe Bruno didn't sell all the furniture and some of it is here?"

"There's no furniture here, Eames," he replied gravely. He removed the padlock and rolled up the door.

"Oh, my God," she breathed.

"Help me get the cover off?" Bobby moved with the stiffness of someone in a dream as they moved to either side of a fitted tarpaulin made of grey canvas and slowly removed it.

Olivia was at the tail end of lunch, sitting with her two favorite classmates, Jacob Silverman and Cerise Whittaker, joined by Bridget Cohan, Harpreet Kothari, and Gary Vincente, when her cell buzzed, and she peeked at it discreetly.

"I know I promised to tell you what was in the locker," Bobby had texted, "but we'd rather show you when we pick you up."

At dismissal time, the six children and a few other seventh-graders who had overheard Olivia discussing the inheritance couldn't wait to leave the classroom and head for the school pickup line. Olivia was sure she heard Sam barking but could see neither Bobby's nor Alex's car in the pickup queue. However, the children could hardly miss a crowd of mostly men gathered in one specific area, partially blocking the school driveway and the currently stationary line.

"Sister Marksy will go spare when you don't turn up for your bus, Harp," warned Olivia as they approached the group.

Harpreet panted, "She'll have even more of a fit when the pickup line doesn't move. Maybe somebody's parents got a new car?"

Olivia's eyes went very wide. "Ah, la vache!" she breathed, then bolted away from her friends to plunge with a flurry of "excusez-moi" into the crowd, directly into her parents' arms.

"Surprise," said Bobby, still astonished himself.

"Whose car was it?" she said, staring. "Mr. Volpe's?"

"Enzo's," he answered. "Bruno wouldn't give it up."

The girl touched the buffed, dark blue paint of the classic car with a tentative hand. "Wow." She paused briefly, then asked, "What did Lewis say? You did call him, didn't you?"

"We texted him, with a picture. He had a cow," Bobby said, amused.

"A herd of them, I think," Alex added, with an arm around her shoulder.

"I have a feeling we'll be seeing him very soon," finished Bobby.

"People! We need to move this line!" scolded the stentorian voice of Sister Mark Anthony, all six foot one of her, as she elbowed her way through the crowd of children and adults rapt around the car. "Are you here, Mr. Kothari? Ms. Higgins is having kittens over you. Who's holding–"

She stopped and stared, her face dumbfounded. "Whoa! Is that a '68 Mustang GTO?"

Before Emery Moretti had a chance to contact the neighbors named in Bruno's will, what had occurred that morning was all over the neighborhood. Bess Atherton and her daughter Frieda, the Danielsons, Nate Berkowitz, Fred Novino, and even little Mrs. Krentz had stopped by to admire the car while Olivia finished her day at school.

"Well," Nate had remarked, stroking the hood of the Mustang with stubby fingers as if petting a dog, "at least we won't have to worry about a one-percenter from the big city moving here and bulldozing that gorgeous place to build a McMansion!"

"Yes," fretted sturdy Jane Danielson, one-half of the former hippie couple who lived in the aged saltbox further down the street, her long steel-grey hair tied back with a pink leather thong, "but of course, if Bob and Alex move to Bruno's house, they'll be selling Paul's old place, won't they? And some horrid one-percenter could come in and do the same thing!"

Birdlike Lena Krentz, the neighborhood dendrophile, with her close-cut crop of dark blond and silver curls, looked horrified. "They'd rip out those beautiful old maples to build one of those oversized monstrosities!"

Bobby and Alex were only on the periphery of this conversation since the latter was chatting with Fred and the former with Bess. Both came alert to the reference to selling "the Dovecote," as Nicole Wallace had sarcastically called it, only to have it become an affectionate nickname.

"Bob!" Mrs. Danielson beseeched. "Please tell us you won't allow some overstuffed Republican to buy your house."

He cocked his head at her, troubled. "Jane...I could hardly refuse someone a house sale due to their politics, could I? That would be rank bigotry, like refusing to sell to someone Black or Muslim."

Bobby was ready for Alex's response, so used was he to her coming up with some sensible solution or a quip that defused a situation; instead, he was astonished when he glanced at her only to see an abrupt, shuttered expression cross her face. She made an excuse to Fred and disappeared into the house, leaving him to see everyone off.

She was quieter than usual after that, emerging from her silence only during the encounter in the school pickup line, and Olivia, chattering like a magpie about her classmates' reactions to the inheritance over roast chicken and scalloped potatoes, noticed her mother's brief, distracted participation in the conversation, but kept quiet. At bedtime, with Bobby still working through Treasure Island, Olivia asked, "Has Mama told you yet what's wrong?"

"Not yet. She'll let us know when the time is right."

Alex hadn't dropped in during the reading, either, and when he emerged from Olivia's room intending to ask if she wanted to watch the new network series about a dog trainer turned detective—it was absurdly fun to watch these odd crime series together and pick them apart—she wasn't in the living room, where her laptop sat deserted in the middle of an e-mail to her sister, which was unlike her. Nor was she in the kitchen or bathroom. Next, he tried upstairs, but despite however many more books she had teased about him purchasing in the past two years, they weren't enough to hide Alex.

Finally, he padded down the steep wooden stairs to the basement, peered to the left where the Murphy bed and storage boxes were—empty—so, by process of elimination-

Just past their exercise equipment, Alex perched at the edge of Olivia's small armchair in front of the child's library, her head bowed over her lap, her right hand rubbing her forehead as if she nursed a headache, her breathing slightly audible. She didn't stir until he stood beside her, laying restless fingers on her shoulder.

"Alex...Eames...talk to me? Please?"

"Nothing you did," she said quickly.

"I hoped it wasn't. Your face changed when Jane was wittering on about Republicans and–"

He paused when she lifted her head, revealing damp cheeks, and swiftly calculated how few times she'd permitted him to see her weep. Oh, she had teared up any number of times: at Bruno's funeral service and when he and Olivia had presented her with the plaque, at their wedding, at court for the adoption, receiving Olivia's first Mother's Day gift, and other emotional events ranging back to when she was forced to fire him from the NYPD. But full-blown tears, besides those for her murdered first husband, her mother, and later her father? Mike Logan had told Bobby she had cried in his arms when he'd found them in the game reserve and later at the hospital in Scranton while he was unconscious. Most times, it wasn't Alex's way. It was usually teased that Liz was the official "keeper" of the Eames sisters' tears.

"You don't want to move," he said in slight surprise.

Alex swallowed, squeezing her eyes together briefly. "Oh, I know...it's only a house, wood and fiberglass and plaster. We need a second bathroom, and I would love it if there was room for our families to stay overnight. Min could have sleepovers, and we wouldn't be tripping over books–" She attempted a smile. "Think of the fun Bandit will have with those high ceilings. We may have to buy a butterfly net!"

She pinched the corners of her eyes at the bridge of her nose, but a tear escaped. "I'm supposed to be the sensible one in the family! But it's our house, Bobby...the place where we first made love, where we kissed on the bench, and where I finally let myself admit that I loved you. The place we brought Olivia home to, and Bandit, too, and our first Christmas together, and first New Year's Eve." She blotted her eyes. "Listen to me, I sound like Lizzie."

He beckoned to her with his hands; she accepted the invitation, nestling in his arms. "I'm glad this has been a happy place for you. As I told you once, TJ found this house for me. When I moved in, I knew only him and Shard, neither of them well. I came as a stranger, and alone. Little by little, I became everyone's crazy uncle at the Dark Crystal. I met Bruno. I brought Sam here. I volunteered at Big Brothers and found Russ and the kids. I explored the neighborhood–"

"Hunted up every bookstore and library within a fifty-mile radius," she teased in a watery voice.

"More like seventy-five." His grin flickered to acknowledge her joke. "I never expected Milbury to turn into home—'home' was New York. But then you arrived to make it perfect. This is where I've been the happiest I've ever been."

Then he added matter-of-factly, "But it was still due to who was in the house and not the house itself." His mouth quirked. "Of course, I say that never having had my books destroyed by fire."

"I came down here to work it out for myself. Of course, it'll be better for all of us, but the thought of leaving made me ache." Alex gave a small sigh. "I lost Mother's things, mementos of Joe, and Robbie in the fire, but they're still there inside me. But sometimes–"

He whispered to her, "Besides, no matter where we go, that shed is moving with us. Or at least the bench, even if I have to carry it on my back."

Now she laughed, resting her head in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. "Who would have thought the know-it-all from Narcotics who could spout trivia on the most obscure subjects could be so sentimental?"

He chuckled softly. "Who would have thought the upholder from Vice, who kept the know-it-all in line and didn't hesitate to read him the riot act, could have such a soft heart?"

Alex finished, "I'm glad they led us here."

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