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Touch(31)





“Hi, Dad. It was okay.”



“Just made hot cocoa. There’s enough for two. Want some?”



“Sure.”



She sat down at the Formica table in the kitchen. As her father poured the cocoa into cups, with his back to her, he said. “Your mother tells me you met a boy.”



Never were there secrets in this house. “He’s thirty-four, Dad. Pretty sure that makes him a man.”



“Don’t be so sure. You should bring him home. I’d like to meet him.”



“Dad! We went on one date. I don’t even know if he wants to see me again.” He’d said he did, but then he’d been kissing that girl. Mixed signals sucked.



Her father set the mugs on the table and sat down. “I think he will. And I want to meet him. Before you get too deep, I want to take his measure.”



“That’s dumb. I’m not even gonna know when too deep happens. If it happens. You know that.”



“That’s what scares me, Manny. Your heart is a tender thing. What happens if he hurts you? What happens if that makes you lose ground you worked so hard for?”



“You and Dottie did a lot of talking tonight.”



“We did. You knew we would. Your mother and me, we talk about everything.”



“I’m tired of being a social retard, Dad. I want to be normal. I’m almost thirty. I don’t want to be Little Miss Psycho for the rest of my life.”



“Normal, my girl, is fucking overrated. You are unique. You are wonderful. And you’re not psycho. You just see and feel the world in ways other people don’t understand.” He tipped his mug back and drank all his hot cocoa. “I best get to sleep. I hear I’m gonna be dragging behind you two at the Flea tomorrow.” He rinsed out his mug and set it in the sink. Then he stood behind Manny’s chair. “You get some sleep, too. I love you, princess.”



He left her alone in the kitchen. Manny sat in the pale halo of light from the range hood and sipped at her cocoa, trying to sort her thoughts.



She needed new cubbies.





~ 7 ~



Luca brought a combination and then bounced back for a kick. The force of the kick made Hugh, holding the heavy bag, take a couple of steps back.



“Fuck, Luc. You workin’ something out?”



With a grin, Luca pulled up and dropped his hands. “No more’n usual. You getting frail in your old age?”



“Blow me, pup. You want a spar, say the word.”



“Not today, my man. I got an appointment with the Lord our God this morning. But I’m happy to dance some other time.”



“Yeah, you with your glass knee and me with my bum neck. We can do an Invalids Fight Night.”



Luca went to the bench against the wall and grabbed his towel and water bottle. He squirted a stream of cool into his mouth, tossed his head back, and let it ooze down his throat.



He had learned to fight right here at The Cove Corner—not the kind of gym that soccer moms and suits had their memberships at. It was dingy, smelly, and loud, and normally populated by grumpy, ugly guys. But it was one of the finest fighting clubs in New England. Some big names in the sport had gotten their start in this musty old place.



There was a martial arts studio across the street. At first, before the rise of MMA as both sport and entertainment, there had been a pretty hostile rivalry between the club and the dojo. Luca had been among the first in town to cross over, and now the businesses had all but formed a partnership.



Usually, Luca worked out in the afternoons, after work. His day started too early to get a workout in before. But on Sundays, he found that an hour or two of sweat got him prepared for the Pagano command performance at Christ the King Catholic Church.



“You still miss it?”



Swallowing, Luca brought his head up and looked at his old friend. “The fight? Yeah, of course. I like walking better, though.” He chuckled. “Some days, that’s just a thing I tell myself, I guess.”



“Yeah. Me, too.”



“Hey, Luca?”



Luca turned to see a young guy, early twenties if that, grinning at him. He had no idea who he was. “Yeah?”



The kid held out his hand. “I’m Anthony. Anthony Naldi. My Uncle Fred said I should introduce myself.”



Fred Naldi was Luca’s uncles’ consigliere. Uncle Ben and Uncle Lorrie ran Pagano Brothers Shipping. And also one of the largest ‘families’ in New England. He shook the kid’s hand. “Yeah? Good to meet you, Anthony.”



“You, too. Uncle Fred said if I wanted to get into fighting, you were the guy to talk to.”