“So let us lift our glasses,” John Jr. interrupted, lifted his glass, smiled brightly, put his free arm around Jimmy’s shoulder, “and drink a toast to the future, to happiness, to long productive lives, and maybe to some nieces and nephews.”
She had smiled at him, in class, English 101, smiled as if she knew, he thought, sitting there with her long straight black hair falling over the back of her chair all the way to the seat. And Tony had smiled back, sheepishly, then averted his eyes and attempted to listen to the instructor. He kept his head straight, shifted his eyes, trying to see if she might glance again at him, trying to determine her origin. He’d entered class late, just late enough to miss the role call, to miss her name. She was new.
“Pisano, Anthony?” the instructor, a part-t
