that people are just gonna put that shit on the back burner. I gotta earn their trust, I get it.” He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I’m not even sure my own dad trusts me completely, so I can’t expect your family to jump on board when they’ve barely met me.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Jamie. I saw her hands clasped against her chest and her smile, and I smiled back. She liked him, she approved, and that felt more important than getting the thumbs-up from my sisters.
***
My sisters might not have instantly fallen in love with Vinnie, but their kids certainly did. While at five, three, and two, they were pretty easily impressed, I was stunned by how easily Vinnie took to them. Walker had found a permanent spot in Vinnie’s lap, while Clarke and Jordan busied themselves by admiring his tattoos. I sat back in silent speculation, watching and wondering what the old woman behind him was thinking.
“You’re really good with kids,” Willa commented, carrying a tray of watermelon wedges to the table.
Vinnie grinned, bouncing the toddler on his knee. “I lived with my sister’s kids up until a few years ago.”
“How many does she have?” Mer asked.
“Two little girls,” Vincent chimed in, before sending himself into a coughing fit.
“Pops, take it easy,” Vinnie muttered beneath his breath.
“Take it easy,” his father mocked with a wheeze, scoffing and waving a hand through the air. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
Mom hurried to get up from the table. “Vincent, can I get you something? Some water maybe?”
The old man coughed again, holding a fist to his mouth and flattening his other hand to his chest. He began to shake his head, then thought better of it and nodded. Vinnie watched with wide-eyed worry, as if he thought his father would drop dead right here, in this backyard on Long Island. It wasn’t his time yet though, I knew this and felt it, but I couldn’t say it. Vinnie would ask how I knew, demanding some medical explanation, and that was a conversation I wasn’t yet prepared to have.
I stood up, controlling my speed, not wanting to give Vinnie more reason to worry by showcasing any panic. I bent over his father, pressed a hand to his back, and said, “Take it easy, Mr. Marino. Try to focus on taking slow, deep breaths.”
He listened and began with short, sputtered gusts of breath, but after several tries, he was breathing normally again, as normal as he could. He took a sip of water from the bottle my mother brought to him, then wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. When he noticed a streak of pink, brushed over his pale, spotted skin, he looked up at me with terror in his eyes.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, grabbing a napkin from the table and wiping the blood-tinged saliva away. “That’s going to happen sometimes. But it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
“Oh, yeah,” he snickered morosely. “I feel really okay right now.”
The old woman in the yard looked from her son to the dying man with sympathetic eyes. One hand reached out to cover Vincent’s shoulder, and I watched his feathered brows lift. I didn’t need to ask if he felt it, I knew he did. He turned his head slightly, to take a quick glance at his arm, to see if something was there. He couldn’t see her hand laying there, of course, and he shook his head as he swallowed, probably assuming it was only the wind or maybe even his imagination. But he continued to feel it, I knew he did, and I hoped he found comfort in her touch.
“So, let me ask you a question,” I said, pulling over a chair to sit beside him.
“Hm,” he grunted, settling back in his chair and continuing to make quick glances toward his shoulder.
“How did you meet your wife?”
Vinnie leveled me with a steely glare I chose to ignore. He was my boyfriend, but this moment wasn’t about him.
His father pulled in a deep breath and held tight to the arm of his chair. “Oh, that was a long time ago—”
“Yeah, but come on, you still remember.”
Vincent pinched his lips and hesitated, shaking his head, but still he responded, “We met in high school.”
“Ooh,” I squealed, leaning forward in my chair. “High school sweethearts?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I guess you could call it that.”