Page 32 of Fly's Path

“What smells so good?” another teenage boy asks as he opens the kitchen door. “Morning, Nonna.” He looks nothing like the redhead, but they seem to be a similar age. His brown, wavy hair has streaks of almost auburn highlights and a fair-skinned but not ghost-like complexion, it’s hard to believe they’re brothers.

What if they aren’t? Lots of women have the neighborhood kids call them grandma. Nonna might be a term of endearment like that. Viola is certainly warm and welcoming enough to adopt all the kids in the neighborhood.

“Morning, Lorcan. How are you this morning?”

The boy walks up to his grandmother, but he keeps his eyes on me. “Tired. I stayed up too late studying.”

She wraps her arms around him, hugging him like I used to dream my grandmother would hug me, but she never did. “You work too hard. You’re young. You need to have fun.”

The boy shakes his head but continues staring at me. “You’re pretty.”

That sounded more like an accusation than a compliment. “Thank you.” I think.

“Why are you here?”

“She’s coming with me to visit your brother.”

“Ahhhh. That explains it.”

That explains nothing, but he’s a bit less hostile-looking.

“Would you like something to eat?” Viola steps back. “I could make you an egg sandwich.”

Lorcan shakes his head. “I’m too tired to eat. I’m just here for a cup of coffee.”

“A growing boy needs something in his body. At least take some biscotti from the jar.” She nudges him towards it.

“All right. But save me some pastina for lunch.”

“Are you feeling bad?”

“No.”

“Then all of this is for your brother. I’ll make something for you when I get home.”

Lorcan nods. “Is Gabe going to come home soon?”

“Not for a few months.”

The boy nods as he reaches for a cup. “Maybe I’ll ask McGee to drive me up this weekend.”

“McGee is coming home this weekend?”

“Nope. I think he’s somewhere in northern Africa, but he will if I ask him to.”

“Ask your father or grandfather first.”

“Will do, Nonna.” He pours himself a massive cup of black coffee and sets three biscotti on top before kissing Viola’s cheek and walking out of the room.

“Aren’t my grandsons the sweetest boys?” She sighs.

That’s probably because they have a kind grandmother. “They are. I can’t wait to meet Gabe.” Oddly, that’s the truth. Taking the risk to help a crying woman has turned into a very nice morning.

***

“And I think we’re done.” Viola sets the pan of cooked rib eyes in the hot food cooler.

It boggles my mind just how much food she has packed to visit one little boy. She really took to heart my suggestion to feed the staff.