13

Jack was glad he didn’t have to describe his feelings as he watched Vicky work on her mussels in garlic and wine sauce. He had no words for them. And he’d never be able to get them past his locked throat anyway.

Amalia’s… an unpretentious, eons-old, storefront restaurant in Little Italy with red-and-white-checkered tablecloths over long tables for eating family style. Mama Amalia, older than the restaurant, loved Vicky and had greeted her with the usual fanfare—two-cheek air kisses and loud proclamations of what a beautiful child she was. Gia and Jack were an afterthought as she placed them all at a table near the window. No mystery why this was Vicky’s favorite.

And here she was, attacking her favorite dish.

As Jack watched her work through the huge platter, pausing only for a sip of Limonata while she arranged the empty shells into an interlocking daisy chain, he couldn’t help thinking of the old Squeeze song.

He sipped a glass of Valpolicella and poked at a bowl of sauteed broccoli rabe and sausage. Gia had ordered a tricolore salad and a Limonata but had touched neither.

A night out at Amalia’s had always been a festive occasion for the three of them, with mmmms and aaaahs about the delights of this or that. But for Gia and him tonight, it might have been a funeral.

Funeral… got to be a better word than that.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He glanced at Gia, saw her watching him. She reached out and squeezed his hand.

Her voice was barely audible as she cocked her head toward Vicky. “Want me to—?”

He shook his head. “I need to.”

He took a deep breath.

“Hey, Vicks? I need to talk to you about something.”

She didn’t look up from working on a mussel that hadn’t completely opened.

“Uh-huh?”

“I have to go away for a while.”

Now she looked up. “Where?”

“Far away.”

“Yeah, but where?”

“It’s a place called Shangri-La.”

It was the best he could come up with. He knew she’d never seen Lost Horizon, and if and when she did she’d think it was a real place.

“Is that like Tralla-La?”

That threw Jack. “Tralla—?”

“You know—in that Uncle Scrooge comic book.”

Didn’t she forget anything? He’d given her that over a year ago.

“Something like that.”

“Where’s this Shalla-La at?”

Jack had to smile. Sounded like a Van Morrison song.

“Shangri-La. It’s on the other side of the world. Near China.”

“Wow. How come you’re going there?”

“I have to visit some people.”

She went to work on another mussel.

“When are you leaving?”

Now the hard part: “Tomorrow morning.”

Her face tilted up, frowning. “But that’s… tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. Are you going to miss Christmas?”

He nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

Her frown deepened. “Can’t you go after?”

“I wish I could.” He shook his head. “You don’t know how much I wish I could.”

“But… how long you gonna be gone, Jack?”

“I’m not sure.”

“A long time?”

He nodded. “Maybe.”

Gia sniffed and Vicky looked at her. No way she could miss her mother’s red, teary eyes. She turned back to Jack with a narrowed gaze.

“Is there another woman?”

Jack let out a guffaw. He couldn’t help it. He glanced at Gia and even she was smiling.

“That’s why I love you, Vicks. You never fail to surprise me.”

“Well, is there?”

“No. There’ll never be another woman. Your mommy is it for me. Forever and ever.”

She looked at Gia. “Then why’re you crying, Mom?”

“Because I’m sad to see Jack go. I don’t want him to, but… he has to.”

Vicky trapped Jack with her blue gaze. Her lower lip began to tremble.

“You’re coming back, aren’t you, Jack? You’re coming back, right?”

Time to lie.

“Of course I’m coming back.”

“When?”

“The absolute soonest I can. I swear on a stack of Bibles.”

She must have sensed something because she dropped her fork and began to cry.

“Please don’t leave!”

“Now listen, Vicks—”

“You’re not coming back! I just know it!”

Jack froze his expression to hide his surprise.

Out of the mouths of babes…