everyone started talking and digging into their soup, and within a few minutes, the sound of boisterous laughter and clinking spoons filled the room. Yes, we had indeed just been to a mass for the dead and an interment. But now was the time for rejoicing in Letta’s memory and enjoying the company of family and friends. A good tradition—very healthy, in my opinion.
I had just speared one of the crispy, golden-brown calamari steaks and was dabbing it with Marinara sauce when a commotion erupted at one of the tables across the room.
“You son of a bitch!” a male voice shouted. This was immediately followed by the sound of a chair crashing to the floor, and I looked over just in time to see two men lunge for each other and start wrestling. They were quickly pulled apart by the other guests, and once untangled, I saw that itwas Javier and Tony who were being restrained, panting and glaring at one another.
“What’s going on here?” My father had jumped up and now stood before the two men, disbelief and anger in his eyes. “How dare you! At a funeral—”
“He started it,” Tony interrupted, pointing at Javier. “He grabbed me first.”
“I don’t give a damn who started it. Out! Out, the both of you! You’re both a disgrace.” He turned his back before either could respond and walked slowly to his table, shaking his head in disgust. Several large men escorted Tony and Javier to the door, and I heard them warn that any continuation of the altercation out in the street would not be tolerated.
That sure put a damper on what had, up till then, been an almost festive occasion. It put my dad in a foul mood, and the guests, not wanting to further upset him, kept their conversations quiet throughout the rest of the meal. Nonna wanted to know what had happened, and I responded with a shrug. But I did have an idea.
***
Eric walked me outside after the repast was over. I pulled out the copies I’d made of the letters and photo I’d found in Letta’s office and showed them to him as we took shelter from the rain under the restaurant awning.
“Looks like an old photo,” he said. “I’d say from, what, the 1970s, ’80s?”
“That’s about what I thought, yeah. Back when Letta was living up in the Bay Area.”
He read through the two letters, a scowl on his face, and then handed them back to me. “Freaks—that’s what those people are. They love their animals more than their fellow human beings.”
“Well, maybe the animals deserve love more than we do. At least they haven’t started wars or poisoned the planet with DDT and car emissions.”
Eric snorted. “Animals can be plenty vicious, Miss Pollyanna. I watched a pair of coyotes rip a house cat to shreds last year not too far from this very spot. Anyway, are you really going to stand there and defend those radicals when one of them may have been who stabbed your aunt to death?”
I returned the copies to my purse. No point responding to a purely rhetorical question.
“Sorry.” Eric used his sleeve to wipe a raindrop off his glasses. “Those PETA types just sometimes really piss me off is all.”
“No worries.” I started across the road to where I was parked, and Eric followed.
“So,” he said. “About that altercation between Javier and Tony . . .”
“Yeah. What the hell?”
“Javier was the one who started it—he shoved Tony pretty hard. You have any idea what’s going on between them?”
“Well . . . I did find out that Javier was in love with Letta.”
“That’s certainly something.”
“But not enough to make them this weird toward each other, it doesn’t seem. After all, she was involved with Tony. Engaged to him, it turns out.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Tony told me that the other day. I guess it was pretty recent. And both Javier and Tony knew she wasn’t interested in Javier. Javier says he hadn’t even told her how he felt, though it turns out she did know and told Tony about it.”
We stopped behind
I had just speared one of the crispy, golden-brown calamari steaks and was dabbing it with Marinara sauce when a commotion erupted at one of the tables across the room.
“You son of a bitch!” a male voice shouted. This was immediately followed by the sound of a chair crashing to the floor, and I looked over just in time to see two men lunge for each other and start wrestling. They were quickly pulled apart by the other guests, and once untangled, I saw that itwas Javier and Tony who were being restrained, panting and glaring at one another.
“What’s going on here?” My father had jumped up and now stood before the two men, disbelief and anger in his eyes. “How dare you! At a funeral—”
“He started it,” Tony interrupted, pointing at Javier. “He grabbed me first.”
“I don’t give a damn who started it. Out! Out, the both of you! You’re both a disgrace.” He turned his back before either could respond and walked slowly to his table, shaking his head in disgust. Several large men escorted Tony and Javier to the door, and I heard them warn that any continuation of the altercation out in the street would not be tolerated.
That sure put a damper on what had, up till then, been an almost festive occasion. It put my dad in a foul mood, and the guests, not wanting to further upset him, kept their conversations quiet throughout the rest of the meal. Nonna wanted to know what had happened, and I responded with a shrug. But I did have an idea.
***
Eric walked me outside after the repast was over. I pulled out the copies I’d made of the letters and photo I’d found in Letta’s office and showed them to him as we took shelter from the rain under the restaurant awning.
“Looks like an old photo,” he said. “I’d say from, what, the 1970s, ’80s?”
“That’s about what I thought, yeah. Back when Letta was living up in the Bay Area.”
He read through the two letters, a scowl on his face, and then handed them back to me. “Freaks—that’s what those people are. They love their animals more than their fellow human beings.”
“Well, maybe the animals deserve love more than we do. At least they haven’t started wars or poisoned the planet with DDT and car emissions.”
Eric snorted. “Animals can be plenty vicious, Miss Pollyanna. I watched a pair of coyotes rip a house cat to shreds last year not too far from this very spot. Anyway, are you really going to stand there and defend those radicals when one of them may have been who stabbed your aunt to death?”
I returned the copies to my purse. No point responding to a purely rhetorical question.
“Sorry.” Eric used his sleeve to wipe a raindrop off his glasses. “Those PETA types just sometimes really piss me off is all.”
“No worries.” I started across the road to where I was parked, and Eric followed.
“So,” he said. “About that altercation between Javier and Tony . . .”
“Yeah. What the hell?”
“Javier was the one who started it—he shoved Tony pretty hard. You have any idea what’s going on between them?”
“Well . . . I did find out that Javier was in love with Letta.”
“That’s certainly something.”
“But not enough to make them this weird toward each other, it doesn’t seem. After all, she was involved with Tony. Engaged to him, it turns out.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Tony told me that the other day. I guess it was pretty recent. And both Javier and Tony knew she wasn’t interested in Javier. Javier says he hadn’t even told her how he felt, though it turns out she did know and told Tony about it.”
We stopped behind
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