Reborn

4

"They outdid themselves with the garlic tonight," Jim said as he twirled his linguini in the thick golden clam sauce.

They had discovered Amalia's last year, a tiny restaurant on Hester Street, right off Mulberry, where the waiters were unperturbed by Jim's habit of eating his meat course before the pasta. Everyone at Amalia's ate together at long tables covered with red-and-white-checkered cloths. Tonight, though, they had a corner all to themselves.

"This is so good!" he said. "Sure you don't want to try even a bite?"

Carol shook her head. "You finish it."

His eyes were a little bloodshot and she could guess why. They had each had a cocktail before dinner, and wine with. Carol had only had one glass of Soave with what little she had eaten of her pasta, but now, as the meal drew to an end, they had an empty Soave plus a near empty Chianti.

"Hard to believe that I've finally found my father," he said. "And by next week I'll probably know who my mother is too. Is that great, or what?"

Carol reached over with her napkin and wiped a bit of the butter sauce off Jim's chin, thinking how she loved this grown man but loved equally the little lost boy inside him who was still looking for his Mommy and Daddy.

He took her hand and kissed her fingers.

"What was that for?" she asked, touched.

"For putting up with me."

"Don't be silly."

"No, I mean it. I know I get pretty wrapped up in myself when it comes to finding my parents. It's got to be a drag for you. So thanks for the support—as always."

"Whatever's important to you is important to me."

"That's easy to say. I mean, anybody can mouth the words, but you really mean it."

"That's because it is easy when you love someone."

"I'm not so sure. You've encouraged me to go on writing novels that no one wants to publish."

"It's only a matter of time." She never wanted him to stop writing, no matter how many rejections he got.

"Let's hope so. But the important thing is you never made me feel I should give it up or that you were impatient with me. You never once used it to put me down, even when we fight."

She winked at him. "It's an investment. I know you're going to be a rich and famous author before long and I want you to feel you owe it all to me."

"So there's a financial motive, ay? Well, I think I'd better— wait a minute!"

He suddenly dropped her hand and poked through the remains of clam sauce with his fork. He lifted a small, round piece of garlic and put it on her plate.

"Doesn't that look like a wart to you?"

"That's it!" she said, beating him to the Chianti bottle as he reached for it.

"What?" He looked baffled. "What'd I say?"

"Time for coffee."

His eyes lit. "With Sambucca?"

"Straight and black. Espresso, even!"

"Aaaawww!"