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Tom normally came to the restaurant for lunch, but he’d had a long day and didn’t much feel up to cooking, so popped into the restaurant for dinner and a glass or two of wine. It was off season and the restaurant emptied out early, and 9:30 found Tom sitting at the bar alone, chatting with Polly and Beverly as they were closing up. “I’m really wired,” Beverly said. “We fill up one seating and then it’s over. Do you guys want to go out for a drink?”“That would be cool,” Polly answered. “But everything’s closed.”“Do you guys want to come over to my place?” Tom asked.“Sure,” the girls said in unison and then laughed with each other.Tom waited while they finished getting the restaurant ready for the following day and they walked arm in arm a few blocks to his apartment. “Brr, it’s getting cold,” Beverly said and Tom pulled both women closer to him.“Would you mind opening some wine?” Tom asked as he took their coats and put them on the bench in the hallway. “I’m going to make a. .. In my considered opinion, she could get away with a bikini, if it was more substantial than a thong and a couple of tiny triangles."Do you think you could put up with her?" I asked Rachel. Faye seemed high-strung -- not the happy soul her daughter was."You'd cool her out, Sweetie!" Rachel replied with her usual carefree expression, "A couple of shots from that fire hose of yours and Momma would be absolutely laid back!" Hmmm. I'm not prepared to commit to lug along any more members of your family, but I'll take the idea under advisement."Rachel stopped me in the hall, serious for once.'Daddy is, well, fading, somehow -- I think he's got more than just little problems, ' she transmitted soberly. 'Momma has been slowly picking up the ball. Nick can take care of himself, but Momma may need a sponsor, soon.'
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There are overlaps, of course. My mother was a ballerina, and my father, a musician. A tango musician, actually.”“What did he play?”“The bandoneon,” Clara said. “A type of accordion. Very difficult to play.”“Is that what you have over in the living room?” I asked, remembering the splayed instrument on her server.“Yes! That was his personal instrument.”“So you got the dancing from your mom,” I asked, “and music from him? Or did he dance, too?”“No, he definitely could not dance. He had polio when he was young and needed a cane just to be able to walk. But, he certainly could make the bandoneon dance.”“I guess he doesn’t play anymore?”“No. He is no longer with us.”“Sorry to hear that ... I also lost my dad.”Clara looked back at me. “I’m very sorry, Matt.”“I was really young, so I actually don’t remember him at all.”“What a shame,” she lamented.She had assembled her salad and carried her bowl to the dining table. I spun around on the stool so I could face her.“What did your father do?”.

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