“HEY, KIDDO!” Her father grinned, and Mary went over and gave him a kiss on the top of his head.

“Hi, Pop, hello everybody.” She flashed smiles all around, and everybody smiled back except Fiorella.

“Good to see you, Mary.” Fiorella’s black eyeliner looked fresh, her lips glistened cherry red, and she wore a new cleavage-inducing black dress, which was perfect for church, if you were Mary Magdalene.

“MY TURN, FIORELLA!” Her father moved his coffee cup aside and placed his hand on the table. “MY TURN!”

“Here, Mariano.” Fiorella picked up her father’s veined hand, cupped it in hers, and ran a crimson fingernail along one of the lines in his palm.

“What’s going on?” Mary asked, but it was rhetorical. She got the gist, she just couldn’t believe the gist.

“Shhhh!” Tony Two Feet’s eyes danced behind his Mr. Potatohead glasses. He went by “Feet,” making him the only man in South Philly whose nickname had a nickname. And nobody had any idea how he got either one. “Fiorella can tell the future from your hand.”

“Really?” Mary glanced at her mother, who kept frying meatballs, her flowered back turned.

“Yeah,” Feet answered. “She told me I’m gonna come into money. All I gotta do is put ten bucks on Willy Nilly, in the third at Monmouth. He’s a twelve-to-one long shot, but he’s gonna win.”

Tony-From-Down-The-Block waved a baggie filled with salt, or maybe crack cocaine. “And she said my prostate’s gonna clear up if I drink this, in hot water.”

“How nice for you both,” Mary said, watching Fiorella run her talons around her father’s thumb.

“Mariano,” Fiorella purred, “this is your heart line. You have a good heart, a wonderful heart.”

“THANK GOD. IT’S THE LIPITOR. MY CHOLESTEROL’S 203.”

Feet elbowed him. “Too bad your weight isn’t,” he said, and they all laughed except Fiorella.

“Mariano, caro, I wasn’t being so literal. Your heart line governs your emotions, and love.” Fiorella kept stroking his hand, and The Three Tonys watched like the little-old-man version of see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.

“LOVE?” her father repeated, and Mary boiled over, hoisted him up by his arm, and wrenched him out of his chair.

“Pop, come with me. I need to talk to you for a minute.”

“WHY?” her father asked, bewildered, and across the table, Pigeon Tony looked up, his baby-owl eyes round with confusion. If he could speak English, Mary knew he’d call her a party-pooper.

“But I want to hear his future,” Feet said.

“Me, too.” Tony-From-Down-The-Block frowned. “You’re going to mess up the magic, Mare.”

Only Fiorella remained calm, withdrawing her hands. “We will continue when you return, Mariano.”

Her father allowed himself to be tugged out of the kitchen, past his wife, through the dining and living room, and outside. Mary closed the D door behind them and they stood on the stoop in the hot sun. She could smell that he was wearing cologne, and it wasn’t even a Holy Day of Obligation.

“Pop, what do you think you’re doing? Letting Fiorella touch your hand like that? Driving her around? What about Mom?”

“WHAT ABOUT HER?” Her father shrugged in the thin white shirt he always wore to church. “YOUR MOTHER WANTED ME TO DRIVE HER.”

“I saw you at breakfast with her, at a restaurant. Did Mom ask you to do that?”

“SHE GOT HUNGRY AFTER THE HOSPITAL.” Her father blinked against the brightness. “WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL?”

“Fiorella wants you to be hubby number six.”

“ARE YOU NUTS?” Her father rubbed his tummy like a summertime Santa. “SHE COULD DO A LOT BETTER THAN A FATSO LIKE ME.”

“That’s not the point, and she can’t tell your fortune, she just wants to touch your hand. She’s flirting with you, Pop, and you’re flirting back!”

“MARE, I’LL FORGET YOU SAID THAT.” Her father wagged a thick index finger at her, and she couldn’t remember ever having angry words with him, especially not outside. The neighbors stopped washing their stoops, garden hoses hanging from their hands and cigarettes dangling from their lips.

“But Pop-”

“BASTA!” Her father showed her a palm, then opened the screen door, and went inside.

Leaving Mary to face the neighbors, suddenly not reposado anymore, at all.

Bennie opened her eyes into white light, so bright it hurt her eyes. She didn’t know where she was or what was happening. She blinked, lying still, in confusion. She wasn’t coughing anymore, nor was she gasping. She could breathe. Odors of filth, urine, and sweat filled her nostrils. They told her she was still in the box, but she was alive, which meant that the light could be a hole in the lid.

“My God in heaven,” she heard herself say. The animal must have made the hole, finally scratching his way through, along the long crack in the lid. She felt a sort of gratitude, and wonderment. She passed her hand over her eyes a couple of times, blocking and unblocking the light. She left her hand in the air, catching the light in her palm. She spread her fingers slightly, and a single shaft of brightness shot toward her, like a glowing wand onto her hand.

It’s the sun!

She tried to think, to reason. The box must be outside somewhere, and the animal was gone now. If it was nocturnal, it would be back tonight. She felt a familiar bolt of fear and slammed the hole with the heel of her hand. Pain shot down her arm, but she ignored it. If the animal had made this hole, she was going to make it larger and bust through it. It was her only chance, and she had to do it before the animal came back.

She pounded on the hole with her palms, pressing upward with all her might. Her hands hurt so much, but she couldn’t stop. She wanted to live. She didn’t feel hunger or thirst. She visualized breaking through the lid, powering through to the sunlight.

And survival.

Alice opened her eyes to sunlight, pouring through the bedroom window. She buried her head back in the pillow, then remembered that Grady had spent the night. She turned over, but his side of the bed was empty. She checked the bathroom, but he wasn’t there, either. She sat up in bed and looked at the clock.

Damn!

She had overslept. She was supposed to be worried about the dog, and sleeping late didn’t fit the story. She jumped out of bed, put on a fresh Bennie outfit, found the Birks by the dresser, and hurried downstairs, fluffing up her hair, which still had the barrette. When she hit the ground floor, she smelled bacon, so she slowed her pace and walked into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes.

“Hey, you.” Grady turned from the stove, came over, and gave her a hug. He had changed into jeans and a navy Lacoste shirt, revealing a torso that tapered to a trim waist. He looked so sexy she almost forgave him for his failure to launch.

“I had such a headache I couldn’t sleep, all night.” Alice broke their clinch and looked at him, pained. “That must be why I overslept. I really want to get to the hospital.”

“Relax. I called and they said he was hanging in. They’ll give us the details when we get there.” Grady smiled. On the counter behind him was a plate of bacon, and an empty frying pan sat on the burner next to a carton of brown eggs. “You want coffee? The bacon is extra crispy, the way you like it.”

“How nice, thanks.” Alice loved her bacon extra crispy, which proved that she and Bennie had exactly one thing in common.

“I was waiting until you came down to start the eggs. How do you want them?”

Alice had no idea how Bennie liked her eggs or coffee, and details like that could tip her hand. “You know, I’m sorry, I’m not hungry.”

“But we didn’t have dinner last night.”