"And then," Mario continued, in a much more animated tone than he usually managed, "Sam had the nerve to pay her for the books that he destroyed. As if pop would have held her responsible for something like that!"

Mario sat on the edge of the dining room table, looking as if he wanted to jump and run after the offending Sam Lincoln to beat him about the head for his offense. The thought nearly sent Tony into a fit of laughter: his mousy, scholarly brother tapping the wiry and wily Sam Lincoln on the shoulder, chastising the stronger boy for his inappropriate behavior, then Mario, on his back on the pavement, blood leaking from his nose.

"Mario, you're an idiot. And anyone stupid enough to fall for Sam Lincoln's obvious machinations deserves the fate that she gets." Tony ignored the reproachful look from his brother, turning back toward the stove and retrieving the coffee he had just brewed. "Just because she's a woman doesn't mean she has to be stupid. Look how smart Barbara is."

"If you hadn't run away when pop called, you would have seen this girl and heard her story, and you would have seen how smart she is, among other attributes. I guess I'm glad you didn't stick around," Mario admitted.

Of course, that statement elicited more interest in Tony than he had heretofore felt. "What's that supposed to mean?" he pressed his older brother.

"You might have decided to pay attention to her, and the last thing she needs is someone like you paying attention to her."

"Was she worth paying attention to?" Tony suddenly found himself interested by his brother's very attempt to repel him.

"Well, I thought so," Mario equivocated, "but when have I ever been a good judge? Besides, you defaulted when you ran away."

"If pop had called me by the right name, I would have responded." Tony's interest in the girl couldn't last through his brother's nagging. "Besides, I had somewhere to go."

"Someone to see, more like," Mario contradicted. "That supposed 'raid on the speakeasy' took a lot longer than it would have if you had just gone to take names. Do you think pop and I don't know that you go there for the same reasons as everyone else?"

"I'm not there to drink," Tony defended. "I'm there to help Jerome. And it's not technically a speakeasy, it’s a jazz club. I wouldn't expect someone as naïve as you to get it."

"I don't think the cops will care what you call it should they decide to really raid the place. Even if you feign ignorance."

Tony snorted. "Who uses words like 'feign'?"

"Get an education, Tony. It's only a five-letter word, one syllable."

Tony rolled his eyes. Another legitimate argument sunk to base personal insults. With his family, conversations always ended in the same way. If you would just get an education, his brothers and father implied, you'd be a worthwhile person.

If his father hadn't always shown such kindness in every other way, Tony would have taken his chances on the world stage and left to make his own way. Tony didn't have the heart to leave, though. Not when his father felt so completely isolated from the world.

Again, Tony's persistent internal war rose up as he thought of his father. A war that pitted Tony's personal admiration for his father against Tony's frustration with Professor Paul Garner's lack of backbone. If Paul Garner had decided, he could have engaged his community; he could have earned the admiration of the entire city. Instead, when Tony's mom had died, the professor had shriveled up into a photophobic recluse. Paul Garner had completely stopped evolving on March 15, 1907. Tony could think of no other explanation for the contrast between the man Tony had heard about and the man Tony knew. According to Tony's brothers, Paolo Gargano had relished life and taken it by the horns, never content to accept others' limitations for him. When Gemma Gargano had died, however, the wild tales of her husband's adventures dried up. Tony couldn't believe that his father had once traveled the world studying wildlife, sampling strange cuisines, and rubbing elbows with indigenous cultures. With the passing of Tony's mom, Paolo Gargano had peeled off his old skin to reveal a weakened, broken man, Paul Garner.

Moving to St. Louis completed the Garganos' transformation from cultured Italian adventurers to bland Midwest Americans. Of course, Tony loved America. Whenever he encountered a forgone relative from Italy, Tony couldn't deny how completely his father's immigration had advanced the family's situation. If Tony had stayed in Italy, he would no doubt have found himself stuck in some inescapable family entailment, forced to cultivate olives or manage a fishery.

When Paolo Gargano uprooted his family and moved to the U.S., the upstart immigrant had left behind his plebeian history and chanced to rise beyond the confines of convention. He longed to explore the apex of his abilities; the first few years in New York, though difficult, had seemed poised with potential. Unfortunately, an unexpected turn of circumstance had devastated the young father, dampening his determination to struggle against the odds and mount his assault on the world. When the academic had lost his wife shortly after arriving on new shores, Paolo Gargano rejected his bold history and turned himself into the safe Paul Garner, fully assimilated into a nondescript middle-class America.

After escaping the hodgepodge of cultures in New York, Paul Garner had changed his name and left his heritage behind. Midwesterners, he claimed, held a distorted view of Italians, likening them to the too prevalent members of the Sicilian mafia. Tony thought the assertion ridiculous. For one, he felt certain that one hundred fifty years of growth in St. Louis had sufficiently muddled the ancestral waters to the extent that most people wouldn't consider the Garganos at all, much less consider them mafia. Plus, Tony felt proud of his daring father's heritage and wanted more than anything to shout to it to the world. Tony would have loved to follow his father's enterprising example, and especially in comparison to the stuffy world of academia, Tony imagined that he would have fit in much better with his father's previous life.

"Anyway," Mario finally continued. "Pop and Barbara fixed her up, and by the time I came back, she was gone."

When Tony heard the dejection in Mario's voice, he almost smiled. That his brother had shown interest in something besides books amused Tony greatly. He imagined the girl: small, mousy. After all, he reasoned, she worked at a bookstore. Probably a librarian type who loved rules and order.

"I'm sure she'll deliver more books over the next few days, especially since pop seems to find her so intriguing. Though the department head may start to question his literary expenditures. Ha!" Tony suddenly laughed out loud. "I just figured out why she has you so excited."

The picture had occurred to Tony, and now he couldn't get it out of his head.

"She's like the candy delivery girl for a child. She brings you your favorite treat, and so you find her alluring!"

While Tony stood sipping his fresh coffee and snickering, the thought so engaged him that he didn't notice the change in his brother's demeanor or position. As Tony laughed, Mario stood up from his seat and grabbed a hunk of bread that lay on the nearby table. By the time Tony realized that the object hurled toward his head, he didn't have time to dodge it, and it hit the corner of his eye.

"Ow!" he complained as hot coffee poured down the front of his shirt. "What was that for?"

When Tony turned, he saw the simmering irritation in Mario's face.

"You don't know anything about her," Mario hissed, "and she's not some dowdy bookworm. If you ever paid any attention to what pop said, you'd know that she's one of the kindest girls he's ever met, and that she's brilliant and insightful. Besides, she doesn't bring the kind of books I study, so your theory about her allure doesn't hold up."

Trying to suppress his smile, Tony faced his brother with a conciliatory expression. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know you liked her so much, or I wouldn't have teased you about her." Tony shrugged. "Well, I would have teased you, but I would have been nice about her. If you really like her, then I think that's great."

Tony would love to see one of his brothers finally develop some interests besides his education. Maybe if they discovered the charm of something outside of academia, they would forgive Tony for not sharing their intellectual passions. Besides, Tony had begun to think that he would be his father's only hope for a daughter-in-law and grandkids. Tony had no great desire to embark on that journey just yet.

"It's not that I like her that much," Mario explained peckishly. "It's that I might decide I like her, and I would be a cad if I let anyone talk bad about her just because I didn't like her yet."

Faulty logic, Tony accused silently, since Tony hadn't exactly "talked bad" about the girl, but he didn't feel enough investment in the argument to point out his brother's lack of reason. Mario's irrationality boded well for Tony's hopes for his brother.

"Of course you can't," Tony conceded, reaching out and patting his brother on the shoulder. "You are very gallant, and she should appreciate such a passionate champion." Turning to leave, Tony couldn't refrain from one last comment. "And I rather like this side of you," he stated flatly. "The old pop would have been proud." He didn't know why he said it; everyone despised it when Tony separated his father's life into the pre-St. Louis and post-St. Louis eras. They liked to pretend that Paul Garner and Paolo Gargano coexisted peacefully. For some intangible reason, however, Tony could rarely hold his tongue on the topic; the words escaped him before he considered how they would be received.

Though he usually shunned cowardice, this time Tony turned and fled from his brother before what had commenced as harmless banter grew into a minor family feud. Tony would come back home after his brother had re-immersed himself in his normal cerebral activities and all threat of discord had passed.

"See you at lunch," Tony called out over his shoulder before almost running out the door.