In an instant, Capri's body fills with strength. She seems a foot taller as she lifts her head high. Her spine, which is usually collapsed like an accordion, stretches long, giving her a look of fierce determination. She takes Pedro's hand and leads him out of the kitchen. She does not look back, merely shouting, "You'll be sorry!" before she slams the door behind them.

Aurelia collapses in tears as Rufus comes into the kitchen. I motion for him to go.

"Aurelia?"

"This is all your fault, B. You wouldn't marry my daughter, and now this happens. You did this!"

"Hey, wait a minute. I found the best artists in the country to come here and work on our church. This wasn't some scheme I hatched to find romance for Capri. This is her choice. Why can't you let her choose?"

"You gave her away." She cries.

"Aurelia, you are overreacting. She's not doing anything wrong." There's a part of me that can't believe that Aurelia would treat her adult daughter like she's a fifteen-year-old girl caught in the back of a car with a boy. Capri was right: Aurelia might as well have locked her in the attic like Rapunzel. I feel like a fool for letting her use me all these years to put Capri on ice. "You're going to lose your daughter," I warn her.

"She's gone already," Aurelia says, glaring at me. "She left me the night she went with him. Leave me alone." I try to soothe her, but she pulls away. I go outside. Rufus stands by my car. "Pedro took the truck," he says.

"Come on. I'll buy you dinner," I tell him.

The last time I was summoned to the rectory was the summer when I was fourteen and Father Dragonetto invited me in to discuss my potential future as a priest. He asked me if I had gotten "the calling." I hadn't, but that wasn't the answer he was looking for. I remember it was so hot in his office that I couldn't breathe. Finally, to break free of the meeting, I told him that I could never be a priest because insanity ran in my family and the church of Rome should not be saddled with a nut job. He never bothered me again.

"Bartolomeo, we've got a big problem," Father Porp says from behind his desk. It occurs to me that the office hasn't changed since the reign of Dragonetto, except that there is less clutter.

"What is it, Father?"

"Aurelia Mandelbaum is pulling her money out of the renovation."

"What?"

I feel as though I have been socked in the gut. My shock turns to anger.

"She said that the church could keep the initial one-hundred-thousand-dollar donation, but she is not giving another penny. Do you know what this is about?" He looks at me accusingly.

"Capri has been seeing Pedro. Evidently Aurelia-who married a Jewish man!-doesn't want a Mexican Catholic in her family." I throw my hands in the air. "Can you talk to her?"

"I tried. And then she had her lawyer call me."

"What are we going to do?" My heart races as I picture Rufus, Pedro, the church council, the congregation full of disappointment as they stand in the empty shell of Fatima Church.

"How much time before your money runs out?"

I do some rapid calculation in my head. "Another three weeks," I tell him.

"Keep working. I'll make some calls." Father Porporino looks at me. "Now you understand why I wanted Patton and Persky. This is a disaster."

I ignore his dig as I stand to go. "The diocese has deep pockets, Father. If there's money for a new football stadium at Our Lady of the Snows in Piscataway, surely they can cough up the rest of the dough we need for the church."

"I wish it worked that way, B. But it doesn't."

My heart feels like a lead anchor in my chest. My years of friendship with The Benefactor account for nothing. I am so angry I can hardly speak.

I cross the street to the church where the crew is hard at work. Two is helping Pedro remove the old stained-glass windows, to be replaced with temporary clear plastic as the molds are salvaged for the new windows. I go into the sacristy, where Christina is working on an order of supplies.

"Christina, we're in big trouble."

"What's the matter?"

I pace the floor. "Aurelia pulled the money. It's a little late in the game for bingo, car washes, and raffles. We'll ask the parishioners, but that will only cover a fraction of what we need. Can you rework the budget and see if we can cut corners anywhere?"

"Every penny is accounted for." Christina looks at me. "What happened?"

"She's angry about Pedro and Capri."

"Shame on her!" Christina raises her voice. "They're in love. Aurelia's a widow. She knows what it's like to be alone. To wish that on her own daughter is cruel."

"I've seen a side of Aurelia that I wish I hadn't."

"Come on, B. It was there all along. Everything she does out of the goodness of her heart-excuse me, bank account-has strings. She controls this parish and has for years. Everything from the landscaping at the cemetery to the foot pedals of the organs, she has bought and paid for, and it's done to her liking. There isn't a generous bone in her body."

"She's always been kind to me."

"Oh, B. You do things out of obligation-not because you want to. You've humored her all these years, and there's a little part of you that likes the big money because you know how to use it. I doubt very much that Aurelia's castle would be gorgeous without your touch. You're the one who always tells me that the people with money never know how to spend it."

"I've had a bad day, Chris, I don't need to hear about my shortcomings."

"I don't mean to insult you, I'm just trying to help you see what's going on here. She gave you the money to redo this church, but it came at a price to your integrity. If you think for one moment you were able to be free with the renovation of this church, you're crazy! She said she trusted you at the parish council meeting, but who do you think is pushing Father Porp to call you in and put the fear of God in you? It's her. It's always been her. Capri should run while there's an open door. No good will come of her trying to please her mother."

Two stands in the doorway. "I heard everything. I think we should talk to Dad."

"Your father hasn't set foot in a Catholic church since his first wedding day," I say.

"He's got the dough."

"Not if he goes through another expensive divorce," I say aloud, instantly regretting it. "Not that he's getting a divorce, but you know what I mean."

"I'll have Mom talk to him. They've been really friendly lately."

"Good idea," I say to my nephew as he goes. I turn to Christina. "A new teddy and some tap pants at the Freehold Inn just might buy us some time. I'll give Mata Hari a call and tell her to work her magic."

Christina looks confused.

"I'll explain later," I promise.

New York City has always been my refuge, so I escaped into the city as soon as I could after hearing the news. I called Eydie immediately about losing our funding. I can't face Rufus and Pedro yet. Besides, I have three weeks to come up with the money. As a Catholic I believe in miracles, which is exactly what we need to finish Fatima Church.

The bar at Gino's is empty except for Eydie and me. We share a plate of prosciutto and melon over cocktails.

"And it's so sad. Capri and Pedro look so happy together." I chase the maraschino cherry with a plastic sword around the bottom of my Manhattan like I'm spearing a fish in the South Pacific.

"They're a wonderful match," Eydie says, crossing her legs on the bar stool. "Mexican, Italian, and Jewish. Name one vegetable that won't be used in that kitchen."

"Capri is a mess. Pedro is full of guilt and offered to break up with her. There's some Mexican belief that any man who comes between a mother and a daughter winds up without a lung or something. It's crazy."

"Is your ex-brother-in-law going to give the rest of the money for the church?"

"I sent my sister into the trenches to finagle a donation. I hope she comes out with more than rug burns."

"How's Rufus?"

"Working like a dog. It's not just a job to him, it's a mission. He's the best."

"I know," Eydie says as she blushes.

"Don't tell me you fell under the spell?" I throw up my hands. "Who hasn't?"

"There's a reason. Rufus is magnificent. The problem is, only half his heart is available. The other half will always belong to the woman he lost."

"It's tragic."

"For any girl he meets."

"Were you two serious?"

"We had a whirlwind romance. When the storm died down . . . well."

"Don't leave me hanging! What happened? Start at the beginning. How did you meet?"

Eydie settles back in her chair, absolutely delighted to remember every detail. "It went like this. I met him in Queens at the Scalamandre factory. He was there to pick up some fabric for a theater curtain he designed for an off-Broadway house. We started talking shop, and he asked me out for coffee. One thing led to another. Isn't that the way it is when it happens to you? Like this." She snaps her fingers.

When I think of the women I've been with, I realize I spend a lot of time standing up, so it's unlikely that they or I am looking for anything too permanent. "Well, we're a lot alike, Eydie. It seems to happen in an instant. At first I can't tell if a woman is interested, and then suddenly I can't find my pants. I never know how I get where I'm going. It just happens."

Eydie laughs. "I knew when I met you, we had a lot in common."

"And it never ends badly," I continue. "They always want to be my friend. Is that how it is with you?"

"Always. And that's how it was with Rufus. We had our little delicious thing, we enjoyed each other, and then it was done. But I feel for the woman who really falls in love with him. I wouldn't want to be her."

"Are you Barty Crispy?" the bartender asks me.

"Close enough," I tell him. I look at Eydie. "See what I put up with?"

"Your sister called. Said for you to go straight to St. Ambrose Hospital in Freehold. Your niece is having the baby."

CHAPTER NINE.

Brocade in Brielle St. Ambrose Hospital is tucked in the middle of Freehold's main drag like a book on a library shelf. I am familiar with it because my father had a hernia repaired there. I park on the street and run through the entry doors.

I've been through three births with my sister, so I know she's a disaster when she's panicked (or when she's famished, which is another story). I can hear her loudly barking orders when I come off the elevator to the waiting area. "Nicky, Ondine wants you. You have to go in there!" Toot stands over her son, trying to yank him out of his seat by his collar.

Nicky is crumpled in a heap on a small green plastic chair. "I can't, Ma. I can't." Toot takes her son's face in her hands. It's the color of the chair.

"You must. You have to be strong and be a man and be there for your wife."

Toot lifts Nicky up from under the arms and pushes him into the hallway outside the labor room.

"Oh, B, thank God you're here," Toot says as she drags her son.

I follow them inside.

"How is Ondine?"

"She hasn't started pushing. She's screaming like a banshee in there, though. She even scared the other girls." Toot pushes Nicky through the doors.

After a moment a young nurse in small wire-rimmed glasses comes out. She is awfully young and looks like one of those girls who danced around the campfire at Woodstock. I'm worried. "Are you coming in, Mrs. Falcone?"

"I wasn't planning on it," Toot tells her.

"Maybe you should. Your son is a nervous wreck."

"This is my brother. Can he come too?"

"Let me check with the patient." She goes back inside.

"I don't want to go in," I tell Toot.

The nurse returns. "It's fine. As long as he stays out of the way."

Sure, I think. This is a hippie hospital where anything goes. Ondine will probably have strangers passing a bong while watching the birth.

"I'm not going," I protest.

"Yes you are!" Toot clamps down on my biceps so tight she pinches a nerve and my elbow goes limp. I follow her into Labor Room 4, where Nicky stands gripping the metal bars near Ondine's head. As soon as he sees Toot and me, he collapses on the floor in a chartreuse heap. A nurse picks him up and pulls him off to the side like she's carrying him off a battlefield and deposits him in a chair in the corner. Toot goes to Ondine's side. "Your mother is on the way, but it's gonna take a while. Just pretend I'm her."

Ondine takes Toot's hand and screams so loudly even the nurse takes a step back.

I liked it much better when Toot had babies. They knocked her out and I waited outside, except when Two was born. Toot had switched doctors and had a Hawaiian fellow who allowed me into the room and let me cut the cord. I don't think he worked in New Jersey after that.

Poor Ondine. She is so full of fluid that I cannot detect a single bone in her face. Her head is a beach ball. Her nose seems to have sunk, and her eyes are two blue dots. The only way I could pick her out of a lineup is the hair, which lies on her shoulders in soft blond curls.

The doctor-a middle-aged fellow with his curly mop in a hairnet-instructs Ondine to push. Toot won't look, and I try not to, but when the doctor tells her, "Again," I can't help but look, and out comes the baby, fists in the air, like he plowed through the defensive line of the Baltimore Colts and made a touchdown. When the nurse shouts, "It's a boy!" Nicky revives suddenly and rushes to Ondine's side. Evidently this was the news he wanted to hear.

The doctor asks Nicky if he wants to cut the cord. He shakes his head violently, but Toot smacks him lightly and says, "Cut the cord, it's the least you can do." The doctor hands him giant shears (the kind used to install carpet) and shows Nicky where to cut; Nicky clips the cord and the baby screams.

Ondine smiles at Nicky and he kisses her tenderly. I didn't think my nephew had the courage. Evidently neither did Ondine. As they coo and cuddle with their baby boy, Toot and I practically dance out of the delivery room when we're asked to leave.