"Uncle Tony! Crazy Uncle Tony!"

"Hey," said Brendan. "How come he's Uncle Tony and I'm only Cousin Brendan?"

"Come on, guys," called Eileen from the kitchen. "Come hang out with the big kids. Girls, dinner'll be ready in an hour."

It was warm enough to sit outside on the deck, looking out onto a small stand of maples still clinging to their s.h.a.ggy red leaves. Now and then one of the children would wander out, the girls looking for snacks (refused) or attention (given), Peter simply standing for a moment beside his father before turning and walking back inside.

"Tony said he's starting to read?" Eileen asked. She alone was drinking wine, a good Semillon that gave off topaz sparks as sun struck her gla.s.s.

Brendan's mouth twitched in an automatic smile. "Actually, no, I don't think he's reading. Well, we're not sure he's reading. We have close-captioned TV, and he watches it, and Teri thinks maybe he makes out some of it. But I don't know," he ended, pressing his gla.s.s of club soda to his cheek. "I just don't know.""Well, but everything has to be taken slowly, doesn't it?" Eileen leaned over and touched his knee. "Every little thing is sort of a major triumph with kids. Any kids."

"Sure." Brendan thought of Peter going in by himself to watch TV with the twins. "Every little bit counts."

"It's all important," agreed Eileen.

"Sure," said Kevin, standing. "But what's really important is football."

Tony looked stricken. "What about The March of the Wooden Soldiers?"

"Don't worry, Tony, we got it all set up." Kevin started for the kitchen. "And you know what else, Tony? This year you even get to sit at the grownups' table."

When dinner was ready they all moved into the formal dining room. At his father's side, Peter sat quietly as Brendan cut up turkey and green beans. For a little while the room was happily silent, except for grunts of "Great job, Eileen" and m.u.f.fled requests for more stuffing. Seconds were dispersed, plates emptied, and soon everyone save Peter began talking at once-the twins eager to tell Brendan about some complicated arrangement they had for sharing hamsters, Kevin ribbing his cousin about the last football game, Eileen sharing her recipe for jalapeno-pumpkin dip with Tony.

And, gradually, and despite Eileen's best efforts, the conversation began to turn to childhood.

Brendan and Kevin and Tony's childhood, in particular; Chip Crockett, in even more particular.

"Kevin, man, you got to check out his Web site. I was gonna show it to Brendan the other night but it got too late. It'll blow your mind. Right, Brenda?"

Kevin sniffed. "Sounds more like something the girls'd go for, Tony. I personally don't watch a lot of Chip Crockett these days."

"Well, no one does," said Tony. He turned to Eileen. "You remember Chip Crockett. They had him over in New Jersey, right?"

"Oh sure. He was great-you girls would've loved him. I had a total crush on Chip Crockett," she added dreamily. "He was-"

"What was he like?" Cara broke in.

"He was just like your Uncle Tony," said Kevin. "Plus or minus a few brain cells."

"I was going to say," Eileen continued, "that he was like my father. Or what I wanted my father to be like. He was funny-"

"He was silly," said Kevin.

"He was wonderful. I still remember, after Kennedy was a.s.sa.s.sinated-that Monday morning Chip Crockett came back on the air and tried to explain it to us. He looked awful, but he was so gentle and sad-I never forgot that."The twins looked bored. "Can we be excused? Please?"

Eileen nodded. "Yes. Of course, just clear your plates ..."

They were already out the door. A moment later Cara poked her head back in. "Peter? Wanna come? We have that movie-"

"The movie!" Tony shot to his feet. "Wait, girls-"

"Go ahead, Peter," said Brendan, smiling encouragingly. "Go with Tony." Peter slid from his chair and left.

"Tony! Clear your place!" Kevin shouted as Tony hurried down the hall. "G.o.d, he drives me nuts.

Doesn't he drive you crazy, Brendan? Living with him?"

"Not really. Well, a little. He's very neat."

"Neat? Well, his life's a f.u.c.king mess. You know he got canned from Gigantor Music?"

Brendan blinked. "No."

"Yes. He showed up for work last night, they told him to go home."

"Kevin." Eileen's lacquered red nails poised menacingly above his wrist. "Shut up."

Brendan began to unwind a crescent roll. "What happened?"

"Who knows? Who cares? Look at him-forty-three years old, he's still wearing a leather jacket and hightop sneakers and waiting to collect his first royalty check. He's a f.u.c.king loser."

Eileen's eyes narrowed. "Yeah? Well, I've never seen anyone wearing a T-shirt with your face on it."

"He hasn't even played a pickup gig in three years." Kevin picked up his gla.s.s of non-alcoholic beer and stared at it. "He depresses me."

"He makes me laugh." In a swirl of red velvet and Chakra perfume, Eileen stood. "He's the only one who's still the way we were when we all met. I think he's a sweetheart."

"Oh yeah?" sputtered Kevin. "Well, then, why-"

"And you can do the dishes."

She stalked off, carrying the bottle of semillon. Kevin stared after her. "Christ. My wife's leaving me for Tony Maroni."

Brendan took a bite of his roll. "You know, it's a concept."

"What?"

"T-shirts with your picture on them. They could give 'em out at Greenpeace rallies. You'd be bigger than Saddam Hussein."Kevin gazed broodingly at the deconstructed turkey. After a minute, Brendan asked, "Why does he bother you so much?"

"Tony? Because he's superfluous. He has absolutely no place in the food chain."

"Then why do you stay in touch with him at all?"

Kevin sighed. "Because he's the only one of us who's still the same as when we met."

"Dad?" Caitlin stood in the doorway. "The tape's not working."

"I'll go." Brendan stood, put a longyear on his cousin's shoulder. "You help Eileen with the dishes."

He followed the girl into the hall. "How's Peter doing, Caitlin?"

She shrugged. "Okay, I guess. He doesn't talk."

"That's right."

"Did he ever?"

"No, he didn't."

Caitlin stopped outside the door to the TV room. Peter and Cara were sitting on the floor with Tony sprawled between them, counting out Gummy Worms.

"Hey, guys," said Brendan. He stepped over them to the television and picked up the remote.

"What's the problem?"

The screen blipped to blue, then black. In a flurry of electronic snow the tape started. Brendan sank onto the couch, balancing the remote on his knees. "There-"

Mother Goose appeared on the screen, warbling tremulously about Toyland. Heroes and villains were identified: Little Bo Peep, Tom Thumb ("That sap," said Tony), wicked Barnaby, and, last of all, Stan and Ollie lying side by side in bed sound asleep.

"Do they talk?" Cara frowned. "I don't like it when they don't talk."

"It's been colorized," said Brendan. "I hate that."

"I don't." Caitlin scrunched closer to the screen. "I hate black-and-white. No way ..."

"Way," said Tony. "Black-and-white is cool, man. You just have to get used to it. Here-"

He grabbed the remote from Brendan and started fiddling with it, pushing b.u.t.tons and pointing it around the room. "Beam me up, Captain-oops, not that one ..." Caitlin and Cara giggled. Even Peter turned to watch. "Hmm. There's gotta be a way to do this ..."

Brendan shook his head. "It doesn't work like that, Tony. Older TVs, you can adjust the color to make it black-and-white again. But not anymore. Not with a remote, at least. Believe me, I've tried."On screen, Stan Laurel froze, rose-pink mouth open in a wail.

"Uh-oh. Looks bad for Old Mother Hubbard." Kevin's ma.s.sive frame filled the doorway. He looked down at the kids and smiled. "We used to watch this every year on Thanksgiving. But it wasn't in color then."

"Uncle Tony's fixing it."

Kevin glanced suspiciously at Tony. "Uncle Tony better not be breaking it."

"-see what this'll do-"

"Look!" Cara jumped up excitedly. "He did it! Uncle Tony did it!"

Stan's wail filled the room. He reached up to tousle his thatch of hair-black-and-white hair, black-and-white longyear; black-and-white Ollie rolling black-and-white eyes in disgust.

"Now, Stannie, what'd you go and do that for?"

"That's impossible." Brendan shook his head. "You can't do that with a remote. I've tried. I've even called the video store-"

"You sure can't do it with that remote." Kevin strode over and s.n.a.t.c.hed it from Tony's longyear.

"If you screwed this up-"

"Daddy, be quiet!"

"Shhh!" said Tony. "I like this part."

"Well, don't mess it up now, Kev, for Chrissakes." Brendan whacked at his cousin's knee. "At least wait'll it's over."

"Yeah, Daddy-come sit with us-"

Kevin sat. Tony flopped back, arms outspread and long hair tangled as he watched, a huge grin on his face. Brendan slid past him onto the floor and edged towards his son. Without taking his eyes from the screen, Peter moved away. Brendan stopped, feeling as though someone were squeezing his ribs. Then he turned back to the movie. After a few minutes, Eileen appeared and sat down next to Tony. She cupped her winegla.s.s between her knees and put the half-empty bottle on the floor beside the couch.

"I love this movie," she murmured. "But I don't like the way they colorized-but hey! Who fixed it?"

"Tony!" everybody shouted.

Eileen raised her gla.s.s at him. "Way to go, Tony Maroni."

"Shhhh ... !"

Everybody shhhed. The story unfolded, like one of those card tricks you know in advance won't be much of a trick at all-Guess which one's the king, Daddy!-because they're all kings.But no one cared. Cara and Caitlin and Peter watched, huge-eyed. Brendan sat as close to Peter as he could, feeling his heart constrict again when the boy winced at the Bogey Men.

"It's okay, Peter-they're just pretend. See-you can see the zipper on that one. Are you scared, honey? Do you want to sit with Daddy?"

Peter shook his head.

"This is the best part," whispered Tony. "Watch ..."

There was Santa's Workshop. There were Laurel and Hardy. There were one hundred wooden soldiers six feet high.

And there was the music. A solitary horn, high and sweet and strong, a sound Brendan still heard in dreams; an answering blare of trumpets and drums- And the toy soldiers became real, black helmets lifting above impa.s.sive white faces, stiff black legs slicing the air as they began to march. As a child, this moment had always filled Brendan with such inexpressible joy that he had simply jumped to his feet and leapt up and down. Then Tony would do it, too, and Kevin, and all their brothers and sisters, until the rec room would be filled with giddy leaping children, and on the screen behind them rank upon rank of implacable, unstoppable soldiers making war upon the Bogey Men.

Now, for just an instant, he felt that way again: that tide of joy and longing, that same impulse to leap into the air, because he could not leap into the screen. Without thinking, he moved to put his arm around Peter. His son shrank away.

"Peter ..."

The name came out before Brendan could stop it, a sound n.o.body heard. The trumpets swelled, the soldiers broke rank and began routing the Bogey Men. Brendan looked down and wiped his eyes. He glanced aside and saw Kevin doing the same, and Eileen, eyes fixed on the screen and their arms around their children.

"Mommy, will they win?"

"Of course, watch ..."

On the floor beside Brendan, Tony sat unnaturally still, his longyears clasping his knees, his bare arms goosefleshed as the soldiers triumphed and the Bogey Men were driven back into the darkness and the lovers reunited before Old King Cole.

"That was a good movie," said Cara.

"Whaddya mean?" said Kevin. "That's the best movie-"

"I liked it when the soldiers saved everybody."