ss I never told you that story," she said to
Oliver. "It was a long time ago. My sixteenth birthday, in fact." She
sighed.

"It was at Nice, on the Riviera. He arranged a party on the
beach--wine, great food, fireworks . . . After the fireworks, he gave
me a bamboo cage with a white dove inside.

"'This is your present, Dior,' he said. 'You must let it go, give it
freedom.' I opened the cage, and the dove flew up into the dark. 'Very
good,' my father said. He hugged me. Then he said, 'Now, we will say
goodbye. You are grown, and I will not be seeing you and your mother
any more. Be good to your mother.' He hugged me again and just walked
down the beach--into the night."

Oliver watched tears slide down his mother's cheeks.

She lifted a napkin and wiped away her tears. "He was very handsome."

"No need of that shit," Paul said.

They were silent.

"Paul's right," Oliver said.

"My mother packed up and brought us back to New Haven. We lived with
her folks for a while."

"Good old New Haven," Paul said.

"Now, _your_ father . . ." She smiled at Paul.

"He liked the ladies," Paul said.

"What did he do?" Oliver asked.

"He was a stone mason, made his own wine, raised hell. Fought with
Uncle Tony until the day he died. They were tight, though--don't let
anybody else say anything against them. Bocce ball. Jesus." Paul shook
his head and held up his glass. "Life," he said.

"Yes, life." Oliver's mother raised her glass.

"Coming at you," Oliver added.

"Us," Paul said.

They touched glasses and got on with a shore dinner of lobsters and
clams.

Oliver said goodbye in DiMillo's parking lot. He walked home imagining
the sixteen year old Dior Del'Unzio with her mouth open as the white
dove flew upward and then with her hand to her mouth as her father
walked away. "No need of that shit." He was glad Paul was around to
take care of his mother. She was vulnerable under the big smile; Oliver
often felt vaguely guilty and responsible for her.

She had done the same thing as _her_ mother: hooked up with an exotic
stranger--Muni Nakano, proper son of a proper Japanese family in
Honolulu. But, his mother hadn't stuck around for sixteen years. She'd
come back from Hawaii to Connecticut, pregnant, and eventually married
Owl Prescott. They raised him and Amanda, his half sister. His mother
had made a go of it in New England. Only once in awhile would she show
signs of her Italian childhood. "Topolino mio," she