Which told her exactly what to do.

“Ma, I’m hungry,” Mary called from the door, but the noise and commotion from the kitchen took her aback.

“Honey!” her father called back, emerging with a small crowd following him. They flowed into the dining room and expanded to fill it, like last time. But as angry as that crowd had been, this one was joyful.

“Pop?” Mary asked, bewildered. “What’s going on?”

“At church, the neighbors were so happy that you found Trish and they came over to visit.”

“Mare, you done good.” Mrs. DaTuno smiled at her and so did Mrs. D’Onofrio, dressed in their nice church housedresses. Everyone called out “Way to go” and “Congratulations, Mare,” unanimously restoring her status as Neighborhood Girl Who Made Good.

“I’m so proud a you, I could bust,” her father said softly. He gave Mary a bear hug, pressing her to the freshly pressed white shirt he saved for Mass, and she breathed in his mothballs scent, mixed now with meatballs.

“Thanks, Pop. Thanks, everybody.” Mary waved like a Windsor, and they all started clapping. She swallowed the lump in her throat, her emotions mixed. Would they feel the same if they knew Trish could be guilty of murder? Or would they forgive it, given Bobby’s abuse? So she hammed it up and took a low bow, feeling vaguely like a fraud.

“Maria,” her mother called, raising her arms, and Mary gave her a big hug, scooping her off her tiny feet. Her mother gestured to a flock of women behind her, also in their flowered dresses. “Maria, my ladyfriends, you know, from church.”

“Hello, ladies.” Mary turned to them and extended a hand.

“Good to meet you,” the one said, with a Puerto Rican accent. “Your mother, she make my baby’s dress.”

“Mine, too,” said another, grinning, and the woman next to her nodded, too.

“She did a wonderful job. So beautiful, we tell our friends.”

“You have the best seamstress in the business,” Mary told them, realizing suddenly that she’d inherited her business-getting ability. Vita DiNunzio was the rainmaker of South Philly, and Mary’s heart gladdened when she saw her mother beaming.

“Come, see, Maria.” Her mother took her by the hand. “We have friend for you, for dinner.”

“Who?” Mary asked, and the crowd seemed to clear a way to the kitchen, where Anthony was standing with a tentative smile. His dark eyes were bright, and he wore a tan sport coat with khaki slacks and a lightweight black turtleneck. He gestured at her mother.

“Your parents saw me at church, and they insisted I come to dinner. I hope that’s okay.”

Yay! “I think it’s a great idea,” Mary answered, wishing she’d worn her contacts.

Later, the house cleared out except for the four of them, and they had a great meal, during which Mary tried to get used to Mike’s chair being occupied by a another man who, by all accounts, was pretty wonderful. Anthony joked with her mother in Italian and listened to her father’s old construction stories, and when dinner was finished, he even offered to do the dishes, which was when the afternoon skidded to a halt.

Mary froze at the table. Her mother construed an offer to help in the kitchen as an insult, akin to a puppy offering to take the scalpel from a neurosurgeon.

“Grazie mille, Antonio,” her mother answered, with a grateful smile that Mary had never seen in this situation. She watched, mystified, as her mother rose slowly and touched her father on the arm, saying, “Come, Mariano.”

“Wha’?” her father asked, looking up in confusion until he received the Let’s-Leave-These-Kids-Alone message her mother was telecommunicating via her magical eyes. Mary tried not to laugh. Her mother had a varied repertoire of eye messages, and the bestsellers were: Don’t-Eat-With-Your-Fingers, Leave-That-Piece-For-Your-Father, and I’ll-Never-Trust-That-German-Pope.

“That was awkward,” Mary said, after her parents left the kitchen.

“No, that was cute.” Anthony rose, picked up the plates, and took them to the sink. “Let me do dishes.”

“No.” Mary got up with her plate. “You’re the guest and you have nice clothes on.”

“Let me, I like to.” Anthony slipped one of her mother’s flowered aprons from the handle on the oven, and tied it around his waist. He grinned. “Too gay?”

“Nah.” Mary laughed again. Actually, she loved the look. What was it about men in aprons? It was so homey, and in some odd way, kind of sexy. Maybe because it meant that somebody else was doing all the work?

“So.” Anthony turned on the water. “You didn’t mind me barging in?”

“No. I wanted to apologize, too, for not calling you right back.”

“You weren’t blowing me off? ‘You broke my heart, Fredo.’”

“Ha!” Mary turned back to the table, ostensibly for the other dishes, but she didn’t want him to see her smiling. She felt a little dorky and worried that she had gravy spots on her glasses, spaghetti blowback.

“I knew you were busy, saving the neighborhood.”

“Well, just one, who I’m not sure deserved it, anyway.”

“We both knew that.”

“I guess,” Mary said, but didn’t elaborate. Her doubts were confidential, and she didn’t want to spoil her nice mood. Maybe that’s what moving on meant, but she didn’t know. She hadn’t done it before. She took more plates to the sink and set them on the counter. “I decided I was right about the neighborhood, by the way.”

“Funny, so did I.” Anthony rinsed a dish, making a landslide of tomato sauce. “I think you were right. That’s what community is. People taking care of each other.”

“Really.”

“That’s what you said.”

“It is?” Was I drunk? “I mean, it is.”

“So you know what I did?”

“What?” Mary stood beside Anthony, their arms almost touching, side by side at the sink. She felt as if they were playing house, and it wasn’t uncomfortable, but natural. He seemed to warm to it, too. It was the sort of domestic vibe that would have sent most men running, but not this one.

Anthony said, “I know some people in the psychology department at school. They put me in touch with the chairman of the department, Dr. Rhonda Pollero. She specializes in educational testing of younger children and she agreed to test Amrita’s son as a favor to me.”

“Really?” Mary felt a rush of gratitude, and Anthony looked down at her with a smile.

“She’s one of the biggest experts in the country, and she’ll even come down from New York, as soon as Dhiren’s well enough.”

“That was so nice of you.” Mary felt touched, as if Anthony got her in some fundamental way. In the next minute, he leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips, as if he’d been doing that all his life. His kiss left her standing on tiptoe, and when she opened her eyes, he was smiling sweetly.

“Cara mia,” he said softly, in Italian.

“My dear,” it meant, in English.

Mary liked the sound of it, either way.