Reheema cocked her head. "So how's work?"

"Way too busy. With Steptoe cooperating and Bale pleading, I got a boatload of new cases."

"But you love it," Reheema said, and Vicki nodded happily.

"And Dan says hi. And how about you? Did you get that coaching gig you wanted?"

"Yeah, a traveling team, a nice group of girls." Reheema smiled broadly. "Now I'm at city services by day and a track coach on the weekends."

"Take it easy, with the running so soon."

"I'm fine." Reheema waved her off.

Rring! Rring! Vicki's cell phone rang in her shorts pocket and she pulled it out and checked the display. MOM CELL, it read. "Excuse me, I should get this." She opened the phone and said, "Hey, Mom. Are we still on for dinner?"

"Yes, of course."

"What's up?"

"There's been a slight change of plans. We're here."

"What? Where?"

"Your father and I. We're parked in front of your father's old house."

"You and Dad? Here?" Vicki's eyes flared in horror, and Reheema stifled a laugh.

"Yes, dear. You left a message that you were stopping by a community garden in Devil's Corner before you came home, so we thought we'd take a ride down and meet you here. Where are you, exactly?"

In shock. "Wait there. I'll come to you."

FIFTY-TWO

"Mom, Dad, it's great to see you," Vicki said, as she walked over to her parents.

"Isn't this fun, dear?" Her mother came toward her smiling, chic in white Capri pants and a turquoise knit shell, with tan Tod loafers.

"Really fun." Vicki hugged her scented mother, whose sleek hair and skin felt refrigerated from the car's air-conditioning. Her father was standing on the sidewalk and frowning up at his old house, his hands resting on his hips. He wore a white Lacoste shirt and khaki pants, and hovered protectively near the front bumper of their silver Mercedes. The sedan gleamed like a flying saucer, and the Allegrettis looked as out of place as aliens, or at least, lawyers.

"I wanted to see the community garden," her mother said, looking around. Two little girls on their bicycles, their stiff braids flying, stared as they rode past.

"It's around the block, on Cater. I was just there with Reheema."

"Oh, your friend? I'd like to meet her. Is it far?"

"Not really."

"Wonderful, I'll take a little walk. It's good exercise."

NO! DON'T LEAVE ME HERE WITH THIS MAN! "Mom, why don't you wait? We can walk over together."

"But your father wants to look at his old house."

"He'll want to meet Reheema, too."

"Then he will, later. He wants to look at his house now. This trip was his idea. Go talk to him, go through the house with him, then walk over to the community garden." Her mother gave her a discreet shove toward her father, but Vicki had faced loaded Glocks with more enthusiasm.

"Mom-"

"Go!" Her mother turned on her expensive heel and walked away.

"It's on the left, down the middle of the block," Vicki called after her, and her mother waved, though she didn't turn back.

"Where's your mother going?" her father asked, coming over, as lost as Vicki, as if they were two baby birds.

SHE LEFT US ALONE! "To see the community garden."

"Where is it? I thought it was on Lincoln."

"No, it's on Cater. Right around the block." Vicki had grown so used to filling the air with words, she did it reflexively. "I'm sure we can catch up with her. She can't go fast on foot."

"She's a great gardener." Her father kept frowning, but maybe the sun was in his eyes. "She's been talking about that garden all week. This drive was her idea."

Really. "Mom said you wanted to go inside your old house."

"No."

No? "We could." Vicki gestured at the front door, which had been repaired. "A new family moved in, I heard from Reheema. We could just knock and ask, I'm sure they'd let us. Everybody knows Reheema."

"No, it was my father's house, not mine. I don't have any happy memories here. Let's go find your mother."

Ouch. "Okay."

Her father walked back to the Mercedes. "You'll never get a space on Cater, Dad." He turned. "I can't leave it here." "Yes, you can. It's safe." "It's an S class." Vicki smiled. "It'll be fine." "You'll indemnify me?" "Up to thirty-seven bucks." Her father pulled out his car keys and chirped the car locked, twice. Vicki turned and they fell into step, walking around the corner, where her father stopped, examining a brick wall. "Funny. I used to play stickball here, against this wall, with a broom and a pimple ball."

"A pimple ball?" "They were white rubber balls with little raised dots. A pimple ball. We'd play for hours, with a half ball." "Why half?" "After the ball was dead, we didn't throw it away. We were too poor to throw it away. We cut it in half." Her father ran his fingers over the wall's soft bricks and came away with soot on his fingerpads that surprisingly, he didn't seem to mind. "We'd mark the wall with chalk for a single, a double, a triple."

"Sounds like fun." "It was." Her father resumed their walk. "Played with the kids from the block. Mimmy. Squirrel. Lips. Tommy G." Vicki looked over again, and her father was smiling. "Nicknames," he explained, needlessly. "Your friends." "Right. We didn't play on Lincoln as much, because of the traffic." They turned onto Cater and walked two doors down, where he slowed his pace in front of a row house. An African-American man stood on a metal ladder, hanging new red shutters on the windows. Her father stopped in front of the house. "My buddy Lips lived here. Leon DiGiacomo. We used to shoot craps in front of this house."

"That's illegal."

"Tell me about it. I got picked up once, by the cops."

"You?"

"Yes, me." Her father sounded almost proud. "They picked us all up for, what they'd call"-he thought a minute, his head cocked-"‘gambling on the highway,' that was it. Must've been an old ordinance. They took us into the station and they made us buy tickets to the thrill show."

"What's a thrill show?"

"Like a circus. The PAL put it on, I think. Motorcycles and dancing bears." Her father laughed, and so did Vicki, surprised. She had never heard him talk about his childhood, and now she couldn't shut him up. He was walking again, pointing across the narrow street to the other side. "And we used to play knuckles in the street, right there."

"Knuckles?"

"A card game. And over there we played Pig and Dog. Basketball. We nailed a trash can to the telephone pole for a hoop." He mused as they walked, the sun shining on his head and shoulders. "I played outside all the time. We all did."

"Sounds like you have some happy memories, after all."

"Nah." Her father stiffened, suddenly. "You can't go home again, Victoria."

"I know people say that, but I disagree. I think you never really leave."

"What?"

"I'm Devon, Dad. I'm Devon, wherever I go. Some people are pure South Philly, and a New Yorker is always a New Yorker." Vicki never thought out loud in front of her father, but didn't stop. It was time to stop editing herself, even with him. "Think about it, Dad. There's Jersey girls and Valley girls. Chicagoans and San Franciscans, Texans and Bostonians. Steel magnolias and Southern gentlemen. And Reheema is so West Philly, when you meet her, you'll see it. She's great."

Her father was frowning, but maybe the sun was in his eyes again. Maybe the sun was always in his eyes, even indoors. Someday he would realize they had therapy for that, but Vicki wasn't going to be the one to tell him.

They reached the garden, where her mother was talking with Reheema. More neighbors were hard at work, weeding the pepper beds, restaking the tomato plants, and cutting cosmos for their dinner tables. Vicki introduced Reheema to her father, who shook her hand stiffly.