Page 2 of Fire on the Moon

It was hard to focus on the question because she was having trouble taking in everything. Before he’d started getting nostalgic, her father had called Uncle Angelo a selfish bastard, and this man was all solicitude. Or maybe he was working overtime to show he’d changed since the good old days.

She put two triangular sandwiches on her plate—tuna and ham and cheese.

“Try the orange juice,” her uncle urged. “The oranges are from the trees right over there.”

Dutifully she picked up her glass and took a swallow. “It’s good.”

“How come you decided to contact me?” Angelo asked.

“Dad’s not doing too well. He’s had Parkinson’s disease for a couple of years, and it’s gotten worse.”

“Oh no. I’m so sorry. What about your mom?”

“She passed away.”

“So you’ll be alone in the world when your father dies.”

She nodded.

“All the more reason it’s good you phoned me. We gotta keep in touch.” He reached into his pocket and produced a small velvet bag. Opening it, he took out what looked like an antique gold locket.

“This was your grandmother’s. Dante’s and my mom’s. From the old country.” Dante had been her dad’s name before he changed it.

She stared at the piece. It looked old and valuable. “I’ve never seen it.”

“Well, I’ve had it for years, but I don’t have a daughter. I’d be so happy if you’d take it.”

She fingered the scrollwork on the front. “I . . .”

“Put it on. and wear it with pride,” he urged.

She hesitated, then slipped the heavy gold chain over her head and felt the locket settle against her chest.

“Beautiful,” he breathed. “It looks like it was made for you.”

Since he obviously wanted to get closer to her, maybe it was the right time to ask, “What happened between you and my father?”

He shifted in his seat, looking like he wished someone would come and rescue him.

“You know how it is when you get mad at someone and can’t let it go?”

“Actually, no.”

Before he could elaborate, a flicker of movement down by the beach caught her attention. Two large tough-looking men dressed in knit shirts and jeans were coming across the sand toward the fence.

As Angelo turned to see what had caught her attention, he made a strangled sound.

“Oh no. Not now.”

“What?”

“Come on. Quick.” He turned and took her arm.

Dragging her up, he propelled her toward the house. Inside, he headed back to the front hall and opened the double doors to the coat closet. He swept the hanging clothing aside and pressed the edge of the back wall. A door slid open, and he shoved her into a dark, closed space. “Don’t make a sound if you don’t wanna get dragged into this.”

Quickly he closed the door, and his footsteps receded.

It had all happened so fast that she hardly had time to absorb his words. But as the implications slammed into her, she started to shake.

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