by Gail Sattler
He shrugged his shoulders. “Do I need a reason? You need help, I have what you need and God put you in my path. I don’t think it’s any more complicated than that.” He stood. “If you’re finished, we really should go.”
The drive to the church only took a few minutes, just as he’d said. There were only three other cars in the parking lot.
“It looks like Randy and Adrian beat me. Paul and Celeste aren’t here yet.”
“But there are three cars.”
“That’s Pastor Ron’s car. He has to be here first to open up the building. Then he goes into his office to pray while everything is quiet, before everyone starts setting up for the service.”
“Oh…” She’d never thought about what happened before a Sunday-morning service.
Georgette followed Bob onto the stage area. She stood to the side and watched as he started putting the drum set together. Adrian and Randy waved, then continued laying out cords and monitors.
“Is there something I can do?”
Adrian pointed to a carrying case beside the stairs. “You can assemble the microphone stands if you want. Everyone gets one except Bob.
She turned to Bob. “Why not?”
“I can’t sing while I’m playing drums, nor would you want me to. I don’t sing all that well.”
Celeste arrived as Georgette finished assembling the last stand and Georgette went over to watch her set up the piano. “Have I told you how much I enjoy listening to you play? I took lessons for a year when I was a kid, but I wasn’t very good. One day I took the keyboard off and was trying to figure out how the hammers were constructed and how everything worked together with the pedals, when my father discovered what I was doing and sent me to my room.” Georgette grinned. “That was the end of piano lessons for me. They had to get a technician to put the piano back together, and he sold it a few days later.”
Celeste smiled back. “The electric pianos aren’t quite as interesting inside, but they are portable.” She patted the corner of the unit.
Georgette turned to Randy. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“Nope. But I’m sure Pastor Ron would like some help setting up chairs.”
Georgette gasped. “The pastor sets up chairs!?”
“Somebody’s gotta do it—unless the congregation wants to stand or sit on the floor. That’s the way it is in most organizations. Ten percent of the people do ninety percent of the work.”
“Then I think I’ll go set up chairs.” She turned to Bob, who smiled his approval.
She expected Pastor Ron to be surprised at her offer, but he didn’t refuse. However, when more people started arriving to help, the men took over and sent her away.
Since she no longer had anything to do, she stood to the side and watched the practice while the room started to take shape as a sanctuary. She’d never thought much about drums as an instrument, but watching the musicians go over selected parts until they got it right, she saw just how important it was for the drummer to give them the framework they needed.
When all the chairs were set up, she found a seat and waited for the service to begin.
It was very similar to the evening service, only more formal—except when the children were dismissed. They walked quietly out of the main sanctuary, but as soon as they crossed the threshold into the lobby, the running and screaming began, fading as the horde made their way downstairs to the classrooms.
Up on the stage, Paul smiled and shook his head, and the congregation sang one more song. As Pastor Ron started speaking, the worship team quietly left the stage, and shuffled into their seats; Bob sat beside her. Just as they did in the evening service, the worship team returned to the stage during the closing prayer so they could play the last song, and then the congregation was dismissed.
The instruments and equipment were left on the stage for the evening service so Georgette joined Bob on the stage, waiting beside him while the worship team picked up their music and put everything in order. Bob’s cell phone rang, and he left the noise and walked to the back, where he spoke facing the wall for some privacy. The conversation was short, which Georgette was learning was typical of Bob. Within two minutes, he had returned.
“That was my mother,” he said to the group in general. “I have to go to my parents’ house for lunch. My mother wants to throw a big surprise party for my father’s sixty-ninth birthday. I need to run over there for lunch, while he’s out. My mother’s called the family together to discuss the details, so I can’t go out for lunch today.” He turned to Georgette. “When I told her that you were with me, she invited you along too.”
Georgette frowned. “A big party for his sixty-ninth? Why wouldn’t she wait for a year and have something bigger for his seventieth?”
Bob grinned. “Because that’s what Papa expects. Far be it from Mama to do what is expected of her.”
Celeste remained straight-faced, but Adrian, Randy and Paul all grinned, as if they knew something she didn’t. Georgette turned to Celeste.
Celeste shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve never met Bob’s mom. But I will at the wedding. Oh, that’s right, I nearly forgot. We need your address, Georgette.”
“What? Why?”
Adrian slipped his arm around Celeste’s waist. “Yes. We’d like to send you an invitation to the wedding, but I guess we can get your address from Bob.”
Bob’s movements froze. “Yeah. Or you can just give it to me when the time comes. You’ve got a few months still.”
“I know,” Adrian said, “but it’s best to be prepared.” He smiled down at Celeste. “I think we should get going so we can get a good table.” He turned back to Bob. “See you tonight at the evening service.”
Bob shifted into Park, and turned off the engine. The house blinds flickered when the car stopped, but he chose to ignore it. “This is it, my parents’ house.”
“This isn’t far from your house, is it? Your house is about a mile and a half that way.”
“Yes. Bart’s parents live on the next block, and Bart and his wife Anna live two blocks that way. All close to work.” He pointed to the left. “Our days are long enough without adding even more driving time.”
He turned and put his hand on the door handle, but before he could open the door, George’s hand on his other arm stopped him. “Why didn’t you tell your friends that I’ve moved into your garage apartment? It was obvious they didn’t know.”
He released the door handle, and turned to her. “With those guys, I have to wait until the timing is right. I figured I’d tell them on Wednesday, at practice.” Celeste wouldn’t have thought anything special of it, but when he told the guys, especially Randy, he knew he would be in for the razzing of his life.
“Does your mother know?”
“George, no one knows. It all happened so quickly, and remember, I spent most of the day on Saturday at work, like I do every Saturday. It’s just that I haven’t had time.” Not that he couldn’t predict his mother’s reaction. He had a woman living on his property. Regardless of the fact that George was living in a separate building across the entire yard, his mother would point out every possible and potential moral infraction imaginable. He knew he couldn’t avoid the confrontation, however, so better sooner than later. He hoped his mother would at least lecture him in private, where George wouldn’t witness it. After all, he was her boss, and he needed to maintain some dignity in front of her. “Let’s go in. I saw the blinds move.” For the second time since the car had stopped. “Just one more thing. Sometimes my family can be a little overwhelming, so don’t take anything that happens too personally.”
One eyebrow quirked, but George said nothing, so he led her up the walkway. The door opened the second his foot touched the first step.
“Hey, Rose! How’s it going?” He turned to George as he stepped onto the porch near Rose. “This is my sister, Rose. Rose, this is George.”
Rose’s eyes widened, she blinked a few times and backed up to allow them to enter. “Hi,”
she said as they passed. “Mama is in the kitchen.”
He took Rose’s hint, and walked toward the kitchen. “Hi, Tony, Gene,” he said to his two brothers, who were sitting on the couch in the living room, as he walked by. “This is George. We have to talk to Mama. We’ll be right back.”
They smiled and waved without speaking, and George did the same. Bob slowed his pace and turned his head to speak to George over his shoulder. “I guess my other sisters aren’t here yet. Gene’s wife, Michelle, is probably in the kitchen with Mama.”
In the background, Rose called Michelle, and as Bob and George stepped into the kitchen, Michelle passed them, nodding a greeting without stopping.
Bob’s mother was stirring something on the stove.
“Hi, Mama.”
His mother turned around, smiling. She looked up at Bob, her smile fell and her gaze lowered to rest on George, all five foot four of her.
“Roberto, you told me you were bringing your new mechanic, George. I think you need to get eyeglasses with your age. You have brought a woman.”
“Mama, this is my new mechanic. Her name is George. George, this is my mama, Angelina Delanio.”
George stepped forward. “Hello, Mrs. Delanio,” she said smiling, as she extended one hand to his mother. Her voice dropped in pitch; she spoke evenly and in a friendly, conversational tone. Bob could see her years of fine upbringing being put to good use. “My name is really Georgette, but my friends call me George. I’d like to count you as a friend, so please, call me George. And I really am Bob’s new mechanic.”
His mother reached forward and slipped her hand into George’s, but instead of a handshake, George covered his mother’s hand with her other, gave it a gentle squeeze, and smiled.
Bob’s mother returned George’s smile. “Now I have seen everything. But this is good my son has seen a woman can do such a job.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You are doing a good job for him?”
George released his mother’s hands, but the two woman remained facing each other, neither of them acknowledging Bob. He might as well have been invisible. “I like to think so,” she said.
“He and Bartholomew started that business many years ago. My son, he works too many long hours. This must stop or he will drive himself to an early grave. It is good to see they have hired you.”
Bob cleared his throat, wondering when he’d lost control. “Mama, there’s something else. In addition to being my new mechanic, George is also my new tenant.”
His mother’s eyebrows knotted, and she planted her fists on her hips. “Tenant?”
“Yes. She moved into the garage apartment.”
“For how long has this been going on?”
“George moved in yesterday.”
Her eyes narrowed even more, and Bob nearly shivered with the ice in her glare, making him wish he were invisible. “How could you do a thing like that? It is so small. There is no room for clothes. And the kitchen! There is no kitchen! Jason could live on Antonio’s pizza, but a woman needs a place to cook!”
“But…” Bob let his voice trail off. He’d thought all the same things, and he didn’t have an answer. For George, the price was right, so that was all that mattered.
“Really, it’s fine,” George interjected. “In fact, I’ve never lived on my own before, so it’s perfect. A small apartment is easier to keep clean.”
“It is too small. Where are you going to put all your things?”
“I don’t have very much. I actually have to go shopping tomorrow so I don’t have to borrow so much from Bob. The garage apartment is just perfect for me.”
“Well, if you are happy, then it is good to have someone new living there.” She turned back to Bob “It has been a waste to have the apartment empty. Jason moved back home nearly a year ago. After all that work, and so much money you spent to fix it.”
“I’ve been using it for storage. And you just said it was too small a few minutes ago. “Mama! Mi fa la testa cosi!”
She waved one hand in the air to dismiss his frustration. “Come, George. Come meet our family. Especially now that you are my son’s tenant.” She rested her hand on George’s forearm and guided her back into the living room.
“Mama, I’ve already introduced them,” Bob muttered, following behind.
His mother ignored him, and continued walking. When they arrived in the living room, he saw that his other sisters had shown up while he was in the kitchen. She stopped in front of the couch where Gene and Tony were sitting, and guided George to stand beside her. Bob shuffled to stand on George’s other side while the introductions were repeated.
“George, this is my oldest son, Eugenio.”
Bob leaned down to the height of George’s ear, knowing his brothers could see what he was doing, but his mother could not. “Pst. He prefers ‘Gene,’” Bob whispered, then straightened.
“And his wife, Michelle. Over here, this is Antonio.”
Bob leaned to her ear again. “Pst. Tony.”
“And his wife, Kathy. Here is one of my daughters, Rosabella.”
“Rose.”
“This is Maria.”
“We couldn’t shorten that one.”
“This is my youngest child, Giovannetta.”
“Gina,” Bob whispered.
His mother leaned forward around George and glared up at Bob, obviously fully aware of what he’d been doing. “And of course you know my third son, Roberto,” she said, rolling the Rs, which she always did when she wanted to make a point or remind him of his heritage.
Bob stepped forward, grinned, pointedly cleared his throat and pounded his fist into his chest. “Me, Bob,” he said, deepening his voice.
His mother picked up a section of the newspaper from the coffee table, and whacked him lightly on the head. “Respect your Mama. Your birth certificate, it says Roberto.”
George grinned.
“Don’t you dare take her side,” Bob grumbled.
“Enough of this. It is time to eat.”
Everyone filed into the kitchen and sat at the table while his mother and Rose set the food on the table. The room went silent while Gene said a short prayer over the food. At his closing Amen, everything erupted into the usual Delanio family get-together. At least three conversations were going on at the same time, with everyone involved in more than one. Rose and Tony started arguing about something Bob knew nothing about, and even Michelle started waving her arms in the air as she spoke to Gina about future party details.
Through it all, George was silent. She listened politely and responded when someone spoke to her, but she added nothing to the myriad conversations around her unless addressed directly. With friendly bickering, they agreed on enough details to begin planning the party.
After an hour, the timer on the oven began dinging.
“You must all go, except for Eugenio and Michelle. Your father will be returning soon with little Eddie after their fishing trip. He must not become suspicious. But we have a little time yet, George, would you like to come with me? I would like you to see some things.”
“Of course, Mrs. Delanio.”
Bob stood to accompany them, but his mother waved one hand in the air, halting him in his tracks. “Roberto, I need you to go to the garage and bring me four boxes. Hurry. Big boxes. Like this.” She motioned the size with her hands, and he knew he was dismissed.
Bob sighed and went to the garage. His father regularly flattened boxes, every box they’d ever received, and stored them in the garage. For more years than he could remember, the entire neighborhood came to his mother when someone needed a box, and she always had just the right one, which of course, only made her worse.
By the time he returned, fifteen minutes later, he found a pile of miscellaneous household items piled at the back door.
“What’s going on?”
“These things are for George. They are extra. I do not need them. Hurry and pack them into the boxes and carry them to your car before your father gets home.”
“Your papa will not even notice.”
He scanned the pile. “This is a lot of stuff.” But the more he thought about it, he thought that probably his father would be pleased to see it gone if he knew, as it lessened the volume of “valuable” things his mother stored in the basement.
“Hurry! Pack these things and go. Eugenio and Michelle are cleaning the mess in the kitchen, and I must help.”
Before he could say anything more, his mother was gone. “I give up,” he muttered.
Beside him, George giggled as she hurriedly began ramming things into the boxes. “I like your mother. I hope she manages to pull this birthday party off without your father finding out.”
“If she doesn’t, he’ll still pretend to be surprised. He’d never do anything to hurt her feelings.”
Bob picked up an old toaster he remembered using as a child. “I remember when this broke. Papa fixed it, but Mama had already bought a new one and used it, so she couldn’t take it back. It’s just like her to keep it all these years, just in case.”
“Yes. She told me about that toaster. I’m just so stunned that she’s given me all these things.” She held up a towel. “Look at this! It’s so soft! I can’t believe she wasn’t using it. She said she didn’t like the color.”
“Mama may seem pushy at times, but she has a good heart.”
“Yes. She seems very sweet, and I love listening to her accent. Does your father have an accent, too? You don’t.”
“My parents immigrated right after they were married. In order to preserve the language, we always spoke Italian at home, and English when we were in school or out with others. We stopped speaking Italian as frequently when Gene married Michelle, because we didn’t want to be rude when she couldn’t understand us.”
“So you speak Italian fluently?”
“Yes, but I don’t use it as much as I used to.”
“You said something in Italian when we were in the kitchen. What did you say?”
