Agnes took Grace and Harold over to play with Cristina’s boys. They sat on the porch, sharing a bottle of chianti while the children played out front. They were riding bicycles up and down 6th Street and making more noise than a bomb siren.
“Pipe down out there, we’re trying to hear ourselves think,” Cristina bellowed and scowled. “Agnes, look on the bright side. You’re invited to do another competition.”
“Norman’s acted like a boulder tottering on the edge of a cliff ever since I did the first one.”
“He should be proud, doing something with your life other than cooking. If he could think of someone besides himself, he might get along better in life. As it is –“
“I wish I could work in a library like you, Cristina. How do you manage the boys?”
“Their grandmothers. When the boys aren’t in school, they bicker over who gets to babysit. Angelo’s mother’s a militant disciplinarian – she slaps those boys when they get out of line. But I can’t say the same about Ma.”
A loud bang jolted them out of their skin. Donald had thrown a baseball into the side of Cristina’s Model A.
“Knock it off,” Cristina yelled. “Those children are driving me crazy. With this Philadelphia heat, I can barely breathe, let alone hear.”
“Cristina, they’re just enjoying themselves. No harm’s been done.”
“I’m with Angelo’s mother on this. You have to keep them in line or they run all over you. It’s the only point where I agree with the Germans. Discipline. My boys can use all they get. Angelo’s just a playmate to them, so that job falls to me.”
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