She looked over for her tea. “It’s pinned.” She lifted the mug from the counter without rising and set it in front of her. “Who’s winning?”
No one answered. “Ronnie is,” Biddy said finally.
“What’s wrong with you today?” Cindy asked. She blew on her tea. “What’re you, mad because I’m late? How fast am I supposed to change a tire in thirty below?”
“I stopped by on the way home from the Tap last night,” Ronnie said, flipping over a six. “You weren’t here.”
She flinched. Ronnie, with his eyes lowered, missed it.
“So what time’d you come by?” she said. She tried to sip her tea but it was too hot.
“Two. Two-thirty. We closed the place.”
Louis stood up. “I’m gonna go watch TV,” he said uncertainly.
“What are you doing here today, guy?” Cindy asked Biddy, smiling. “Just come over to play cards with the Cincinnati Kid here?”
“My mom says I got to make up with Mickey,” he said. “He’s supposed to be back by now. I don’t even know why he’s mad at me.”
She lowered her chin to the hot mug and slurped some tea without picking it up. She focused on the beer glass. “You drinking in the morning now?”
Ronnie looked at her. “You don’t want to talk about it?”
She lowered her eyes. “It’s stupid. It’s not worth talking about. And it’s cold sitting around like this,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She took her tea with her.
“I’m gonna go,” Biddy said, standing before Ronnie could react. He didn’t seem to hear. “Tell Mickey I waited awhile.”
Ronnie stirred. “You going to walk all the way home?”
“It’s not too far. Bye.” He pulled on his hat and coat, holding both gloves in one hand in his rush to the door. “Bye,” he repeated.
“Uh-huh,” Ronnie said, looking at the sink. “Take it easy.”
He shut the door, the cold rushing through his open coat. He was two houses down when Dom’s car turned onto the street, and he ducked behind a tree instantly, not wanting to go back. He made certain no one in the car had seen him before edging around the other side of the trunk and starting down the street, kicking up snow as he went, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets.
The twentieth was a school day and when he woke up he padded downstairs to see if anyone had remembered his birthday. They hadn’t. His father was shaving and his mother sat in her robe at the table with the paper from the day before and some black coffee.
“What are you doing up so early?” she asked. “You can sleep for another half hour.”
He shrugged. “I know.” He put some water on, and a teaspoonful of Sanka into a cup with some sugar.
“You want something hot? Some farina?”
He made a face. “I’ll get some cereal.”
He poured the cereal and ate across from his mother, waiting, but nothing happened. Usually they said Happy Birthday, and his mother had once had special pastries for breakfast. Some years, though, they forgot, and this was one of them. He finished the Sanka, his feet cold in his slippers, and went upstairs to dress.
In school it was the beginning of the final week of Advent, and they returned to the chapel, where Sister had all four candles lit, and sang in the dark, starting with “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,” and finishing, this time, with “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” Laura stood near him. Between songs she whispered, “Happy Birthday.”
When he got home, his father was in the kitchen and asked him if he wanted to go look for a tree. He agreed, surprised, dropped his book bag in a chair, and they left on the spot.
They searched through four different places, wandering up and down endless crooked aisles of trees, examining candidate after candidate that seemed fine to Biddy but never quite right to his father. When they left the fourth lot, he suggested one more place.
They didn’t find anything there, either. It was in Shelton, and by the time they pulled onto Route 8 for the drive back it was dark. Halfway home they stopped at a shopping center and his father ran in and bought razor blades, napkins, and camera film.
When they finally reached their driveway, it was ten after six. He wondered abstractedly if his mother would be angry at their being late.
Opening the back door, he saw his uncle’s car parked across the way in the Frasers’ driveway, recognizing it even in the gloom, and it hit him all at once before he stepped inside and the chorus of voices called “Surprise!” He remained in the doorway with his parents behind him, looking on a kitchen transformed with streamers, presents, faces. Two balloons drifted along the ceiling. Dom was there, Cindy, Louis, Teddy, uncles and aunts and cousins. Kristi, Simon, Ronnie, and Laura, holding her present against her leg. A white-and-brown cake lay centered on the table. The writing on the frosting was illegible.
His mother stepped around him. “Did we surprise you?”
He came farther in, admitting he’d seen his Uncle Michael’s car. Everyone groaned and spoke at once, largely to his Uncle Michael.
“Did we fool you up to that point?” his mother said.
He assured her they had. They led him to a seat and began to pile presents before him on the kitchen table, stacking them on the floor near his feet when they ran out of space. They demanded he open them and talked while he did about the preparations he had missed, the times they had been convinced they’d given the whole thing away. He didn’t remember any of the instances they spoke about. As he opened each present, someone claimed it as his or hers: toys from Teddy and Simon, one or two books, and clothes from everyone else. He thanked everyone, unsure what to do next, and the party began to gain an energy independent of him. One by one everyone shook his hand and wished him Happy Birthday, even Simon, who seemed proud to have been given his own separate opportunity. His Aunt Sandy kissed him and Teddy punched him on the arm. Cindy hugged him cheek to cheek, and he could smell her skin and the soap she washed with. Frank Sinatra came on the stereo. He slipped down the hall and into the den, Stupid barking and scratching at the cellar door as he went by.
Laura and Louis were watching the news. Rescuers were kneeling over a hole in the ice. Louis took the party hat off his head. Along the bottom of the screen, “Winter Storm Warning” was announced in small yellow letters. Motorists were advised not to drive unless absolutely necessary. In the other rooms, attention was also moving toward the weather: the snow was coming down harder.
The party started to break up. Michael and Sandy, with their long drive, left almost immediately, coming into the den to wish him one more Happy Birthday before leaving. Simon’s mother arrived to pick him up and Teddy’s parents phoned and told him to head home before it got much worse. A steady stream of people seemed to be saying goodbye, and then it was quiet. With Louis intent on the television, Laura reached under her chair and pulled out her present.
“Here,” she said. “I didn’t want to give it to you then.”
It was one of Jane’s All the World’s Aircraft. He held it with both hands and thanked her.
“Was it a surprise?” she asked.
He nodded.
“I’m glad.” He heard the doorbell over the noise in the kitchen and his father began to call her.
“That’s my mother,” she said, pushing herself out of her chair. “Bye. Happy Birthday.”
“Thanks,” he repeated, still holding the book.
No one flipped the Sinatra record when it finished. The sounds from the kitchen were subdued; only the Lirianos remained. His father called him.
Ronnie was standing away from the table, leaning against the counter. His parents and Cindy sat with their backs to the wall; Dom and Ginnie were more in the center of the room.