"That place there has really good chocolate," Peter said said from the front passenger seat, pointing to the storefront windows chock full of candy canes, chocolate Santas and all sorts of other Christmas confections. "They have marzipan, too. Damn, they are both so good!" he exclaimed as wound their way through the local commercial strip that bordered his neighborhood.
In spite of the cough, which he couldn't quite shake off, he reveled in the chance to play tour guide. And the light dusting of snow which slowed down the traffic just gave him that much more of a chance to show off his hometown. And during his favorite time of year no less.
"Well have to come back here tomorrow when it's open," Marty replied, taking his hand off of the wheel for a moment to put a firm grip on Peter's leg. "But you need to focus on navigating right now."
"Oops, sorry, I guess I get carried away," he said with a slight laugh, then caught himself as he realized how close they were to the next turn. "At this next street hang a right , just past that big church," he said, pointing to large, light colored basilica with twin domed steeples, "then go down two blocks."
As the car turned onto the side street they passed by large houses on either side. Most were single family places with a few duplexes here and there. Historically, it was a middle class suburb but it got more expensive as one moved toward the waterfront properties to the north, the direction they were headed.
"Will we see the lake tonight?" Marty asked. "I've never seen any of the Great Lakes."
"It's not on the direct way, but we could detour if you want. It's just a block and a half beyond our house."
"Let's try that tomorrow," They heard Angela call from the back seat, fatigue apparent in her voice. "Getting kind of late, you know guys."
"No problem, you'll see more in daylight anyway," Peter said before clearing his throat again. "You did over half the driving, so you must be exhausted!" he continued, as he turned around and looked into the back seat.
Seated behind her brother, she was slumped against the door as she stretched out her hands toward the roof. "Oh, that was OK, I like driving. It's just we got up so early," she said before releasing another yawn. "I'm just looking forward to hitting the sack,"
After two more turns and one speed bump, they finally saw home. "518 miles!" Marty called out as he stopped the car in the driveway. Pretty good time, no?"
"9 hours, with a couple pits stops, plus snow almost all the way – yea, that's pretty good!" Peter replied as he released his seatbelt.
"Wow, look at that Christmas tree up there," Marty said, pointing to the bay window above the entry door.
It was an unusual placement, but made area holiday statement at the entry. His Dads had put a tree in one of the upstairs bedrooms that really accentuated the front door of the house. It was all in white lights, with a white star at the top.
"Oh, my Pop has done that for years. We have a tree downstairs in the back, but that one up there is in Bik's old room." Peter replied. "The first did it when he was a kid because he wanted his own tree in is room. Then when my Pop saw what it looked like from the outside...well, it kind of took off from there."
Just as he was getting the car door open, a pair of lamps on either side of the front entrance to the house illuminated the front of the house. Marty noticed that the front door barely cracked open but two energetic dogs quickly slipped through and ran for the car.
They were all over Peter before he could even get out of the car door, yapping and licking and jumping. He almost slipped on the driveway as they tangled themselves in his legs and feet, trying desperately to make up for months of inattention. Resigning himself to their incessant demands, he abandoned his original plan to start unloading luggage and stooped down to return their greeting.
"Radar! Tony! Down!" he demanded, but with no success as the excited pair continued to jump and yelp and crawl all over him. They even started to pee on the driveway, they were so excited.
"They do this every time!" Peter said, as Marty and Angela had come around to his side of the car to watch. "They're both housetrained, but whenever one of us comes back after a long time they get so worked up that they can't control themselves.
"Let's get you all inside before you freeze out here!" Peter heard a voice say behind him. "Let me help you get your stuff"
"Thanks, Pop!" Peter replied as he got up and gave the dogs a gentle push away. "Most of the big stuff is in the trunk."
"OK, great, let's get it out now," he said, then turned to Marty and Angela. "I can't wait to meet you all, but its cold out here and I know you all have had a long trip. Let's get everything inside first."
It was a noisy foyer, as clinging snow caused the collective stomping of feet that was still reverberating by the time that Peter finally had a chance to start on introductions. "Well, everyone has met Radar and Tony," Peter said with a laugh. He smiled and looked down at the dogs, who were now sitting on his feet. He coughed again before continuing, which got a look from his Pop and also his Dad who had now appeared. "Now it's time for the people."
"Dad, Pop, this in Marty and Angela. Marty, Angela, this is my Pop, Mike Kovar and my Dad, Brad Campagna," he said as he nodded toward each one respectively.
Marty noticed that both his Dads had slightly grey hair, his Pop's straight and brown, with his Dad's being black, like Peter's own hair. Peter was about the same size as his Pop, and maybe a bit thinner, but he hardly had time to think about them any further before Peter's Dad approached him.
Marty had expected his them to just reach out and shake hands, but instead each of them hugged him and his sister. Marty got an especially affectionate welcome from his Pop, who stroked his back before releasing him.
"We're so glad to finally meet you" he whispered in Marty's ear before letting him go.
As they spend a few minutes chatting, Marty couldn't help but look around the room. The entry hall was very large with an open stair in the back, and arched openings which led to the other rooms of the house. What really struck him, though, was what was on the large expanse between the white arches.
It was filled from floor to ceiling with very neatly arranged rows of photographs, all in the same size black wooden frame. When moved looked closer to see some detail, he realized that it was all family photographs.
"Wow, Peter, so this is where you got the idea for your photo wall!" Marty said, fascinated by the almost overwhelming display. "Where are you here?"
"I'm everywhere, just like everyone else!" Peter answered. "It's like the pictures I have in my room, only a lot more. I'm just the little tugboat, this is the mother ship!"
"But you don't have many pictures of yourself back at school," Marty answered. "Where are you here?
"I get to see myself in the mirror every day, so I don't need to be reminded about what I look like." Peter chuckled, then paused for a moment in front of the gallery, his eyes scanning from left to right "Well, you start here. It's kind of the whole family chronologically, from top to bottom. I show up about here," he said, pointing to a baby picture about 1/3 of the way down the wall.
Peter pointed himself at at various states in his life. Marty was mesmerized, almost watching Peter grow before him. Even as a little kid, he could see the Peter' in his looks. He couldn't tell exactly what it was – the squarish jaw, brown eyes, the wide smile, high cheekbones. And the thinness. Or leanness,' he thought might be a better word. Even as a toddler, he didn't seem to have much baby fat.
He could also see now how much Peter looked like the young version of his Dad.
Even though everyone was still around, he could hardly pull himself away from the gallery until he heard his sister call out to him.
"Hey Marty, take a look at this!"
He hadn't noticed the dark wooden table beneath the stair, even though it was right in front of him. But on it was a picture of him and Angela.
He did a double take, not at all expecting it. "What...Where did that come from?" he asked.
"Don't you remember? I took it with the camera phone last night, during dinner. Then I just emailed it to my Pop."
"Just a way of welcoming you all, that's all," Mike answered. "The frames are pre-made, so I just had to print out the picture. I can't say the resolution is great, but I think it's a real nice shot of both of you."
There was kind of a half smile on Marty's face. In spite of Peter's encouragement to come, he had still been a bit nervous about whether the visit would be OK. But there was no longer any question of that in his mind anymore as he nudged Angela.
"Um...thanks...from both of us," he said, almost choked-up at the kindness of the gesture.
"Yes, very nice!" Angela enthused. She could tell that her brother was getting emotional, so quickly changed the subject. "Peter, I haven't' had a chance to see the gallery at your place, so tell me about some of these people." Even though she had been dog-tired in the car, she found herself waking up again with all the new people, and dogs, around.
It took a few minutes to point out all the family members, with special detail reserved for Bik and Robert and his best friend, his cousin Todd, who she'd heard a lot about during the trip. Peter was a on a roll, he loved talking about all the events surrounding the pictures, until his Dad interrupted him.
"Peter, you can probably continue this later, maybe tomorrow, but I think we'd better show Marty and Angela to their rooms so that they can at least get ready for dinner. I'm sure you're whipped!"
"Continued tomorrow!" Peter declared as they all started to reach for their luggage. "Oh, and by the way, you can take your shoes off, if that's OK. We don't wear shoes in the house too much," he said, not wanting to appear too aggressive about it.
"I yea, I do this with one of my friends at school, she's Japanese." Angela responded. "I kind of like it, it makes it more special inside," she said as she reached down to untie the short boots she was wearing.
"Well, are we all ready now?" Peter asked after everyone had gotten whatever they had worn on their feet onto the wooden racks next to the door. No waiting for an answer, he grabbed both his and one of Angela's pieces of luggage.
Just before he started up the stairs, his Dad pulled came up to his side, whispering into his good ear. "You and Marty can go in the guest room if you want. You know, its um... bigger and the bath is right next door and all."
Peter smiled to himself. He knew that `bigger' meant a double bed, not like the little single in the room he'd had since he was a boy. "OK, thanks," he said. "That might work."
"Are you all ready to eat? You all must be starving," his Pop asked as he met the three of them in the foyer again as they came back downstairs. "We've got some food ready for you all. Just step this way," he said as he led them through the dining room and into the kitchen.
Awaiting them was a veritable feast spread out on the preparation island in the middle of the room. "I've got some spaghetti with meat sauce and some sausage, also... oh yea, and we've got some salad, and...let's see...some desert, too, in case you're still hungry." It sounded as if they had arranged a full course dinner menu, which it pretty much was.
Peter knew his dads would be hospitable, but was surprised at how much work they had done to make sure everything was ready. He already sensed that Marty was a bit nervous about meeting them, but didn't really think about how nervous they would be to meet him.
"Let's just eat around the countertop, OK? Peter asked, as he was already starting to arrange stools around the long stretch of grey granite, "We don't want to have to set the table and all, and we're pretty tired, anyway. This will be easier."
Even though the house was casually arranged, Peter never liked the relative stuffiness of the formal dining room, with it's glass cabinets and wood trim that had been carefully restored by his Pop. He always preferred the long service countertop between the kitchen and dining room that his parents had extended into a breakfast counter when they first moved in. It was the heart of the house to him, and its memory was one of the reasons that he picked his house he lived in at school, which had the similar feature.
"OK, that makes sense," his Pop replied, not at all surprised at Peter's choice. "But it's going to be kind of tight," he warned.
"We're used to it," Marty chimed in.
"We just had 8 hours of it!" Angele said as they all joined in laughing.
Brad called out to them from the middle of the kitchen. "Here's where we keep the knives and forks and all that stuff," he said, opening a draw that hardly made a noise.
"And the cups and glasses and all that other crap is up here," Peter added, pointing to the glass-faced cupboard with the glasses carefully arranged behind.
"Can we help with anything?" Marty asked, as he stood next to his sister, both of them just watching the activity going on.
We're OK right now, I think," his pop answered. "Just make yourselves at home."
"That's right,' Peter added. "And for starters I'll show you where everything else is, then just use whatever you want, even if you get up late at night."
He proceeded to show them where to get bowls, napkins, paper towes, cereal for breakfast, fruit and everything else he could think of that they might need or want that night or in the next few days.
As they lined up around the island to get their food, the dogs arranged themselves to the side of Peter.
"Jeeze, have they had any treats tonight?" Peter asked, sensing hunger in their rapt attention.
"Of course they have!" his Dad replied. "But you know them, always hoping for more!"
Marty, who was right behind Peter, stooped down, putting his face at level with the Tony. "Are you still hungry, little guy?" he as, reaching over to stroke his head.
Tony's eyes carefully followed his hand, attempting to lick it in case he had some food. When he realized there were no forthcoming morsels, he still pushed his head into Marty's hand, trying to at least take advantage of the stroking as much as possible.
"They are insatiable for attention!" Peter said as Marty got back up. "You could sit on the couch with them forever, rubbing their bellies. And they would still want more.
As Peter was about to take the seat on the far left, Marty motioned him to take the one on the far right, so that he could sit to his left, closer to his good ear. Once they had all sat down the tight fit was apparent. While the arrangement was roomy when the kids were growing up, it was now a little cramped on one side for three adults, as the plates and glasses and people filled up practically every inch of space.
"Aren't you going to have some spaghetti, Mr. Kovar?" Marty asked when were all finally sitting at their plates. "It looks really good!"
"No, just some salad for me," he answered. "Too many carbs!" he said with a smile as he stuck his fork into the fancy chef's salad that was the only thing on his plate.
While Marty and his sister ate almost like famished sailors, Peter only nibbled at his food, spending more time chatting, and periodically coughing, than he did eating.
Both his Dad's noticed the coughing from when he first came in the door, and now the mere pecking at his food, but neither said anything. Even though their son seemed as happy as he ever had, his periodic lack of appetite still worried his Dads. And now the return of this cough.
They all continued chatting as they ate, with Peter regaling his Dads about some of the crazy things they saw on the road. His favorite was the woman on the freeway in upstate New York who was putting on makeup at 60 miles per hour.
"Hey Pete, would you pass me the grated cheese, please" Marty asked as he twirled his spaghetti in his fork.
"WHO?" both his Dad's said almost at the same time, as they then looked at each other and then at Marty, smiling.
Returning the gaze at one parent, then the other, Marty finally turned to Peter. "What did I say? I mean I was just asking a question," he said, breaking a nervous smile but completely confused by the reaction.
Peter reached beneath the countertop, rubbing his hand against Marty's thigh. "Well, um..." he started, hesitating at first. "As you know, most people at school call me Peter, including here at home. No one really calls me Pete here, at least not for a long time. Petey, maybe, when I was a little kid, but almost never `Pete,"
"Of course, it's OK for you and all," he continued, a sheepish reaction undeniable on his face and in his voice. "But, I guess the thing that I should have told you was...um... I used to be kind of strict about it. By strict, I mean really insisting on people calling me `Peter."
"I think that `insist' is a kind of mild word for it, Peter. You're lucky Robert or Bik isn't here," his Pop said, laughing, before he took the last bite of his salad. "You'd never hear the end of it."
"Is it OK?" Marty leaned over and whispered into his ear, momentarily thinking that perhaps there was something serious behind it.
"No, no, I'm actually OK with it both ways. I guess I was maybe just being kind of cranky as a kid, you know, making a pain in the ass out of myself to Bik and Robert. Though I have to say, that was always kind of fun," he continued, which got a smile from his Dads. "It was my way of keeping those guys in line."
"Both his Dads then just laughed. "Thought so!" Brad said as they looked at each other again and smiled.
"Well, I kind of like `Peter' rather than Pete. I think of you as a Peter," Angela piped in. "Though if this is an issue, we could maybe come up with another name,' she said with a smirk as she reached for the dessert.
"No! I'm fine with just Pete or Peter!" he said, laughing, "no other names, please!"
"I don't know," his Pop, mused, "maybe we should open that up to Bik and Robert when they come over, they would really like..."
"No!" Peter demanded, getting laughs around the table before he cleared his throat again.
Brad was just finishing his salad when he noticed Marty take some food from his own plate and put in on Peters. It was done very subtly, a person almost had to be looking for it to notice. Peter looked at the plate, then over at Marty, who nodded his head back down at the plate, with the definite message of `Start eating!'
The exchange gave Brad a flashback. He remembered, years ago, in his first visit to Mike's parent's place. He was always resistant to the special diet he needed for his health, but Brad silently moved food onto or off his plate to make sure he followed it.
He was only jolted back to reality by another cough from Peter, which, of course, brought back other kinds of memories, too. But those weren't as good.
While Peter was in the bathroom brushing his teeth, Marty went over to his sister's room and knocked on the door.
"Can I come in?" he asked.
"Oh yea, sure. The doors isn't locked."
"Are you decent?" he asked first.
"Ain't I always?" She answered, as she went through her own ritual of brushing her long blond hair before she crawled into bed.
He sat on the other side of the bed from her, putting one knee up on the extra blanket folded over at the foot of the bed. "Are you doing OK? he asked. "I mean, are you comfortable, are you doing OK. I know you it's a lot of new people and all."
She continued brushing, not at all nervous or anxious. She only yawned before answering. "Me? Oh yea, Marty, I'm fine. I think I'm better than you with new people. In fact, I actually like it. Pete...oops, I mean Peter, I guess that only you are allowed to say `Pete..."
"That's not true!" he protested, laughing, but reaching down and holding his own leg at the same time, a nervous reaction of his never failed to amuse her.
"Well, if you say so," she said nonchalantly, enjoying the rise she got out of him. "Anyway, I was going to say that his Dads are both really interesting people, they can both talk about lots of different things. And they actually seem to enjoy each other, not like a lot of our relatives."
"Yea, you're right. I know we've only been here a few hours, but they both really seem so calm and all. No shouting or any of that kind of stuff." There was silence before he continued. "You know, I remember that Dad never yelled. He always seemed on top of things. Mom didn't either, at least back then."
Angela stopped brushing for a moment, laying the brush in her lap and pausing before she spoke. "I was pretty small when he died, but even I could tell that It really was different. I guess when I think of it, this house kind of reminds me of that. How peaceful everything is here, and how...I don't know, what would you say - nice? Content? Happy? "
Marty sighed, merely replying "uh huh," under his breath. "Maybe we're both just tired to notice anything else, I'm not sure. But whatever it is, let's try to enjoy it."
"Did you see his Pop wish him good night, when we were all heading back upstairs here?" She asked, playing with the brush in her hands.
"No, I think I was helping his Dad clean up. What about it?"
"Well I was coming back downstairs to get some water, and I saw them in the foyer. I heard his Pop say, `It's good to have you home, son,' and then he hugged him really tight, I think he could hardly let him go. Even when he pulled away he ran his fingers through Peter's hair. Then he just rubbed his eyes. I think he was actually crying a little, he was so happy that his son was back home."
"I think they really miss him a lot." Marty replied. "I know that I would."
Brad was already in bed as Mike was taking of his polo shirt, getting ready to put on his pajamas and hit the sack for the night.
"What are you staring at?" Mike asked, smiling in a shy way as he noticed his partner of almost 30 years staring at him.
Brad just laughed, and then rested his head back in the pillow. "Jeeze, I didn't even know I was doing that. I was just thinking about Peter and Marty," he replied. "Gosh, it's so great that Peter has found someone like him."
Mike crawled into bed next to him, putting his glasses on the bedstand and pulling up the covers on his side of the bed. "I agree. Especially someone who's looking out for him. I'm hope he's been up-front with him about all his health stuff and all."
"I think so, at least for his hearing. You know, I could see how he spoke to Peter, almost always to his good ear," Mike continued.
"Uh huh," Brad responded "And did you notice Marty put food on his plate?" Brad asked.
Mike put his hands behind his head, squeezing his pillow as he started to finally relax. "Yea, I did. That was nice."
"I just hope he can knock him into shape when he needs to," Brad replied, as they both gave out a knowing laugh. "He's a wonderful boy, but his headstrong side sometimes gets the best of him."
Brad squinted at the face of the clock on his bedstand. 3:24 a.m. `What's going on?' he thought to himself as he heard commotion in the hallway outside the bedroom.
"I don't think... I need to go, Marty. I'll be... fine!" he heard his son declare between coughs.
"There's green stuff coming up when you cough, Peter, and you've hardly slept. We need to get you checked out right now!"
"It can wait until morning, everyone is sleeping now, Marty, we shouldn't have to wake them up" he heard him plead.
There was no reply to Peter, only a knock on their door.
"Mr. Campagna, Mr. Kovar?" he heard
"Marty, is that you?" Brad called back. "Come on in. is everything OK?"
The door quickly opened, as Marty must have had already had his hand on the knob. "Sorry to bother you all, I know it's late..."
"No worries, Marty," Brad replied, still half asleep as turned on his small bedstand lamp and slowly started to rise out of bed. "What's going on?"
"I'm sure you've noticed Peter coughing tonight. I was hoping he'd get better once we got here and maybe he got some sleep. But it's just getting worse, and now he's coughing up some bits of green stuff. He doesn't want to go to the hospital, but I'm making him. Do you mind taking us?"
Brad looked up and saw Peter with his arm around Marty's shoulder, barely able to stand as he futilely tried to stifle his coughing.
Brad was immediately jarred awake as he threw off his covers and grabbed a pair of blue sweatpants from a hook on the back of the door. "No, no, not at all Marty, If you'd get him ready I'll be set to go in a minute."
"I'll go with you guys," Mike said, just behind Brad in getting out of bed.
Brad was startled by his voice, as he didn't even know that Mike was awake. "Hey, no Pup." he said, calling him by nickname that he had used since they were first together. "You've got work in the morning and you need to get more sleep, you've only had a couple hours. I'll take care of it. Besides," he continued, "someone should be here with Angela."
Mike paused in front of the dresser, obviously struggling with his answer. "OK," he finally said, reluctance in his voice betraying how disappointed he was that he couldn't help. "But at least I should call Dr. Chiang so you guys can just get going!"
"Good Idea," Brad said. "Her husband won't be happy, but I think he knew what he signed up for when he married her."
"Yea, and besides, she wouldn't forgive us if we didn't call her," Mike said as he reached for his cell phone. "And she knows Peter better than anyone."
They got Peter to the Hospital within minutes. It was so early in the morning that his Dad hardly slowed down for stop signs, even with snow on the ground. As they came through the automatic emergency room doors, the triage nurse took one look at him and let him into a gurney before Marty could even take his jacket off, and within minutes the night duty doctor was asking him questions as they hooked him up to oxygen. Just as he was about to have Peter wheeled out for x-rays, Dr. Chang arrived.
"I'll say `Hi,' later, Brad," she said as she put her hand on his shoulder then opened the drapes to Peter's cubicle. He had the oxygen mask on but was still coughing. They heard her asking him a few more questions before he was again on his way to the radiology department and other tests that she had now ordered.
"I just want to be certain, but I'm pretty sure that he's got pneumonia again" she said. Marty's eye's got big, but Brad just gave out a long sigh. He had seen it all before.
"Is he going to be OK?" Marty asked, almost desperately.
"Yes, I think so, he'll be OK. I just want to be sure what kind it is, although it probably bacterial, which means that antibiotics should do the trick."
"They've worked before," Brad said, a wearied experience in his voice. "I hope they work again."