CABIN in the PINES. . .

"What's wrong, Al?” the father said, "I saw you pull up awhile ago, and waited for you to come in. You don't look very happy; are you okay?" "Not really, Papa. This is not a good time for the DiBiasi family. Let's go sit down somewhere with Mama. Is she alright?” Emil hesitated, wanting to know right away what was wrong, but he conceded to his son's wishes. "Of course, Al, let's go into the kitchen. Mama's fine, she’s in there fixing lunch. She'd be happy if you could join us." He led the way, alerting his wife of Al's arrival; look, Mama, Al’s here; might join us for lunch.” Rosemary perked up, as she always does when any member of the family visits; she was a typical Italian mother; she loved them all, not matter what. She draped her dishtowel on the counter, gently put down the cup she had been drying, and greeted her son with a kiss on the cheek. "Al, How nice to see you." She embraced him, letting the strength of his body steady her own slender figure. Slowly re-moving herself from his arms, she asked, “Can you stay for lunch?” Then she perceived Al’s serious mood, and said, “You look worried, son, are you okay? Or is there something else the matter? Is Jean alright?” The old lady was getting herself distraught. Al nodded, and said, "No, no, Mama, Jean and I are both just fine, but I do have some troubling news. Let's sit here at the table," which is where the family members usually convened. The kitchen was where Mama loved to have her family, where she could serve them her favorite treats...apple pie or cinnamon cookies. They took seats at the sides of the square table, but it bothered Al that his parents should be showing their anxiety over whatever they thought he had to tell them. It was enough for them just to be coping with all of the effects of their advancing ages. He was worried about any impact on their health that might result from hearing the bad news. It was a difficult task, but Al chose his words carefully, watching their reactions with considerable apprehension. Mama let out several small whimpers as the event was described to them; Papa moved his chair close to her and she leaned her head on his shoulder. Neither could collect themselves enough to verbally express their feelings, yet in a way, they acted as though they were not surprised. After a few moments Papa said, “Do the police have any clues as to who might have shot Frankie, or why it was done? It seems, from what you have told us, that Frankie was in the bar and walked out the back door with two men, and one of them shot him. You would think that some customer, a waitress, or the bartender would be able to identify one or both of the two men, or at least give the police some kind of description.” Al had given his message rather briefly, trying to spare his parents the despair he knew they would feel if the details of the murder were described, but he felt that he had to respond to Papa’s question. “I’m afraid that as of right now, Papa, the police have made no progress in solving the crime. There is only speculation that it was done because of Frankie’s unpaid gambling debts. The police have pretty well ruled out any bad drug deal. Of course the media has jumped in the fray and added to the confusion over the cause. I’ll try to keep you informed, but I doubt if I’ll be able to tell you much more than you can get from the news reports.” Al decided that he should leave his parents to cope with the news in their own way. He had been as gentle as he could be in relating the sad event. "What more could I have said?" he questioned himself, and rose from his chair. He kissed his mother on the forehead and gave his father a pat on the shoulder. "I'll call you later," he said, and left quietly. After Al left, Emil told his wife, "You were right, Mama, Frankie was into some-thing illegal, or criminal. I honestly can’t believe that it was over gambling debts; it had to be something else. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was by a jealous husband, whose wife Frankie got too chummy with. Maybe it had something to do with the kind of work he did. You always felt that there was some reason he never said much about his job.”