nd shook his head. Then he looked at me and shook his head again.
“What?”
“I’m surprised there isn’t a line of boys waiting at this door.”
“Stop blowin’ her up,” Dad said behind me. “This isn’t one of your Hollywood gigs.”
They hugged, and Uncle Tommy nodded at me. “I’m not exaggerating much, Burt, and something tells me she’s got your levelheadedness when it comes to her ego.” He stepped back and looked at him. “You, on the other hand, haven’t changed much.” He turned back to me. “I always thought your father was a tough old geezer, despite being only three years older than me.”
“You haven’t changed much, either, Dandy Man, although I see some strands of gray sneaking in.”
Uncle Tommy had a wavy head of dark brown hair, neatly styled. I would never say he was better-looking than my father, but he did have an impish twinkle in his hazel eyes that probably titillated most of the women he pursued. He was slimmer and an inch or so taller. My father always said Uncle Tommy took after their mother more, which was lucky for him. He was always a stylish dresser, always coordinating his shirts, pants, shoes, and socks as though he expected to be photographed, even when he first got up in the morning. Today he just wore a light blue sweater and a white shirt with a pair of dark blue slacks and black loafers.
Suddenly, like a magician, he produced a small box in pink gift wrap.
“Found this on the plane last night,” he said, handing it to me, “and thought it might be something you’d like.”
“What?” I took it gingerly. “Found it?”
“Where’s your bag?” Dad asked him.
“In the car. I’ll get it later. I’m starving. You know how that food on the plane can be.”
“Never ate it,” Dad said.
He was watching me tear off the gift wrap and open the small box. There was a gold necklace in it with a pendant that had a ruby at the center and tiny rubies surrounding it.
“I remembered you liked rubies,” my uncle said. “I hope.”
“It’s beautiful, Uncle Tommy. Thank you,” I said, and hugged him.
I looked at Dad. We both knew I liked rubies because they were my mother’s favorite. I was fighting back tears of happiness. They both could see it.
“When do we eat?” Uncle Tommy asked.
“Right now. Go on and wash up,” Dad ordered. He was always the big brother.
Uncle Tommy laughed and headed to the bathroom. I followed my father into the kitchen. He paused to watch me struggle to get the necklace on.
“Here,” he said, and took control, mumbling under his breath. “Found it on a plane. Once a storyteller, always a storyteller.”
I retreated to the hallway and glanced at myself in the wall mirror near the front door. Then I hurried back to the kitchen when Uncle Tommy entered.
“Thank you so much, Uncle Tommy. It’s beautiful.”
“Now it is. It’s on you,” he said, and sat down at the table. “So tell me everything. How’s school? How many boyfriends do you have? How much of a nag is my brother?”
“Not as much as I’m gonna be now that you’re here,” Dad said, and they both laughed.
I helped serve the toast, eggs, and bacon and poured Uncle Tommy his cup of coffee.
“Ma’s recipe, for sure,” Uncle Tommy said when he took his first forkful of eggs. “She was cooking for me right up to her last day on this earth,” he told me.
“And who’s cooking for you now?” Dad asked. “Certainly not you.”
“I have some . . . domestic help,” he replied, and gave an impish smile.
“I bet.”