The whistling of the tea kettle had sent them to their respective corners. Maggie in her seat, and tonight, Jimmy in his father’s. Rarely did he sit here, did anyone. Maggie nodded her approval. The only light came from the stove, a soft glow that allowed shadows to join them, but only theirs. But there may have been a ghost present, too, wanting to be part of the conversation. Jimmy felt a noticeable chill, and not from the February air outside.

“We don’t talk much, not like this,” Jimmy opened with.

“We haven’t talked yet, and besides, you’re always running here and there. You don’t seem much interested in a real sit down. But something’s got your goat these days, I sensed it over the holidays and again at dinner the other night, the way you talked about those new neighbors. Seeing a boy without a father just wakes it all up for you, doesn’t it?”

“It goes back a bit farther than Carmen and Sonny Ramirez,” Jimmy said. “Back to my last big case, the Guardian Angel.”

“That society lady, Serena Someone?”

“Carson, and no, not that aspect. What happened to cousin Kellan, and to Mickey Dean.”

Maggie grew silent again, almost withdrawn at the sound of that name. Jimmy sensed it.

“What an awful man. I’m sorry for what Maureen has been through, but that family is better off without his threatening ways. Only knew violence.”

“And died by it.”

“As most men of that sort do.”

“Dad died from violence.”

“Your father was an NYPD police officer, danger came with the territory. I knew that going in, back when he and I courted and he was in the academy.”

“Tell me again where you met.”

“Ah, Jimmy, I’ve told this story a million times if I’ve told it once.”

“Humor me. Pretend I’m a little boy and you’re telling me a story.”

“With that growth of whiskers you’re sporting, you are far from a boy, my boy.”

Jimmy smiled. That was the Maggie he knew and loved, always telling him he was in need of a shave. And in doing so always having a way of putting him in his place, reminding him he needed to take responsibility for his actions. He took a sip of his tea; it was strong, nothing herbal, nothing fancy. The familiar Twinings Early Gray label hung from the side of the cup. He waited for her to start, prompted her with his eyes.

“It was a church social. Sure, I knew him, but every girl knew who Joey McSwain was. He was fifteen, and oh my he was the most handsome boy, had that sparkle in his eye. A bit devilish, some said, including your Grandmother Hester, but then again, that old girl wouldn’t have ever approved of any boy for me at that age. They rewrote the definition of strict with Hester. But back to Joey. A Sunday afternoon in the downstairs basement of the church, we were hosting what used to be called a Sally Hawkins dance ...”

“Where the girls ask the boys,” Jimmy said.

“Well, all sorts of girls were angling to ask Joey but by the luck of the Irish, I drew first. He was an easy choice. As I laid out sandwiches and soft drinks, he confessed he’d hoped I would be the one to pick him. Oh, he was a charmer, that one. Sometimes at night I wonder if he might have claimed the same to whichever of the girls who might have sat with him. He was good that way. Gift of the gab, as they say. Well, soon enough summer was coming, which meant I’d be spending two months up at Peach Lake, where your grandparents had just bought the cottage where Hester still resides.”

Jimmy nodded. He’d been there often. Just last summer, during the Crime Wave case.

“Well, I was devastated, since Joey had said he’d hope to see me over the summer. Go to a movie, grab an egg cream, something.”

Jimmy loved how old fashioned it was, like a scene out of a movie of the two star-crossed lovers being thwarted by their strident parents. Meeting up for an innocent soda at the corner drug store, perhaps sneaking a kiss down by the west-side piers. All while Manhattan glittered around them. It was good to remember those early blooms of romance, especially on the eve of Valentine’s Day. Her love story was refreshing, especially since his own relationship fell somewhere between complicated and complex.

“But Dad waited for you,” Jimmy said.

“He did. Now, mind you, I didn’t ask what he’d been up to all summer, he was then sixteen and had the run of Hell’s Kitchen, a boy with his looks and charm ... but yes, I came back for school in the fall, and there he was, on the street corner right near my building ... just a few blocks away from here. He was leaning there, that smile on his face. And he said, ‘bout time you showed your face again, lass.’ Oh, he had a way about him. Only one person couldn’t he win over.”

“Grandmother Hester, of course.”

“You do remember,” Maggie said, with her own devilish grin.

“No, I just know grandmother.”

“That we all do,” Maggie said.

“And what about the McSwains. We don’t talk about them much.”

“None of ‘em left, except us. You’re the last McSwain male.”

“Perhaps not,” Jimmy said.

“Oh, you plan on producing a miracle baby? You and your supposed captain?”

Jimmy wished now the tea was beer and that the bottle was full. “Uh, no,” he said uneasily, “and let’s not get sidetracked by unnecessary distractions. We were talking about Dad’s parents. Since I really never knew them.”