I, Michael Bennett (Michael Bennett 5)

I stared at my kids, resisting the urg

e to roll my eyes. They’d acted the same way the summer before and then ended up having the time of their lives.

“Honestly, Dad. We don’t have to go to Hicksville again this year, do we?” Ricky said. “There’s nothing to do.”

“He means except getting bitten by mosquitoes and getting poison ivy,” Brian added helpfully.

I peered at them and scratched my chin for a bit.

“Well, sons. I didn’t know you had such huge objections to the trip. Besides, you guys are a year older. Maybe we can arrange something else for you two—like we’ll head upstate, and you guys can man the fort down here.”

Ricky and Brian looked at each other ecstatically.

“That would be awesome!” Brian said. “The whole apartment to ourselves. You know you can trust us. We’re down, Dad!”

They began to step past me. I let them get five feet. Maybe four.

“Oh, wait. I just thought of something. What was it, now? Oh, yeah. I was only kidding. Start packing, knuckleheads, and don’t forget the OFF! Next stop for you two happy campers is Hicksville, USA.”

CHAPTER 28

WISPS OF BLUE smoke stung my eyes as I lifted the roasted chickens from their foil packets. I listened to the satisfying sizzle as I slipped them one by one onto the grill to finish smoking. The mahogany-colored birds looked awesome and smelled even better—of sweet mesquite smoke and lemon.

“Bobby Flay, eat your heart out,” I mumbled as I closed the lid of my trusty Weber grill.

It was my grandfather Seamus’s birthday, and I was most definitely doing some grillin’ and chillin’ for his surprise party this evening. On the table behind me, the Philly cheesesteak sliders were waiting with the rest of the appetizers, the chips, the fruit platter, the beer, and Cokes on ice in galvanized buckets.

Since everything was ready to go, I decided to crack open one of the Coronas to ease my smoky throat.

The whole setting looked as awesome as the food. Colored plastic Japanese lanterns were strung above white paper tablecloths. In the distance, over the buildings and Riverside Park treetops, the Hudson River was sparkling. My West End Avenue building really didn’t have a designated rooftop space, but I helped the super out with his traffic tickets, so he looked the other way a couple of times a year when I wanted to have a tar-beach barbecue. I couldn’t think of a better venue for tonight’s event.

I put down my beer as my phone jangled.

“This is Falcon One. The target is in the box. I repeat, Dumbledore is in the building.”

Dumbledore, I thought, shaking my head. Leave it to my nutty kids to turn a surprise birthday party into a covert operation with code words.

“Roger, Falcon One. Keep me posted.”

I sipped my beer as I waited for the next transmission.

“Falcon One here again. Dumbledore fell for it,” Trent reported five minutes later. “Grandpa actually thinks he needs to help Mary Catherine take clothes up to the roof to dry. He must think its 1912 instead of 2012. Anyway, we have him hook, line, and sinker. They’re taking the elevator. We’re coming up the back stairs. ETA two minutes.”

The other kids and I were huddled together, my youngest, Chrissy, beside me, literally shaking with excitement as the roof door opened.

“Surprise!” we all yelled.

“What?” Seamus said, wide-eyed, dropping the laundry basket he was holding. “Oh, my goodness!”

“He’s speechless!” Mary Catherine cried, coming up behind him. “Someone mark the date and time. I think we actually made him speechless!”

We sat down and commenced eating. It was a delicious meal. In addition to the perfectly smoked chicken, we had smoked sausages and German potato salad and slaw. As we joked and bantered, we watched the sun go down and the lights go bright in the city to the south.

As I sat there smiling, one of those perfect New York moods hit me. Sad and happy and serene all at the same time. I had trouble remembering the last time I felt this good. Definitely before Hughie lost his life. Thinking about him, I lifted my plastic cup to the dark silver sky.

After we dispensed with the paper plates, I popped a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Champagne as Mary Catherine brought over the cake she’d baked.

“How many is it, Father?” I said, filling his glass with bubbly. “How many cases of candles are we going need to light this puppy up? Should I call LaGuardia to warn the air traffic controllers?”