"Paul's right," Oliver said.
"My mother packed up and brought us back to New Haven. We lived with her folks for a while."
"Good old New Haven," Paul said.
"Now, your father . . ." She smiled at Paul.
"He liked the ladies," Paul said.
"What did he do?" Oliver asked.
"He was a stone mason, made his own wine, raised hell. Fought with Uncle Tony until the day he died. They were tight, though—don't let anybody else say anything against them. Bocce ball. Jesus." Paul shook his head and held up his glass. "Life," he said.
"Yes, life." Oliver's mother raised her glass.
"Coming at you," Oliver added.
"Us," Paul said.