He showered and shaved and dressed up better than he ever had when he was accompanying his mother to Mass. Lita wore her best dress, a creamy white one with long sleeves and an empire waist, and flats, her only shoes, besides sneakers, that weren’t for use on a stage while straddling a pole. Even Brigita Babich went a little dressier than usual in a summer pastel, cut just below the knee but allowing room for an expanding middle. “My, don’t you look beautiful, Lita!” Brigita said. “And look at my handsome son, all spruced up for a change.” “Thanks, Mom,” Dinko said. “You look very beautiful, too.” “Now you’ve gone too far,” Brigita said. “Let’s go to Mass.” She had found Dinko and Lita watching television when she’d returned from bingo the night before, but there’d been something different about them, a certain look when their eyes met. She correctly suspected that this new friendship had turned into something more for them while she’d been trying to catch bingo numbers on all four corners of her card.
