Exit Strategy. Jen J. Danna

They can pick on their little brother, but God help anyone else who does.

      She organized the men and got the food to the picnic tables set up outside. All the traditional Sicilian family favorites were there: pasta alla Norma, with fresh tomatoes and eggplant; scaccia ragusana —a rolled pizza filled with various toppings; stuffed artichokes; stuffed swordfish rolls; the fried risotto balls; and Gemma’s father’s favorite, parmigiana di melanzane—eggplant parmigiana. And, of course, overflowing baskets of fresh Italian breads.

      Cradling a loaded platter of antipasto in her free arm, Gemma stepped from the coolness of the house into the blazing sunshine of her father’s narrow, grassy backyard. It was bedlam around tables loaded with food as Joe’s two boys—holy smokes, had they both grown two inches since she’s seen them last?—chased their grandfather’s dog in circles, and as the men relaxed with beers in hands, or tossed a Frisbee to Mark’s daughters. Already seated at the head of the table, her father directed Rachel to rearrange certain plates, and for Joe to get his kids to the table before he ate it all without them.

      With thumb and pinkie tucked between his lips, Joe gave a piercing whistle that immediately brought his boys bolting for the table, and the girls wandering over at a more sedate pace with their father and Uncle Teo. Rachel relieved Gemma of the antipasto platter so both of her hands were free to settle her nephew into his high chair. After calling their sister-in-law Alyssa over, she and Rachel sat on either side of the wide-eyed baby, leaving the rowdier men and older children clustered together.

      Everyone took their seats around the sprawling tables and started passing platters, which gave Gemma a few moments to sit back and soak in the pandemonium, grateful for the opportunity to spend time with her crazy, raucous, headstrong, loving family.

      It had been a family tradition for years. As first responders, everyone’s schedule was constantly unpredictable. And even with seniority, it was often hard to secure popular American holidays for family get-togethers. So they’d started celebrating August 15, the Sicilian Feast of the Assumption, as a chiseled-in-stone day when they would get together for a midday meal at the Capello homestead in Brooklyn, even when it fell on a weekday, as it did that year. This meant it wasn’t a fight for vacation days for those who were scheduled for duty that day. They were lapsed Catholics since the death of Gemma’s mother, but Ferragosto celebrations were a tradition all the way back to their roots in Siculiana, in the shadow of Mount Etna in Sicily.

      Whatever the reason, it worked for them, giving them a day to connect and strengthen roots.

      Gemma glanced down at the baby beside her. With the next generation filling out the ranks, that was more important than ever.

      Alex nudged her other side and she looked up to find him offering her the platter of swordfish. She grinned at him and helped herself.

      “So, Gemma Elena...”

      Gemma looked down the table to her eldest brother, seated beside their father. “So, Giuseppe Pietro...”

      “A little birdie tells me you had an interesting night on Saturday. A little off-duty work.”

      Their father looked up sharply from his plate, his gaze rapidly surveying his daughter before his shoulders relaxed fractionally.

      “I may have.” Teo held up one of his bottles of homemade red wine and she gave him a nod. “Absolutely. No reason not to enjoy when we’re off duty.”

      “My thoughts exactly.” Teo flashed her a saucy grin and filled her wineglass nearly to the brim.

      “I said ‘enjoy,’ not ‘get hammered.’” But she picked up her glass, and tapped it carefully first to Rachel’s and then Alyssa’s before drinking deeply.

      “I hear you were seventeen stories up and balanced on a ledge overlooking the street without any safety gear,” Joe continued.

      “I was never on the ledge.”

      “I notice you’re not denying the lack of safety gear,” her father said. “Why am I only hearing about this now?” After forty years on the force, and as the Chief of Special Operations, Tony Capello made a point of staying up to date with his children’s careers.

      “Because it’s not a big deal.”

      “Apparently, someone thinks it is a big deal and wants to put your name up for a commendation.” Joe met her eyes from the far end of the table. “I heard the story. You spotted the woman holding her newborn baby before she was even in harm’s way. But you couldn’t physically get to her in time, so you had to talk her off the ledge. Literally. And at potential risk to yourself. She could have gone over and taken you with her.”

      “There wasn’t any other way to handle it. There were only seconds to get her back.”

      Joe nodded. “I know.” He raised his wineglass to her. “Well done.”

      She saluted him with her own glass. “Thanks.” She met her father’s gaze and held it. Then he gave her an approving smile, and she grinned back at him as he turned to Joe to inquire about a current gang squad case.

      Alyssa leaned in across the table, her brown eyes wide. “You went out on a ledge to keep a new mother from jumping?” She kept her voice low, as if to spare the children from the story, even though they’d just heard it if they’d been paying attention.

      “With her baby?” Rachel inched in closer around the high chair between them.

      “I don’t think I could have done it without having watched you two excellent mothers.”

      The sisters-in-law exchanged puzzled glances. “Us?” Rachel asked. “How did we help?”

      “You were pretty fresh in my mind. Those first days and weeks with Nate? Alyssa, all those years ago with the Sam and Gabe? How tired and overwhelmed you both were.”

      Alyssa groaned and rolled her eyes skyward. “Oh yeah. Those were tough days.”

      “I took one look at her, so incredibly out of place and with a newborn, and knew that was part of the issue. I found out later she’d been suffering from postpartum depression. Her husband just thought she was a little blue, not in serious trouble.”

      “Men.” Rachel cast a dark look toward the far end of the table. “Sometimes they’re so clueless.” She affectionately considered her infant son. “I need to teach you how to understand women better.”

      “If the husband didn’t understand before, it must be absolutely clear at this point,” Alyssa said. “He could have lost everything.”

      “Let me assure you, he has the full picture now,” Gemma said. “Officers responded and arrived shortly after I got her down, but I stayed with her. I didn’t want to leave her until her husband arrived. He was beside himself when he got there.”

      “Angry?”

      “Not at all. Stunned he’d missed the signs, clearly feeling guilty because of it, and ready to do whatever was needed to keep his family together. Then Children’s Services showed up, because the responding officers called them.”

      “Of course, they did.” Rachel reached out blindly to stroke a hand over her son’s head. “Did they take the baby into custody?”

      “I’m not sure. When I left, mom and baby were being taken to Bellevue—mom for a psych evaluation and hold, and baby for an examination to make sure she wasn’t harmed in any way. After that, it’s in ACS’s hands, but the father’s in the picture, so I’m hopeful he’ll get to keep the baby under their supervision.” Gemma took another sip of wine. “But enough about Saturday night. Alyssa, how are Gabe and his Little League team doing?”

      The meal passed pleasantly as traditional favorites were enjoyed and the wine flowed freely. When dessert was brought out, there was as much hooting and cheering from the adults as from the children.

      The excuse was a meal, but the real reason for the day was the brief oasis that allowed them to reconnect at their leisure