The DiScalzos wanted Vito to do “the honorable thing,” but he was headed to the University of Pittsburgh on a football scholarship and had no intention of saddling himself with a wife and baby. He told Abbie to do whatever she wanted—have the kid or don’t have it—but to leave him the fuck out of it. In the end, she went to the clinic, just like Marley, but it broke her heart, and a lot of people took her side, including Vito’s best friend, Reggie Morrison, who was number nineteen on the Apology List, the only name without a line drawn through it.
* * *
Vito and Reggie had met in sixth grade—it was their first season of Pop Warner—and they connected right away, game recognizing game, and quickly became inseparable. They were like brothers, everybody said so. They slept at each other’s houses, went on vacation with each other’s families, pumped iron and wrestled and got drunk in the woods, and they grew up to be the Dynamic Duo of Green Meadow, the two best football players in Lark history.
There was some rivalry between them. How could there not be? Reggie was the faster runner and better student; Vito was taller and more confident. He was also more successful with girls—he was the quarterback, after all—and Reggie couldn’t help resenting him a little for that. Reggie did okay for himself—he had a sweet face and a ripped body—but he was a Black guy in an overwhelmingly white town, and he didn’t have nearly as many options on that front as Vito did.
Reggie had a crush on Abbie that went all the way back to middle school. He was a little jealous when Vito started hooking up with her, but he got over it—Reggie was good that way—and the three of them spent a lot of time together. They went to the movies, the mall, the diner; sometimes they just got high and played Nintendo. It was the last semester of senior year, and they were already nostalgic for the life they’d be leaving behind.
Abbie and Reggie got to be close friends, and she started confiding in him, complaining about Vito’s cheating, the mean things he said, and the fact that he forgot her birthday, even though she’d reminded him a hundred times. She liked to complain, and Vito gave her a lot to work with.
“What’s wrong with you?” Reggie asked, maybe a week or two before Abbie figured out she was pregnant. “You got a great girl, why do you treat her like shit?”
“You know what?” Vito said. “You like her so much, maybe you should go out with her.”
“Maybe I will,” Reggie said. “Soon as she dumps your ass.”
* * *
That was exactly what happened, though it took a little longer than Vito expected. Abbie and Reggie both went to Rutgers—Reggie on a football scholarship—and at some point in the spring of freshman year they became a couple. Vito didn’t give a shit; he was busy with his own life. He’d had an amazing freshman season at Pitt and was already being mentioned as a possible Heisman candidate. He was training hard, partying hard, living the life. Green Meadow was a tiny dot in his rearview mirror.
He didn’t go home for the summer, but Abbie and Reggie did. They tried to keep their relationship on the DL—Abbie’s parents were old-school Italian American racists—but it didn’t work, because you couldn’t keep something like that quiet in Green Meadow.
The way Vito heard it, Reggie came out of the gym one night and found Ray DiScalzo waiting by his car. Ray was a cop, but he wasn’t on duty. He just wanted to deliver a private message, a friendly request for Reggie to stay the fuck away from his little sister. Reggie asked why, and Ray said, You know why, and Reggie said, Be a man, say it to my face, and it went on like that until Ray said the word, and Reggie beat the shit out of him in the parking lot, just left him lying there, moaning on the pavement.
Reggie was charged with felony assault, and things looked bad for him, a Black athlete who’d put a white cop in the hospital （the fight had left Ray with a concussion and a broken jaw）。 Reggie’s mom was beside herself. She called Vito and begged him to write a letter on behalf of her son, a character reference, so the Judge would know that Reggie was an upstanding citizen, a good friend and teammate, and a person who would never resort to violence unless he was provoked.
“No problem,” he told her. “I’ll get right on it.”
He fully intended to write the letter. Why wouldn’t he? He hated Ray DiScalzo and didn’t want Reggie to go to jail. Sure, they’d drifted apart a little, but deep down they were brothers, and he knew Reggie would do the same for him if the situation were reversed.
It was such a simple favor—it would have taken a half hour of his time at the most—but he never did it, not even after Mrs. Morrison called him two more times. In the end, it didn’t matter. Coach Holleran was friends with the County Prosecutor, and he made a call or two, and the charges were eventually dropped. It took some time, though; Reggie missed his entire sophomore season, and he just gave up—never played football again, never finished college. The last Vito heard, Reggie had joined the Army, and after that it was like he’d dropped off the face of the earth.
* * *
It had been a long time since Vito had walked the streets of Green Meadow. The houses were pale and modest and pressed too close together. Lawn, driveway, lawn, driveway, lawn, as far as the eye could see, and nobody on the sidewalk except for him, like he had the whole town to himself.
The Morrisons lived on Logan Street, south of the railroad tracks, near the plastics factory. Precision Extrusion was gone now—an expensive-looking condo complex had taken its place—and the neighborhood felt busier and more prosperous than it used to. Reggie’s old house was unchanged, though—beige vinyl siding, brick front steps, tarnished brass mailbox—so Vito was more surprised than he should have been when a white woman in her late thirties answered the door. She was wearing workout clothes, breathing hard, holding a TV remote in her hand.
“Can I help you?” She was shifting her weight from foot to foot, trying to keep her heart rate up.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “It’s just… I used to know the people who lived here.”
She stopped moving her feet. “The Morrisons?”
“Yeah. Do you know them?”
“Not really. I met Mrs. Morrison once, but… you know, we didn’t talk that much. She seemed like a nice lady.”
“You wouldn’t know how to get in touch with her, would you?”
She pursed her lips, sorry to disappoint him.
“I think she moved into an assisted living place, but I’m not sure which one. And that was four years ago, so…” The woman smiled sadly, not wanting to complete the thought. “Maybe some of the older neighbors would know.”
“I’m trying to find her son,” Vito explained. “He was my friend growing up. Great football player. Really good guy.”
“I’m sure he was.” The woman nodded vaguely. This was more information than she needed. “I really have to—”
“I owe him an apology,” Vito said. “I’m in a twelve-step program, I’m trying to make amends to people I hurt.”
“Well, good luck with that.” She backed away from the threshold. “You have a nice day.”