“That I did,” he said. Lifting one of my hands and examining my swollen and bruised knuckles, he said, “In the service of a good choice gone bad?”

“Bad choice that felt really good.”

“I’ll pray for you.”

“Since you’ve been fired, your prayers got any juice in ’em?”

Tatina stood, bowed to the altar, then turned and began walking our way.

“And no,” the old man scowled at me. “A big, fat donation from you while you’re smoking Cohiba cigars and bending the ear of the archbishop is not something I want you to do for me, August.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Like you said—I baptized you. I know you, son.”

Before leaving St. Al’s, Tatina gave the old man a hug and a kiss on his furry cheek.

I hugged him, too, whispering, “I love you, old man.”

He whispered back, “I love you, too, August Octavio Snow. And remember the promise you made to me and Tatina in front of God the Father.”

Then Tatina and I left to celebrate our commitment.

It was a cold Tuesday evening and we were in luck: to celebrate our neo-nonnuptials, Tatina and I went to the Northern Lights Lounge on West Baltimore.

Northern Lights has the look of a large sixties basement recreation room where neighbors collect to drink Falstaff beer, throw darts, play air hockey and bullshit while surrounded by knotty pine walls decorated with posters and memorabilia of Marvin Gaye or maybe the great Alex Karras, Lions number 71, 1958–70.

The food at Northern Lights is simple, nicely portioned and damned good. The drinks are never shorted and they’re reasonably priced. The service is quick and often quite attractive.

And it was the one night of the week that one of the last living Motown Funk Brothers—Mr. Dennis Coffey—demonstrated his still-enviable mastery of the jazz-funk-soul guitar.

Tatina, needless to say, was beside herself. I had taken her to the Motown Museum on one of her previous visits.

“Oh, my God!” she said as she watched Coffey and his band set up. “My father loved him. Absolutely adored him! Remember ‘Scorpio’? My father played that all the time! He’d do that stupid white man dance and play air guitar until the family couldn’t breathe from laughing.”

She went on to regale me once again with her knowledge of Motown by listing some of the songs Coffey and his Funk Brothers had played on: “War,” “Just My Imagination,” “Bernadette,” “Someday We’ll Be Together” and more. During the band’s break, Tatina even got to shake Coffey’s hand and tell him what a lifesaver his music had been for her family.

We closed the place.

I dropped Tatina at the front door of my—our house and maneuvered the lumbering tonnage of the GMC Yukon up the narrow drive, into the shed/garage, which barely accommodated the beast.