“See, to people in New Haven who care about art and music and that kind of thing, DiTullio is a big cheese. Every year he has a recital for his students and people buy tickets like it's a regular show. Mama doesn't want Lu to do it, because it's too much like being an actress Mama thinks and that's a profession for girls who aren't, well… nice, if you know what I mean. But Pop says Mama's making a mountain out of a molehill, so Lu sings at the recital, and she's the best in the whole thing. By far.” Uncle Paulie stopped to uncross and recross his arms. Carrie held her breath so she wouldn't distract him from his narrative.

“Now, back in those days DiTullio's pupils were in demand to sing at functions like weddings and birthdays,” he went on. “And after that first recital, everyone in New Haven wants Lu to sing for them. And Pop says sure, why not? As long as it's in the daytime when it's light outside, and she never, ever does it for money. Even Pop's not gonna go that far. On top of which, I have to go with her and stay nearby while she's doing her act so people will know she's the kind of girl who has a family that watches out for her.

“Only by now I've had it with babysitting for her when she's singing. I start cutting out early to go with my friends. I tell her where I'll be so she can meet me after she's done and we go home together like everything's on the up and up. But I'm not watching her anymore.” He paused and looked off into the distance. “And come to find out, Mama was right. I should have.”

“Why? What happened?”

Uncle Paulie pulled away from the car and looked at his watch. “You hungry?” he asked.

“Now that you mention it, I'm starving.”

Uncle Paulie got into the car on the passenger side and carefully buckled his seat belt. “Come on,” he said. “I'll take you to the best food in town.”

They made their way through more scary one-way streets until they reached what looked like a very old section of the city. Uncle Paulie directed Carrie into a small parking lot behind a group of shops and restaurants and extricated himself from his seat belt with a low whistle. “Driving really isn't your thing, honey, is it?” he asked as he got out of the car.

He led her to a little hole-in-the-wall eatery. MAURIZIO'S was stenciled in red on the front window. Underneath the name was a simple declarative statement: “The Best Pizza in the World.”