The radiator in the living room was hot. It made occasional banging and hissing sounds which the boys thought got louder and more frequent whenever they were alone in their second floor apartment. Not that they were alone often. Jeffrey was almost 11 and his brother Oliver was four months shy of 10. Their parents, their mother for sure, were responsible people.

The reason Mr. and Mrs. Orcini left the boys alone was Christmas shopping. The Holiday was approaching fast. Now that Mr. Orcini was home, Mrs. Orcini hoped she could get some money from her husband Albert to give the kids a decent Christmas. Always short of cash, she had already resorted to borrowing from her sister, a woman accustomed to the fact that her younger sister would be unable to pay her back.

Albert was an over the road truck driver who was often away from home for weeks. Home for the Holidays, he planned to stay put until just after the New Year. Not that he was happy about it. He had regular poker games to get back to, one in Poughkeepsie and another in Trenton. He was itching to play. He had a rack of poker chips, a wad of twenties and eight decks of new playing cards squirreled away in the hold of his tractor trailer cab.

He liked his boys, Jeff and Ollie, but he was never around long enough to form a true bond with them. It bothered him, but he loved his card games. Frankly, he struggled with the obligations that marriage and a family demanded. He felt trapped by his circumstances and often dreamed of escaping. Since he and Stella grew up in the same north ward neighborhood, the one they still lived in, he couldn’t just walk away. Sure, he thought about it, maybe run his truck out west, settle in Reno, or maybe even Las Vegas. He had no doubt he would be a high roller in no time.

He had actually seen Las Vegas in its early boom years. After the war, he’d been assigned to the Nevada Test Site, where atmospheric A-Bomb tests were conducted. The men in his outfit taught him how to play poker and took him to Vegas on a weekend pass. He loved the hot, dry climate and the desert air. He was mesmerized by the hipsters who ran the casinos. Playing poker in the back room of the Prince Diner in Poughkeepsie, he would imagine he was in a plush, carpeted poker room in Las Vegas. He longed for the chance to make a fresh start.

It was strictly a pipe dream of course, something to help him push through the dark, early morning hours on Route 17. For starters, his mother, a very traditional, widowed Italian woman, would never forgive him. She would turn the whole family, his brother, two sisters and even cousins against him. No, he was better off doing his duty and relishing his respite on the road. Certainly, he wasn’t the only trucker leading a secret life. Others had to worry about coming home with the wrong shade of lipstick. His only worry was a full house when the twenties were stacked high.   

Oddly enough Jeffrey was unable to see the unhappiness in his father’s eyes. He worshiped him. But Oliver had no such illusions. He saw through the man. His father’s indifference was like an incurable cancer. 

On that cold December night, as the hour got late, well past their bedtime, Oliver looked at his brother and said what he was thinking. “I don’t think they’re coming back Jeff.” The silver painted radiator whistled.

“Don’t be a jerk. You always think that, even if mom runs out for a loaf of bread.”

“Why are they so late then? Tell me you’re not worried”, he said. “Don’t bother. It’s all over your stupid face. They’re leaving us. We’re on our own.”

“Why would they do that, Ollie?”

“They don’t love us, especially dad.”

“You’re crazy.” The older boy went to the living room window. He was sure he heard a car door slam. He looked down at the street for his mother’s ten-year old, beat up 1947 DeSoto. It was only their neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Gizzi. “We better get ready for bed. Mom will yell at us if we’re still up.”

“You promise she’s coming back?”

Jeffrey fought back tears he could feel coming, knowing he didn’t dare let on that he was worried too. He picked up one of his father’s deck of cards from the tiny coffee table and began shuffling, just the way his dad showed him. His mother was acting weird lately. She didn’t eat much and she didn’t talk to the boys the way she used to. She always seemed tired, like she had given up on something.

He didn’t dare tell Oliver that. The kid would be inconsolable. He took a deep breath, making himself believe his mother would be home soon. She would demand to know why they didn’t have their pajamas on. His dad would pour a little whiskey. And everything would be fine. He looked at Oliver. His brother desperately needed the reassurance he didn’t feel.   

“I promise, Ollie. Won’t be long now.”   

The radiator hissed and banged for emphasis.