I.

After Ricky had woken from his dream, he didn't sleep much for the rest of the night. Had Lucy really come to him, or was it the wishful thinking of his subconscious giving him exactly what he had asked for that afternoon? Was she real or was she a coping mechanism? He knew that he wanted to believe she was real, which meant that she still heard him and was still with him.

He spent much time looking at the ceiling as he contemplated. He had certainly had friends and family around him die before. But never, not ever, had he grieved or been so affected by death as he was by his wife's. Even when he was a child, when his father had passed away, death seemed more of an abstract idea. He had been saddened, but he and his mother and family needed to eat. The event had been more of a gateway to adulthood than it was a time to mourn. When Lucy had miscarried her first two pregnancies, he certainly mourned for the children they'd lost. But she had needed his strength and more than anything, he was glad that she had not died with them. When the Mertzes had passed away, first Fred, then Ethel, he mourned for their friendship. But he rationalized that they were older and such was life.

This was different. Each day, sometimes each moment, seemed to usher in a new stage of his grieving for Lucy. He had initially denied the truth of it. He had certainly been sad, depressed, angry and uncertain about his future. He had moments when he seemed to feel nothing at all. He had feelings of happiness when he was immersed in his memories of her, only to crash back into sadness when the memory ended and reality confronted him again, like the lights of a movie theater blinding him as the film ended.

By the time morning came, he had decided that his dream had to be real. His mind, alone, had never created such imagery in response to a traumatic event and he didn't believe it would start now. Lucy may not be physically beside him in the way that she always had been, but she was with him in a new way. The thought of it was more comforting to him than anything anyone had said to him in the last several weeks.

And so, with a renewed outlook on the day despite several sleepless hours, Ricky rose and went out to the hallway. It was still somewhat early and, having worked late into the night, Rick had not yet emerged from his bedroom.

Ricky went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He grinned. The contents looked similar to what Ricky himself had lived on when he was a single man on his own. A carton of orange juice, a loaf of bread, a container of milk, a package of bologna and a package of cheese. A box of cereal sat on the top of the refrigerator.

He went back to his room to dress.

II.

Rick rolled over in bed, trying to shield his eyes from the mid-morning sun that was invading his room. He took a deep breath, the aroma of what he recognized to be bacon and eggs rousing him further. "Do I HAVE bacon and eggs," he said out loud.

He slid out of bed and into a robe. As he did so, his eyes drifted out the window, where he saw a blue jay sitting on the ledge outside. It looked back at him quietly. Rick smirked. Pigeons were a usual visitor to most every window ledge in the city. But a blue jay? That was something he hadn't seen since leaving Connecticut. His gaze lingered on the bird as he made his way out to the hallway.

With the scent of breakfast stronger still, Rick went to the kitchen quietly. He raised his eyebrows when he saw his father at the stove, keeping guard over two frying pans.

Ricky hadn't heard his son approach and he nudged the eggs with a spatula to make sure they didn't burn. "This isn't easy. I'm sorry I made fun of you when we were first married. You turned into a good little cook…"

Rick tilted his head as he walked up next to his father slowly. "Dad?"

Ricky turned around quickly. "Oh, good mornin'!"

Rick smiled. "Where'd that food come from?"

Ricky chuckled, turning back to the stove. "I went to the store early. You din't have anythin' for breakfast 'sept cereal."

Rick's smile broadened. "You haven't wanted breakfast...for a while."

Ricky placed the eggs and bacon onto a plate. "I felt hungry this mornin'. Sit down, I made enough for you."

Rick turned to the toaster on the counter nearby, which had begun to make a humming sound. He knew that it did this when the toast was nearly finished, but Ricky looked at it and wondered if it was broken. His eyes widened when the toast popped out and Rick grabbed it in midair before sitting.

Ricky laughed softly as he put the plate in the center of the table.

Rick watched him sit. "Thanks for breakfast, Dad."

Ricky nodded. He felt it was about time he started returning to his role as a father to Rick. He thought he'd been remiss in those duties since Lucy passed. "You're welcome."

Rick ate gratefully. "Dad, I want you to come with me to the club today. Some of your guys are coming by to visit for rehearsal."

Ricky raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Who?"

Rick swallowed. "Marco is here from Florida. He came especially to see you because he missed the funeral…" He trailed off, regretting having made any mention of Lucy's funeral, fearing it would ruin his father's apparently good mood. He quickly moved on. "And Tony and Esteban are up from Jersey."

Ricky smiled. "Alright. Good!"

Rick looked at his plate, puzzled. His father's demeanor seemed to have changed overnight. He was glad, of course, but he wondered what had happened in such a short time.

III.

Ricky watched his son rehearse with the orchestra later that afternoon. He felt, at times, that he was watching himself. Rick's mannerisms, the meticulous ear he had for the music and his driving need for each piece to be as close to perfect as possible; they were all learned behaviors. Yet, as tough as he could be on his musicians, he was well liked and respected. It was an important balance which Ricky was glad his son recognized.

Ricky felt a hand on his shoulder and, for just a moment, he thought that when he turned, he'd be faced again with the sparkling blue eyes that had visited him the previous night. The voice that emanated from the visitor quickly put that idea to rest. "He looks like you up there, boss."

Ricky looked up slowly and smiled, rising to greet Marco. They clasped hands briefly before embracing each other. "It's good to see you, amigo." He motioned for Marco to sit beside him at the table. "Sit down!"

Marco sat beside him, grinning, but he became serious after a moment. "Ricky…I was…so sorry to hear about Lucy. How are you?"

Ricky nodded. "Thank you. It's been a very hard few weeks." He looked in his son's direction. "But he's takin' good care of me."

Marco looked at his old friend and fellow musician. They'd arrived in New York at practically the same time and they'd been friends since before Ricky had even met Lucy. In fact, he'd noticed Lucy himself on that first night when The Tropicana opened. But when he saw her dancing with Ricky later that same night and he observed the way Ricky looked at her and held her in his arms, he knew that an imminent marriage between them was already written in the books of their lives. He knew that Ricky's description of a "hard few weeks" was an understatement of great proportions.

Marco nodded finally in response to Ricky. "He was always a good kid. How's he doin'?"

Ricky narrowed his eyes, still looking at his son. On the surface, the question seemed easy enough to answer. But if he thought more deeply about it, he didn't know. That he knew of, Rick had cried exactly twice for his mother: on the day she died and on the day of her funeral. But Ricky had been so entombed in his own grief and depression that he hadn't noticed or encouraged his son to express the feelings of sadness that he was sure the young man had. This troubled him, but he answered Marco simply. "I think he's doin' alright."

In the next few moments of small talk about the weather in Florida and Marco's activities, the two were joined by their former bandmates, Tony and Esteban. They took to reminiscing about old times, their various travels on tour and musing about their current lives, all to the backdrop of Rick's music as the new bandleader continued to rehearse his own orchestra.

III.

When rehearsal had ended, Ricky left Rick at the club, having made plans to meet his friends again the following day for lunch. Rick had urged him to stay for the show, but he felt that he had to get back to the apartment and do something that had struck his heart.

Reluctantly, Rick watched him hail a taxi to head home. His father had had such a good day which had been highlighted by a genuine good humor that he hadn't observed since Lucy had passed. As Rick walked back to his dressing room to prepare for his performance, he hoped that this turn for the positive would continue.

When he walked into the room, he closed the door gently behind him and sat. Now that he felt that his father no longer needed so much of his strength and protection, he was starting to feel as though he may need some of it back in return. He wasn't sure why. He thought that time should be making the sting of his mother's death duller. Instead, it seemed to be nagging at him. He had been very aware throughout his life that his parents had wanted him very much, with that desire being made more poignant by the loss of the pregnancies that came before him. As a result, they had covered him with a type of protection and love that many of his friends growing up didn't seem to understand. His father manifested those feelings in the form of pride; he passed his talents and his language to his son along with his name and his bloodline. His mother was quintessentially maternal; she was protective to a fault, not only in the sense that she was always concerned for his physical safety, but in the way in which she sought to shield him from the harshness of life. There was pure love in everything she did for him, from birthday celebrations and Christmas mornings, to small things like after-school snacks and heartfelt bedtime embraces. And no one's mother was a bigger fan of their child at every performance, big or small, that he'd ever had in his life.

In that quiet room, by himself and without the need (real or perceived) to be strong for his father, Rick cried for his mother.