Sassy stayed quiet, interested in the conversation and a little sorry for Davey, but she didn’t interrupt. He was a big boy, as he’d told her before.
“Cool, but that’s not Vietnam,” Davey said quietly. “The Vietnamese don’t need us down there. It’s their war. It’s not our families they’re killing.”
Mr. Levin nodded reluctantly, accepting Davey’s point, but Sassy shuddered, recalling Joey’s latest letter.
Mrs. Levin laid a warm hand on Sassy’s, noticing her reaction. “Let’s not talk about all this killing,” she suggested, but the others weren’t paying attention.
Mr. Romano took over where his friend had left off. “You don’t know communists,” he told Davey, his face darkening. “They’re insid… insti…”
“Insidious,” his wife murmured when he couldn’t find the word.
“Yes. This.” He pinched his thumb against two fingers and jabbed the air, emphasizing his point. “They take control of everything. They kill people you love. Communists don’t care who you are.” His voice was cold. “From communism there is only one small step to fascism. Nothing is worse than fascists.”
“At least Mussolini didn’t kill Jews,” Mr. Levin muttered.
“No. Mussolini wasn’t specific in who he killed. Just anyone who wasn’t him,” agreed Mr. Romano. “Sassy’s brother is doing the right thing over there. We gotta defend ourselves against communists and fascists, Davey, wherever they are. You kids think you will change the world with your free love, but sodid those people. And now they’re dead and buried. I saw the bodies myself.”
Davey lowered his gaze to the table, and Sassy could see he was debating whether or not to speak up, or at least how best to do it. She knew he couldn’t resist, but she appreciated the fact that he was respecting her guests. If he said his piece the right way, she would support him.
“I understand what you’re saying. I do. But I believe the war in Vietnam is a war in Vietnam. It is not in America. I believe America should not be sending men down there to fight.”
There it was. Plain and simple. Sassy approved. “They shouldn’t be sending weapons, either.” She quoted her father from so long before. “But war is good for business.”
“We’re making things worse by being involved,” Davey agreed, nodding. “And we’re losing, no matter what the television says. It’s been over ten years and the war’s still on. We should have either won it right away or gotten the hell out years ago.”
Silence stretched across the table.
“I tell you what,” Mr. Romano said, his dark eyes boring into Davey’s, “if those communists in Vietnam win the war because there weren’t enough brave American men to defeat them, you will remember this conversation.”
“Enough,” his wife said tightly. “Stop all this talk right now. You and your talking. All the time about the war. That was years ago. We’re safe here. No Vietnamese communists are coming—”
Mr. Romano’s shoulders lifted, and he held his hands out. “How do we know this? How is anyone safe?”
She slapped her palm on the table. “I said stop. This is Christmas, for crying out loud. Enough. This is a delicious dinner, and Davey’s a good boy.”
Davey gave a weak smile, and Sassy recalled her responsibilities as a hostess.
“Mrs. Levin, Davey’s right. These blintzes are absolutely delicious. You have to give him the recipe.”
Mrs. Levin beamed, and Sassy saw relief in all the women’s expressions. And in Davey’s.
“I’d like your recipe for the turkey dressing,” Marion said to Mrs. Romano, picking up her cue. “It was the best I’ve ever tasted.”
“My mama, may she rest in peace, she taught me this.”
“You all spoil us,” Sassy said. She turned in her seat, toward the living room. “Speaking of, I’ve been meaning to ask you, Mr. Levin. Have you seen your spider plant? It’s doing so well in the window, just like you said.”
“Oh yes,” Marion added, getting up to clear plates. “I wanted to ask about that, too. What should I do with all the tiny little plants growing out of it?”
“Sassy, you got paper and pen?” Mrs. Levin asked. “Come here, Davey. I’ll write that recipe down.”
Everyone moved to the living room and settled comfortably in Sassy’s limited furniture. The older men lit cigarettes, and Sassy was gratified to see Mr. Levin offer one to Davey. She plugged in the kettle for coffee, then she joined Marion in the kitchen entryway, her arms folded as she regarded the scene.
“I love that we’re able to do this,” she said. “We’re so fortunate to live here.”
“We have great neighbours,” Sassy agreed.
Marion held up her glass, and they clinked them together.
