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his own son, Jesus. The car had blown up about a week before. Joe told daddy that maybe we didn't need God for this one, then sought out Louis Prio on his own. Louis first sought the counsel of Grandma Franchesca. They had toasted with her in her wine cellar once before to put a seal on the marriage of her son. Now they met to discuss her daughter and the possibility of children from a bad family. The wine must have been pretty good. So, of course, we were adopted. The question was, what was more important, the seed or the soil? Maybe both. Chuck was no healer. But he was a good boy, good as gold. Jazz Man taught him propriety and decency more than the rest of us. He feared that the uncontrolled blood of the Nalletto's might boil up in him. He was true as true can be, but no healer. Chucky had his real father's fire power but daddy's trajectories." "Aldo?" "Same thing. Had his real father's blood. But he, too, acquired daddy's values, as did we all. Aldo was a talker, a dealer, not a healer, a natural lawyer. He still faints when blood is drawn. He almost didn't get married because of the blood test." "But Aldo knows something about this?" Marcus pressed. "He suspects, especially about you. I'm sure he knows about himself," Sissy reflected. "Yes. He must know that we are all adopted, he's such a detail stickler," Marcus concluded. "Oh that? Sure. I didn't mean that. He was old enough to notice that mommy never looked pregnant, even though she went away for three weeks to bring you home. Aldo wasn't troubled by this when he was little. He was young enough to be fooled. But his memories are sharp. He got more suspicious as he got older. He just never vocalized it