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I followed him onto the pier to join Uncle Louie.

“Where the hell were you?” Uncle Louie asked him.

“Paperwork, Lou,” Googs explained. “I’m swimming in it.”

“Like a shark.” Louie kept his eyes on the marble slab in midair. “You got a gold vein in that Nero Azzurro that’s to die for. The cut is as smooth as fondant. It’s half the shipment I was expecting, but that’s the Italians for you. They send what they want to send, no matter what you ordered.”

“I will rectify the situation, believe me,” Googs assured him. “The Kerrigan kid is a good egg. He’ll make it right on the other side if there’s a shortfall.”

Uncle Louie made a popping sound with his lips, a sign he was thinking and not liking where his thoughts were taking him. He placed his hands in his vest pockets and walked to the end of the pier, where he joined the cargo manager dressed in coveralls. The pulleys squeaked as the stone was lowered.Uncle Louie went up on his toes and down on his heels as he observed the end of the transfer. Googs shadowed Uncle Louie and stood close by, with one ear cocked toward the conversation between Uncle Louie and the boss on the pier.

Uncle Louie loved an exclusive. He assured customers they couldn’t find Carrara marble like his anywhere else in the marketplace. Sometimes we ended up with more freight than we needed. The goal was to try to estimate the amount of stone needed and not end up with a surplus, but we usually did, no matter how many calculations we made. Every sink in every half bath in every home on the lake had been installed with Arabescato, a pink marble with swirls of eggnog yellow, from Louie’s surplus, which he refused to unload on the open market.

Uncle Louie agreed to take the entire inventory with Googs, who nodded in agreement.

Once Uncle Louie wrapped up with the manager, he and Googs crossed the pier to where the workmen were lined up in front of the sleeves of marble. Uncle Louie shook the foreman’s hand with his right hand, and with his left he pulled a white envelope from the breast pocket of his suit jacket. The foreman took the envelope and slipped it into his back pocket for distribution later. The Amazing Kreskin could not have moved a sealed envelope so easily.

Cash tips were stacked inside that envelope, bills as crisp as the day they came off the presses at the United States Mint, and I would know. I counted the money and sealed the envelope. I observed as my uncle shook the hand of every workman on the dock, personally thanked them for their service. Googs stood behind my uncle and nodded as he moved down the line. In these moments, Uncle Louie possessed the gentility of anothertime, when taking care of people was important and gratitude was expressed in ways that made a difference to the person doing the work.

“How about lunch?” I offered upon their return.

“How about it?” Uncle Louie clapped his hands together and washed them with invisible Purell. “I’m famished.”

“Mom made it.”

“That’s a ringing endorsement. My sister can cook.” Louie cocked his head toward the picnic area by the pier. “Shall we dine alfresco? Googs? Would you care to join?”

“I appreciate the invitation, but I got business in Brielle.”

“Animal, vegetable, or woman?” Louie prodded.

“Gravel.” Googs grinned and gave my uncle a military salute before returning to his car.

“Googs never eats with us,” I said as I took the thermal bag out of the back seat of the Impala. “How come?”

“Gravel, my ass. The only hunger he has is for women.”

“Doesn’t seem to hurt his bottom line,” I offered.

“He’s a good salesman,” Uncle Louie admitted.

When it came to salesmen, Uncle Louie taught me,If someone has to tell you they’re a good person, they’re usually not. At Cap Marble and Stone, I handled the designs, the customers, and occasionally lunch. Louie Cap made the deals.

Uncle Louie took a seat at an old picnic table that had turned, over time, to mottled driftwood. “It’s rickety, but it’ll hold you,” my uncle said as his phone rang. “I gotta take this. Italy.”

Uncle Louie FaceTimed with our shipping partner, Conor Kerrigan, in Italy.

“Yeah, Conor. Yeah…it’s all good. A little light on the Borghini…See what you can do about that. I could move fourtons of it if I had it on hand…. Uh-huh….Va bene.Say hello to my niece.” Louie aimed his phone at me.

“Ciao, Giuseppina.” Conor Kerrigan was thirty-five, and a looker. Conor’s father began working with Cap Marble around the time Uncle Louie took over from my grandfather. Conor took over the importing side when his dad passed away a couple years ago. The marble business is a family affair, and not just for Italians.

“Are we ever going to meet in person?” I asked Conor.

“I’ll let you know when I come to Jersey. We’ll get together,” he replied pleasantly.

Uncle Louie and Conor went over a few final details on the shipment as I unpacked the feast: spicy capicola ham, sliced paper thin, on buttered fresh knotted rolls, all neatly wrapped in wax paper; a small container of sweet peppers; a thermos of lemonade; and a sugar cookie, one for each of us, for dessert. Uncle Louie ended the call. He carefully unwrapped the sandwich and studied it. He took a bite and chewed. “This is my favorite sandwich.” His eyes narrowed. “What’s my sister after? She’s up to something.”

“I think she’s just being nice to her brother. Do you think she has an agenda?”