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Uncle Louie looks at my dad.

My dad is an insurance adjuster; he handles all of Cap Marble and Stone’s claims on the company side. My dad gets down on his knees and takes a look at the break with the flashlight. “Looks like trauma. I’ll put in for it, Father.”

“And whatever insurance doesn’t cover, I will,” Uncle Louie promises the priest.

Father Belaynesh beams in gratitude. “The bishop will be happy.”

“That’s what we want, an ecstatic bishop,” Uncle Louie says.

The doors in the back of the church burst open; the afternoon sun in mid-sky blazes up the main aisle like a fireball, illuminating the altar and the tabernacle wall behind it. I squint and look into the light. Four men. They move through the light in lockstep like a boy band. When my vision adjusts, I realize it’s my ex-husband, Bobby, followed by three of his workers wearing Bilancia Meat aprons. Instead of guitars and microphones, they haul cases of wine, glasses, and plates, I’m guessing for a catered affair, because the last guy, Peachy, a jokester who has worked for their family for years, brings up the rear carrying a large tray.

“Excuse me,” Father says. “We have a Knights of Columbus meeting tonight.”

“Cheeses of Nazareth,” Uncle Louie jokes. “Gonna drink the wine like water.”

The priest offers Uncle Louie a weak smile. My dad makes eye contact with Bobby, who looks at Uncle Louie, and then all eyes turn to me. Oh, this is suddenly one of those awkward small-town situations, where they gauge my reaction before being nice to my ex-husband.

Bobby Bilancia has a sculpted physique with a shoulder span that comes from lifting sides of beef off hooks and cutting them into lucrative puzzle pieces to sell at a tidy profit. Muscular and tall, like the robust statue of Saint Michael in the alcove of the side altar,Bobby hasn’t let himself go since we divorced; quite the opposite. His rippled biceps strain through the short sleeves of his T-shirt as though he’s inflated them with a bike pump. His face is as superb as his physique. Bobby has bright blue eyes and black hair, a straight Irish nose, and sultry Italian lips.

“Hey, Jess.” Bobby does this thing where he stretches tall and expands his chest when he is anxious, like the top half of a balloon poodle when twisted at the waist.

“Hi, Bobby. That’s some tray.”

“Two of them. Charcuterie. Still at your parents’?”

“Yeah.”

“I got a house.” His voice drops as if he’s in the confessional. “The apartment had too many memories.”

I find it fascinating that my ex-husband moved out of our large one-bedroom apartment and into a house alone. When we married, he wanted to rent. He said,Let’s squirrel away some dough and save for a house.Whatever he squirreled away then was enough for a down payment now.

“Prosciutto rosettes with figs and capicola.” Peachy shoots me a smile. “Your favorites.” He turns to the priest. “Where do you want the meat platters, Padre?”

“Follow me,” Father says.

I give Bobby a weak wave goodbye as he trails the priest, and the rest of the men fall in behind him in single file through the sacristy to the church hall.

Uncle Louie spins on his heels to face me. “That was not planned.”

“I was bound to run into him sometime.”

“But at the scene of the crime?” Uncle Louie checks his phone. “I have a wake in Cape May. Sorry, kid. Take the rest of the day to catch up on whatever’s on your plate. Joe, can you give Jess a lift?”

“Sure. But don’t you have to go home and change?” Dad asks.

“Nah, I keep the K of C tux and sword in the trunk. At my age, we’re circling the drain like day-old suds. Soon enough, only one Knight of Columbus in shining armor shall remain. Fingers crossed, it’s me.” Louie chuckles and goes.

“You okay, Jess?”Dad starts the car as I climb in.

“Yep.” Running into Bobby Bilancia was unexpected, but growing up in a small town has prepared me. “Thanks for the lift, Dad.”

“We’re going to the same place.” Dad shrugs.

My father is a practical man, but what he loves, he adores. He is the parent we go to in a crisis. When I decided to leave Bobby, I went to my father first, to seek his counsel about how to handle my mother.

“You ever going to fix your car?” Dad asks.

“I like riding with Uncle Louie. We get all our work done going to and from the jobs. And then there’s lunch.”