Mother of Mercy! Is this the end of Rico?

          This was when The Willows was fresh, dark. I was four. Our Sunday family ritual. Me and my burger and fries.
          My parents' voices went low; their whispers ran high. Back and forth with intensity. Finally mom turned to him.
          "Are you Edward G. Robinson?"
          "Why, yes, ma'am, I am."
          "Oh my God!"
          "And who might you be?"
          "I'm Chris. This is my husband. Our daughter. Our son."
          He reached over and plucked me from my chair. "And a fine looking boy he is, ma'am," he said, tousling my hair and bouncing me on his knee.

          Me and Eddie G.