I Was Here(79)

             “Ha. We only have a couple of hours till Boise. And Richard texted to say that they’re grilling tonight.”

             Ben perks up. “Grilling? Like real meat? Nothing tofu?”

             I text Richard back to ask if there will be tofu, and he texts me back a puking emoticon. “You’re safe,” I tell Ben.

             We gas up and Ben takes the wheel, and it’s only when we get into the car and back on the interstate that I notice Ben didn’t smoke after lunch. In fact, he hasn’t smoked the whole time we’ve been on the road.

             “If you’re not smoking for my benefit, don’t worry about it,” I tell him. But then I notice that the car doesn’t smell like an ashtray the way it did before.

             Ben smiles kind of bashfully. He lifts up the sleeve of his shirt to show me a flesh-colored patch. “I quit.”

             “When?”

             “A few weeks ago.”

             “Why?”

             “Aside from the fact that cigarettes are deadly and expensive?” he asks.

             “Right, aside from that?”

             Ben slices the quickest of looks my way before turning his attention back to the road. “I guess I needed a change.”

                          x x x

             By six o’clock we are in the outskirts of Boise, the tilting early evening sun making the foothills surrounding the city go red. I pull out the directions that Richard emailed me, and guide Ben through the downtown and out past the military area to a pretty tree-lined street with sprawling ranch houses. We stop in front of one with an overflowing orange bougainvillea bush and a big white van in the driveway. “This is it,” I tell Ben.

             As we knock on the front door, I kick myself. We should’ve brought something, some kind of gift or something. That’s the kind of thing you’re supposed to do. Too late now.

             No one answers. We ring the bell. Still nothing. People are home. There’s a TV on and there’s a sound of voices inside. We knock again. Still no answer. I’m about to text Richard when Ben opens the door and sticks his head inside. “Hello,” he calls.

             A kid bounds up, a huge grin zigzagging across her face, which is sort of messed up by a cleft palate or one of those things you see in those TV commercials asking for money. “Maybe we have the wrong house,” I whisper. But then the kid shouts, “Wichard, your fwiends are hewe,” and five seconds later Richard ambles over, scoops the girl up, and ushers us inside.

             “This is CeCe,” he says, tickling the girl under her arms as she screams in delight. He points around the room to where three more kids are sitting on beanbags and cushions, watching a movie. “That’s Jack, Pedro, and Tally.”

             “Hi,” I say.

             “Hey,” Ben says. “Toy Story?”

             “Three,” Pedro says.

             Ben nods knowingly.

             “Who are they?” I whisper to Richard as he sets CeCe down.

             “Family 2.0,” Richard says.

             “Huh?”

             “They’re my brothers and sisters, the second string, though really more like first string. My other brother, Gary, is out back, and my sister Lisa is currently in Uganda working with orphans or something extremely noble.”