I Was Here(80)

             He slides open the glass door leading out to the patio. Only then does he acknowledge Ben. “Ben,” he says cautiously.

             “Rich,” Ben says back. “Thanks for having us.”

             “I’m having her. You’re just along for the ride.”

             Out back two men are arguing over the grill, while a woman with cutoff shorts and a cute halter top stands in the kiddie pool, watching them bemusedly.

             “You’ll let me know when to bring out the corn,” she calls. Then she sees us. “Jerry, Richard’s friends are here.” She climbs out of the pool and comes to introduce herself. “I’m Sylvia. You must be Cody. And you must be Ben.”

             “Thank you so much for having us,” I say.

             “And having us for a barbecue,” Ben says, eyeing the grill lustfully.

             “We’ll only have a barbecue if these mountain goats can stop arguing about what wood to smoke with,” Sylvia says.

             “Pop,” Richard calls.

             Richard’s dad is very tall, so tall he’s stooped, as if he’s spent his entire life bending down to listen to other people. “Hello,” he says in a quiet voice. “Thank you for joining us tonight.”

             “I hope we’re not imposing.”

             Sylvia laughs. “As you can see, the term full house is relative around here.”

             “We think Pop is going for twelve kids in all, so he can have his own gang of disciples,” Richard’s brother Gary says.

             “Inherent in the word disciple is some sort of discipline, of following one’s father, which is a far cry from what goes on here,” Richard’s dad jokes. He looks at me and Ben. “We’re having ribs tonight. The boys and I are disagreeing over hickory or mesquite to smoke with. Perhaps you have an opinion.”

             “Either’s fine . . .” I begin.

             “Mesquite,” Ben says emphatically.

             Richard and his brother fist-bump. “Smartest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Richard tells Ben.

             “Richard!” Sylvia admonishes.

             “Mesquite it is,” Jerry says, throwing up his hands in good- natured surrender. “We’ll eat in about two hours. Richard, why don’t you take your road-weary guests inside and offer them something to drink.”

             Richard raises an eyebrow.

             “A cold soda,” his father says.

             “There’s some lemonade, too,” Sylvia says.

             “The monsters drank it all,” Richard says.

             “So squeeze some more. We have a ton of lemons.”

             “When life gives you lemons . . .” Richard begins. Then he looks at me for a second and stops himself. Like he thinks it’s wrong to make this joke in front of me. I’m not sure why now, all of a sudden, he should get shy in front of me. So I finish for him.

             “Make lemonade.”

                          x x x

             Dinner is late and chaotic and delicious. Ten of us crammed around a picnic table under a clear Idaho sky. Ben eats so many ribs that even Richard is impressed, and when Ben explains that he lives in a vegan household, Sylvia throws a few hot dogs on the grill to top him off. I look at this nearly emaciated man and wonder how he can possibly pack it all away. But he does. Two more hot dogs and a pair of ice-cream sandwiches from the Costco box that comes out after dinner. It’s past nine when Sylvia and Jerry begin the epic undertaking of bathing and putting to bed all the hyped-up little ones. Gary heads out to meet some friends. Richard throws some logs on a fire pit in the back of the yard and sneaks into the garage for a couple of beers.