approval.
“I don’t drive enough to get something like that,” he said.
“You can get it for your house.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“I might have to do that.”
Dad’s buddies were in the Elks dining room, playing cards. After a round of back slaps and busted balls, he introduced me.
“This here is Pete Rafferty,” Dad said, guiding me to a slight, stooped man wearing a USS Hornet ball cap.
“You were on the Hornet ?” I asked.
“Same time as me, too,” Dad said. “We met at a reunion in ’99 and found out we lived in the same damn town.”
“Didn’t know each other then, though,” Pete rasped.
“Or don’t remember now if we did,” Dad said. He gave Pete a chuck on the arm.
I cut Dad off on his next introduction. I’d chatted with Ben Yoder, Helen’s brother, after her funeral.
“Hi, Ben,” I said. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon. How are you doing?”
“Can’t complain.”
“You must remember this fella too,” Dad said. He guided me to the last figure at the table.
I took a look at the ample gentleman. His all-white buzz cut, round glasses, and weather-beaten face seemed faintly familiar, but I couldn’t place him. He looked the way a lot of older men look—a tendency I could see making steady inroads into my own face.
“I’m sorry, I don’t,” I said, offering a handshake to the man.
“Well, I remember you,” he said, wrapping my hand in his bigger, meatier mitt. “You’ve grown up since I pulled you out of that ditch.”
“Charley Rayburn?” I said.
The man cracked a wide smile. “The same.”
“Holy crap.”
He laughed.
Charley Rayburn. Jesus. Did I ever owe that guy.
We enjoyed a gloriously greasy lunch. I had a bacon cheeseburger and fries, and Dad got liver and onions. I leaned away from him, lest the stench from his meal bring me to full-on nausea. I figured that once Dad’s generation passed into the great beyond, liver and onions would disappear as a food source, since I had never seen anyone younger than sixty-five eat the stuff.
For a while, Dad, Ben, and Pete tangled in vigorous conversation—from my brief listening in, I deduced that it involved the absence of desirable women at the Elks—and so I leaned over to chat with Charley.
“You still live in Split Rail, Charley?”
“Yep. Still on the ranch. I’m not much use up there anymore, but my daughter and her husband are letting us linger on while they run the place.”
“What’s Jeff up to?” My memories rewound to that summer, to the week we spent in Split Rail, and to Charley’s son, who had befriended me.
Charley’s smile drooped, and then he picked it back up.
“Well, we don’t see a lot of Jeff these days,” he said. “He’s in the prison in Deer Lodge.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s OK, son.”
I scrambled to reset things.
“How often do you get down this way?”
“Once a week, for this little gathering. Wouldn’t miss it.”
“That’s great.”
“What about you? You’re in California?”
“Yeah. San Jose.”
“Family?”
“Yep, I’ve been married eleven years. We have four-year-old twins, a boy and a girl.”
“Congratulations, Mitch. What are their names?”
“Avery and Adia.”
“Beautiful.”
I ate the remaining fries on my plate.
“What do you do for a living, Mitch?” Charley asked.
“I sell medical equipment.”
“Do you like it?”
“Not lately.”
He chuckled. “Well, it’s work. The enthusiasm comes and goes.”
“I guess. Listen, Charley, I don’t think I ever took the time to properly thank you—”
He smiled and cut me off.
“No need, son. It was a long time ago.”
After the dishes had been cleared, out came the cards again for Texas Hold ’Em . I soon learned that I was out of my depth. The stakes weren’t high—five-cent smalls and ten-cent bigs. True, it was no-limit poker, but with four guys on fixed incomes and me
“I don’t drive enough to get something like that,” he said.
“You can get it for your house.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“I might have to do that.”
Dad’s buddies were in the Elks dining room, playing cards. After a round of back slaps and busted balls, he introduced me.
“This here is Pete Rafferty,” Dad said, guiding me to a slight, stooped man wearing a USS Hornet ball cap.
“You were on the Hornet ?” I asked.
“Same time as me, too,” Dad said. “We met at a reunion in ’99 and found out we lived in the same damn town.”
“Didn’t know each other then, though,” Pete rasped.
“Or don’t remember now if we did,” Dad said. He gave Pete a chuck on the arm.
I cut Dad off on his next introduction. I’d chatted with Ben Yoder, Helen’s brother, after her funeral.
“Hi, Ben,” I said. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon. How are you doing?”
“Can’t complain.”
“You must remember this fella too,” Dad said. He guided me to the last figure at the table.
I took a look at the ample gentleman. His all-white buzz cut, round glasses, and weather-beaten face seemed faintly familiar, but I couldn’t place him. He looked the way a lot of older men look—a tendency I could see making steady inroads into my own face.
“I’m sorry, I don’t,” I said, offering a handshake to the man.
“Well, I remember you,” he said, wrapping my hand in his bigger, meatier mitt. “You’ve grown up since I pulled you out of that ditch.”
“Charley Rayburn?” I said.
The man cracked a wide smile. “The same.”
“Holy crap.”
He laughed.
Charley Rayburn. Jesus. Did I ever owe that guy.
We enjoyed a gloriously greasy lunch. I had a bacon cheeseburger and fries, and Dad got liver and onions. I leaned away from him, lest the stench from his meal bring me to full-on nausea. I figured that once Dad’s generation passed into the great beyond, liver and onions would disappear as a food source, since I had never seen anyone younger than sixty-five eat the stuff.
For a while, Dad, Ben, and Pete tangled in vigorous conversation—from my brief listening in, I deduced that it involved the absence of desirable women at the Elks—and so I leaned over to chat with Charley.
“You still live in Split Rail, Charley?”
“Yep. Still on the ranch. I’m not much use up there anymore, but my daughter and her husband are letting us linger on while they run the place.”
“What’s Jeff up to?” My memories rewound to that summer, to the week we spent in Split Rail, and to Charley’s son, who had befriended me.
Charley’s smile drooped, and then he picked it back up.
“Well, we don’t see a lot of Jeff these days,” he said. “He’s in the prison in Deer Lodge.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s OK, son.”
I scrambled to reset things.
“How often do you get down this way?”
“Once a week, for this little gathering. Wouldn’t miss it.”
“That’s great.”
“What about you? You’re in California?”
“Yeah. San Jose.”
“Family?”
“Yep, I’ve been married eleven years. We have four-year-old twins, a boy and a girl.”
“Congratulations, Mitch. What are their names?”
“Avery and Adia.”
“Beautiful.”
I ate the remaining fries on my plate.
“What do you do for a living, Mitch?” Charley asked.
“I sell medical equipment.”
“Do you like it?”
“Not lately.”
He chuckled. “Well, it’s work. The enthusiasm comes and goes.”
“I guess. Listen, Charley, I don’t think I ever took the time to properly thank you—”
He smiled and cut me off.
“No need, son. It was a long time ago.”
After the dishes had been cleared, out came the cards again for Texas Hold ’Em . I soon learned that I was out of my depth. The stakes weren’t high—five-cent smalls and ten-cent bigs. True, it was no-limit poker, but with four guys on fixed incomes and me
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