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Later
that
evening
,
I
call
Ray
,
my
stepdad
,
Mom
’
s
Husband
Number
Two
,
the
man
I
consider
my
father
and
the
man
whose
name
I
bear
.
It
’
s
a
brief
conversation
.
In
fact
,
it
’
s
not
so
much
a
conversation
as
a
one
-
sided
series
of
grunts
in
response
to
my
gentle
coaxing
.
Ray
is
not
a
talker
.
But
he
’
s
still
alive
,
he
’
s
still
watching
soccer
on
TV
(
and
going
bowling
or
fly
-
fishing
,
or
making
furniture
,
when
he
’
s
not
)
.
Ray
is
a
skilled
carpenter
and
the
reason
I
know
the
difference
between
a
hawk
and
a
handsaw
.
All
seems
well
with
him
.
FRIDAY
NIGHT
,
KATE
AND
I
are
debating
what
to
do
with
our
evening
—
we
want
some
time
off
from
our
studies
,
from
our
work
,
and
from
student
newspapers
—
when
the
doorbell
rings
.
Standing
on
our
doorstep
is
my
good
friend
José
clutching
a
bottle
of
champagne
.
“
José
!
Great
to
see
you
!
”
I
give
him
a
quick
hug
.
“
Come
in
.
”
José
is
the
first
person
I
met
when
I
arrived
at
WSU
,
looking
as
lost
and
lonely
as
I
did
.
We
recognized
a
kindred
spirit
in
each
other
that
day
,
and
we
’
ve
been
friends
ever
since
.
Not
only
do
we
share
a
sense
of
humor
,
but
we
also
discovered
that
Ray
and
José
Senior
were
in
the
same
army
unit
together
.
As
a
result
,
our
fathers
have
become
good
friends
,
too
.
José
is
studying
engineering
and
is
the
first
in
his
family
to
make
it
to
college
.
He
’
s
pretty
damn
bright
,
but
his
real
passion
is
photography
.
José
has
a
great
eye
for
a
good
picture
.
“
I
have
news
.
”
He
grins
,
his
dark
eyes
twinkling
.
“
Don
’
t
tell
me
—
you
’
ve
managed
not
to
get
kicked
out
for
another
week
,
”
I
tease
,
and
he
scowls
playfully
at
me
.
“
The
Portland
Place
Gallery
is
going
to
exhibit
my
photos
next
month
.
”
“
That
’
s
amazing
—
congratulations
!
”
Delighted
for
him
,
I
hug
him
again
.
Kate
beams
at
him
,
too
.
“
Way
to
go
,
José
!
I
should
put
this
in
the
paper
.
Nothing
like
last
-
minute
editorial
changes
on
a
Friday
evening
.
”
She
feigns
annoyance
.
