Benny’s dad invited me inside and I crossed the threshold into the funky gloom. I’d forgotten the distinct odor of Benny’s house, that combination of freezer burn, air freshener, and ground-in cigarette smoke. The collection of sleeping Mexican campesino sculptures was still in place, well dusted, and the family pictures on the wall were unchanged. I was in one or two of them myself, skinny and shirtless and laughing in the sun.

Benny’s dad sat down in his ancient recliner, the beige corduroy discolored by his body’s oils, and waved me to a wooden chair across the room. In the half-light he looked exhausted. His skin was pale and papery and the remaining hair on his head had been reduced to patchy, reddish wisps.

“How’s Mrs. Reger?” I said. I figured we might warm up on the easier topics. Benny’s mom had always been sweet. Everyone liked her.

“She’s doing just fine,” he said. “She sees your mother at the grocery store. She always asks after you.”

I managed a friendly chuckle. “My mom loves passing along the news. I hear all about you guys, too.”

“I should say congratulations on your wedding,” Mr. Reger said. “We were so happy for you.”

“So far so good,” I said. I’d been married for almost three years. It occurred to me I probably should have invited them to the ceremony, and I felt a momentary stab of guilt.

“She’s Chinese?” he said. “Is that right?”

“Vietnamese,” I said.

“Well, it sounds wonderful,” he said, and we avoided any embarrassing comments by moving along quickly.

Benny’s brothers were doing well, he said. They worked in the trades and they still liked to surf. My dad was thinking about retirement, I said; my mom volunteered at the animal shelter. His wife had gone through a health scare a few years back, but she was fine. We moved on down the list, eliminating one name after another, narrowing our focus until only the one name remained, by which time Mr. Reger’s question almost had the innocuous feeling of cocktail party chatter.

“Have you seen Benny lately?” he said.

“Not for a long time, sir,” I said. It might have been the first time I said “sir” in my whole life.

Mr. Reger sighed and shook his head. He gazed out the filmy window. “That’s too bad,” he said. “I was hoping you might have seen him. You were always so close.”

“I used to run into him more often,” I offered. “I don’t get out much these days. I guess you haven’t heard from him in a while?”

“Not for a very long time, no.”