I spent yesterday morning parked on Virginia, Reno’s main drag, a street lined with casinos and souvenir shops. Hungover tourists glanced at the poster and the photos of Benny, but none took me seriously. Neither did the street preacher who thrust his sweaty Bible into the air, laid a hand on my shoulder, and bellowed a prayer before asking for a donation.

I called Howard and let him know I was in town. It seemed only right. As he did last time I passed through, he invited me to stay with him and Mary, and as I did last time, I said I was fine sleeping in the Econoline.

“That’s hurtful,” he said. “You’re my brother-in-law. Wanda’ll never forgive me for not talking you into bedding down at our house.”

“She’ll forgive you,” I said. “She knows better than anyone I’m not fit company these days.”

“At least meet me for lunch,” he said.

I felt I could handle that. He’s family, after all.

He chose the place, the Gold ’N Silver Inn, a greasy spoon near the freeway. He was already sitting with a glass of ice tea in front of him when I got there. He had a badge pinned to his chest with his name and the title Supervisor, Physical Plant on it, so he must have come directly from work.

You know I’ve always liked Howard. He’ll talk your ear off, but he also listens, and you can see he’s thinking about what you’re telling him rather than just waiting to go on about himself. You once told me he never got to be a kid because he had to step up when your father died and take care of the younger children while your mother worked. Cook for them, bathe them, see they got off to school. That stuck with me, because I was a hellion as a boy, a heedless fool who didn’t give a damn about anybody but myself. While Howard was changing diapers and washing dishes, I was swiping cigarettes and chasing tail, and I’ll bet he’s probably still a better person than me.

He waved me to his table when he saw me come in, ignored the hand I stuck out and gave me a hug instead.

“Look at that scruff,” he said.

I tugged at my beard. “It’s easier just to let the damn thing grow when you’re always on the move,” I said.

“It’s cool,” he said. “You got kind of a Moses thing going on or, hey, Marvin Gaye.”

“I’d rather be Marvin than Moses,” I said. “Moses had God’s ear, but Marvin, he’s got all the money.”

Howard gave the joke a heartier laugh than it deserved. I could tell he was uncomfortable behind his smile. We sat and fumbled with our napkins and silverware.

“How you been?” he said.