10. Samuel #2
“Oh, you don’t need to ‘ma’am’ me in this house. Linda is just fine. Make yourself at home.” Her eyes flicked past me. “Benji, why don’t you fetch your guest something to drink?” She winked—first at him, then at me—and returned to the stove.
“What do you want?” Benji asked, heading toward the fridge. “We’ve got water, lemonade, beer, and, err ...” He yanked the door open, scanning the shelves. “...milk.”
“Lemonade sounds good,” I replied, sliding my backpack off my shoulder. “I also brought a little something.”
I crouched, unzipped the pack, and took out the lemon brownies I’d stashed in my lunchbox for lack of a better transporting option. When I stood up, I found both of them staring at me like I’d crossed a line.
“It’s, uh, some lemon brownies?” I said, popping the lid to prove it wasn’t a bomb.
A grin spread across Mrs. Putnam’s face— no wait, Linda’s face, she told me to call her Linda —showing off her teeth.
“Oh, how lovely. We didn’t have a dessert planned yet, so that’s perfect! Why don’t you put them on the counter, and I’ll plate them later.”
I did as asked and stood there for a beat, watching her stir green asparagus in the pan while Benji filled two glasses from a plastic pitcher. He came over and handed me one.
“Thanks,” I said, took a sip of the surprisingly tangy lemonade that tasted almost like it had real lemons in it.
For another five seconds, we stood there, none of us saying anything.
“I still have some things to finish up, and we’ve got to wait for your father to get home from work,” Linda said eventually, eying Benji. “Why don’t you show your guest around?”
Benji wrinkled his nose, then shrugged and walked toward the front door and out onto the porch. With my glass in hand, I followed him, and once he had pulled the door shut behind us, he asked, “Is there anything you’d like to see?”
“Is there more to see?”
“There’s the lake down by the grove, but I thought we could go there after dinner. Other than that, there's not much else. Unless you want to inspect the garden again, but that’s just vegetables and some strawberries that aren’t ripe yet.”
“It’s pretty big.”
“Yeah. It’s a lot of work, but I figured the produce couldn’t get any fresher than when I grow it myself.”
“Oh. It’s your garden?” The surprise slipped out of my voice before I could stop it.
He gave me a look, raising his right eyebrow.
“Why are you saying that like it's totally unbelievable?” Then, a grin broke through. “The big meanie loves plants. Shout it from the rooftops.” He dropped into the rocking chair farthest from the door, his gaze drifting toward the horizon. “Anyhow, it’s not that interesting.”
Not sure how to recover from a conversation that had nose-dived into awkwardness so fast, I stood there for a moment before I followed his lead.
I flopped onto the chair beside him. It rocked back so violently, I nearly spilled all the lemonade on myself, yanking my arm high to save it—though the victory came with an involuntary squeal, a sound so high-pitched no one who heard it should live to tell the tale.
Benji side-eyed me but looked away quickly as if deciding not to comment.
“So, uh,…,” I stammered, heat rushing to my head. That squeal was not something people in Red Creek would consider manly . “That was an awkward sound.”
“Indeed,” Benji chuckled, unable to hold it back any longer.
“But it’s okay.” He pushed off the floor with his feet, rocked back, and let out an equally high, theatrical moan, one that sounded almost sexual and made the hair in my neck stand up.
“Now, we’re even. But if you tell anyone about it, I’ll kill you. ”
“I don’t want anyone to know about this, either, believe me. So, same.”
“ Same ? You mean, you’ll kill me if I tell anyone?” He bit his lip. “I’d like to see that!”
“You don’t think I could do it?”
“Are you asking that honestly?” He leaned back farther, his legs stretching to the ground, laughing as he hid his eyes behind his left hand, like the thought alone might kill him.
“I mean, I know how to shoot a gun.”
“Dangerous. I take it all back, thug .” He turned to me, grinning, and shook his head. “You’re a lot funnier than I thought you’d be.”
“I’m not joking! I do know how to shoot. Not that I think I could actually point it at a person. But that’s a different topic. So in theory...”
“I believe you. One hundred percent.” Benji nodded like crazy as if the idea of me with a gun was the funniest thing he’d heard all week.
A black Nissan rolled down the street and into the driveway, a logo printed on the side, showing a man giving a thumbs up next to an RV and the slogan ‘Life is a highway. Ride it!’
Behind the wheel sat a man in his fifties, with short combed-back brown hair and his suit missing its tie. His brows twitched when his eyes landed on me, before he leaned back, the corners of his mouth lifting as if I wasn’t quite what he’d expected.
“That’s Dad,” Benji said, getting up, his chair rocking back and forth like a seesaw as he left it.
“Figures,” I said and got up too, careful not to spill the lemonade.
The driver's door cracked open, and Mr. Putnam rocked forward twice before climbing out, groaning like his bones weren’t made for this anymore.
“Sorry,” he called to us. “I didn’t think I’d be this late today.”
“Don’t worry,” Benji said, “Mom’s not ready yet. And Sam only got here like five minutes ago.”
Benji squeezed past me, our shoulders briefly brushing as he made his way down the porch steps.
Of course, I followed, but a knot tightened in my chest. This all felt suddenly so official .
I was meeting Benji’s whole family, and everyone seemed so excited about it.
But Benji and I had known each other for, what, a week?
It felt like a stretch to even call us friends. Wasn’t this kind of weird?
At the foot of the steps, Mr. Putnam extended his right hand, and I shook it.
“Pleasure meeting you,” he said. “Usually, my son only brings home people I wouldn’t want to meet on the street, let alone in my house. You’re a nice surprise.” He kept my hand clasped, not showing any signs of wanting to let go. “What was your name again?”
“Samuel Cauley, sir. Most people call me Sam,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“Sam,” he repeated, his grin widening even more than his wife’s had earlier. He glanced at Benji, as if to say, ‘ See, that’s how you treat someone with respect.’ His grip tightened. “I already like this one.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t wet yourself,” Benji muttered, rolling his eyes as he took a sip of lemonade.
“Benji!” His dad growled, finally releasing my hand.
“What? You were the one insulting my friends first.”
“I just said I liked him.”
“Which means you don’t like any of my other friends.” Benji shook his head and wandered a few feet down the driveway, crouching to inspect the cars.
His dad turned back to me and forced a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry you had to witness that. But let’s not ruin the mood. My son and I can argue later.” With the tilt of his head, pressing his lips into a thin line, he headed inside, leaving the door open behind him.
I stood there, waiting, until Benji glanced up from inspecting the left backlight of his dad’s car.
“Ignore him,” he said. “He’s always in a bad mood after... Scratch that, he’s always in a bad mood.”
“Okay,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.
Thankfully, Linda’s voice came to the rescue from inside with the words everyone liked to hear: “Dinner is ready.”
Thirty minutes later, all four of us sat in front of empty plates.
The shepherd’s pie Benji’s mom had made was delicious—and a lot.
Even though I was full, she insisted I have seconds.
During the meal, they interrogated me more than I would’ve expected, asking about my college plans and how I liked the job at the farm.
Benji didn’t say much, but I figured he was probably trying not to let anything snarky slip, since his face wasn’t good at hiding how much the questioning annoyed him.
“How about we have some of those brownies you brought for dessert?” Benji’s mom said, her chair squeaking over the floor as she stood up.
She reached for my plate, but Benji took it before she could.
“You’ve already worked enough,” he said, stacking mine onto his. “I can clear the table.”
A little surprised, Linda paused, watching Benji gather all the plates and cutlery, before she spun around, nevertheless.
“I’ll take care of dessert, then,” she said.
Mr. Putnam leaned back in his seat, the wooden frame creaking under his weight, and emptied his beer glass with a sigh.
“So tell me, Sam.” He set the glass down with a clank and stared at me with a tipsy smile. “How is my son really doing at the farm?”
I glanced at Benji, who stood at the sink with his back to me. He slowly turned around, but before he could look over his shoulder completely, Mr. Putnam cleared his throat, demanding my full attention.
“You can speak freely, son. Benji can survive a little criticism.”
“Well,” I said, rocking back in my chair and rubbing my palms over my thighs. “I’m still new at the farm, so it’s hard to judge someone who’s been working there for years.”
“You must have some opinion,” Mr. Putnam slurred.
“Darling, leave Sam be,” his wife said, rising onto her toes to reach a cupboard that was half an inch too high for her.
“ It’s just a question.” He gave me a look that made it clear that he wasn’t letting this go until I answered. “It’s not like I get many updates about how my son’s doing that often.”
Benji shrugged and shook his head, squeezing dish soap into the sink and turning on the faucet.
“To me, he’s been invaluable,” I said. “He’s shown me many tricks to work fast and safely. Honestly, without him, I’d be pretty lost.”
Mr. Putnam curled his lips, leaning in, like he hadn’t expected that answer. “He’s not threatening you to say that?” The beer breath hit me square in the face.
“No, sir. He’s not. And you can ask everyone who knows me, I’m terrible at lying.”
Mr. Putnam leaned back with a grunt, inspecting the inside of his glass. “Well, that’s good to hear. Unexpected—but good. If it’s true.”
Just then, Linda returned with a platter of brownies stacked in a small pyramid, causing both of us to lean back in our seats. She set them down, winking at me.
“Enough of that now,” she said with a smile. “Benji, come on, join us. I can do the dishes later.” She turned, grabbed the dessert plates, and placed the stack on the table.
“Please, allow me to help.” I stood up and took the plates, setting one at each seat.
“Of course.” She nodded, scanning the kitchen. Once she decided that there was nothing more to do, she sat back down and watched me set the table.
Benji turned off the faucet, dried his hands, and joined us, his brows slightly raised like he couldn’t believe I was volunteering when being a guest usually came with a no-labor policy.
“I hope you like them,” I said, eying the white icing on the brownies. I hadn’t made them in forever, and never in my apartment’s weird little oven.
Mr. Putnam was the first to go for a brownie, followed by his wife and then Benji. I took one, too, even though I was stuffed. It would’ve been rude not to eat at least one.
I pressed the cake fork into the top, broke off a bite, and gave my creation a try. It was sweet but a little too sour. I’d gone overboard with the lemon zest. Shit.
“Oh my God,” Benji said, mid-chew. “Where did you buy them?”
“Oh, uh—” I could feel the heat rush to my cheeks. “It’s a family recipe.”
“You made them yourself?”
“Wow,” Linda said. “Smart, handsome, and good in the kitchen. Someone won’t have trouble finding a girlfriend.”
“Mom!” Benji grumbled.
“What? They are delicious.” She turned to me again. “Even better than how I remember your mom’s.”
“You did well, son,” Mr. Putnam chimed in, taking another bite, too.
“You don’t think they’re too sour?”
“Hell no,” Benji replied. “It’s awesome that they actually taste like lemon. I freaking love lemons.” He popped the last bite into his mouth and reached for another piece. “Are these all there are?”
“No, there’s more,” his Mom replied.
Benji’s head wobbled, almost doing a little dance at the good news.
In a matter of minutes, the platter was empty. Benji had eaten five brownies, his parents two each, and I was still picking at mine. Everyone looked content.
Still chewing, Benji got up and began stacking the used plates.
“Sweetie, you can leave them,” his mom said. “You two should go enjoy the beautiful evening.”
“Nah. This won’t take long. I’m sure Sam doesn’t mind.”
“Oh, I can help you!” I said, sitting up.
“There is no need,” Benji replied.
“If I dry off, we’ll be done quicker. Please. I don’t mind.”
“Jeez, alright, alright.” Benji sighed and walked to the sink. “I won’t fight you.”
I followed, glancing around for a towel. Before I could ask, though, Benji pulled open the drawer to his left and handed me a pristine white sheet.
He dipped his hands into the soapy water and, with almost too gentle an approach, scrubbed the first plate with a sponge, rinsed it, and handed it to me.
It wasn’t anything dramatic or special, but watching him clean like this, refusing to let his mom do all the work alone, made something swell in my chest.
For all the things people said about him, they clearly didn’t know the whole picture. And I couldn’t deny that getting to see this side of Benji made me feel lighter.