Nice. Outside. 13 Sal was leaning against a black Escalade, blowing streams of smoke through his nostrils in the parking lot of the Ridgewood Inn. He was wearing a Boston Red Sox cap and an enormous Sox T-shirt that still fit him tight across the chest. He smiled, flicked the cigarette away, and pushed off from the SUV. “How’s my favorite family?” he said as we piled out of the van. He swallowed me in a sugary Old Spice hug. While we were still in heavy embrace, I heard both Mindy and Karen mumble, “Hey, Uncle Sal,” then saw them scurry past, toward the inn’s wide wooden porch, dragging their luggage. Sal released me. “That’s all I get? Hi. Bye? That’s it?” “It’s been a long afternoon,” I said. Ethan, red-faced from crying, emerged from the back of the van with an exhausted Mary. The last three hours had been among the hardest of the entire trip. It had taken everything we had not to stop. When he saw his beloved uncle, though, he exploded with delight, running frantically toward him, skinny arms waving.
