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Look at her! She’s melting all over.
“Mom! Please…” her son begs.
“Okay,” she relents, and the boy grins in relief.
“Hi, I’m Raffi,” the boy introduces himself to me, and then to Matty.
“I’m Clayton. Great to meet you, Raffi,” I welcome him.
Raffi is quick to dive into the back seat of my red Porsche, beaming. In the meantime, his mom surveys the traffic, pondering, clearly uncomfortable—slightly frustrated, I must say.
Having the Martins on board my car perks me up like a refreshing morning shower. On the other hand, meeting Raffi for the first time fills me with pride and a sense of responsibility. It’s not just about me and Isabelle. Whatever I do, it’ll be for him too. I can’t muck this up.
“So, what position do you play, Raffi?” I ask.
“I’m point guard.”
“Nice. Me too.”
“You play?” Raffi asks.
“Sure do. So where’s your club?”
“Culver City.”
“Ah, I know where it is. What’s the club’s name…” I think hard. “Um—don’t say it, um—Wolf Club?”
“Wolfpack!” Raffi responds.
“Yes, yes. That’s it. West Coast National Champions?”
“You got it, Clayton!” Raffi can’t hide his enthusiasm.
“Great club.”
Raffi spins the ball in his hand as Matty watches on. My brother seems impressed.
“I’m joining the Junior Clippers next year,” Raffi announces.
“That’s awesome, man!”
“Clay is a Lakers’ fan, though,” Matty interjects, looking proud that he can be part of the conversation. “You’ll be in trouble, Raffi.”
Raffi giggles. “Well, Clayton, we’ll just have to agree to disagree when the time comes.”
Isabelle glances back at her son as if not believing what she’s just heard.
“So, how did you know my mom?” Raffi asks with a cautious tone.
“Raffi!” Isabelle blushes.
Not surprisingly, the boy has questions about me and his mom.
“We met in Kenya,” I answer before Isabelle can say anything further.
“Do you know Uncle Don?”
“Who?” I gulp, not expecting to hear the name. But I reply, “No.”
