”“Then don’t be like Max.” I shrugged. “Be like Sam.”“How’s that supposed to help?” she worried. I smirked. That had been the advice...my dad had given me when I was in college. I was angry about being compared to my brother at the time. That advice? Didn’t help with school. I hadn’t got it then; I hadn’t got it until now.“If it doesn’t help, then you gotta make being Sam something that makes Sam’s life better,” I told her.“Goddammit.” She frowned. Max came in and brought the water pitcher to her. We walk up and he greets us at the door, wearing khakis and a polo. Smiling, he greets sweetwife with a peck on the cheek and gives me a good strong handshake. We are invited in to his living room, where he has a variety of wines and a few beers waiting. Ryan and I both grab a beer and sweetwife settles in with a white wine. Ryan offers us the couch, and he sits on a chair next to her. We talk about a lot of simple things for a while; the weather, local sports, the economy, etc. During. More

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