Bringing the Boy Home Read Online Free

eat. Plus, didn’t it seem really hot in Dr. Riley’s office?”
    Sara looks concerned as she walks inside. “Not particularly.” She pauses, then adds, “I wouldn’t want you to be sick for our trip, Tirio. We can always postpone it, if we need to.”
    From behind the counter Cal’s face lights up when he sees us, and he waves. “How are my favorite two customers today?” he asks as we sit down at our usual spot.
    â€œStarving,” I say. Cal chortles as he ladles soup into a huge bowl and slides it toward me with a sly grin. “You will never get this one,” he whispers. “Never. If you get it right, free soup for the rest of the year.”
    For the past five years, Sara and I have been coming to Cal’s Gourmet Diner after my physical therapy sessions. This tradition started when Cal and I developed an unusual friendship over his famously secret soups. All of Cal’s recipes come out of his head; he never uses a cookbook and he won’t tell anyone the ingredients. People beg him, even offer him cash, but he always refuses.
    I would silently cheer every time he turned someone down, happy that I wasn’t the only one hiding something.
    When I was eight, I decided to share my secret with Cal.
    â€œAlmonds, cauliflower, cucumber, yogurt,” I said.
    Cal stopped cutting the tomatoes.
    â€œGarlic, beef broth, dill…”
    He walked over to where Sara and I were sitting and crossed his meaty arms on the counter.
    â€œAnd pepper.” I smiled shyly and looked down.
    â€œHow in the world?”
    â€œWhat did he do now?” Sara laughed.
    â€œI think you’ve got a future chef on your hands.”
    â€œWhy, is he giving you hints on how to improve your soup?”
    â€œWhat do you mean? My soup is perfect.” Cal clutched his chest in mock offense but continued to look at mewith admiration. “No, this young man just listed all the ingredients in his soup. Every single one.”
    Sara whooped. “Really. Well, maybe Tirio and I should open a restaurant across the street and give you a run for your money, Cal.”
    Leaning down so we were eye to eye, he stroked his mustache and stared at me seriously. “Mr. Tirio,” he said, “come back next Friday and I will make a new soup for you. But next time, young man, could you whisper the ingredients in my ear?”
    I looked at his hairy ears and grimaced.
    He threw back his head and laughed. “Or write them down, if you wish. As remarkable as your talent is, sir, I do not want my recipes advertised for everyone to hear, you see?”
    I nodded solemnly. I didn’t want to be the one to ruin his secret.
    Â 
    Five years later, as Sara and I sit in the same seats, he’s still trying to stump me. Sometimes I get them wrong, but often I’m right—especially lately. I’ve been on a roll.
    â€œGo for it, Mr. Tirio.” He smiles today. “This one is especially tough, so take your time. Let me know when you’re ready.”
    I sip a spoonful. A familiar taste hits my tongue andmy stomach flip-flops. “Oh my God.”
    â€œWhat?” Sara rummages through her tote bag and pulls out a pen. “Did he make it really spicy? You’re not going to be sick, are you?”
    Shaking my head, I grab the pen from her and begin writing on my napkin.
    Chicken broth
    Lime
    Cilantro
    Pepper
    Chicken
    Sorengi mushrooms
    Paprika
    Worcestershire sauce
    Basil
    Salt
    My hand is shaking as I write down the last ingredient. Although I haven’t eaten it in seven years, I would know this taste anywhere.
    Manioc
    Sara gives a low whistle as she peers over my shoulder. “Where in the world did Cal get manioc?”
    I shrug, and although my heart is pounding, I try to act nonchalant as I give the napkin to Cal.
    The older man shakes his head in disbelief and thenholds out his hand in congratulations. I shake it and go through the motions of