This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidentseither are the product of the author's imagination or are usedfictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living ordead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. This book wasprinted in the United States of America. 

Acknowledgements:

Cover art by Majo Keleshian. I want to thank Majo, Sylvester Pollet, and Nancy Wallace for suffering through early versions of the book andfor offering useful suggestions. Thanks to Francois Camoin and theVermont College MFA program for giving me a good shove down the road tofiction. And thanks to Ellen Miller for her consistent encouragementand support. 

for Rosy

1. 

Tall. Dark hair. Nose almost straight. Mouth curving around prominentteeth. Beautiful, Oliver realized as their eyes met perfectly. 

"Francesca, sorry I'm late, " another woman said, guiding two girls intothe next booth. 

"I just got here. "

"Hi, Mommy. " Francesca's smile turned down, traveled around, and turnedup independently at each corner. 

"Hi, Sweetheart. Turn around, now. "

One of the girls was looking tentatively at Oliver, holding the top ofthe booth with both hands. He waved at her, raised his eyebrows, andbent to his eggs. Toast. Nothing like toast. He wiped up the remainingyolk. Where's the husband? Probably one of those jerks in a Land Rover. A bad golfer. Cheats. Christ. Oliver drank the rest of his coffee andprepared to leave. As he slid sideways across the green plastic seat, he again caught the woman's eyes. They were calm and questioning, brownwith deepening centers the color of the inner heart of black walnut. Hestood and nodded in the Japanese manner. No one would have noticed, unless perhaps for her friend. 

He buttoned his coat before pushing open the outer door of the diner. The air was damp, tinged with car exhaust and diesel. The first flakesof a northeaster coasted innocently to the ground. Francesca--what asmile! She reminded him of the young Sinatra in _From Here ToEternity_, awkward and graceful at the same time. The friend washeavier and looked unmarried, a career teacher, maybe. Problems onshort leashes yapped around her heels. Oliver shrugged, pulled a watchcap over his ears, and walked toward the Old Port. 

A car pulled over. "Olive Oil!" George Goodbean shouted. "Want a ride?"

"Taking my life in my hands, " Oliver said, getting in. 

"It's a good day to die, " George said. 

"Aren't we romantic. "

"Artists live on the edge, Olive Oil. Where the view is. " A pickuppassed at high speed, hitting a pothole and splattering mud across thewindshield. "Moron!" George reached for the wiper switch. 

The street reappeared. "Ahh, " Oliver said, "now there's a view. "

"Why is it, the worse the weather, the worse they drive?" George asked. 

"Dunno. It isn't even bad yet. "

"Assholes, " George said. 

"Yeah. I bought some black walnut, " Oliver said. "I just saw a woman inBecky's; she had eyes the same color. "

"You want I should go back?"

"I'm too short for her, " Oliver said. 

"You never know. Some of those short people in Hollywood have bigreputations. "

"They're stars, " Oliver said. "I'm just short. "

"What are you doing with the wood?"

"Haven't decided--maybe a table. "

"I'm getting into casting. You ought to come over; I'm going to try outmy furnace. "

"Casting what?"

"Bronze. Small pieces. "

"Hey, whoa, let me out. " Oliver pointed at the ferry terminal, andGeorge stopped. 

"Yeah, come on over tomorrow morning, if you're not doing anything. "

"O. K. , I'll see. "

George beeped twice and drove into the thickening snow. Oliver bought aticket for Peaks Island. The ferry was nearly empty, cheerful with itshigh snub bow painted yellow, white superstructure, and red roof. Itwas not as spirited as the red and black tugs that herd tankers to theMontreal pipeline, nothing could match the tugboats--but the ferry wasclose; it had the human touch, a dory that couldn't stay away fromcheesecake, broad in the beam, resolute, proof against the cold rollersof the outer bay. After two long blasts, the ferry churned away fromthe wharf. A line of gulls on the lee side of a rooftop watched themmove into the channel and gather speed. 

Twenty minutes later, the ferry slowed, shuddered, and stopped at thePeaks Island landing. Oliver walked uphill to the main street, unsurewhy he had come. Habit took him around by his former house. No lightswere on, no sign of anyone home. He continued around the block, surprised at his disappointment. He hadn't seen Charlotte for sixmonths and had no reason to see her now. He considered this over a cupof coffee at Will's. It was natural to check in sometimes with oldfriends. I mean, we were married, he told his cup. 

_Jealousy is a symptom--like the effects of drought_. Owl told him thatonce. They had been standing on the club dock, having one of their rareconversations. He was telling Owl about Kiersten, how she wouldn't takehim seriously, her smile always for Gary--star everything. Owl's voicewas sympathetic but with a dissatisfied edge, as though he wereimpatient with or imprisoned by his superiority, his tenure at Brown, his aluminum boat, one of the fastest on the sound. 

Oliver never thought to ask for an explanation, and then, sadly, it wastoo late. It was years before he understood Owl's jealousypronouncement. He wasn't jealous any longer, certainly not whereKiersten was concerned. God, she'd driven everybody crazy. Territory--now that was different. You want your own territory, yourown mate, your house, your space. It still pissed him off to see hisold garage surrounded by Mike's messy piles of building materials. Buthe wasn't jealous. Charlotte was better off without him; she had achild, finally. 

The waitress had a tolerant smile. Thank God for waitresses. He left abig tip and got back on the ferry. 

Snow was drifting against brick buildings as Oliver walked into the OldPort. He decided to stop for a pint. Deweys was busy; people werepacking it in early, finding strength in numbers. "A Guinness, " heordered, "for this fine March day. " Sam set a dark glass, overflowing, on the bar in front of him. Oliver bent forward and slurped a mouthful. "You could live on Guinness foam, " he said. 

"And the occasional piece of cheese, " Sam said. Patti Page was singing, "_I remember the night of The Tennessee Waltz . . . _" Her voice, thefiddle, the stately waltz told the old story: "_stole my sweetheartfrom me . . . _" One way or another, sooner or later, we are alldefeated. Oliver felt a swell of sadness and the beginning ofliberation. 

"God, what a song, " he said to Mark Barnes, who had come up beside him. 

"Classic. How you doing, guy?"

"Hanging in there. " More people came in, stamping snow from theirboots. Patti Page gave way to Tom Waits belting out, _Jersey Girl_. "Another classic, " Oliver said. Tragedy was just offstage in _JerseyGirl_, momentarily held at bay by sex and love and hope. "All downhillfrom here, Mark. "

"Life is fine, my man. "

"What? Must be a new dancer in town. How do you do it, anyway?"

"Innate sensuality, " Mark said. "One glance across a crowded room . .. "

"Yeah, right. My rooms are crowded with women in black pants who haveeyes only for each other. Although, I did see a beauty in Becky's thismorning. Had two little girls with her---and a friend. "

"What kind of friend?"

"A lady friend, not a black pantser, I'm pretty sure. Francesca, hername was. "

"Francesca? Tall chick? Good looking?"

"I wouldn't call her a chick, exactly. More like a Madonna byModigliani. "

"Yeah, Francesca. She lives in Cape Elizabeth. I was in a yoga classwith her once. "

"I ought to take yoga, " Oliver said. 

"The ratio is good, man. Francesca. That was years ago. She marriedsome guy who works for Hannaford's. "

"I knew it, " Oliver said. 

"They can't help it, " Mark said. "They have this nesting thing. "Dancers came to Portland, walked around the block a couple of times, and met Mark. Six to eighteen months later, they married doctors. 

"Did you ever think of settling down?" Oliver asked. 

"I'm trying, man. Who do you like in the NCAA's? Duke?"

"No way. Robots, " Oliver said. "Smug. Bred to win from birth. "

"I got a hundred on them. " Mark made money helping executives scale thejob ladder. He was amused and ironic about it. They knocked themselvesout; he got the dancers--for a time. 

"Hey, Richard!"

"Mark . . . Oliver . . . The boss let us out early. " Pleased withthis statement, Richard O'Grady, who acknowledged no boss but "The ManUpstairs, " shuffled to his customary place at a long table on the otherside of the bar. He was bright eyed, slight, and stooped, a survivor ofdiabetes and severe arthritis. 

"Amazing smile!" Oliver said. 

"A world authority on blood chemistry, " Mark said. "You'd never knowit--in here every night drinking scotch. "

"Every night but Sunday, " Oliver said. "I asked him, one time, where hegot that smile. I thought he'd say something like: it was his mother's. He said, 'Don't know. ' Then he said, 'Use it!' It was like a commandhe'd been given. "

"Not too many around here that haven't had a drink on Richard, " Marksaid. "I'm outa here. Duke, man. "

"Boo. "

"Oliver, " Richard called, "Help me with this plowman's lunch. " Oliversat on a wooden bench across the table from Richard. 

"I'll have a bite, " he said. "What's happening?"

"Oh, the usual, " Richard said. "Palace intrigue. Too many chemists inone lab. I shouldn't complain; they do a good job. " He bent over thetable and lowered his voice. "One of the supervisors is a bit rigid. Ihear about it, you know. I've tried to talk to her. It's delicate. " Hebrightened as he straightened. "I'm sending her to a conference inAmsterdam. Maybe something will happen. "

"That would be the place, " Oliver said, cutting a slab of Stilton. 

"How are you doing? Working?"

"In between programming projects at the moment, " Oliver said. "Not surewhat to do next. Sometimes I wonder what's the point of doing anything. "

"Oliver . . . " Richard reminded him, pointing at the smoky ceiling, "you've got to trust The Man Upstairs. It's His plan. " This would betoo corny to take if it weren't coming from Richard. 

"I wish He'd let me in on it. " Oliver took a long swallow of stout. 

"I'll tell you what I do when I feel bad, " Richard said. "I findsomebody who's worse off than I am, and I do something to help him out. Or her out. Works every time. " He turned toward Sam and held onecrippled hand in the air. "Over here, Sam, when you can. " Oliver didn'tthink in terms of other people. He related to them as required, but hisfocus was inward. He imagined Richard's process: let's see, I feel bad;therefore, it's time to find person X who is worse off than I am andhelp him out. Or her. He could picture eligible persons, but hestumbled on the help part. What did he have to offer? Was a dollar billgoing to make a difference? He felt blocked from the part of himselfthat might contain helpful things he could pass along. 

"I like this chutney, " he said, "good with this cheese. What was yourfather like, Richard?"

"Great guy, " Richard said. He sloshed the scotch and ice cubes aroundin his glass. "I'll tell you a story about my father. He couldn't telltime. Someone gave him a watch, but he didn't want to learn. He wasproud of the watch, wore it every day. He used to go to people and say, 'I'm having a little trouble reading this, ' and then he'd hold hiswrist up. " Richard raised his arm proudly out in front of him. "Andhe'd squint, as if he had eye trouble. 'Oh, it's a quarter to nine, 'they'd say. " Richard threw back his head and laughed. "My dad was agreat guy--could barely read, always singing. He worked on the docks. "

"Hi, Richard. " A thin woman approached. She had dark eyes and bleachedblonde hair pulled into a tight pony tail. 

"Hi, Sally. How are you?"

"O. K. "

"Do you know Oliver?"

"Seen you around, " she said, appraising him. Oliver felt about a fourout of ten, maybe a three. 

"Sally works at Mercy Hospital. That cigarette isn't doing you anygood, you know. "

"Nag, nag, nag. "

"You got one for me?" Richard lit up the room with his smile. 

"Oh, Richard!" Sally felt in her purse with one hand. 

"What are you drinking?" Richard asked. 

"I'll see you guys, " Oliver said, sliding to the end of the bench andstanding. Sally took his place. "Thanks for the eats, Richard. "

"Stay warm, " Richard said. 

A plow rumbled by, as Oliver stepped out into the storm. He followed italong the white empty street. He considered stopping at Giobbi'sRestaurant, but he turned up Danforth and walked to State Street wherehe lived in a second floor apartment on the last block before theMillion Dollar bridge. 

Verdi was waiting. He jumped from the window sill and made a fussbumping against Oliver's legs. "Hungry, are we?" Oliver bent over andstroked him from head to tail. "Yes, very large and very fierce isVerdi. Very fierce. " Verdi was brown and black, heavyset, with a largetomcat's head and yellow eyes. He padded deliberately over to thelengths of walnut leaning upright in one corner of the room andscratched luxuriously, stretching full length, as though he had beenwaiting to do this for some time. "Aieee! Swell, Verdi. " Oliver hunghis coat on a peg and gathered up the boards. For the moment, he laidthem on the table. The cat was irritated. "How about some nice pine, "Oliver said. "Much better than walnut. I'll get you a nice soft pieceof pine. In the meantime . . . " He opened a can of salmon Friskies. 

Verdi ate, and Oliver refilled his water dish. The boards werebeautiful. He'd been right about the color of Francesca's eyes. Therewas an actual black walnut, a large one, at the edge of the parkingarea behind his building. It shaded his kitchen window during thesummer and dropped hundreds of furry green walnuts that were gatheredby squirrels each fall. Oliver had planted six walnuts in yogurtcontainers. He'd let them freeze first, done everything right, but noneof them came up. The seeds were finicky for such a powerful tree. Maybethey had to pass through a squirrel. "Biology is complicated, " he saidto Verdi. 

The kitchen had been a master bedroom in the original house. Theappliances, counter, and sink were arranged along one wall and part ofanother, leaving plenty of space for a table in the center. The wall tothe adjoining living room had been mostly removed; the two roomsfunctioned as one. Steps led to a landing and then to an attic bedroomwith a view of the harbor. There was a fireplace that he rarely used. In one corner, a small table held a computer system. 

Oliver sat at the kitchen table and ran the heels of his hands alongthe walnut. He enjoyed making things from wood: easy shelves, chests, acradle once for a wedding present. He had a table saw and a router inthe basement, but he kept his tools under a rough workbench that he hadbuilt along one wall of the kitchen. A "Workmate" stood in the livingroom near the door to the hall. Usually it was covered with mail. 

The touch of the wood was reassuring. Deep in the grain, in what mightbe made from the grain, was something iconic and alive, more alive thanwhat could be said about it. Oliver took particular pleasure infinishing a shelf or a chest, hand rubbing the surface and seeing thepatterns of the grain shine and deepen. He would have to buy legs if hewere going to make a table. Or learn how to use a lathe. He didn't havea lathe. Maybe he could make a small box--to hold something special. Hecould give it to someone. 

Who? A wave of longing swept over him. Who would care? He had animpulse to put his head down on his arms and give up. 

"There are no cowards on this ship!" God, he hadn't thought of that foryears. His high school English teacher had said it, loudly. It was thepunch line of a war story. The teacher had accompanied a couple of hisNavy buddies to the bow of their ship; one of them was bragging that hewould dive. The captain had come up behind them, asked what they weredoing, and then ordered them _all_ to dive. Apparently, it had been ahigh point of sorts in his teacher's life. 

"No cowards on this ship, Verdi, " Oliver said, standing. Toast. Tea. When Oliver was upset, he turned to food. He had a high metabolism andate what he wanted. His body looked chubby on its short square frame, but there was more muscle than fat under his skin; he could movequickly when he wished. He had a wide serious mouth with strong teeth. His eyebrows and hair were black. His eyes were large and dark brownwith lids that slanted slightly across the corners. Women looked at himand were puzzled by something that was different. He almost never gotinto it. 

"Oliver Muni Prescott, " he had told a few. "Owl Prescott was mystepfather. My father is Japanese--Muni, his name is--I never met him. "The toast popped up. Oliver buttered it and laid on marmalade. He putthe toast and tea on a tray and carried it upstairs. His mattress wason the floor next to a window set low in the wall, under the eaves. Helay down, munched toast, and watched the snow falling and blowing. Whenhe turned his head, the window was like a skylight. Mother is coming, he remembered. The image of his mother with her flamboyant blonde hairwas replaced immediately by that of Francesca--quiet, natural, and noless forceful. 

He finished the toast and held the mug of tea on his chest with bothhands. He could see Francesca's eyes in front of him. They were askingsomething, and he was answering. Her question was more complicated thanhe had thought at Becky's Diner. Were they the same? Was she beautiful?Was he for real? He relaxed and aligned in her direction. The answerwas reassuring. "Yes, " he said. He lifted his head and sipped tea. "O. K. , " he said. 

2. 

The sky was bright blue, the wind gusty out of the northwest. Oliversquinted at the fresh snowbanks on his way to Becky's. Sunglasses--should have worn sunglasses. He had oatmeal and a blueberrymuffin, drank coffee, and listened to the waitresses chatter abouttheir dates. Francesca did not come in, but her image remained vivid. He waited, not so much for her as for something in his mood to change, to see if it _would_ change. It didn't. He continued to feel slightlyexcited, as though he had something to look forward to. Francesca hadmet him in a central place. Was it a place that they made, shelteredbetween them? Or was it a place inside each of them that was similar, more accessible in each other's company? Wherever it was, Oliver knewthat he wanted to go there again. 

He walked home, shoveled out his Jeep, started it, and scraped thewindows, thinking that he'd see what George was up to. He could havewalked, but there wasn't much cat food left. He'd shop, maybe take adrive. 

George had a loft in a warehouse at the foot of Danforth Street. "Heythere, Oliver" he said, opening the door. "Big day--Foundry Goodbean!"

"I brought some bagels, " Oliver said. 

George rubbed his hands together. "Come see. "

Near a brick wall, a thirty gallon grease drum stood on a sheet ofasbestos-like material. Two copper pipes made a right angle to itsbase. One came from a propane tank in a corner; one was connected to anair blower driven by an electric motor. "Ta da!" George said, liftingoff a thick top that had a hole in its center. Oliver looked down intothe drum. "I used a stovepipe for a form--cast refractory cement aroundit. " The drum was solid cement around the space where the stovepipe hadbeen. 

"Slick city, " Oliver said. 

George picked up a small object from a table. "The Flying Lady, " hesaid. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and swooped itthrough the air. Oliver looked closely at a wax figure of a trapezeartist. Her brown arms were held out; her back was arched. 

"Wonder Woman. "

"I've got to make the mold, " George said, "burn out the investment. "

"Investment?"

"Goopy stuff that packs around The Lady. Then I fire it in a kiln. Thewax burns and disappears, leaving a hard ceramic mold. "

"Aha, " Oliver said, "the lost wax process. "

"Me and Cellini, " George said. "Here, make something. " He handed Olivera sheet of wax. "Not too big. I'll cast it with The Lady. There'sknives and stuff. " He pointed at one end of the table. "And other kindsof wax. Use what you want. " He began to mix the investment. 

Oliver laid the wax on the table. Without thinking, he cut out theshape of a heart. He cut four short pieces from a length of spaghettishaped wax and made a square letter O. It looked stupid. "Can you bendthis stuff?"

"Heat it, " George said. "There's an alcohol lamp. "

Oliver warmed another piece of spaghetti wax and made an oval O. Hestuck it on the heart and added a plus sign and the letter, F. "Avalentine, " he said. 

George made a tree of wax, two inches high with a double trunk. Hestuck The Flying Lady on one trunk and the heart, upright, on theother. Using more wax, he planted the tree in a circular rubber base. "Let me have that flask. " He pointed at a steel cylinder about sixinches long. He slipped the cylinder over the waxes and tightly intothe rubber base. "There. " He poured creamy investment into the flaskuntil the waxes were well covered and the flask was nearly full. "Afterit sets, you peel off the base and fire the flask. "

They sat in a far corner and had coffee. 

"So who's F?" George's eyes gleamed. 

"Francesca, " Oliver said. "I don't know her, really. She's tall andmarried. "

George shook his head. "Can't live with 'em; can't live without 'em. "He took a large bite of bagel to ease the pain. 

"You do all right, " Oliver said. 

"Oh, you know . . . " George threw one arm in the air. "The artistthing. They're curious. They're all curious, Olive Oil. "

"What happened to Marcia?"

"Oh, Marcia!" George rolled his eyes and deflated somewhat. "She hadallergies, it turned out. Dust. What can I say?"

"She was good looking, " Oliver said. 

"Oh, yeah, Marcia!" George's voice trailed away. "Look, " he said, "it'sgoing to take a while to get the investment ready. Why don't you comeback around seven? Then we'll cast. "

"Outa sight, " Oliver said. 

He drove to Shop 'N Save and stacked two dozen cans of salmon Friskiesin his shopping cart. He found a box of fancy tea biscuits that hecould offer to his mother. She and Paul were stopping in Portland thenext night. They always stayed at the Holiday Inn, but she would wantto come over and make sure that he wasn't living in filth, had cleantowels, and so on. She would sniff around for a female presence, andthen she would look at Paul; Paul would suggest that the sun was overthe yardarm; and they would go to DiMillo's for dinner. 

Oliver turned his shopping cart around the end of an aisle, swerved, and stopped to avoid bumping into Francesca's friend. She was studyingthe pasta sauces, one hand resting on her cart, one hand on her hip. Her jacket was open. Oliver's eyes lingered on her solid breasts andtight red sweater. She looked at him. He cleared his throat. "Not muchchoice, " he said. "I found a good sauce at Micucci's--the one with agreat picture of the owner's grandmother when she was young. It wasn'tthat expensive, either. " He was babbling, starting to blush. Her eyesnarrowed and a small smile pushed at the corners of her mouth. 

"Yes, " she said. "Micucci's. "

"Great place, " he said, rolling by, pretending to be in a hurry. God, the woman was some kind of menace. But she knew about Francesca . . . And those breasts. He clung to the cart and let his vision blur as thered sweater came back into focus. He blinked and joined a checkoutline. A skinny woman in front of him put a gallon jug of vodka on thecounter. "Not a bad idea, " he said. She looked at him, smiled as thoughshe were on a two second tape delay, and then frowned as sheconcentrated on paying. Her arms and legs were like sticks. He wonderedwhat she'd had to put up with and if she had anyone to put up with her. He didn't really like vodka, but he ought to get something for George. What do foundrymen drink? Red wine? Ale? The woman picked up energy asshe wheeled her cart toward the parking lot. Keep going. Good luck. 

He drove home and put away the groceries. He went down to the basementand brought up a piece of pine which Verdi ignored. "Really, it's muchbetter, " Oliver argued. The phone rang. 

"Oliver? This is Jennifer Lindenthwaite. "

"Hi, Jennifer. "

"I'm calling for the Wetlands Conservancy. "

"Oh, I thought you wanted to take me to Atlantic City. "

"Rupert might not like that, " she said. 

"I suppose not, " he said. "Ah, well . . . "

"Can you do some work for us, Oliver? Our mailing list is in hopelessshape. We bought a computer, but no one knows how to do anything buttype letters on it. "

"You want me to set up a database?"

"I suppose that _is_ what we need. "

"How soon?"

"Umm . . . "

"Yesterday, right?"

"Well, sometime soon, at your convenience. "

"As it happens, " Oliver said, "I've got time in the next couple ofweeks. How about if I come over Tuesday, say--around nine?"

"Thank you, Oliver. You're a sweetheart. See you then. " Jennifer hungup, and Oliver looked at the computer. "Can't buy Friskies on my goodlooks, " he said. That was how work came in for him--two weeks here, sixmonths there. He got by, barely. 

The day drifted along. He took a nap, watched a basketball game on TV, and cleaned, minimally, for his mother's inspection. At seven, hewalked down to George's. 

"Foundrymen's Red!" he said, holding up a liter of Merlot. "Foundryworkers, I should say. "

"Good timing. " George rummaged for glasses, found one, and handed it toOliver. "The guest gets the clean glass. " He washed one for himself andfilled them both. "Cellini, " he toasted. 

"Pavarotti, " Oliver responded. "And other great Italians. Did you knowmy mother is Italian?"

"Some people have all the luck. "

"Yeah, " Oliver said. "She was a singer when she was young. "

"Probably cooks, too, " George said. 

"Yeah. "

"Jesus, Olive Oil. "

"She's coming through this weekend. She and Paul, her husband. They goto Quebec every year. "

"Good eating in Quebec. "

"You bet, " Oliver said. "She likes to dress up. They have a good time. "

"Wow, " George said. "I don't think my mom has bought a dress in twentyyears. Says she's too old for that foolishness. "

"My mom is too old, but it doesn't stop her. " He looked at the furnace. "So, what are we doing?"

"We're set, " George said. They crossed the loft, and he handed Oliver apropane torch. "I'll turn on the gas at the main tank. You light it. There's the blower valve. " He pointed to a round handle mounted betweenthe blower and the pipe that led to the furnace. Oliver lit the torchand knelt by the furnace. George stood by the propane tank. "Hope thisworks. You ready?"

"Do it. "

George opened the line, and Oliver angled the torch tip down into thefurnace. Nothing happened for several moments. There was a whooshingsound, and George said, "Holy Mama!" A blue flame, the size of a beachball, was bouncing under the wooden ceiling joists. Oliverconcentrated. Air. He reached back and grabbed the blower valve, twisting it counter-clockwise. Almost immediately, the blue flamelowered. He continued opening the valve. The flame pirouettedirregularly down an invisible column, drawn toward the furnace. 

"Air, " he shouted. "Not enough air until it got way the hell up there. "

"Keep going, " George said. 

The flame reached the top of the furnace and began to whirl in a tightspiral. It plunged inside, roaring and spinning at high speed. Thefloor shook. "Jesus, " George said. 

"It's like a Goddamn bomb, " Oliver said. 

George put an ingot of bronze into a carbon crucible and gripped theedge of the crucible with long tongs. He lowered the crucible to thebottom of the furnace. "Put the top on, " he said. Oliver lifted andpushed the top over the furnace. The roaring became muffled, contained. It felt safer. "Nice going, about the air, " George said. "I thought wewere going to burn the place down. "

"Physics, " Oliver said. George looked down through the hole in the top. 

"Nothing yet. " He stood back. A few minutes later the ingot began toslide toward the bottom of the crucible. "There she goes, " George said. "It's working. " He opened the door of the kiln, and, using a differentset of tongs, extracted the flask. He set the flask, glowing cherryred, upside down in a flat pan of sand. He shut off the gas andunplugged the blower. "The top, " he said, handing Oliver a pair ofheavy gloves and pointing. Oliver worked the top over one edge of thedrum, tipped it down, and rolled it onto three bricks. 

George reached into the furnace with the long tongs. He lifted thecrucible from the furnace and walked with careful steps to the flask. Holding the lip of the crucible over the flask, he tipped his body toone side. The bronze poured like golden syrup into the hole where thewax had been, quickly filling the mold. 

George lowered the crucible back into the furnace. After the roaring, it seemed unusually silent. "Intense, " Oliver said. "Now what?" Georgepicked up the hot flask with the second pair of tongs and dropped itinto a bucket of water. There was a burst of sizzling and bubbling, andit was quiet again. 

"The temperature shock weirds out the investment. It changes state--toa softer stuff that we can get off the bronze. " George poured the waterinto his bathtub and refilled the bucket with cold water. "Still hot, "he said. 

They drank wine while the flask cooled. When George could hold theflask, he pushed the investment out of the cylinder and chipped at itwith a screwdriver. A hip appeared. "The Flying Lady, " Oliver said. 

"Damn!" George said, chipping and prying. Gobs of oatmeal coloredinvestment fell away. "Not bad!" George held up the Lady and the hearton their bronze tree. "We cut them off and

polish. . . "

An hour later, filled with wine and a sense of accomplishment, Oliverwalked up Danforth Street. The bronze heart was solid and heavy in hispocket. He warmed it in his hand, feeling the O, the plus sign, and theF over and over again, a mantra said with the ball of his thumb. Whenhe got home, he placed the heart on one of the walnut boards, fedVerdi, and went to bed. 

He lay there remembering the bronze pouring into the heart. A bit ofhim had poured with it, and an exchange had taken place: somethingbronze had entered him at the same moment. 

3. 

"Mythic, " Oliver said to Paul Peroni, the next afternoon. They weresitting at the kitchen table with his mother. Paul was weighing theheart in his palm as Oliver described the bronze casting. Oliver'smother took another tea biscuit. 

"Never too old for a valentine, " she said, seeming to note the absenceof a female presence in the apartment. 

"Yes . . . No . . . " Paul answered them both. He was medium sized, sinewy, and graying--surprisingly light on his feet for someone whoinstalled slabs of ornamental marble. 

"It's so nice to see Verdi again. Kitty, kitty, " she called. Verdistretched and remained in the corner. "Oh well, be that way, " she said, straightening. Lip gloss, touches of eye shadow, and her full wavyblonde hair broadcast femaleness like a lighthouse. The good body couldbe taken for granted. You might as well assume it, the message flashed, cuz you sure as hell weren't going to be lucky enough to find out. Sheand Paul were well matched. "I knew I was onto something, our firstdate, " she'd told Oliver. "I was cooing about Michelangelo and Paulsaid, 'yes, but he used shitty marble. ' "

She looked pointedly at Paul. "Sun's over the yard arm, " he said. 

DiMillo's was uncrowded. They sat at a window table, ordered drinks, and talked as boats rocked quietly in the marina and an oil tankerworked outward around the Spring Point light. Oliver's mother braggedabout his niece, Heather, and her latest swimming triumphs. Shecomplained about the long winter and how crowded the Connecticut shorehad become. "It may be crowded, " Oliver said, "but you get daffodilsthree weeks before we do. "

Oliver sipped his second Glenlivet and looked back from the darkeningharbor. "I wish I had known my grandfather, " he said to his mother. "Iremember when he died. I was eight, I think. "

"Yes, you were in third grade, " she said. "It was sad. He was living inParis. When he wrote, I called him at the hospital--but he didn't wantme to come. He said that he wanted me to remember him as he was. "

"When was the last time you saw him?" Oliver asked. 

"Oh . . . I . . . " She looked at Paul. He raised his eyebrowssympathetically. "I guess I never told you that story, " she said toOliver. "It was a long time ago. My sixteenth birthday, in fact. " Shesighed. 

"It was at Nice, on the Riviera. He arranged a party on thebeach--wine, great food, fireworks . . . After the fireworks, he gaveme a bamboo cage with a white dove inside. 

"'This is your present, Dior, ' he said. 'You must let it go, give itfreedom. ' I opened the cage, and the dove flew up into the dark. 'Verygood, ' my father said. He hugged me. Then he said, 'Now, we will saygoodbye. You are grown, and I will not be seeing you and your motherany more. Be good to your mother. ' He hugged me again and just walkeddown the beach--into the night. "

Oliver watched tears slide down his mother's cheeks. 

She lifted a napkin and wiped away her tears. "He was very handsome. "

"No need of that shit, " Paul said. 

They were silent. 

"Paul's right, " Oliver said. 

"My mother packed up and brought us back to New Haven. We lived withher folks for a while. "

"Good old New Haven, " Paul said. 

"Now, _your_ father . . . " She smiled at Paul. 

"He liked the ladies, " Paul said. 

"What did he do?" Oliver asked. 

"He was a stone mason, made his own wine, raised hell. Fought withUncle Tony until the day he died. They were tight, though--don't letanybody else say anything against them. Bocce ball. Jesus. " Paul shookhis head and held up his glass. "Life, " he said. 

"Yes, life. " Oliver's mother raised her glass. 

"Coming at you, " Oliver added. 

"Us, " Paul said. 

They touched glasses and got on with a shore dinner of lobsters andclams. 

Oliver said goodbye in DiMillo's parking lot. He walked home imaginingthe sixteen year old Dior Del'Unzio with her mouth open as the whitedove flew upward and then with her hand to her mouth as her fatherwalked away. "No need of that shit. " He was glad Paul was around totake care of his mother. She was vulnerable under the big smile; Oliveroften felt vaguely guilty and responsible for her. 

She had done the same thing as _her_ mother: hooked up with an exoticstranger--Muni Nakano, proper son of a proper Japanese family inHonolulu. But, his mother hadn't stuck around for sixteen years. She'dcome back from Hawaii to Connecticut, pregnant, and eventually marriedOwl Prescott. They raised him and Amanda, his half sister. His motherhad made a go of it in New England. Only once in awhile would she showsigns of her Italian childhood. "Topolino mio, " she used to call himwhen he was little and she'd been partying. 

He poured a nightcap and put on a tape--Coltrane and Johnny Hartman. I'm wasting my life, he thought suddenly. What am I going to do? Heknew that he needed to change, but it seemed hopeless. He looked at thewalnut boards. Maybe a box . . . 

He sketched a little chest with a hinged top. He erased the straightbottom lines and drew in long low arches. "That's better. " The topshould overhang. Should its edges be straight or rounded? Straight wasmore emphatic; he could always round them afterwards. 

He could make each side from a single width of walnut. Dovetailedcorners. A small brass hasp and lock. Why not? He could make the wholething out of one eight foot piece and have two boards left over forsomething else or for extra if he screwed up the dovetails. 

"Here you go, " he said to Verdi. He replaced the offending piece ofpine with the original scratched walnut. "Nothing but the best for TeamOliver. " He looked at the heart. "Team O. " Verdi forgave him withoutmoving. "Bedtime, " Oliver said. 

On Monday, Oliver cut pieces for the sides, top, and bottom of the box. He bought a dovetail saw and made several cardboard templates for thejoints. It was a way of thinking about them. They were tricky, had tointerlock perfectly, one end male, one end female. 

"What have you been up to?" Jennifer Lindenthwaite asked on Tuesdaymorning. 

"Making a box, " Oliver said. 

"Oh, that's exciting. "

"It's harder than it looks--for me, anyway. "

Jennifer wanted him to look at her and not at an imagined box. She wasa solid blonde, Nordic, with broad cheeks and a big smile. "I worryabout Rupert when he does things around the house. Something usuallygoes wrong. "

"Ah . . . " Oliver said. "A minor flaw. "

"Rupert is wonderful, " she said. "Now, the mailing list. Hi, Jacky. "Oliver turned and was astonished to see Francesca's friend in thedoorway. "Jacky is one of our volunteers. She does a lot of the mailinglist work. I thought you could work together on this. Jacky, this isOliver Prescott. "

Jacky stepped forward. "Jacky Chapelle, " she said. She had strongcheekbones and dark blonde hair, cut short and swept back. Her eyeswere hazel colored. She had a winged messenger look that lightened herdirect, almost blunt, expression and her powerful shoulders. 

"Uh, hi. " Oliver shook her hand. "Did you find any pasta sauce?"

"Eventually. "

"Oh, " Jennifer said. "You know each other. "

"Not exactly, " he said. Jennifer looked at him closely. _Hell is beingin one room with two women_, Owl said. Oliver cleared his throat. "Where's the computer?"

"Just down the hall. " Jennifer led them to another room. "Let me knowif you need anything. "

"Well, " Oliver said as they were left alone. 

"You don't look like a programmer, " Jacky said. 

"Thank you. "

She showed him a box of file cards--the mailing list. "Here is what wehave. It would be nice to be able to print mailing labels, and we needto keep track of who has contributed. "

"Sure, " Oliver said. "And probably some other things. "

"Yes, " she said. "Some of the members are summer people. We need toknow their winter addresses. "

"What's winter?"

"Labor Day to the 4th of July, " she said. 

"The Maine we know and love, " Oliver said. "We can keep individualwinter start and end dates for each name, use defaults if we don't havethe information. "

"Right, " she said. "Ideally, the list would interact with otherprograms someday. It has members on it, and people who aren't membersbut who are interested. Also, media people. And legislators. Sometimeswe send special mailings. I suppose we'll need some kind of type code. "

"O. K. , " Oliver said. They discussed requirements and agreed to meet thefollowing Saturday morning. Jacky left, and Oliver gave a thumbs upsign to Jennifer who was talking on the phone. 

Not a bad little job, he thought, driving back to Portland. He'd beenitching to ask Jacky about Francesca, but something had stopped him. Hewanted to know Jacky better. She was sure of herself and movedcomfortably. Her breasts were invading his consciousness; he found ithard to think about Francesca at the same time. 

That afternoon, he began cutting the dovetails. It took concentration;hours went by. But when he fit the first two ends together it seemed asthough it had been only a few minutes. "All right!" he said, leavingthe attached pieces on the table. 

Verdi came in looking satisfied. The weather was warmer, much betterfor prowling. More snow was possible, but the chances were against it. Oliver put away his long johns for the winter. "Probably too early, " hesaid to Verdi, "but so what. "

The next morning, as he waited for a seat in Becky's, he saw a familiarfigure in a booth. She was facing away from him, but he was fairly sureit was Francesca when she turned her head. She stood and walked towardhim, following the man who was with her. Francesca, yes. The man wastall and blonde with a wide forehead and a long triangular face. He hadan easy vain expression, as though he had a full day ahead of beingadmired. Francesca's head was down. She walked carefully. As theypassed, her eyes met Oliver's and he realized that she had alreadyrecognized him, had known that he was there. Her face was resigned withtraces of humor around the edges. He was struck by her calm, so muchlike his. They shared a moment of this calm--the briefest ofmoments--but it felt as though it expanded infinitely outward aroundthem. Did she raise her eyebrows? He thought he saw her flush, but shewas past him before he could be sure. He remembered the bronze heart, and warmth stirred in him. When he got home, he put it in his pocketand rubbed his thumb over the O, the plus sign, and the F. 

By Saturday, he had programmed a prototype design for the mailing list. In the early days of programming, every detail had to be laid out onpaper before you sat in front of a computer. It was too slow andexpensive to rework code. Now, you could make changes easily. It wasmore efficient to show a customer a quick design that could be used asa starting point for discussion and improvement. 

He tossed a canvas shoulder bag containing notes and diskettes into theJeep. Verdi took up a position behind the bare forsythia bushes. "Goget 'em, " Oliver said. His house was on the south side of the hilloverlooking the harbor. The first crocuses were popping up, severaldays ahead of the ones at the Conservancy. He was early; no one wasthere. 

Ten minutes later, Jacky drove up. She got out of a red Toyota truckand waved one hand. "I've got the key, " she said. "Did you get anythingdone?"

"Yeah, a start, " Oliver said. He installed the software while she madea pot of coffee. 

"Coffee's on, " she said, carrying a cup for herself. "Mugs are in thecupboard above the sink. " Oliver decided against a joke about a woman'srole in the office. He walked down the hall and poured his own. Helooked at his hiking boots, light colored jeans, and dark plaid shirt. It was Saturday, for God sake. Every day was Saturday for Oliver as faras clothes were concerned. What difference did it make? Jacky waswearing tan jeans and a denim jacket, open over a mahogany coloredjersey. She was a big woman. His eyes were at the level of hercollarbone. Her jacket would swing back easily. Stop it, he toldhimself. 

She objected to his mailing list screens. "Cluttered, " she said. Shewas right. He explained that he had jammed everything in as abeginning, so that they could see what they were working with. She wasclear about what she wanted. Forty-five minutes later, they were backoutside. 

"Beautiful day, " he said. She smiled enigmatically and turned herignition key. 

"Damn, " she said. 

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing happening. " She turned the key several more times. 

"Pop the hood, " Oliver said. The hood sprang open just as the wordsleft his mouth. He felt for the second latch and leaned his head overthe engine. "Try it again. " He could hear the solenoid clicking. "Howabout the lights?" The lights were fine, plenty of juice. "Don't know, "he said. "Could be the starter. I don't think a jump will do it. "

Jacky called triple A. An older man went through the same procedure andthen hoisted the truck behind his wrecker. 

"Ride home?" Oliver asked. 

"If you don't mind, " Jacky said. "South Portland. "

"Right in my direction, " Oliver said. He drove into the city andpointed out his house as they approached the bridge. "Back soon, Verdi, " he called out the window. 

"Verdi?"

"My cat. " They crossed the bridge, and Jacky directed him to a quietstreet in a residential neighborhood. He stopped in her drivewayintending to back out and return the way they had come. 

"You look hungry, " she said. 

"I am. " He was surprised. 

"I have something for you. Come in. " She slid out and walked to thefront door without waiting for an answer. He followed her into a housewhich was sunnier and more spacious than it appeared from the front. Along living room opened to a sun porch at the back. "I have a doublelot, " she said, showing him the porch. Two large willow trees framedthe end of the yard. "High bush blueberries, " she said, waving at astand of bushes that ran along one side. "Salad garden over there. Flowers. Fun. "

"Nice, " he said. 

"I had a craving for rare steak last night. I could only eat half ofit, though. It's in the refrigerator. " She led him to the kitchen. "There's mayo, mustard, horseradish--if you're feeling wild. Bread's inthere. " She turned. "Oh, there's ale in the bottom of the refrigerator. I'll have a glass. " She left the room. 

"Do you want a sandwich?" he called after her. 

"No, thanks, I'll just nibble, " she said. A door closed. 

Oliver opted for horseradish, not a usual choice for him. "Not bad, " hesaid when she came back, "the horseradish. " Jacky took a long swallowof ale. She had taken off her jacket and washed her face. 

"It's been a good truck, " she said. 

"Starters go, " Oliver said. "Toyotas are fine. Where do you work?"

"I'm a banker, " she said. He sat straighter. 

"Fooled you, " she said. 

"I wouldn't have guessed. I thought maybe you were a teacher. " When Isaw you with Francesca, he almost added. 

"Bankers are discreet, " she said. She looked at him directly. "Areyou--discreet?"

He considered. "Yes. " He was apologetic for some reason. 

She approved. "You look like someone who keeps things private. "

Well, it was true. He confirmed with a nod and took another bite ofsandwich. 

"Have you explored your sexuality, Oliver?" Whoa! His throat closed, and he sat there chewing foolishly. 

"I was married, " he managed to get out. 

"I didn't think you were a virgin. I mean, for instance, have you everbeen restrained?" She spoke quietly, but Oliver felt the tensionratchet up a notch. 

"Restrained?" Jacky left the kitchen and returned with a pair ofhandcuffs which she placed on the table. 

"Oh, " Oliver said. "No. "

"It takes a lot of character and trust, " she said, matter of factly. "Not many can do it. Would you like to see how they feel?" He hesitatedand felt something inside him start to slip, to accede to her. "Holdout your hands, " she said. Her eyes were large. He held up his armswithout taking his eyes from hers. She smiled and closed the handcuffsaround his wrists. "There, " she said. "How do they feel?" She watchedhim, still smiling. 

"Not bad, " he said. 

"You like them, don't you?" He swallowed. "Come with me, " she said. "I'll show you something. " He followed her into a large bedroom. Sheopened a dresser drawer and took out a long belt. Oliver held his handsnear his waist feeling foolish and short of breath. 

"Are you the sheriff?" he asked. 

She laughed and came toward him. "Much better than that, " she said. Shelooped the belt through his arms and pulled him slowly across the room. "Let me know if you are not O. K. About this. " He heard it as achallenge. She dragged a chair over without letting go of the belt. "Put your hands over your head. " He raised his arms, and she stepped upon the chair. She passed one end of the belt through a heavy eye boltthat was screwed into the ceiling and which he hadn't noticed. Shebuckled the belt so that his arms were held above him. 

"Much better, " she repeated, stepping down and placing the chair backagainst the wall. She studied him. "You look very nice, Oliver. Just amoment. " She went out to the kitchen and came back with their ale. Shedrank some of hers and said, "Let me know if you are thirsty. " Henodded. She was happier. Her color was higher. Good looking, actually, he thought. 

She read his mind. "Yes--you are feeling new things now. " She moved astep closer. She arched her back and slowly rolled her shoulders. "Doyou like my body, Oliver?" He reddened and swallowed. "How sweet! Youblush, " she said. "You are my captive. I can tease you now . . . " Shewent to the dresser and took another swallow of ale. She tugged at thebottom of her jersey, tightening it against her breasts. She movedcloser and swiveled slowly from side to side. "Mmmm, " she said. "You dolike me!" Oliver's mouth opened and he began to breathe harder. Henodded dumbly. 

Jacky stepped back and looked him up and down. "Very nice, " she said, "but you have a lot to learn. Would you like to? Learn?"

"Yes, " he said. 

"Nothing leaves this room, " Jacky said. "I don't even tell mygirlfriends about this. " That was a relief, he registered in a farcorner of his mind. She brought over his glass and held it to his lips. "Yes?" He nodded, not trusting his voice. She tipped the glass enoughfor him to take a small sip of ale. "I am in control, " she said, looking down at him. She was close, almost touching. She smelled ofhoneysuckle. "You will learn to please me, to care only for _my_pleasure. You will suffer for me. When you are good, you will berewarded. But you must prove yourself. " There was a practiced sound toher words. 

To his surprise, he wanted to prove himself. He wanted to please her. 

"Well?"

"Yes, " he promised. 

"You will serve me without question. Then, you will be happy. " Shefreed him. "Come back Friday at six o'clock. Bring a heavy wooden rulerthat you have decorated. You are to buy it at an office supply store, saying that it is for your mistress. You may go. Oh, and take the restof that steak sandwich with you. " She went into a bathroom and closedthe door. 

Oliver drove away shaking his head. What was that all about? Hecouldn't deny the urge he had to surrender to her, to obey her. Itpulled at him like an undertow as he crossed the bridge. He walked downto Deweys. 

Mark was holding up one corner of the bar. "Hey Buddy, how's your lovelife?" Intuitive bastard. 

"What love life?" Oliver said and listened to Mark crow about Duke. Mark could probably explain this sexual strangeness, but it was none ofhis business. After a Guinness, Oliver felt more like himself, but ashe walked through the Old Port he passed an office supply store, closedfor the weekend, and he remembered the ruler. Decorate? Could you evenbuy a wooden ruler any more? It was disturbing. Too much. He put theexperience in the back of his mind and resumed working on the box andthe mailing list program. 

On Wednesday, he entered the office store and asked if they sold woodenrulers. An elderly lady with exaggerated make-up showed him a blue boxin a far corner of the store. "We sell mostly plastic ones, " she said. "But some prefer these. They last. " He bought an eighteen inch rulerwith an inlaid brass edge. "For my mistress, " he said, "yuk, yuk. " Thewoman gave him change without replying. 

He sprayed the ruler with black paint he had in the cellar. "I wouldn'tcall it decorated, " he said to Verdi the next day. The dovetailtemplate caught his eye. He took it down to the cellar and found a canof Rustoleum. Using the template as a stencil, he sprayed a pattern oftriangles along both sides of the ruler. The reddish brown color on theblack background gave it a Navajo look. _If you're going to dosomething, do it well, _ he reminded himself, pleased. That was anotherof Owl's sayings; one that Oliver had made his own. Poor Owl. He hadnot done something well the night he disappeared from his boat. Did hehave time to regret that he never won the Bermuda race? Was it a reliefor just a stupid accident? Oliver imagined dark water closing over Owl. He shivered and put it out of his mind. 

On Friday, Oliver nearly backed out. But the ruler glowed on hiskitchen table like a promise. "I don't know, " he said. He took ashower, put on clean clothes, and parked tentatively in Jacky'sdriveway. He rang and waited. When she opened the door, he held theruler up in both palms. She looked at it and asked him in. Her eyeswere bright. 

"Wine, Oliver. " She pointed to glasses on the kitchen table. He pouredWashington State Chardonnay for each of them and held up one glass in asilent toast. "Salud, " she said. She turned the ruler over in her handthoughtfully. "Did you say it was for your mistress?"

"Yes, " Oliver said. "The saleslady didn't say anything--probablyhappens every five minutes. "

"Good job, " Jacky said, looking at the ruler. 

"Kind of raw out, " Oliver said. 

"An indoor kind of night, " she said. "Finish your wine. " She spokegently but firmly. Oliver looked at her and felt the same urge to yieldthat he had before. He was ready for her to tell him what to do. Hewanted her to. "Yes, " she said as he put down his glass. She waited. His eyes opened and a little thrill ran through him as he surrenderedto her. "Go in the bedroom and strip to your underwear. Kneel on thefloor with your hands on the bed. "

She sipped her wine. He did as he was told and waited. There was abeige shag carpet under his knees, a pale pink bedspread under hisarms. Jacky went into the bathroom and came out a few minutes laterwearing a red cotton nightshirt, open in front. She put the cuffs onhis wrists and placed a blue rubber ball in his right hand. 

"Squeeze this, " she said. "And if what I give you is too much, let itgo. " She weighed the ruler in her hand and cracked him across the ass. His body surged forward against the bed and he grunted. "It was a longweek, " she said. "A long week. " Crack. He grunted more loudly andsqueezed the ball. "Yes, " she said, hitting him again, harder. To hisastonishment, he began getting an erection. She reached underneath himand felt it. "You like it, too, don't you?" He grunted and then made alouder noise of pain as she hit him. Each blow rammed his cock into themattress. He hung onto the ball as she hit him faster and faster, stopping finally to get her breath. 

"Very good, " she said after a moment. Pain had spread across his body;his mind reeled. "Stand up. " This wasn't so easy. He lost his balance, lurched against the bed, and stood with his feet wide apart. "Overhere. " She hooked him to the eye bolt and slowly pulled down hisshorts. "You please me, " she said. Oliver's senses were spinning. "Youpresent yourself well, " she said. She put her hands on his chest, feeling his nipples through his T-shirt. "Mmm, " she said brushing herfingers down his sides and trailing them over his hips. Her cleavagewas close to his mouth. Honeysuckle. She stepped back. 

"Watch me, " she said. She played with her body, rubbing her breastsslowly and hitching up her nightshirt. She took a vibrator from thedresser and stood directly in front of him. She brought herself towardorgasm, looking into his eyes, making small noises. He began to whimperin sympathy, encouraging her. A broad smile spread slowly across herface. She tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and cried out. 

"Oh, " Oliver cried out with her. She came back to herself and tookseveral breaths. 

"That--makes a girl feel better, " she said. She held the vibrator infront of his face. "Clean, " she ordered. He touched it with his tongue. She shook her head and put it firmly in his mouth, waiting and smilingwhile he sucked on it. "Very good, " she said, removing it. "You arelearning your place. " She was pleased, light hearted. "You like this, "she said. Oliver felt himself smiling. He nodded helplessly. 

"You will come back next Friday for more training. You are to saveyourself for me. " She cradled his balls with one hand. "Do youunderstand?"

"Yes, " he said. 

"Yes, Mistress. "

"Yes, Mistress. "

She squeezed him gently. "Good. Now go--and behave yourself. "

"I will, " he promised. "Mistress, " he remembered. She released him. 

Oliver dressed and drove home. He was oddly elated. _Save yourself forme. _ An order. An implied promise. Another thrill ran through him. 

4. 

Oliver worked on the mailing list all week. He tried not to think aboutJacky, although she came into his mind regularly, especially at night. Her big eyes held him before he fell asleep; her body was just out ofreach. 

When he wasn't sitting in front of the computer, he worked on thewalnut box. He finished the dovetails. Fitting the bottom of the boxwas a puzzle. He had cut it to rest inside; it had to be supported justabove the low bottom arches. He didn't want to put screws through thesides of the box, and if he put supporting ledger strips on the inside, the bottom would be raised too high. He fastened a small block to thelower inside of each corner. The blocks strengthened the feet of thebox and supported the bottom just above the arches. He was satisfiedwith that solution, but when he pushed the bottom down on the blocks itdid not fit perfectly flush against all four sides. The cracks botheredhim. 

By Friday, after much experimenting, he had made tiny moldings to coverthe cracks. "Thank God for routers, " he said to Jennifer Lindenthwaite. "Took me about five tries, but I did it. "

"I wish Rupert had your talent, " she sighed. 

"It's not talent; it's pig-headedness. "

"Pigs are sweet, really, " Jennifer said. "They get a bad rap. " Shestood. "Let's see the program. "

She liked what he'd done and asked him whether Jacky had approved it. 

"Jacky said that, as long as I included everything that she wanted, youshould be the judge--since you would have to use it and train others touse it. "

"It looks good to me, " Jennifer said. "I'll have Mary mail you a checkon Tuesday. We pay bills on Tuesdays. "

"Thanks. "

"It was good of you to help, Oliver. We may have to call on you again. I think you should be entitled to a member discount. We have some nicetrips lined up this summer--day trips, and a canoe trip: Marsh, Myth, and Earth Mother. "

"Sounds buggy, " he said. 

"Oh, Oliver! Tents, silly. No-see-um netting. "

"The cry of the loon across the night, " Oliver interrupted. 

"Right, " she said. "Drumming for Gaia is a popular trip. Sometimes I goalong--quality control, you know. "

"Inspector Jennifer, " Oliver said. She reached for his arm, to shovehim or to slap him, but she stopped herself. 

"Marshmallows, " she said. 

"Now you're talking. I'll let you know, " he said, ducking out. 

"We'll put you on the mailing list. "

"Great, " he called over his shoulder. 

He went shopping for hardware. He found brass strap hinges and a haspand a lock that were well-matched. He would inlay the hinges--a pain inthe neck--but the brass would be fine with the walnut. 

Oliver made progress on the box. He was pleased that evening as hedescribed it to Jacky. She listened quietly and waited for him tofinish. They were sitting on the couch in her living room. She waswearing a black silk blouse that fell loosely over white jeans. Shestretched her legs, wiggled her toes in leather huaraches, and lookedat him closely. 

Oliver felt the moment approach. He had been in a different world allweek; it was time to return. Jacky's face was firm and concentrated, her eyebrows raised slightly. He looked into her eyes and felt againthe thrill of surrendering. He was hers. He wanted to be hers. He gavehimself to her utterly. 

That evening and the ones that followed, once or twice a week, continued the pattern. She beat him and humiliated him, bound him toher pleasure, taught him how to massage her after a hot shower and howshe wanted oral sex. It was an alternate universe that existed only inher house and only for a few intense hours at a time. His reward was tobe allowed to come at her command as she counted slowly to twenty ortwenty-five. If he came too soon or not at her number, she whipped himwith a riding quirt. "You are not thinking of _me. _ You are doing thisfor _ME! _" He learned to think only of her as he masturbated, or, lessoften, as she worked him with her hand. When he dedicated himselfcompletely, she counted him to orgasm at the perfect moment; she waspleased; there was no whipping. 

They went out to dinner several times, a normal experience--at leastexternally. Beneath the conversation, Oliver was well aware of what wascoming after dessert. She would encourage him to be assertive and thenshe would pull him back, reminding him of his place with a glance or asmall smile, a good natured cat and mouse game. 

She told him about the two older brothers who had bullied her on thebasketball court. She was a power forward in high school but too smallfor the team at the University of New Hampshire. "Same game, differentscale, " she said. "I should have been a guard. " Oliver was impressed. She had trained to be a referee and still reffed high school games. 

"You just like the uniform, " he teased. "The black shoes. "

"You'd like one of them on the back of your neck, " she said. "I knowyou, Oliver. " He was rewarded that night. 

Late one afternoon, toward the end of June, Jacky called. "I need youto come over, " she said and hung up. This was unusual; their meetingswere always planned in advance. 

"Oh, oh, Verdi. She's not happy. "

Things were going well for a change. The Wetlands Conservancy had askedhim to recommend and install an accounting system. They'd gotten agenerous donation, Jennifer told him, from a bank. "Did you know thatJacky Chapelle is on the Board?"

"I didn't, " he said, surprised. 

Jacky smiled when he asked her about it. "Community money, " she said. 

"Small community, " Oliver said. 

"Keep it in the family, " she laughed. 

The marinas were filled with white boats. Bikers and pedestrians werecrossing the bridge in both directions. Oliver parked in Jacky'sdriveway. "Hi, Bubbles, " he said. That was a mistake. 

"I've had a disappointing day. "

"I'm sorry, " he said instantly. Her eyes narrowed and she pointed tothe bedroom. 

"Everything off. "

He undressed quickly and knelt by the bed. She gave him the rubber balland handcuffed him. "Bastards, " she said and swung the ruler. Olivergroaned for her. He had learned to wait out the initial blows. When shehit faster, she didn't hit as hard. It seemed that groaning sped her up. 

"Don't bullshit me, Goddamn it!" What? She cracked him hard twice, paused for breath, and then hit him twice more. "Bastards, " she saidagain. She took her time, winding up for each swing, not speeding up. Oliver began to groan for real. He squeezed the ball, but he was losingcontrol. He thought of getting up and running away, but he washandcuffed and naked. 

"Cry, why don't you?" She cracked him again. She was deliberate. "Cry!"Boys don't. "Cry!" Crack. "Who am I?" Crack. 

"Mistress, " he managed. 

"Damn you. " She hit him again. A hot tear squeezed from the corner ofhis left eye. 

"Cry!" Crack. 

"Please, " he said. Crack. "Please. " Tears began to fall. 

"Yes, " she said. "More. " Crack. He fell forward sobbing, helpless, howling each time she struck him. He cried so convulsively, so hard, that he didn't register the moment when she stopped and began to rubhis shoulders, comforting him. He hadn't cried like that since he was ababy. 

"Get up on the bed and turn over. " She took off her jeans and panties, put them on the chair, and came back from the dresser with a condom. Oliver lay on his back, numb and floating, as she teased and rolled thecondom into place. Her eyes were huge as she straddled him. "Fifty, "she said. 

He wiggled into position and gave himself to her voice and the longslow thrusts of her body. At thirty, her voice cracked. By forty, shewas whispering and beginning to tremble. At forty-five, she gaspedsharply and slumped forward. She caught and braced herself with herhands on his shoulders, crying out with each new number as he strainedup into her. At fifty, he exploded; a blind white jet took themdrenched and mingled into the universe. He heard her laughing in thenebulae, and then he collapsed. She lowered herself forward. A buttondug into his chest. Her hair pressed against his cheek. Awkwardly, hebrought his arms over her head and cradled her as best he could. 

She was half off when he awoke. She removed the condom and came backwearing a white bathrobe. "You are beautiful, " she said, pulling tightthe cotton belt of her robe. He felt his cheeks glowing. "Beautiful. Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you. " She nodded and released the handcuffs. He dressedslowly, feeling each movement of his body as though it were for thefirst time. Jacky watched silently. He always left as soon as he wasdressed. "Good night--Mistress. " His voice was quiet. 

"Behave yourself, " she said, looking at him thoughtfully. 

He was on the bridge before he realized that he was driving and hadbetter be careful. He was hungry. Alberta's. Why not? He found aparking spot, walked into his favorite restaurant, and got the lastopen table, in a far corner of the upper level. 

"How are we, tonight?" Claudine asked, smiling broadly. She knewperfectly well. Women always do. Oliver imagined a sign over his head, visible only to females: "Spent Male. "

"Hungry, " he said. 

"You've come to the right place. Good halibut tonight, lime and gingersauce. "

"I think it's a red meat night. "

"Lamb? Lots of garlic, rosemary and Dijon crust? New potatoes?"

"Sold. I'll have a glass of Kendall Jackson Merlot. " Claudine broughthim a large glass of wine, extra full. Oliver was a regular. He atethere once a week or so on nights when he wanted to think. They lefthim alone to make notes and sketches, to stare out the window at thequiet street. He tipped well and felt that everybody was winning in theexchange--so what if he were spending all his money. 

Candlelight gleamed from glasses and warmed the walls. The room wasformal and cozy at the same time. He ate slowly, feeling calm andunburdened. He ordered espresso and Death By Chocolate, then lingeredover Courvoisier. Verdi was aggrieved when Oliver finally got home. Oliver made a great fuss over feeding him and apologized for theunforgivable delay. He climbed the stairs to bed in a warm swirl. Thenext morning he was very thirsty. 

Jacky was called away on business the following week. The week afterthat, in her kitchen, when the moment came, Oliver looked into her eyesand felt no impulse to surrender. She reacted immediately. "Nottonight, " she said. And then, "That's all right. It doesn't have tohappen every time. " They chatted, and he carried her smile home acrossthe bridge. It was warm, a bit troubled. 

The week after that, she asked if he would meet her for dinner. "Oh, boy, " he said. 

"Let's go to one of _your_ places, for a change, " she said. They agreedon Alberta's. 

Oliver was early. He sat by a window and sipped a glass of wine. Hetook a moment to recognize Jacky when she arrived. She was wearing abroad-brimmed straw hat that covered her face, a low-cut magenta summerdress, and leather sandals. 

"You look terrific, " he said. She took off her hat. There were extraswirls in her hair and a small diamond post in each ear. Lip glossaccented the color of her dress--a pale but deep pink, fresh andelegant, white but tinged with the sadness of departing light; therewere babies in it and the silver of moonlight on old barns. "Somedress!" Her breasts moved toward him. 

"Would you like something to drink?" Claudine's voice straightened him. 

"Can you make a martini?" Jacky asked. 

"I'll try. " Claudine glanced at Oliver, amused. 

"Dry, please. One olive. " The door opened and George Goodbean entered. He was thinking about something and didn't notice them until he waspassing their table. 

"Holy Moly!" he said, looking at Jacky. 

Oliver introduced them. "Holy Moly means he wants to paint you, " hesaid to Jacky. 

"Really, " George said. "Who wouldn't?" He threw his arms in the air. Claudine dodged around him and set a martini in front of Jacky. 

"Perhaps we can talk about it another time, " she said, smiling. 

"Yes, " George said. "Yes. " He walked up the stairs to the upper level. 

"He's been known to burst into arias, " Oliver said. 

Jacky sipped her martini. "Ah . . . " She put the glass down carefully. "I like him. "

"He's a good guy, " Oliver said. "Good painter. " He told her about thecasting adventure, leaving out the bronze valentine. 

Midway through dinner, Jacky reminded him of their last session on herbed. "That was very special, " she said. "You please me in so many ways, Oliver. " She put down her fork. "I've been transferred. That's why Iwas in such a bad mood that night. We acquired a bank. I'm supposed torun it, turn it around. I thought I could get out of it, but Icouldn't. "

"Transferred?"

"Maryland, " she said. "It's a promotion, really. "

"Oh, " Oliver said. He put down his fork. "Damn. "

"Come with me. " It was part command, part question. 

"No--I can't. " He knew it was true as soon as he said the words. Am Icrazy? he thought, looking at her closely. "It is you who arebeautiful, " he said. 

She tapped the fingers of one hand on the table. "Are you sure, Oliver?Money is no problem. " He nodded slowly. 

"Oh, Oliver . . . " She brushed away a tear. He had never seen her cry. "Oh. " She shook her head. "Who trains who?" she asked the window in atight voice. Oliver swallowed. He couldn't speak. This was happeningtoo fast. 

"Sex, " she said, looking back at him. "There's sex and there'slove--two different things. Sometimes they overlap. Sometimes, ifyou're real lucky, they overlap a lot. Most people settle for a littleof one or a little of the other. " She pushed her chair back. "I loveyou, " she said. She stood up. "Oh, well. "

She regained control. "Good night, Oliver. " It was a dismissal. 

"Good night, " he said obediently and bent his head. The mistress wordwasn't there any more. He felt terrible--honest, but terrible. He triedto fix the image of her walking away down the sidewalk. He had an urgeto run after her, to sink to his knees with his arms around her hips, to make her happy, but a dumb veto held him in his chair. It wasn'tright, or it wouldn't have remained right. He stayed seated andfinished his dinner. Claudine was tactfully silent. 

He paid and climbed the stairs to George's table. "The lady's gone. I've taken the high road, " he said gloomily. 

"My God, Olive Oil, she was . . . " George's eyes expanded. "I mean, bazumas!"

"Yes, " Oliver said. "Bazumas. "

"That dress! That color!"

"How about a little Courvoisier, George?"

An hour later, he lurched home and put on _La Traviata. _ George haddiverted him with a long story about how his father had made his wholefamily jump through hoops during his last years and then had snuck offto Atlantic City and spent most of his money before he collapsed. "Theold goat, " George said, annoyed all over again, partially approving. 

Sad glorious voices filled the apartment. Oliver began to hate himself. What the hell good was he to anybody? The walnut box caught his eye, shining and complete. It angered him, refuted his mood. He put it onthe floor. "Fuck it, " he said and lifted his right foot high over thebox. Verdi let out a loud warning meow. "What?" Oliver demanded of thecat. "What's the matter with you?" The cat took two steps forward andlet out another long low sound of protest. 

"Huh?" Oliver bent over and put the box back on the table. "All right, all right. " He opened it. The bronze valentine stared up at him. "Shit, " he said. Verdi rubbed against his ankle. "Fucking box, " Oliversaid with a certain amount of pride. He scratched Verdi between theears. There was nothing to do but go to bed. 

The phone rang. He answered, but the person on the other end wassilent. He knew it was Jacky. "I'm sorry, " he said. She hung up. 

5. 

Jacky's transfer left a hole in Oliver's life. He tried to explain itto Mark Barnes without getting into details. "I mean, we were going indifferent directions anyway. She wanted a lot . . . "

"Yeah. " Mark laughed. "How it goes. "

"But I got used to seeing her. She has a house in South Portland. Iused to go over there sometimes on weekends--nice place, garden outback, blueberries, the high bush kind. I pruned them. We'd have a glassof wine, get into it . . . Now, nothing. And the hell of it is: Idon't feel like seeing anyone else. "

"Used to take me 18 months to get over a relationship, " Mark said. "Nowit's 18 weeks and dropping. You know what they say about falling off ahorse. "

"Climb back on--right. " Oliver said. "All very well for you. I'm not, like, in demand. I got lucky, was all. "

"Come on! Just cuz you're four feet, two . . . "

"Five feet, two, " Oliver said. "Don't you forget it. "

"Ork. It doesn't mean shit, " Mark said. "Do I look like Mr. Studley?"

"How _do_ you do it, anyway?"

"Fabric, man. They're helpless for fabric. You got to buy stuff theywant to touch. The ladies have _no_ imagination; if they can't touchit, it doesn't count. " Mark drank and smiled. "I spend a fortune onshirts and sweaters. 'Oooh, ' they say. I hold out my arm for the feel. 'Yeah, nice--silk and cashmere, ' I say. 'Alpaca, ' or whatever the hellit is. Next day, I mail it to them. Would look better on you, I tellthem. "

"I don't have a fortune, " Oliver said. 

"Shop around, " Mark said. "Linen. You got to start somewhere. "

"Yeah, " Oliver said. 

For the hell of it, he checked out Filene's Basement, but he couldn'tfind anything that didn't have the executive leisurewear look. The nextday he was in Freeport and stopped at the Ralph Lauren factory outletstore. He bought a linen bush jacket that was radically marked down. Itwas dyed a dark sandy color and looked as though it would last. Thetraditional cut made it seem less trendy. Maybe that was why it hadbeen marked down. 

Oliver was lonely, but he continued to feel as though a weight had beenlifted from him. The crying fit at Jacky's had liberated him. Hewondered why. Why had it felt right, somehow, to be punished by her? Hemissed the sex, ached for it, but he didn't miss the beatings. He justdidn't feel guilty any more. 

Guilty. As soon as he thought the word, Oliver knew that he was ontosomething. He realized that he had felt guilty for as long as he couldremember--so long, in fact, that he didn't register it as guilt; it wasjust the way he was. Why should he feel this way? He couldn't besure--this was murky territory--but he suspected that it had to do withhis mother. She seemed to hover around the edges when he thought back. He wondered if he hadn't, at a very young age, taken on responsibilityfor _her_ problems--with Owl, with him, with life. Maybe he had feltthat they were his fault, somehow. Whatever it had been, Jacky hadbeaten it out of him. Probably that was why she picked him in the firstplace. She had sensed his need, matching hers. 

He continued to work at home and at the Conservancy. One afternoon, Jennifer talked him into the "Drumming For Gaia" trip. 

"I can't drum anything, " he said. 

"Oliver, you like music. I know you do. " It was true. "We have ateacher--a Master Drummer. A lot of people have never drummed before, and they always have a good time. "

"I don't have a drum. "

"We sell them--simple ones. I have an extra one. I'll bring it foryou. " She was enthusiastic and meant well. He couldn't say no. 

The morning of the trip was cool and foggy. The group was to meet atthe Conservancy and then be bussed to Wolf Neck State Park. Jenniferspotted him as soon as he drove in. 

"Morning! I love your jacket. " She reached out and felt it between herthumb and first two fingers. That Mark. 

"Morning, Jennifer. Yeah, it's nice. Linen, " he said, but he was damnedif he was going to mail it to her. 

"I brought your drum; it's in the car. I'll get it. " She skipped overto a white Volvo and took a drum from the back seat. "You're going tolove this. " He accepted it, feeling foolish. She handed him a woodenstriker. "You can hold it any way that is comfortable. " She took itback and tucked it between her left arm and side. "Like this, orstraight up, if you're sitting. "

"O. K. , I get it, " Oliver said. 

"We'll be leaving in about ten minutes. " He took a seat near the frontof the bus and tried to look relaxed. The drum was shaped like aminiature conga, handmade with a skin head that was lashed tight. Herested it on his lap and watched cars drive in. Twelve or fifteenpeople got on the bus, most of them his age or younger, mostly women intwos and threes. 

Jennifer bounced in and sat beside him. "We'll pick up a few more onthe way. There's another group coming down the coast. I hope it doesn'train. Think positive thoughts, Oliver. "

"What are they?"

"Oh, Silly, " she slapped him on the arm. "Don't worry; you'll have fun. _I_ am going to have fun!" She passed around a box of name labels and amagic marker. "Aliases permitted, " she said. 

Forty-five minutes later, they stepped from the bus and gathered aroundtables standing in a grassy field. Oliver had been there before. Theocean was just out of sight through trees and down a steep bank. Pathswound along a narrow wooded peninsula with views of islands, tinycoves, wetlands, and pine groves. Picnic tables and grills waited insmall clearings. It was a popular place in winter for cross-countryskiing. 

The second bus arrived. People milled about reading each other's nametags. Oliver helped carry folding chairs from the back of the bus. Avan drove up. Its horn tooted twice, and a short round man popped out. He was holding a stick adorned with feathers and bells. He stamped iton the ground and shook it. When he had everyone's attention, he said, "Bogdolf's the name; merriment's the game!"

"Good grief, " Oliver said. 

"Shhh, he's the Lore Keeper, " Jennifer explained. She stepped closerand whispered, "He's expensive, but he brings in extra contributions;he's worth it. "

"Good morning, fair folks, " Bogdolf said, twinkling. "Good morning, Jennifer. Have we time for a story?"

"Yes, " Jennifer said. "Raul will be here at eleven for the drumming. For those of you who don't know, " she raised her voice and addressedthe group, "this is Bogdolf, Lore Keeper. I've asked him to speak to usthis morning. " She sat in one of the chairs. Oliver sat next to her. The others made themselves comfortable, and Bogdolf took a position infront of them. 

"Drumming For Gaia, " Bogdolf said. "Fine. Very fine. I don't often havean orchestra. Oh, we're going to have fun this morning. Ba, ba, boom!"He made a pirouette and stamped his stick playfully. His eye fell onOliver, and he pointed at him with the stick. "Let me hear it, son. " Hemade striking motions with his stick. "Ba, ba _boom!_ Ba, ba, _boom! _Let me hear it now. " He had twirled his way directly in front ofOliver. His eyes were sharp and blue beneath shaggy gray eyebrows. Hesmiled happily, letting the group feel his joy. Oliver felt Jennifer'sfoot on his; he stopped staring and struck his drum three times. 

"Yes, " Bogdolf said, spreading his arms approvingly. "The power!" Helooked upward and staggered back several steps. He looked again atOliver and made a commanding motion with the stick. Oliver struck thedrum three times. "_Gaia, _" Bogdolf said. Oliver felt a pat on his arm. 

"A long time ago, " Bogdolf began, "in the time of the Water People . .. " He paced back and forth as he told the story. His voice rose andfell. He was on the verge of tears. He laughed. He whispered. Threatened. Trembled. Finally: "And _that_ is how the little drum savedthe Water People. " He looked at Oliver. Jennifer's foot pressed down. Oliver struck his drum three times, and there was loud clapping. 

"Gaia!" someone called. Bogdolf bowed modestly and made his way to thecoffee table where he was soon surrounded. 

"Whew!" Oliver said. 

"I'm sorry, " Jennifer said. "I didn't know you were going to be theorchestra. " She giggled. 

"First time for everything, " Oliver said. They took a walk and watchedan osprey bring fish back to a nest of sticks high in a tree on anisland just offshore. They got down to serious drumming for an hourbefore lunch and then for several hours afterwards. They warmed up withstraightforward Native American rhythms. Oliver found that he couldcontribute as long as he played the most basic beat. 

In the afternoon, they got into a Latin groove. Raul assigned parts anddemonstrated the son clave. Oliver, another drummer, and a boy with atriangle were to play just the clave. Thank God for the other drummer. Oliver and the boy followed him through the center of the complicationsas the group got into synch and began to rock. He felt a duty to do itright, to keep the beat, keep the faith. When they broke up for theday, he felt refreshed. They continued sporadically on the bus, butlater, when Oliver was by himself, he couldn't recapture the beat. Thisirritated him. 

"I bought a book, " he told Jennifer the following week. "I guess I'mnot musical. It just isn't inside me naturally; I need help to hear it. Anyway, " he explained, "if you take 16 even beats, numbers 1, 4, 7, 11, and 13 are the son clave beats. So, it is asymmetrical within the 16beats, but symmetrical outside; the pattern repeats every 16 beats. That's what gives it that rocking quality--the train leans one way andthen pulls back and leans the other. Ba, ba, ba--baba. Ba, ba, ba--baba. "

"There you go, " Jennifer said, "who says you aren't musical?"

Oliver changed the subject. "How's Rupert doing?"

"Rupert . . . " She shrugged, frustrated. "Sometimes I think he doesn'teven see me when he looks at me. "

"Do you think you'll have kids, someday?" It just popped out of hismouth. 

"I hope so. We've been trying. "

"This could be the weekend, " Oliver said hopefully. 

"I don't think so, " she said. "Rupert's at a stamp collectors'convention . . . You want to go to a movie Saturday afternoon, maybehave a drink?" Her eyes opened wide. Now _she_ was surprised atherself. Oliver blinked. 

"Jesus, Jennifer. That sounds a lot like a date. "

"Well--yes! Rupert is always telling me I should go out more, get outof the house. "

Oliver liked Jennifer. She was easy to be around. She was earnest in away that he understood. He found it hard to say no to her, which iswhy, on Saturday night, he found himself on top of her while she kissedhim and pulled at his belt buckle. 

He objected weakly, and she said, "I don't care. I don't _care_, Oliver. I've never done this before. I need you. " She clamped her mouthon his and put the matter out of reach. She was as purposeful in bed asshe was in the office. She took him inside her and urged him on, asthough something might pull him away at any moment. It was fast andsatisfying. He barely registered that she was both softer and strongerthan he thought before she sighed and rolled him to one side. She hadthat special full and contented woman's smile. 

"That was so good, " she said. She put her fingers on his lips. "Shhh. I've got to go, now. " She dressed quickly. "Will you be in on Monday?"He nodded. She bent over him and put her hand on his chest, as if tomeasure his strength while at the same time keeping him in place. Shelingered for a second. "Good night, Handsome. "

"Good night. " And she was gone. 

The next day, Oliver stayed around the house wondering what he wasgetting himself into. 

On Monday, when he and Jennifer were alone, she blushed and said, "God!That was wonderful, Oliver. But--it will just have to be a lostweekend. " She lowered and then raised her eyes. "I feel like I tookadvantage. "

"It was terrible, " Oliver said. "There ought to be a law against it. "She threw her arms around his neck and just as quickly stepped back. She bit her lip. 

"I can't get used to you, " she whispered. 

"I'll be done, Wednesday, " Oliver said. 

That was that. A month later, he saw her with Rupert at the Maine Mall, on the other side of the Food Court. She looked normally married andinvolved in what they were doing. Oliver went in a different direction, feeling lonely, remembering how tightly she had held him. He stopped atDeweys. "I got back on, " he informed Mark. 

"Nice going. Quick work!"

"It was the linen jacket, " Oliver said. 

"No shit?" Mark was pleased. "There you go. This one's on me. "

A few weeks later, Oliver was waiting for a seat in Becky's, standingby the door, when Francesca came in with her two girls. Oliver lookedat her and all doubt left him. It was as if they had arranged to meet. "Hi, " he said. 

"Hi. " She was tanned, wearing a large white "Harbor Fish" T-shirt overdark brown cotton pants. 

"Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom. "

"It's right over there, Elena--the first door. " Francesca pointed andput her free hand on the other girl's head. "Stay with me, Maria. "

"Takes two hands--motherhood, " Oliver said. 

"Two aren't enough, really. " Her voice was low and easy. An elderlycouple passed them on their way out. Oliver waved at their table whichwas being cleared. 

"Why don't you take it?"

"It's crowded, today. Thank you, " Francesca said. "Why don't we share?"

"Sure, " Oliver said. "Is anyone joining you?"

Francesca tipped her head to one side and ran fingers through her hair. She looked at Oliver and shook her head deliberately. There were nowords, or too many, to explain. "My lucky day, " Oliver said. Shesmiled--tribute was tribute, even in Becky's at rush hour. Maria tuggedat her hand. 

"I'm hungry. "

"Let's eat, then, " Francesca said, moving toward the table. When shereached the booth, she said, "Mr. . . . Is going to eat with us. "

"Oliver. "

"Mr. Oliver. "

"No. Oliver Prescott is my name. Oliver Muni Prescott. But--Oliver, please. "

"I see. " She laughed. "I am Francesca Malloy. This is Maria. And hereis Elena. " She held an arm out to Elena who was pleased with herconquest of the bathroom. "Elena, this is Oliver. We are sharing atable, today. " Elena stared at him. 

"I'm almost as big as you, " she said. 

Maria leaned toward her. "Stupid--you're supposed to say: 'How do youdo. ' "

"How do you do, Elena, " Oliver said. "You _are_ a big girl. Strong too, I bet. "

"Very, " she said. 

"You have such pretty girls, " Oliver said to Francesca. 

"I am from Ecuador, " Maria said. "Elena is from Colombia. " She gave thenames their Spanish sounds. Oliver wanted to put his arms around herand keep her from harm forever. "We have two mommies. " Sheconcentrated. "We _each_ have two mommies. We are sisters, now. "

"Lucky girls, " Oliver said. 

"Where's _your_ mommy?"

"Connecticut, " Oliver said. "Far away. "

"Oh. " Maria nodded sympathetically. One corner of Francesca's widemouth curved up; the other curved down. Her eyebrows were raised. 

"Lucky everybody, " Oliver said, including himself. He felt the rings ofcalm again, rippling outward from their table. 

"Something to drink?" One of the regular waitresses laid down menus. 

"Coffee for me, " Oliver said. 

"Tea. Juice for the girls--orange. "

"I want apple, " Elena said. 

"Please, " Francesca said. 

"Please. "

"One apple, one orange. " The waitress swept away. 

They talked about how the summer was nearly over. They talked aboutlearning how to swim and how hard it was to eat a lobster. Oliverdidn't ask about her husband. She didn't ask about his work. Theystayed with what mattered: themselves, lunch, the girls, the moment. When they said goodbye, there was a lovely quiet between them. Theywere together in the act of parting. 

Oliver was giddy walking home. He looked at the walnut box and thebronze heart. "She's the one, " he said to Verdi who was staring at himfrom the window sill. 

6. 

If Francesca weren't married, Oliver would have been after her in aninstant. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't think of a way to giveher the box and the valentine without putting her in an awkwardposition. He placed them on the mantelpiece in the living room. Thewalnut and the bronze gave him a warm feeling; they signalled a futureor at least a connection with her. 

He might have hustled a programming project, but the thought ofbusiness meetings sent him across the bridge to Crescent Beach. The airwas fresh and salty, softened by the waxy smell of beach roses. Children played. Dogs chased Frisbees. Waves curled and crashed alongthe sand. In September, in Maine, time has a way of crystallizing andstanding still. Oliver soaked up the sunny shortening days. He wasrested and tan, increasingly coiled for some kind of action. 

He received a postcard from Jacky saying that she was living in a motelbut was about to move into a house. Her job was a lot of work but goingwell. She missed him. He sent a housewarming card to the new addressand said that he missed her, too. No harm in that. Besides, it was true. 

One afternoon in October, when the leaves were beginning to changecolor, he came home and heard Jacky's voice on the answering machine. "Oliver, are you there? No? I'm in town. I'm staying at the Regency. I'm wondering if you would join me for dinner. I've got a meeting inten minutes. Just come to the restaurant in the hotel, if you can, atsix. " There was a short pause. "I'll understand if you can't make it. Iknow it's short notice. Bye. " Her voice softened on the "bye, " and shehung up. 

Oliver paced a couple of tight circles and decided to go. He did hislaundry and ironed a white linen shirt. At six, he walked into theRegency and said to the hostess, "I'm meeting someone . . . " He lookedaround for Jacky. 

"Are you Oliver?"

"Yes. "

"Ms. Chapelle called to say that she would be fifteen minutes late. MayI get you a drink?"

"Glenlivet, please. Rocks. "

Twenty minutes later Jacky swept in, apologizing. 

"No problem, " Oliver said. "You look well. " She was tanned and buzzingwith energy. 

"Forgive my banker suit, " she said. "No time to change. I talked theminto more money. "

"Congratulations. "

"Dinner's on me. Mmm, " she said, opening a menu. 

"So, how's Maryland?"

"Crab cakes are great. Weather's warmer. After that--Maine wins. " Shetold him about her job and the house she was buying. "And you?"

"Pretty much the same . . . I found out what a clave beat is. " Heexplained and she applauded. "No, like this, " he said, clapping out twobars. 

"It's warm in here, " she said, taking off her jacket and opening thetop two buttons of her tight blouse. 

"Yes. " As they talked and drank, Oliver settled in his chair, his eyeson the opening in her blouse and the lacy rising edge of her bra. Afamiliar undertow pulled him down; he wanted to be lower than she was. She watched, opened her blouse farther, and let it happen. Theyfinished dinner and drank the rest of the wine. "I'd forgotten . . . "he started. 

"Oliver, " she said, "I have something for you. Why don't you come upfor a drink?" He nodded, yes. She stood, signed the check, and led himto the elevator. "There's wine in the convenience bar, " she said, shutting the door of her room behind them. He poured two glasses andsat on a plushly upholstered love seat, waiting for her to come out ofthe bathroom. 

"That's better, isn't it?" she said, sitting beside him and kicking offher shoes. Another button was undone. She sipped wine slowly, in nohurry, enjoying herself. Oliver couldn't stop looking at her breasts. 

"Do you know what I have for you?" she teased. 

"Yes, " he said in a small voice. His heart was beating loudly. He puthis glass on the end table and held out his wrists. 

"Look at me, Oliver. "

He didn't resist. He gave himself to her eyes. 

"Sweet, " she said. She took the handcuffs from her roll-on bag andclosed them on his wrists. "Stand up. " She unbuckled his belt and slidhis pants and shorts down to his ankles. "How sweet. " She reached intothe luggage and held up the riding whip. 

"You remembered everything, " he said helplessly. 

"Have you?" She swished the whip, smiling. She didn't have to hit him. 

"Please . . . " He sank to his knees, desperate to please her, to beclose to her. She took off her blouse and approached with the whip inthe air. 

"Much better, " she said, shrugging her shoulders forward and back. "Don't touch, Oliver. Just look. " She leaned over him. "You'd like meto take off my bra, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, " he said. "Mistress. " His throat was dry. 

"I love how you want me, " she said. "Can I trust you to--controlyourself?"

"Yes, Mistress. " She removed her bra slowly, watching him withpleasure. He swallowed. 

"You are the sweetest love, " she said, laughing. She stripped the restof the way and guided him to the bed where he devoted himself to heruntil she was wet and happy, incoherent, thankful . . . From adistance, he heard her say, "Now you. "

"Doesn't matter, " he mumbled. 

She rolled him over and snuggled his head into her lap. "I'm going togive it to you for a change, " she said. "Here. " She leaned over andplaced a breast in his mouth. She stroked him. "Jacky's got you. Suckme, Baby. " She pushed her breast deeper into his mouth and brought himsteadily along with her hand. "I've got you. It's all right. " He openedhis mouth wide and drew her in. Love came in with her breast--a strangenew feeling that scared him--but she continued, and he accepted andthen couldn't get enough. She brought him to the top and cried out withhim, "Ohhhh! Yes. More. Oh . . . " His head fell back and he reachedfor her hip, clutching, clinging to her as if she were a life raft. Sheput the palm of her hand on his forehead. "Baby, " she said, rocking himwith her body. "It's all right. I've got you. I've got you. " He sighedand pushed deeper against her. 

Oliver awoke in the morning with Jacky leaning over him. She wasdressed and glowing. "Hey, there, " he said. 

"No need to get up, " she said. "The room is paid for. Just leave whenyou're ready. " She kissed him. 

"Mmm, toothpaste, " Oliver said. "Where you going?"

"Breakfast at Becky's with my friend, Francesca, and then catch a birdto Baltimore. " Oliver sat up straight in the bed. "No, no, " she saidand pushed him down. "I left a card in your pants pocket. Call metonight. "

"Uh . . . O. K. "

"Sweet Oliver, " she said and left. The door clicked shut, and Oliverstared at the ceiling. Francesca? Crap! He imagined Jacky describingtheir evening in full detail. She wouldn't. But she might well mentionhis name. How many short Olivers were there in Portland? He got out ofbed and took a quick shower. Aside from a manageable headache, he feltloose and relaxed. Jacky had seen to that, for sure. He left the hotelby a side door and walked home. 

"Verdi? There you are. Good old Verdi. I was bad last night. Very bad. Here you go. " He spooned out a whole can of salmon Friskies. "Fullbreakfast, this morning. None of those little snackies, no. " It wasimportant to stay on the right side of Verdi. 

He considered shaving. To hell with it. He let Verdi out and walkeddown to the Victory Deli for a cranberry-blueberry pancake. Jacky. Sheknew just which buttons to push. He couldn't help himself. He had beenfeeling helpless enough lately without this demonstration of it. Shereveled in his helplessness, rolled in it like Verdi in catnip. I likeit, too, he admitted. I do. I do and I don't. He was so independentmost of the time that it was a relief, a sweet relief, to give in, totrust her and be controlled by her. But there was also a whiff ofsomething forbidden about the relationship, something to do with hismother again. Jacky was a little like her. It was a powerful mix. 

He called her at six o'clock. "Hi, how was breakfast?"

"Hi, Oliver! Fun. Francesca's a good buddy. "

"Did you tell her about me?"

"Why--no. You're my secret, Sweet; I'm keeping you to myself. Besides, Francesca's beautiful. Men go gaga over her. She's one of these tall, dark, silent types. Gorgeous eyes, inner fires. I'd go for her myselfif I weren't so friggin straight. "

"Hallelujah!" Oliver said with feeling. 

"Thank you, " she said. "Poor Franny, she has a terrible marriage. Twoof the cutest little girls. Oliver, I'm hoping you will come visit. Iwant to show you the Bay and feed you some proper crab cakes. Theweekend after next would be perfect. "

"How far are you from Atlantic City?"

"About two hours. "

"I've never been to Atlantic City, " Oliver said. "I've been wanting tosee what it's like. I could drive down on Friday, see you on Saturday?Unless you want to meet me at one of the casinos?"

"You come here, " she said. "I went once and it didn't do a thing forme. All those grandmothers lined up at the slot machines . . . Crossover the Delaware Bridge by Wilmington. I'm in northern Maryland, nottoo far from there. " She gave him directions, and they agreed to meetaround one o'clock. 

"Behave yourself with the working girls, " she said. "I'll see you intwo weeks. "

"Bye, " Oliver said. 

Jacky hung up, and Oliver turned to Verdi. "I'm in trouble, " he said. 

At least she hadn't said anything to Francesca. He paced around theroom. What was happening? He was sliding into a life with Jacky. Shecould keep him going while he looked for work; he could work anywhere. Maybe he would do most of the cooking. What would it be like to wake upnext to her every morning? His head spun. What was wrong with thispicture? Anything? Something. 

Atlantic City. When Oliver was confused, he tended to put himself in asituation and see what happened. He was better at resilience thancalculation; he relied on his ability to pick himself up, dust himselfoff, and learn from experience. When he tried to think about thefuture, his mind turned off. He needed something more concrete to thinkabout. Casinos. 

The next morning, he bought a book on gambling from the bookstore nextto the Victory Deli. He had never been crazy about cards. He had playedenough poker to know how brutal it was. The smartest and toughestplayer won. If you were smarter and tougher, you might as well justtake the other person's wallet. It was worse than that. Not only didyou take his money, but you left him feeling responsible, stupid, andbroken. Oliver didn't want to be on either end of that exchange. 

As he read about blackjack, he decided against it. He would actuallyhave odds in his favor if he could count cards without being caught andthrown out of the casino. He probably could count cards with practice;he'd been a math major in college; he was comfortable with numbers. Butit would be a lot of work. And he didn't like the idea of relating tothe dealer as an opponent, an enemy working for the house. The dealerwas just trying to make a living. 

Roulette was O. K. , but it seemed too mechanical and small in scale. Thebest roulette odds were not as good as the best odds in craps. Crapshad a traditional sound to it. Oliver studied craps. 

Players stood around an enclosed table and took turns throwing a pairof dice. On the first throw, the player "passed" if a 7 or an 11 cameup. A 2, 3, or 12 was a "no pass. " Any other number became the "point. "The player continued to roll until either the point came up again, apass, or a 7 was rolled, a no pass. All players could bet on every roll. 

Custom required that a player continue rolling until he or she did notpass. The dice were then pushed to the next player in turn around thetable. There were many different bets, simple and complicated. Youcould bet that a player would pass or not pass or that a number wouldbe rolled before a 7. The complicated bets had large payoffs andcorrespondingly smaller chances of winning. The simplest bet had thebest odds, winning just under 50% of the time. If you played only thebets with the best odds, you could consider the house edge as a 2%charge for hosting the game and keeping it honest. You would lose ifyou played long enough. But you could get ahead and quit. Maybe. 

The stakes could be as high as you wanted. This appealed to Oliver. Heliked the financial Russian roulette quality: win or die. He withdreweverything but twenty dollars from his bank account. 

On his way back from the bank, he stopped at Deweys. It was fundrinking a pint of Guinness with six thousand dollars in his pocket. Mark was there, celebrating another executive placement. 

"Chemical sales. Houston, poor bastard. "

"You ever go to Atlantic City?"

"Sure, man. " Mark snapped his fingers. "_Down on the boardwalk . . . Boardwalk. _"

"Where did you stay?"

"Bally's, most of the time. "

"What was it like?"

"Bally's?"

"No, I mean the whole thing, " Oliver said. 

"Good time--if you don't get into it too deep. Have a few drinks, checkout the ladies. Lot of money flying around. They have these hard-noseddudes called 'pit bosses' that keep an eye on things, head off trouble. . . I usually go on a travel package for a couple of nights. They'rea good deal; the casinos subsidize them. I take all the money I feellike blowing off and one credit card in case I get stuck or something. You going?"

"I was thinking about it, " Oliver said. "I've been learning how to playcraps. "

"Yeah, craps, the best. _Down on the boardwalk_ . . . "

Oliver made a reservation at Bally's and considered what to wear. Aplaid shirt and jeans weren't going to do it; there was somethingsignificant and ceremonial about this trip. He had a summer linen suitthat he'd worn to his sister's wedding, years ago. He bought a mulberrycolored T-shirt to wear under the jacket. He wanted to look like astar, a player. When in Rome . . . He stopped short of buying a goldneck chain. 

He put the cash in the walnut box and then hid the box behind oldsheets in the bedroom closet. The box made a good bank, but he missedseeing it on the mantelpiece. 

Verdi. He couldn't just leave food and kitty litter--Verdi needed toprowl around outside. And what if he didn't get back right away, forsome reason? Maybe Arlen, downstairs, would look after him. A fewminutes after he heard Arlen return from work, he knocked on his door. 

"Hello, Oliver. "

"Nice shirt, Arlen. Aloha!"

"Aloha, Oliver. " White tropical blossoms and blue sky hung from Arlen'sthin shoulders. He was wearing faded jeans and cowboy boots. 

"I was wondering if you could do me a favor?"

"If I can--of course. Would you like to come in?" Oliver entered animmaculate apartment. Parakeets and finches were hopping back and forthin large cages near the windows. 

"I'm going on a short trip--three days, maybe four, next weekend. Ineed someone to look after Verdi, feed him, and let him out once a day. I know it's a nuisance . . . "

"But I like Verdi. It will be no trouble. When are you leaving?"

"Friday. "

"No problem. Would you like a drink? We don't get to chat often. "

"Sure. "

"Let me see. I have ale and, of course, the hard stuff. "

"You wouldn't have any Glenlivet, by any chance?"

Arlen smiled. "Would Laphroiag do?"

"Damn, Arlen. I'll choke it down. Yes. "

Arlen poured two drinks. "Another day, another dollar, " he toasted. 

"Single malt, " Oliver replied, holding his glass high. There was amoment of reverence after the first taste. "God, that's good!" Oliversaid. "I have plenty of cat food. I'll leave clean kitty litter. Youprobably won't have to change it if he goes outside. "

"I'd have a cat if it weren't for the birds, " Arlen said. "I don'tthink enemies should live together, do you?"

"No. " Arlen was an accountant for one of the big firms. He had a slimorderly face. 

"Sometimes I think cats are smarter than people, " Arlen said, "but Ilove to hear the birds. They sing whenever they damn please. " Hesighed, leaned back on his couch, and crossed his legs. An embossedboot swung prominently in front of him, oddly flamboyant. 

"Yeah, Verdi's my buddy, " Oliver said. "He likes you, too. "

"Birds can be your friends, " Arlen said. "People don't realize. " Helooked out the window. "I had a parakeet once. His name was Tootsie. "

"Tootsie, " Oliver repeated, sipping whiskey. 

"An ordinary parakeet, green and yellow--but Tootsie could sing! Awonderful singer. " Arlen looked back at Oliver. "Parakeets are tough, you know. They are little parrots, actually, strong birds. "

"Really? Parrots? I didn't know that. "

"Yes, " Arlen said. "Tootsie belonged to William. " His voice lingered onthe name, and he looked out the window again. "I was just getting toknow William. He asked me to keep Tootsie for him while he was away onesummer . . . I suppose he was testing me. "

"Ah, " Oliver said, vaguely. 

"Tootsie and I got along very well. I tried to teach him to say'William, ' but he preferred to sing. " Arlen paused to drink. 

"I moved in with William that fall. " He uncrossed his legs and crossedthem again, waving the other boot in the air. "To make a long storyshort, I moved out three years later. William was away for the night. Iwas feeling shitty, and I explained the situation to Tootsie. 'I'mleaving in the morning, ' I told him. 'It's not your fault; it's notWilliam's fault; it's not anybody's fault. We just didn't quite makeit, that's all. Almost, but not quite. ' Tootsie listened to me. Youknow how they do, with their heads cocked to one side. He was in a cagewith a fail-safe door; the kind that are hinged at the bottom--if theyaren't positively latched shut, they fall open so you'll know to latchthem. " Arlen swirled the whiskey around in his glass. 

"In three years, Tootsie never got out of his cage. The next morning, Igot up and went into the living room. 'Goodbye, Toots, ' I said. 'Toots?' He wasn't in his cage. I walked over, and there was Tootsie onthe table beneath his cage. He was lying on his side, stone dead. "

"No way, " Oliver said. 

"Stone dead. I don't know how he got out. I don't know what happened. All I know is that he died when the relationship did. I think his heartwas broken. "

"What did you do?"

"I buried him beneath a tree on the Eastern Prom, " Arlen said. "Ihaven't seen William for years. He moved out of town. " One of theparakeets burst into song. "There he is now. "

"Who?"

"William, " Arlen said. 

"Oh. " They drank in silence. "Guess I'll be going, " Oliver said. "Thanks. I'll put a key under the mat when I leave on Friday. "

"You're welcome, Oliver. Don't worry about Verdi. " Oliver went upstairsglad to have solved the problem but feeling sorry for Arlen. He was adecent guy. Usually alone. You'd think he could find someone to be with. 

"Arlen will take care of you, " he said to Verdi. 

Early Friday morning, Oliver retrieved his stash and placed the walnutbox back on the mantel. "So long, Verdi. Don't give Arlen a hard time. "He slid a spare key under the mat and took a last look around. Hehesitated. The box. The box bothered him. What if I don't come back? hethought. Get hit by a truck, or something. 

It seemed stupid, but Oliver was used to following his intuition. Hewrote a note: "Francesca, I made these for you. Oliver. " He put thenote, the bronze heart, the lock, and one key inside the box. He putthe other key on his key ring. There was only one Malloy listed in thetelephone book. He wrapped the box with paper cut from two grocery bagsand addressed it to: Francesca Malloy, Cape Elizabeth, Maine. He putall the stamps he had in a double row across the top. If somethinghappened to him, the package would get to her. 

Feeling better, he skipped down the stairs, threw his carry-on bag intothe Jeep, and headed out of town. He stopped for coffee at the firstrest area on the turnpike. The sun wasn't even up as he got back in theJeep. _On the road again, _ he sang, picking up speed and passing a Shop'N Save truck. "Fuck you, Malloy, " he said, leaving the truck behind. Francesca's husband worked for Hannaford Brothers, who owned thegrocery chain. _On the road again_ . . . 

7. 

Traffic was moderate. Oliver hummed along, enjoying the oranges, reds, and yellows of New England in October. He crossed the Hudson on theTappan Zee Bridge, bypassing New York, glad to be moving again afterweeks of inaction. His money and what felt like his entire future wasin his pocket. 

At five o'clock he cruised slowly through Atlantic City. He foundBally's, parked, and went to his room. He washed his face, changed intohis outfit, and went back outside. The boardwalk stretched out of sightalong the beach. It was warmer and more humid than in Maine. Lazy wavescollapsed on the sand. Beach-goers and gamblers of all ages strolledback and forth--studs with oiled glistening muscles, grandmothers withstraw hats and outrageous sunglasses, Afro-Americans, Latinos, Asians. He was too warm in his suit. He returned to the air conditioned hoteland entered the casino. 

Loud music. Hellish reds and blacks. The women that Jacky hadremembered were seated in front of rows of flashing slot machines. Thewomen pulled long levers mechanically; win or lose, they pulled again. Bells rang as an occasional jackpot cascaded from a machine. 

Oliver recognized the crap tables--elongated mahogany figure eights, surrounded by players leaning over the action. Dice rolled, bounced, and tumbled to a stop on the gleaming green felt. People cheered orgroaned. 

The roulette wheels were in a different section. The blackjack dealerswere beyond the roulette wheels. At the far end of the casino, behindbars, cashiers exchanged chips for money or vice versa. Cashing in yourchips, for real, Oliver thought. He pushed $1000 toward a cashier. 

"What do you want?" Oliver hesitated. "Hundreds, twenties, tens, fives, what?"

"Give me one hundred dollar chip, " Oliver said, "the rest, tens andfives. "

"You want to leave some in the cage?"

"Five hundred, " Oliver said. The cashier issued him a plastic card witha magnetic strip. 

"Give this to the pit boss when you want more. "

"I got these complimentary dollars, " Oliver said, "when I checked in. "

"Over there. " The cashier pointed to a barred room within the mainroom. "Promotions. " Oliver walked over to Promotions. 

"Could I exchange these for chips, please?" A man with a neat mustacheswept up the fake coins. He flicked his wrist and thumb. Oliver's chipsfell on the counter in front of him. Oliver counted. "Wasn't theresupposed to be thirty-five?"

"Yeah, man. You short?" Oliver pushed the chips toward him. "Sorry, man. Mistake, " he said, adding a five dollar chip to the pile withoutchanging expression. Oliver put them in his pocket and walked towardthe crap tables. That was a scam, he thought. Get away with that oncean hour, your pay would go up--a couple of hundred a week. 

He straightened as a feeling shot through him. It was like waking up. It was time. He approached the front craps table and stood with hisarms hanging down and his weight evenly balanced. Fifteen feet away, aman shifted sideways so that he was directly in front of Oliver. He wasexpensively dressed, medium sized with wide shoulders and a darkangular face. He stared at Oliver. I see you, he was telling Oliver. You aren't like the rest of them. I'm watching. He was intense anddeadly. Pit boss, Oliver realized. Well, fuck you. Oliver's spirit andbody fused as though they had been sleeping in separate rooms. For thefirst time in years, he felt his whole strength. A slight smile crossedhis face. 

The pit boss was called away, and Oliver continued to watch the table. _They're not getting my money. _ The resolve came out of nowhere, clearand absolute. A woman left the table. He took her place, bent over, andplaced a $5 chip on the pass line. An older man in a baseball cap threwthe dice low and hard. They bounced off the far end of the table andskittered back to the center. A two, snake eyes. Most of the playersgroaned. Oliver's chip was raked in. He bet again to pass. The nextplayer threw a six. There was a flurry of bets. A four. Another flurryof bets. The player reached down with one hand and arranged the pair ofdice so that threes showed on top. He was overweight, red faced with aclosely trimmed white beard. He tossed the dice gently up into the airso that they stayed together until they hit the felt. They bounced to afour. "Yes!" Cheers and clapping. The players who had bet that a fourwould be rolled before a seven had won. No one had lost. The start of agood run. Burl Ives / Colonel Sanders arranged the dice again and threwa six--the point. Uproar. All were winners but those few who had bet"no pass. " Oliver had his chips back. 

He stepped away. He had won, and he had lost. He wandered over to aroulette table. Two Asian women, middle-aged sisters perhaps, orcousins, or lovers, sat side by side betting large sums on every spinof the wheel. Their hair was long and lustrous, elaborately wound andheld by jade. Light disappeared into the blackness of their hair andre-emerged at different points as they tilted their heads toward eachother and toward the whirling ball. They bet on lucky numbers, sometimes winning big, often losing all. They were indifferent to lossand satisfied when they won. Their faces were masks--beautiful andtimeless. 

Oliver bet $10 on red, a gesture after losing himself in admiration ofthe women. The steel ball whirred around the rim and bounced down intoa red numbered slot. Everybody won. He picked up his winnings andnodded to the pair. They scarcely noticed. 

Oliver was ten dollars ahead and hungry. He left the casino and found acoffee shop where he ate a turkey club sandwich and relaxed. So far, sogood. 

As he neared the crap tables again, a bar hostess with long legs inblack mesh stockings asked if he wanted a drink. "Diet Pepsi, please. "She came back a few minutes later with the drink. "Thanks. " He put adollar tip on her tray. 

He moved to a place at the ten dollar craps table. The man next to himhad a name tag on his short sleeved shirt that read, "R. Melnick M. D. "He was pale and sweating lightly. His fingers drummed on a stack ofblack $100 chips, twenty at least. He placed four chips on the no passline, won, and added to his stack. He left, irritated, as though theinevitable humiliation was just being postponed. 

Oliver bet ten dollars and won. He left his chips on the pass line andwon again. He put one chip back in his pocket and won again. He put twomore chips in his other pocket and lost the rest on the next roll. Twenty dollars ahead. He kept his original stake in one pocket and hiswinnings in the other. 

When he lost three times in a row, he went over to the roulette tablesto change his luck. He put one chip on red and lost. He doubled his betand won, leaving him one chip ahead. He went back to craps and beganbetting larger amounts. He stayed with his system. He was $375 aheadwhen he lost three times and headed back to the roulette wheel. He lostthe first three times he bet on red. He doubled his bet again, eight$10 chips, his largest bet so far. The ball went around and around andhopped into the double zero slot. Neither red nor black. The house wonall bets. Oliver swallowed. What were the odds that he would lose analmost even bet, five times in a row? About one out of thirty-twotimes. He counted out sixteen chips, $160. The dealer looked at himwith a flicker of interest--one of these guys who would go down withhis system? The ball whined around the rim of the wheel a long timebefore it slowed, fell into the center of the wheel, and bounced to astop. 

Red. Oliver collected his chips, relieved, and put all but one back inhis stake pocket. All that risk on the last spin to win a net total ofone chip. If he had lost, he would have had to bet $320 on the nextspin to have a net win of one chip. And then $640. The dealer had seenit all before. Sooner or later, the improbable happened, and a run oflosses wiped out the double-or-nothing players. 

Oliver put his $100 chip on pass. He lost. He lost twice more andreturned to roulette. This time he won on the second spin. He went backto craps and lost again. His winnings sunk to $45 and then climbed backto $120. 

"How's your luck tonight?" A young blonde smiled appealingly. 

"Not too bad. "

"You want to bet a couple for me? You know, have a good time?"

"I'd love to, " Oliver said, "but I'm too shot. I'm going to bed. "

"I could help with that, " she said. 

"No thanks, Beautiful--not tonight. " She shrugged and moved on. Oliverwent up to his room and was asleep in five minutes. 

At 4 a. M. He was wide awake. He dressed and returned to the casino. Theroom was mostly dark and shut down. Only one row of slot machines bythe door was active. Overhead lights illuminated a single craps table, a bright mahogany raft floating in the darkness. Old men held on to itsedges, playing quietly and grimly. Oliver put himself in their place. Why go to bed? Save themselves for what? They clung to a different kindof life raft than Jacky had been for him, but it was just as real. Hewatched for ten minutes and left. He found an open cafeteria and took acup of coffee back to bed. The steam from the cup and the warmth in hishand were comforting. 

Oliver woke up late in the morning. He cashed in all but fifty dollarsof his chips and ate a large breakfast. He walked along the beach tothe Taj Mahal casino and found that it was much the same as Bally's. Hereturned to the hotel and checked out. Before he left, he placed afifty dollar bet on pass. He would leave seventy dollars ahead or ahundred and seventy dollars ahead, a winner either way. My kind of bet, he said to himself. He won. Yesterday's pit boss was not there. Oliverimagined himself nodding to him--superior, free, out of there. Itdidn't matter. He could tell Jacky. 

Finding the Delaware Bridge was the next challenge. Two hours later, Oliver was in Maryland easing around a curve on a gravel driveway. Stones crunched under his wheels as he stopped in front of a whitecolonial. Jacky came out to meet him. She was wearing a Red Sox T-shirtand a wrap-around cotton skirt. 

"Well, well, " she said looking at his suit and holding her arms open. "What have we here?"

"A player, " Oliver said, coming close. Her arms drew him against her. He smelled honeysuckle, and his hands found their familiar places. 

"Mmm, " she said, "I'll bet you're hungry. "

"You win. "

Jacky stepped back. "Good. I'm going to show off. I've been practicingmy crab cakes. "

"Yumm. "

"I thought we'd eat home, relax, maybe go out later . . . I'll giveyou the Bay Tour tomorrow. "

"Finest kind, " Oliver said. "Nice house. That T-shirt isn't going tomake you any friends. "

"Just because I'm living in Maryland, doesn't mean I'm a traitor, " shesaid, leading him into the kitchen. "How was Atlantic City?"

"Weird. I won. It wasn't what I was expecting. " Jacky took the crabcake mix from the refrigerator. She turned on a burner under a Dutchoven half full of oil. "I thought I might get into a big dealall-or-nothing scene, a go-down-in-flames kind of thing. I brought allmy money. " He told her about the pit boss and the icy focus that hadcome over him and taken control. "I didn't even drink, " he said. "Itwas tiring, but I won. "

"Very good, " she said. She flicked drops of water into the oil. Thedrops sizzled and danced. "You're safe now. There's a nice SauvignonBlanc in the refrigerator. I think it's time. "

Oliver responded to her choreography. He uncorked the wine and pouredtwo glasses. "To us, " Jacky said. Oliver clinked his glass against hersand sipped. 

"Yowzir! You must have gotten a good raise. "

"Wait until you taste these, " she said, lowering crab cakes into thehot oil. 

The crab cakes were delicious. "What's your secret?" Oliver asked. 

"Mustard and capers, " she said, pleased. The bottle was quickly emptyand they opened another. Drinking with Jacky usually made Oliver softerand more open. Today, he began to feel focused again, revved up, notunlike the way he had felt in Atlantic City. Jacky was smiling. 

"Oh, this is so much better, " she said. Let me show you the rest of thehouse . . . I could use some of your special attention. " She led himthrough a comfortable living room and up the stairs. Oliver looked atthe ceiling in the bedroom. 

"No eye bolt, " he said. 

Jacky giggled. "Funny you should mention that. " She opened a drawer andtook out a large bolt. "I thought maybe you could help me with this. Maybe tomorrow. " She laid the bolt on the dresser. "Take your clothesoff, Oliver. "

The focus inside him strengthened. He dropped his clothes at his feetwithout changing expression, kicked off his shoes, took three steps, and pulled her to him. "Aren't we strong, today, " she teased. He turnedher backwards onto the bed. She fell beneath him and wrapped her legsaround him. "My fierce little man. "

This was the way it was going to have to be, Oliver realized. Talkwasn't going to do it. A counselor wouldn't work. This was theirlanguage. 

He pulled up her skirt and curved his right hand between her legs. Hisleft hand reached up under her head and took a fistful of hair. Hepulled her head down, immobilizing it, and rubbed slowly with his righthand. Her shoulders strained upward twice in resistance or surprise. Oliver held her head back and continued to rub. 

Jacky adjusted quickly. She pushed up against his hand. "Take themoff, " she said. Oliver rolled sideways without letting go of her hair. He pulled her panties down, and she bent her knees. He slid them overher feet and then moved back on top of her. "Give it to me, " she said. 

Oliver entered her, slowly and deeply until she was pinned to the bed. She made a small gurgling noise. He withdrew and then pushed into heragain. "Oliver?" He increased the pressure on her hair and went onfucking her silently and slowly. "Oliver?" He didn't trust himself tospeak. He was afraid to speak. She would regain control, somehow. "Ohh, " she groaned. "Sweet?" The question in her voice was increasing, changing to doubt. His intensity strengthened, feeding on her doubt. 

He kept an impersonal rhythm, driving her into the bed with eachstroke, holding his grip on her hair. "Baby, " she said. "Fuck me. " Shebegan to writhe beneath him, meeting him, trying to draw him on. Oliverrefused to hurry. "Oliver?" She was pleading, now. Deeply in. Slowlyout. 

Jacky began to strike him in the back. She made angry sounds. Her fistsdrummed on his back. I--am--in--control, he said to himself. "Damnyou!" she exhaled. She stopped hitting him. "All right. All right. " Shewent limp. 

Oliver continued without varying. She gave up. Her hands went to hisback and her body molded to his. Her breath began to whistle on eachexhale as he drove into her. She came with a sudden release and aseries of falling sighs. Her hands fell back on the bed. 

Oliver released his grip on her hair and cradled her cheeks in bothhands. He kissed her for the first time. Holding her lips softly underhis, he began to move faster. Her hands went to his shoulder blades. Her tongue touched lightly in and out of his mouth. In a minute, he wasdone. She stroked his back. 

"Oliver?"

He was off her and dressing. 

"Oliver, please . . . " She sat up, uncertain. He saw the little girlin the strong woman. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn't trusthimself not to give in. She would control him forever. It wasn't herfault; it was just the way she was. Arlen's words came to him. 

"It's not your fault, " Oliver said. "It's not anybody's fault. You arewonderful, Jacky. Queen of crab cakes. The greatest fuck in the westernworld. But--I've changed. It won't work. " He shook his head. "I wish itcould. "

"Why did you come?" She reddened. "Well, go then!" She looked aroundand picked up a book from the table next to the bed. "Go!" She threw itat him. He ducked sideways and walked downstairs. She followed him, shouting "Go!" As he went out the front door, a glass shattered againsta wall. "Get _out_ of here!" The other glass smashed and he heard herbegin to cry. 

The Jeep started and he was on the road again. 

8. 

Oliver drove a mile and stopped, ears buzzing from wine and the violentemotion. He saw Jacky again, sitting up on the bed, one hand across herheart, and he felt a stab of pain and longing. It wasn't too late toturn around. They could put the pieces back together; he could serveher, and she would take care of him. Why not? What else was he going todo? He searched around in the glove compartment and found a WillyNelson tape. Might as well have the real thing. _On the road again . .. _ Shit. He pounded the steering wheel once and kept going. 

Philadelphia. He made it past the city and began to wear down. Hedidn't need to hurry--Arlen wasn't expecting him home for a couple ofdays. He turned off the highway and stopped at a motel. He put his bagon a chair and lay down for a moment. Had he done the right thing? Orwas he just running away from commitment? He was in a bind. He couldn'tstay in a submissive relationship with Jacky, but the more powerfulthat he felt as an individual, the lonelier he became and the more hewanted her--or someone. 

Pie. At least there was pie. Somewhere. He drove down the road until hecame to a diner. Two state cops were drinking coffee at one end of thecounter. A truck driver and three construction workers sat at the otherend. Oliver sat between the two groups and sank further into hisfeelings. Thirty-five and what did he have to show for it? Six thousanddollars and a cat. An old Jeep. 

He finished his apple pie and watched the double doors to the kitchenswing shut behind the waitress. The swinging doors dissolved into darkwater. He saw Owl overboard, holding his head above the waves. "Findyour father, " Owl said. Oliver's eyes opened wide. Owl _had_ said thatonce. "Someday, you should find your father. "

Oliver thought hard. He had to do something. It was good advice. Hemade up his mind to try. 

"More coffee?"

"Uh--yes. Please. "

Oliver took a deep breath and peeled the top from a creamer. He pouredthe liquid into his coffee and watched white swirls turn the black tobrown. Owl had done his best for him. He had acknowledged theirdifference without really talking about it. He hadn't tried to beeverything to him. Tears came to Oliver's eyes. He stared straightahead and let them slide down his cheeks. Wiping them away would havebeen disrespectful. 

No one seemed to notice. 

Oliver returned to the motel and slept twelve hours. The next day heconsidered stopping in New Haven, but he decided to drive straightthrough to Portland. His mother had not been in contact with hisfather, Muni, since she had left Hawaii. She wouldn't know any morethan what she'd already told him. The Nakano's had owned a small hotelin Honolulu. Muni's brother, Ken, was a teacher. Muni had been astudent at the University. That was it. His mother had split soon aftershe learned that she was pregnant. According to her, Muni had wanted tomarry, but she knew it wouldn't work. 

Not a lot to go on, but it would have to do. 

"Welcome back, Oliver. You're home early, " Arlen said. 

"Don't get used to it. I'm going to Hawaii. " Arlen's jaw dropped. "Don't worry, " Oliver said. "I'm not going to stick you with Verdi. Thanks very much for taking care of him, by the way. We just had achat. He says you're a nice man and you have some Laphroiag left. "

"You can't tell a cat anything, these days, " Arlen said. "It's notquite cocktail hour, but I suppose it's close enough. "

"Just a drop, " Oliver said. 

They sat near the birds. "Perseverance furthers, " Oliver toasted. "That's from the _I Ching. _"

"Ninety percent of success is showing up, " Arlen answered. "WoodyAllen. "

"It's true, isn't it, " Oliver said. "You just have to keep at it. Whatwas your father like, Arlen, when you were a kid?"

"Very much as he is now, " Arlen said. "Early to bed, early to rise. Wehad a dairy farm near Unity. We didn't have a lot of money, but wealways had clothes and whatever we needed for school. If we wantedextra, we had to work for it. He still has the farm, but he sold theherd after Mother died. " Arlen's eyebrows raised with the memory, thensettled. "He's hung on, doing a little of this and a little of that, getting by with social security. He sold a small piece of land threeyears ago. He keeps saying he's going to sell out and move to Florida, but he doesn't get around to it. "

"Good for him. I never met my father. That's why I'm going toHawaii--to see if I can find him. "

"Oh, " Arlen said. "Well. It's a long flight. But there's no place likeHawaii. I usually stay over on the west coast, break the trip in two. The jet lag isn't so bad that way, and the flight isn't such an ordeal. "

"Not a bad idea. "

"San Francisco is wonderful, of course. Seattle and Portland are nice. There's a marvelous Japanese garden in Portland, high on a hilloverlooking the city. "

"I'll think about that. I'm not sure when I'll be going or how longI'll be. Depends on when I can get a cheap ticket and what happens. "

"I would stay at least a week or two. You might as well make a trip ofit while you're at it. "

"I'll call one of those professional cat-sitter people--unless you knowsomeone who might want to live here for a couple of weeks?"

Arlen rubbed one of his cowboy boots. "Porter might like that. Hissituation at the moment is--tenuous. "

"Porter?"

"I'll ask him if you like, " Arlen said. "He might be up for some peaceand quiet. Porter is trustworthy. "

"Any friend of yours . . . "

"I'll ask, " Arlen said. 

"O. K. , thanks. " Oliver sipped whiskey. "My stepfather was a good guy. He drowned--nearly twenty years ago. "

"I'm sorry. Fathers can be bad, too, you know. "

"I guess I'll just have to find out. Bound to learn something, eitherway. "

"A drop more?"

"Sure. "

"Fathers, then, " Arlen toasted. "I remember when I told mine that I wasgay. I was pretty nervous. "

"What happened?"

"He rubbed his chin with both hands in a way he had when he wasthinking. He said: 'They say people are wired that way or they choosethat way. I think you're wired that way. '

"'I am, ' I said. 'But I choose it, too. ' I didn't want him thinking Iwas sorry for myself. My father pointed across the valley. 

"'Louis, over there--he's got six boys been chasing everything inskirts since they were big enough to sit on a tractor. I wouldn't tradeyou for two of them. '

"'Two!' I said. 'Three, anyway. '

"'He'd be getting a deal at three, ' my father said. " Arlen smiled andlifted his glass in the general direction of his father. 

"All right!" Oliver said. 

That week, Oliver bought a round trip ticket to Portland, Oregon and aseven day Hawaiian vacation package that left from Portland. Porterwould be glad to stay in the apartment and cat-sit, Arlen informed him. The three met for lunch in the Old Port. Porter was round and jovial, balding with a small spade shaped beard and one gold earring. He was abaker. His fists bunched like hard rolls when he wasn't eating ortelling jokes. Oliver was well satisfied with him. 

Oliver took to walking on Crescent Beach early in the morning. It wascold, foggy sometimes, but always refreshing. He walked the upper paththat led through woods and across a field to a rocky shoreline. Fromthere, the path turned eastward, following the shore to the beach andto the main parking lot, closed at that time of year. One morning henoticed an unusual arrangement of sticks and rocks near the beginningof the beach. The sticks were jammed into the sand at odd angles. Smallrocks were piled to suggest barricades. It was like a kid's fort butmore sophisticated. 

The next morning, the fort had become a small town with a watchtower atits center. Two days later, there was only a low wall protecting awoven matting of driftwood sticks. Oliver imagined an art studentpracticing, seeing what things looked like as he or she made them. 

On Sunday, Oliver had breakfast at six. The park was empty when hearrived. The leaves were damp and thick on the ground except for a fewcoppery oak leaves, always the last to fall. Tough stuff, oak, Oliverthought. He stopped to look for the latest sculpture. At first, he sawonly random driftwood. It was as though a storm at high tide hadleveled all traces of beach-goers. It was a loss. He had begun toconnect with the anonymous arrangements; he looked forward to seeingthem. 

His attention was drawn to a protected spot below an eroded bank. Beachgrass hung forward over the edge of the bank. A semicircle of thin flatstones stood upright in the sand. Oliver approached. They stood likeEaster Island miniatures, thin sides facing the ocean. Oliver'simagination shrunk and stood on the stand looking up at them. Justthen, the sun rose. Golden light swept over the ocean, up the beach, caught in the overhanging bank, and leaped on across the continent. Thestone people were the first to see it. 

"Oliver?"

He jumped. Someone had come along the path. Francesca! "Oh, hi!" hesaid. "You scared me. Look at this. " He motioned her over and pointed. "The Early People--they've been waiting for the sun. "

"So have I, " Francesca said. She was wearing tan jeans and a long graysweatshirt. "Brrr. "

"Somebody keeps making sculptures here, " Oliver said. "I startednoticing them this week. "

"Do you come here often?" she asked. 

"Yeah. "

"I try to walk here on Sunday mornings. Conor takes care of the girls, and I get some time to myself. "

"It's so beautiful, here. Any time of year, " Oliver said. Francescabent over. 

"Cute, " she said. "Did you see the little ones?" She put a finger inthe sand behind one of the Early People. There were three very muchsmaller stones imitating their elders. 

"Pretty good, " Oliver said. "I didn't see them. "

Francesca straightened. "Let's walk. "

Oliver fell into step beside her. 

"I haven't seen you in ages, " she said. 

"I know. How are the girls?"

"Maria has an earache, but it's getting better. They're fine. " She gavehim an encouraging look. 

"I made something for you--a present. "

"Oooo . . . "

"I was going to mail it, but I didn't want to embarrass you. "

"It's been a long time since I was embarrassed. "

"It's a valentine. "

"Now I'm really curious, " she said. What am I doing? he asked himself. Too late now. Francesca rubbed the end of her nose with her palm. "Youcould bring it to me next Sunday. "

"Yes. Oh, damn! I'm leaving on Thursday; I won't be here. "

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to Hawaii. I'm going to try and find my father. I've nevermet him. He's Japanese. I am too, I guess. Half. "

"Caramba!" Francesca said. 

"So I can't be here, Sunday. I wish . . . "

"Mail it, " she said. "I could use a valentine. "

"O. K. Will just 'Cape Elizabeth' get to you?"

"Old Toll Road, 420, " she said. A lobster boat started its engine inthe distance. 

"How tall are you?" Oliver asked. 

"Six feet, even. "

"I'm five, two. Funny thing is--I don't feel short around you. I didwhen I first saw you in Becky's, but now I don't. " A quick smilecrossed her face. She turned her head toward the water. 

"Careful, " she said quietly. He barely heard her. "When will you beback?" she asked more loudly. 

"Don't know. Couple of weeks, I think. Maybe I'll see you out here?"

"Until the snow gets too deep, " she said. 

"I'll see you, then, " Oliver said, stopping. "I'll leave you to yourpeace and quiet. "

"Be safe, " she said. Oliver waved and walked back the way they hadcome. The sun was clear of the horizon, promising warmth. 

"Yes!" he said. The Early People had an air of being off duty. They hadwaited for the sun, welcomed it, and were now free to enjoy it. 

9. 

Oliver changed planes in Chicago and landed in Oregon at one o'clock, Pacific time. "Funny thing, " he said to a cab driver. "I always thoughtPortland was on the ocean. It's a river port. "

"The Columbia, " the driver said. "Where you from?"

"The other Portland--in Maine. "

"Back east. I'm from Worcester, Mass, myself. Long time ago. "

"You like it out here?"

"It's all right. Beats shoveling snow. "

"It feels a lot milder, " Oliver said. "We could get snow anytime inMaine. "

"Friggin snow, " the driver said. "Here you go. "

"You want to wait a couple of minutes--off the meter? I'll need anotherride. "

"Where to?"

"There's supposed to be a big Japanese garden up on a hill. . . "

"I'll wait. "

"Be right out. " Oliver checked in, left his bag in his room, and cameout feeling light-footed. He had a map in one pocket of his bushjacket. He unfolded it in the cab. "So--where is it?"

"Washington Park, Kingston Avenue. "

"I see it. Great. Let's go. " They drove into the city and climbedthrough a residential district. The driver stopped at the entrance tothe garden. 

"You can get a bus downtown on that corner over there, " he said, pointing. 

"Thanks. " The cab rolled away down the hill. It was quiet. Theneighborhood trees and hedges were lush. A layer of cloud imparted asoft gray tone to the buildings and the streets stretched out below. 

Oliver entered the park and strolled along paths that were nearlydeserted. He walked up and down through trees, past tiny ponds, mossyrock faces, handmade bamboo fountains, patches of flowers, andunexpected views. The effect was both wild and intensely cultivated. The garden was an homage to nature, a carefully tended frame withinwhich blossoms fell and birds flitted in their own time. 

A light drizzle began to fall. Oliver sat on his heels, warm enough inhis jacket and his canvas hat. The live silence of the garden graduallyentered him, replacing an inner deafness. When he stood, his knees werestiff, but he had become otherwise more flexible. His plans were not soimportant--they mattered, but not to the exclusion of what was aroundhim. 

He caught a bus downtown and wandered through an area of mixedindustry, galleries, and restaurants. He spent time in a leather shopthat sold skins and hides. Oliver had never seen an elk hide. He boughta rattlesnake skin, five feet long, that had intricate brown and blackdiamond-shaped markings. The clerk rolled it in a tight coil and put arubber band around it. 

Oliver ate in a Japanese restaurant. A scroll hung in an illuminatedrecess at one end of the room. The characters were bold, the brushstrokes fresh and immediate. Stringed music twanged of duty, consequence, and the inevitable flow of time. The waitress, middle-agedand respectful, brought him dinner with a minimum of talk. Oliver ateslowly, feeling no need for conversation. He _was_ conversing, herealized, with each move of his chopsticks, each glance around the room. 

The cab ride and the hotel seemed loud in comparison. He turned the TVon and turned it off. It was better to lie in bed and revisit thegarden. Tomorrow was coming. Another long flight. 

In the morning, Oliver's spirits rose as the jet cleared the coast, high above the ocean. "Here we go, " he said to the slim woman seatednext to him. She smiled and resumed reading what appeared to be atextbook. He had a glass of Chardonnay with lunch, but he was too wideawake to sleep afterwards. The plane passed above slabs of cloud andintermittent vistas of empty ocean. Once, a jet slid by below them, several miles away, flying in the opposite direction. 

Hours later, as they descended toward the islands, a general excitementspread through the plane and the student became talkative. "There istourist Hawaii, " she said, "and military Hawaii, and everywhereelse--the real Hawaii. "

"I'm staying in Waikiki, " Oliver said. "I guess that's tourist Hawaii. "

"Yes, " she said. "But the buses are good. You can get out, go aroundthe island. "

"I will. I'm going to try and look up family I've never met. "

"Where do they live?" Oliver had found a listing for Kenso Nakano in aphone book at the airport. 

"Alewa Heights, " he said. 

She laughed. "Ah--LEV--Ah . . . That's the real Hawaii. "

"Look at that!" The plane was banking over a large crater with a grassycenter and steep green sides. 

"Diamond Head, " she said. She wiped away a tear. 

"Diamond Head? I didn't know it was a crater. I never saw a craterbefore. "

"It nice and green, this time year, " she said in a different voice, intense and musical. The tires jerked and the plane slowed with a rushof engines. They taxied to the terminal. Passengers unlatched overheadbins and waited in the aisle for the door to open. 

"Goodbye, " Oliver said to the woman. 

"Aloha, " she said, "good luck, huh. "

"Aloha, " Oliver said, for the first time without irony. The word feltgood in his mouth. 

He stepped through the door into a perfume of flowers and burnt jetfuel. White clouds ballooned over green mountain ridges. Heat waveseddied on the tarmac. The passengers moved quickly into the terminaland dispersed. 

A young woman with brown skin and black hair, dressed in shorts andhalter top, held a sign that read: Polynesian Paradise Adventures. Sheput a lei around Oliver's neck and directed him to a bus where hewaited half an hour while other vacationers collected their luggage andboarded in small groups. The flowers in his lei were white with yellowcenters. They had the same sweet smell that had greeted him at theairplane door. "Plumeria, " the hostess told him. 

The bus passed through an industrial area and then along the shore byseveral blocks of downtown business buildings, a marina, a park, and alarge shopping mall. They entered an avenue congested with high-risehotels and condominiums. "Waikiki, " the hostess announced. The busstopped in front of a nondescript hotel, and the hostess wished them agood vacation. "You have your discount coupons, " she said. 

"Where's the beach?" someone called. 

"Over there. " She pointed across an avenue choked with cars, taxis, andbuses. "Two blocks. "

Oliver's room was spare. The walls were made of concrete blocks painteda light aqua color. Sliding glass doors opened on a tiny porch. He wentout and sat in a white plastic lawn chair for a moment. He was on thetenth floor, overlooking a side street. There was a building directlyin front of him and more buildings in the direction of the beach. Inthe other direction, he could see a strip of mountain and what appearedto be a canal a few blocks away. It wasn't Paradise, and it wasn'tparticularly Polynesian, though there were palm trees by the canal. 

The map that he had been given showed tourist attractions and how toget to them. He bought a decent map in the lobby and walked over toKalakaua Avenue and down to the beach. It was a pretty beach, a gentlecrescent that curved along a green park. In the other direction, backthe way he had come, the sand fronted a strip of hotels. The waves werequiet, though larger than they had been in Atlantic City. Diamond Headguarded the far end of the beach. He felt differently about thepostcard view now that he knew its secret. There's a crater in there. 

He took off his shoes and socks and walked to the Diamond Head end ofthe beach, turning back at a small cluster of expensive houses andcondominiums. The sand underfoot made him feel like a little kid. Heretraced his steps and stopped by the first hotel that he reached onthe beach side of Kalakaua. It was older than the others. A huge treeshaded a polygonal bar and a courtyard paved with stone. He ordered aGlenlivet. 

"Some tree! What kind is it?"

"Banyan, " the bartender said. 

"Oh. " Hanging roots, dense green leaves, and thick nearly horizontalbranches created an inviting world. Oliver imagined a tree house. Hetook a table in the shade and looked out over the ocean. Maybe heshould just be a tourist and forget the whole thing. He'd gotten alongwithout his father this long; what difference would it make to meet himnow? He didn't know. That was the problem. That was why he had to lookup Kenso Nakano--Ken--on Alewa Heights. Chances were good that Ken washis uncle. 

Oliver rolled the whiskey around in his glass. A very tall man inshorts trudged past on the sand. He was a foot taller than a tall man. Long legs held his upper body high in the air. Like a heron, Oliverthought. Holy shit! Wilt Chamberlain! Wilt looked patient, proud, andtired. A sports king, still holding his head up. He scored a hundredpoints once. No one could take _that_ away from him. A familiar pangsqueezed Oliver. The nothing pang. What have you done? Nothing. 

Scotch trickled down Oliver's throat. Wilt kept a steady pace down thebeach. Oliver thought of getting a ticket to another world--thePhilippines, say--and disappearing. He could go to a village on aremote island and live until he ran out of money. It would be perfectfor a while, and then, to hell with it, he would get kidnapped or lostin the jungle; it wouldn't matter. 

No use. A force inside him would not let go. His spirit assumed a stoneface. Forward. 

He awoke the next morning at 4 a. M. , out of synch from jet lag. Half anhour later he gave up trying to get back to sleep. He dressed andwalked toward the shopping mall, stopping at a Tops Restaurant busywith cab drivers, early risers, and night owls winding down. He hadhalf a papaya, served with a piece of lemon. Delicious. Eggs came withtwo scoops of rice. Eggs and rice? Not bad. Full daylight came as hefinished a second cup of coffee and looked at his map. 

Alewa Heights was on the other side of the city. He could find a busthat would get him close, no doubt, but it was early to be visiting. Should he call? No. That was too much of a commitment. He wanted towalk to the address and see how he felt when he got there, leaving openthe chance for a last-minute escape. 

He decided to wait a day. Look up Kenso Nakano tomorrow, he toldhimself. He walked back to the hotel by a different route and fellasleep easily. 

Later that morning, he walked to Tops again and on to the Ala MoanaShopping Center. Acres of parking lot surrounded two decks ofstores--mainland chains and local names. There were fountains andsculptures, a mix of tourists and islanders, and, at one end, aJapanese department store named, "Shirokya. " He spent an hour inShirokya admiring the packaging and design, listening to Japanesemusic, and feeling proud of the evident care taken with details. _Ifyou're going to do something, do it well. _

He crossed Ala Moana Boulevard to the yacht harbor where rows of largesailboats were moored behind a stone breakwater. "Salty boats, " he saidto a guy who was smoking at the end of a long dock. 

"Better be. It's a mile deep right out there. " He looked down atOliver, amused. Oliver was evidently too short for the Pacific. 

He spent the rest of the day poking around Waikiki and considering hisvisit to Kenso Nakano. The next morning, he caught a bus to the otherside of the city. 

He walked up Alewa Drive in bright sunshine, enjoying the view of thecity and the ocean which grew in immensity as he climbed. The higher hegot, the more vast the ocean became and the smaller the island, untilhe began to sense that he was standing on a happy accident, a greenmiracle in a marine world. The planes taking off from the airport belowhim looked puny. It was an added pleasure to turn away from the Pacificto the street, to the plumeria, the bougainvillea, and the differentshades of green. Doves called. There was little traffic. 

The street bent higher around a switchback curve. A pickup was parkedin front of a wall and a gate which bore the number Oliver was seeking. Two heavyset men wearing shorts, T-shirts, and baseball caps wereeasing a boulder from the truck bed onto an impromptu ramp oftwo-by-sixes. A woman with trim graying hair and tanned cheeks watched. The planks sagged ominously. 

"She hold?"

"Plenty strong. "

"Damn--stuck. Excuse me, Mrs. Nakano. "

"I've heard worse, " she said. Oliver approached and braced one shoulderagainst the rock. 

"What is this?" one man said. "Who you?"

"Superman, " Oliver said. 

"You shrunk. " There was a cracking noise from one of the planks. "Watchit!" The other man got both hands under one edge of the boulder, benthis knees, and heaved. The boulder rocked and began to slide down theplanks. They bowed farther but held as the three of them guided theboulder to the street. 

"One good moss-rock, Mrs. Nakano. Kind of small, though. "

"I know you guys like a challenge, " she said. 

"Where you want it?"

She pointed through the gate. 

"We better do it. This start down the road, it end up in somebody'sliving room. " They walked the boulder through the gate and to one endof a flower bed. It took three of them to move it without usingcrowbars; Oliver helped until it was in place. 

"Hard to find a good moss-rock these days, " Mrs. Nakano said. "Howabout a soda?"

"Too early for anything else, " one said. "Sure. "

"Thank you so much for helping, " she said to Oliver. "Are you thirsty?"

"Yes. I was looking for you. I think. Actually, I'm looking for MuniNakano who has a brother--Ken?"

"Oh, " she said. "Muni is my brother-in-law. "

"My name is Oliver, Oliver Prescott. "

"How do you do, Oliver. This is Jimmy. This is Kapono. " The othersnodded, and she went inside. 

"Superman without a license--serious offense, " Jimmy said. 

"Batman worse, " Kapono said. 

"Still--he pretty strong for a midget. "

Oliver grinned and brushed the dirt off his hands. There were times tokeep your mouth shut. Mrs. Nakano returned and handed out cans ofPepsi. "This was good of you guys. " She turned to Oliver. "I'm sorry. Ken is on a trip. Can I help you?"

"Oh. " Oliver thought. "I need to find Muni. "

"Ken will be back the day after tomorrow. He is coming in tomorrownight--late. "

"I'll call on the phone, then, the day after tomorrow? Maybe aroundnine in the morning?"

"That will be fine. "

"Thanks, " Oliver said. He drained his soda and gave the can back toMrs. Nakano. "Good, " he said. He waved and started out the gate. 

"You want a ride down the hill?" Jimmy asked. 

"No need, " Oliver said. 

"He fly, " Kapono said. 

When Oliver got back to Waikiki, he had lunch at the banyan bar andthought about what had happened. Mrs. Nakano was nice. The moss-rockdelivery duo had been most respectful. The house was in an upscaleneighborhood. Ken Nakano was well established, for sure. You couldn'ttell much from the house; like the other houses near it, the sidefacing the street was simple, almost anonymous. What was individual wasout of sight. He was glad that he hadn't given Mrs. Nakano his middlename. Who knows what Jimmy and Kapono would have thought? They werepretty sharp. 

The following day, he took TheBus around most of the island. That'swhat it said in big letters on the side: "TheBus. " Mountains threethousand feet high separated the leeward and windward sides. Thewindward side was cooler, breezier, and less touristy. Steep sharpridges radiated out to a coastal plain. Deep valleys disappeared intomysterious shade, wilder than he would have thought, so close to acity. TheBus returned across a central highland between two mountaingroups. They passed a pineapple plantation, long rows of spiky bushesin red dirt, and a military base, Schofield Barracks. Pearl Harborspread out before them--large, calm, and silver, warships moored atdocks, small boats moving about. Then they were back in traffic, backin the city. He got out at the shopping center and walked to Waikiki. 

It had been cloudy most of the day. The wind had begun to blow hard. Gusts caught the hair of young women and whipped ebony parabolas threefeet over their heads. The women turned their heads like wild mustangs, laughing--counterpoint to their Asian composure and perfect make-up. This is it, Oliver thought. I could die right here. I'll never seeanything more beautiful. 

He ate dinner in a Thai restaurant. His waitress was another knockout. Across the room, someone who looked like Gomer Pyle was eating andjoking. It _was_ Gomer Pyle--Jim Nabors. Wilt. Gomer. Gorgeous women. Oliver began to feel that this was the way things should be, that itwas his due. He was Oliver. He had family on Alewa Heights, he was sureof it. Tomorrow would tell. 

At nine the next morning, Oliver called the Nakano's number. 

"Hello?" A quiet male voice. Island. 

"Hello, this is Oliver Prescott. Are you Ken?"

"Yes. "

"I'm trying to find Muni. "

"Michiko told me you helped with the moss-rock. "

"Not much. Those guys were pretty big . . . "

"They my football coaches, phys-ed teachers, " Ken said. 

"Aha. "

"Do you have business with my brother?"

"Not business, exactly. My mother knew him a long time ago. Did he evermention Dior Del'Unzio?"

"Mmmm . . . " Silence. "That _was_ a long time ago. "

"My middle name is Muni. My mother told me that Muni was my father andthat he had a brother named Ken. I think you are my uncle. " Ken made asound deep in his throat. 

"Mmmm . . . What year were you born? Do you have identification?"

"1958. Yes, I have I. D. "

"Mmmm . . . Muni lives in Japan, but he is in California, now. I willtry and contact him. I will give him your number. "

"Thank you. " Oliver gave him the hotel and room number and the name ofthe hotel in Eugene where he would be staying for a few days thefollowing week. "I live in Maine. He could reach me there, after that. "He gave Ken the address. 

"I'll see what I can do, " Ken said. 

"Thank you. "

"It may take a while. Muni unpredictable sometimes. "

"I'll wait, " Oliver said. 

"O. K. . . . Maybe we get together sometime. "

"I'd like that, " Oliver said. 

When Ken hung up, Oliver felt truly disconnected. Ken had sounded likea decent guy. Made sense, with a wife like that. My coaches . . . Hemust be a principal or a superintendent in the school system. Havingfinally made contact, Oliver wanted more. 

But no one called the next day. Or the next. Oliver thought aboutvisiting another island, but he didn't want to be away from the hotelthat long. He couldn't sit by the phone for four days, so he exploredthe city, checking back for messages at least once during the day. 

Honolulu was interesting. With the exception of Waikiki and thedowntown district, it was a residential city. There were distinctlydifferent neighborhoods in each of the narrow valleys that stretchedtwo and three miles back into the mountains. Other areas, like AlewaHeights, were built on the faces of the ridges; at night their lightsreached with sparkling fingers high into the dark. He found formalgardens, temples, and a red light district with hustlers of every raceand description. He found a dirt alley with mud puddles, wanderingchickens, barefoot children, and a grandmother with two gold teeth. Hediscovered small factories and, incredibly, in the middle of the city, a watercress farm. 

He read _The Advertiser_ every morning in Tops. He got to know the cityas well as he could in a few days. But no one called. 

At the end of the week, he took a city bus to the airport, preferringnot to travel with the vacation group. He was sad when he boarded theplane. He sat next to the small oval window and buckled his seat belt. The buckle clicked together with a finality that seemed to say: that'sit; you did what you could. 

The tour package had originated in Eugene. Oliver had chosen to returnthere instead of Portland. The cost was the same, and he could seeanother part of Oregon. He slept most of the way to the mainland. As herode to his hotel in a light rain, shivering a bit, he thought, Hawaiimade me soft. Good place, though. "Aloha, " he said, thinking of Ken andMichiko. 

10. 

The hotel registration clerk reached under the counter. "Message foryou, Mr. Prescott. " He handed Oliver an envelope. 

"Thanks. " Oliver took his bag to his room and sat on the bed. 

Message for: Oliver Prescott

Received by: Jack

Time: 2:15 p. M. 

Oliver--I have heard from my brother, Ken. I will be at The Devil'sChurn parking area, tomorrow, Monday, at 10:30 in the morning. Route101 on the coast, 20 miles north of Florence. Muni

Where the hell was that? He would have to rent a car. How far was it?Oliver's heart raced. He went back to the lobby and borrowed a map fromthe desk clerk. Florence seemed about two hours away. 

"Could I drive to here in two hours?" He pointed out the location. 

"No problem. "

Oliver went back to the airport and rented a car. He could leave earlyfrom the hotel, stop for breakfast on the way, and have plenty of time. He was still functioning on Hawaiian time; he stayed up late, watchedTV, and wondered about his father. Unpredictable, Ken said. 

In the morning, it rained off and on as he drove over the coastalrange. The road curved and swooped through steep-sided valleys. DouglasFirs grew straight and pointed on every slope; their branches trembledwith moisture; the light was luminous. There was an occasional burst ofdazzling sun and then the clouds rolled in again. Logging trucks ownedthe road. Only a few smaller roads met the highway. What would life belike ten miles to the left or right? A gas station? A tavern? Anotherworld. 

The coastal highway was wide open, almost barren in comparison to thelush woods. Rain swept in from the ocean. A TV forecaster in a truckstop spoke of the first winter storm. Lucky Oliver. The windshieldwipers worked well, though, and the rain let up as he eased into aparking area on a rocky headland. The Devil's Churn. No one else wasthere. It was 10:05. He put his head back and closed his eyes. Francesca came into his mind, tall and calm, and he wished she werethere so that he could introduce her to his father. He had an urge tostart the car, to leave quickly. Francesca looked sorrowful. "O. K. , " hesaid. She _was_ there, in a way. A car much like his turned off thehighway. 

A short man wearing black pressed pants and a gray windbreakerapproached his car. He was wearing a baseball cap that said, "SanFrancisco Giants. " Oliver got out. The man approached and looked at himclosely. He was clean-shaven, darker than Oliver, thinner, and moresevere. They were the same height. 

"You early, " his father said. 

"You, too. " Oliver smiled. 

"Come. " He turned and motioned with his hand toward a set of woodensteps that led to the rocks below. Oliver followed him to the steps anddown. Near the bottom, the steps were damp and slippery. A sign warnedthem not to go farther: _Danger! Large Waves Come Without Warning!_ Hisfather ignored the sign and walked to the edge of a deep fissure in thedark rock. It was twenty feet wide and thirty yards long, narrowing asit approached a circular grotto eroded into the base of the cliff. 

Farther out, a wave broke and raced up the fissure like a suicideexpress. Water slammed between the rocky edges, wild and frothing, seething, lurching, hissing, and sucking. Gradually, it receded. Oliver's father pointed to the other side and walked to the end of thefissure where they could look down into the round pool that had beenscoured into the rock. Shiny polished stones waited in its bottom forthe next wave. 

His father continued around the pool and then along the opposite edgeon a path six inches wide. The rain had started again. Oliver followedacross a steep bank of short wet grass. The next train roared in, justa few feet below them. He was terrified. If he slipped, there wasnothing to grab. Anyone who fell in would be torn apart in seconds;there was no chance of surviving the furious water. There was amalevolent feeling to the place. Bad things happened here. 

His father walked steadily on. Oliver dropped to his hands and kneesand crawled to the end of the path, trying not to look to his left. Hescrambled down to a rocky shingle near the mouth of the fissure. Hisfather waited, watching him. Oliver stood up, swallowed, and wiped mudoff his hands. "Scary place, " he said. 

"You not scared there, you an idiot, " his father said. 

"Shit, " Oliver said. 

"What's the matter?"

"I just realized that we've got to go back the same way. "

"How is your mother?"

"She's fine. She gave me your name--Oliver Muni Prescott. "

"Ah, " Muni said. "I am glad she is well. She was a beautiful woman. Smart, too. Didn't stick around to marry me. "

"She married Owl Prescott, an English professor. They had a girl, Amanda. Owl died. Then she married a guy named Paul Peroni from NewHaven, a good guy, a marble worker. " Oliver paused. "Ken told me thatyou live in Japan. "

"Near Kamakura. We have a son and a daughter, grown up, not quite yourage. You are--35. "

"Yes, " Oliver said. 

"You married?"

"I was. For four years. "

"You have children?"

"No. "

"Mmmm . . . "

"Large waves come without warning, " Oliver said, looking out at thegray ocean. 

"Beautiful here, " his father said. Oliver nodded. For the first time, asuggestion of a smile crossed his father's face as he waved at the wildshore guarded by The Devil's Churn. "Most don't get this far. What kindof work you do?"

"I program computers. Used to teach math. I like to make things out ofwood sometimes. " That seemed to sum it up. Not a very big sum, Oliverthought. 

"You know George Nakashima? Made furniture?"

"No. "

"Mmmm . . . He lived in Pennsylvania, died two, three years ago. " Hisfather reached inside his jacket and handed Oliver an envelope. "Thisyours, " he said. 

"What is it?"

"Small present. Maybe it help. "

Oliver folded the envelope and put it in a safe pocket. "Thank you, " hesaid. "But, you don't need to give me anything. "

"You only as rich as what you give away. "

They stood, not minding the rain. "What are you doing in the States?"Oliver asked. 

"Teaching one seminar at the University of California, Berkeley. I goback, now. " He turned toward the path. 

"Teach?"

"Architecture. Japanese kind. " His father climbed up onto the path andwalked along the edge, not hurrying, not hesitating. Oliver went to hishands and knees again. The express exploded past, but he forced himselfto look straight ahead. He was limp when he reached the wooden steps. At the top, his father was waiting as if nothing had happened. 

Oliver exhaled and took a deep breath. "Well . . . " He didn't knowwhat to say. His father's eyes were sparkling. 

"Maybe you come see us in Kamakura. I will be back there in one month. "

Oliver nodded in the Japanese way. His father bowed and walked back tohis car. Oliver watched. He waved as his father drove toward the road. His father waved back. Oliver thought he saw a smile, and then hisfather was gone. 

He was getting wet, he realized. He stopped in Florence for a cup ofcoffee. There was no sign of his father. He drove back to Eugene andtook a long hot shower. The envelope lay unopened on top of the tableby the TV. 

Oliver took a nap and went out for dinner. He sipped Glenlivet, a bitdisappointed--he had learned so little about his father. Also, he wasdepressed because the meeting was over; he had accomplished what he setout to do, and now what? His father was controlled, impressive. Oliverfelt good about that. If he hadn't found out many details about hisfather, he had learned something about himself. There was a sternnessin his father--an inner honor--that Oliver recognized immediately. Sameas me, he thought. His father helped put a face on it, made it moreaccessible and more acceptable. 

But what did his father think of _him_? I didn't wimp out or fall inand die, anyway, he told himself. Muni had seemed guardedly approving. Hard to tell. Perhaps Muni had felt himself on trial, as well. Hehadn't shown it. An architect--that was interesting. Oliver had astrong visual sense that had never found a satisfactory outlet. Hiswork had always been secondary in some way. Teaching math andprogramming had kept him going, but he felt unused, wasted. Maybe heshould have been an architect. At least, now, he knew where his visualability came from. 

Oliver mused over his drink and avoided opening the envelope in hispocket. He ate a piece of salmon grilled over alder chips and drank aglass of Oregon Sauvignon Blanc. The waiter brought a double espresso. Oliver opened the envelope with misgivings. 

There was a check and a note:

Oliver, if I give this to you, it is because you are my son. I can notknow until I meet you. I plan to be back home in Kamakura after thefirst of the year. Maybe you will visit. Years after 50 are extra. Whoknows what will happen? My thoughts are with you. Muni

The check was for $72, 000. Oliver stared at the numbers. Seventy-twothousand dollars? A lot more money than he'd ever had before. But themoment that he accepted the amount, he realized that the money was hisonly in the sense that he had control of it. He had it because hisfather had saved it. How could he just spend it on himself? The moneywasn't his; it was theirs--his and his father's and probably hisfather's parents as well. He replaced the envelope carefully in hispocket. A door opened in his heart, and another door closed. 

It would take time for these new feelings to sink in, but Oliver knewthat something had changed for good. He lingered over the espresso. Anawakened sense of time knocked in his ears and made the present momentmore intense. University students at a corner table might have beenfigures on a screen or spread around a vase. It was _right now_, Eugene, Oregon. He wanted to shout: "It will never be this way again. We're here! We're alive!" He smiled as he imagined a full moonappearing from behind a cloud. Francesca was standing on CrescentBeach, looking up at the moon, her hands clasped behind her. Oliverstood and bowed slightly to the waiter and to the room. 

The next morning he called Porter and told him when he'd be back. Hetook a bus from Eugene to Portland. The Willamette Valley was green andfertile, a nice after-image on the following afternoon as the planelowered over the brown Maine woods and the steely blue Atlantic. Hetook a cab to State Street and had a reunion with Verdi. Porter hadleft the apartment in tidy shape. There was a letter from Francesca. She had received the box and the heart. 

11. 

Francesca's note was written on a 3X5 card:

O, Thank you. 

F. 

Warmth rushed through Oliver as he stared at her writing. Francesca wasanswering in kind; she had accepted his valentine. "What do you thinkabout that, my friend?" he asked Verdi. "What do you think about that?"Verdi bumped against his ankle, a sign of high satisfaction. It wasgood to be home. 

Oliver looked around the living room. The mantle was empty without thewalnut box. He wished that he had a picture of Francesca to take itsplace. He unrolled the snakeskin and pinned it vertically to the wallby the steps, admiring the silver and ivory colors and the darkdiamonds that had curled around the snake. 

He went early to bed and spent a long time looking out at the night andremembering the trip: the gardens and the Japanese restaurant inPortland, Michiko standing by her moss-rock, Diamond Head, The Devil'sChurn, his father's face--there had been much to see and few words. What was there to say about these things? Owl had cautioned him morethan once: "_Listen to what people say, but pay more attention to whatthey do. _" What would he _do_ with the treasures of this trip?

Treasure, literally. One thing he could do was to put his father'smoney to work. He decided to open a stock brokerage account. He neededto get a programming project, so that he wouldn't start spending themoney. And he needed to see Francesca. She was more fun to think aboutthan job interviews; he drifted to sleep remembering her on CrescentBeach. 

In the morning, he answered two job advertisements that were in thepaper and then ate breakfast at Becky's. The day seemed to have startedwithout him--jet lag. The booth where he had first seen Francesca wasempty. He imagined her there and felt better, more centered. 

He walked to Monument Square and entered one of the big namebrokerages. He left quickly, put off by slick advertisements on thewalls and expensively dressed men exuding earnestness. Farther alongthe Square, he found a local firm staffed by a short man with a tiredexpression. The top of his head shone. Brown graying hair started justabove his ears, swept back, and hung loosely over the back of his shirtcollar. He was eating a bagel. A grandfather clock stood in one corner. 

"I'm thinking about opening an account, " Oliver explained. 

The man swallowed and raised his coffee mug. "Why?"

"I like your clock. " The man gave him a longer look and sipped coffee. 

"I bought it at an auction. Never been sorry. Sometimes, you've got topay for quality; sometimes you get a deal. "

"I like auctions, " Oliver said. 

"My name is Myron Marsh. I've been called, 'Swampy. ' I've been called, 'Mellow. ' I prefer, 'Myron. ' "

"What! No 'Shorty?' '' The corner of Myron's mouth twitched, but hesaid nothing. "O. K. , Myron. I'm Oliver Prescott. "

"You live around here, Oliver?"

"State Street, near the bridge. "

"You know anything about investing?"

"No. "

"What kind of money are you talking about?"

"Seventy-two thousand. "

"Not a bad start, " Myron said. "We could get some good balance withthat. " He opened a filing cabinet and handed Oliver a form. "Tell youwhat, " he said. "Why don't you fill this out and come back with a checkwhen you're ready. Then we can talk about where you want to go withthis and what we might do. "

"Thanks, " Oliver said. 

"Here's a booklet that explains our fees and general setup. "

Oliver went home and read the material. The application provided forjoint ownership of the account. An idea formed. He didn't have a will. If he died, his money would go to his mother. She didn't really needit. Why not make Francesca joint owner? Then, if he died, she could useit for herself and her girls. If she needed money for an emergency, itwould be there. She wouldn't have to do anything, just sign the formand know that the account existed. She might not like the idea, mightbe afraid of strings attached. But there weren't any, really--all shehad to do was sign the form and forget about it. 

The idea made him feel good. He filled out the form with everything buther signature, her mother's maiden name, and her social securitynumber. He called Myron to check about joint ownership. Either ownercould control the account, but he would be the primary owner, responsible for taxes. Monthly statements could be sent to each owner. "No need for that, " he told Myron, "just one would be enough. " They seta time to meet on the following Monday. Oliver was assuming that hewould see Francesca Sunday morning on the beach. 

On Saturday night, the weather forecast was for light rain and fog. Oliver could barely see the bridge when he woke up. He made a pot ofcoffee, drank one cup, and saved the rest in a large thermos which heput in his shoulder bag along with two mugs, half a quart of milk, anda manila envelope containing the account application. Forty minuteslater, he was sitting on a driftwood log near the spot at the beginningof the beach where he had last met Francesca and where The Early Peoplehad waited for the sun. 

It was warm for November. The tide was out. The water was gray, stippled and flattened by light rain. The air was fertile and salty. Mist blurred the rocks. A dog barked somewhere beyond the other end ofthe beach. Francesca appeared suddenly, holding a black umbrella overher head. When Oliver could see her smile, he stood and smiled back. 

"You made it, " she said coming closer. 

"Quite a trip, " he said. He wanted to hug her, but jackets and hats andher umbrella made it awkward. "How about some coffee?"

"Coffee? Superb!"

Oliver sat down on the log and poured them each a mug. "Milk?"

"Mmm. "

"Say when . . . "

"When. "

He handed her the mug. She sat beside him and shifted the umbrella topartially cover him. "I love my valentine. "

"Good. My friend, George, is an artist. He showed me how to cast it. What did you do with it? Not that it's any of my business. "

"Hid it. " Francesca giggled. "Where did you get the box?"

"Made it. "

"I wondered, " she said. "It's beautiful. Did you find your father?"

"I did. " He told her about Hawaii and meeting his father at The Devil'sChurn in Oregon. 

"Dramatic, " she said. Her eyes were soft. 

"It was. It was the way he wanted it. "

"Did you feel that he was your father?"

"Yes. We're different. I'm American, and he's Japanese-American, moreJapanese--he lives in Japan. But we were the same underneath--same kindof seriousness or intensity or something. "

"What does he do?"

"He's an architect. He was teaching a class at the University ofCalifornia, Berkeley, until the end of the year. "

"Is he married?"

"Yes. Two children--a boy and a girl, grown. "

"Oliver, you have a half brother and a half sister!"

"It's true. I haven't absorbed it yet. "

"Did you like him?"

"Yes. He was pretty impressive. Disciplined. Didn't say much. He gaveme some money--said you were only as rich as what you give away. What'syour mother's maiden name?"

Francesca stared at him. "Boisverte, " she said. 

"How do you spell it?" She told him and he repeated the letters to makesure that he had them right. "French, " he said. 

"Mais oui. Maman married Frankie, and here I am. "

"They did nice work. You want more coffee?" He refilled their mugs andput away the thermos. "Francesca . . . "

"Yes?"

"You're probably going to think I'm nuts. I hope you won't be mad atme. " He took a deep breath. "I'm putting the money my father gave me ina brokerage account. I want you to be joint owner, so that if anythinghappens to me you'll have the money. Or, if you need some for anemergency--it will be there. " Francesca took a swallow of coffee andstared out to sea. 

"You're a good one, " she said. And then, "I'm married to Conor. "

"You wouldn't have to pay any taxes on it. I do that. You wouldn't getstatements or anything. It would just be there if you need it. It couldbe backup for you and the girls, security . . . "

"Independence?" she teased. 

"Well--yes, if you want it. " The fat was in the fire. 

"Jacky said you were a sweetheart. "

Oliver's jaw dropped. Francesca laughed. "She said that she checked youout. She had hopes for you, but she said that the two of you wereincompatible for the long run. "

"Uh--she's right. "

"Don't be embarrassed, " Francesca said. "How else were you going tofind out? Look, I love Jacky, but I wouldn't want to be married to her. "

The image of Jacky attempting to intimidate Francesca with a whip madeOliver burst out laughing. "No, " he said, sputtering, "no. " Francescagave him a curious look. "Good looking woman, though, " he went on. "Notas beautiful as you. "

She accepted this without comment. It was a quality Oliver liked inher. Francesca _was_ beautiful. She knew it and didn't make a fussabout it. 

"I want the money to have a purpose outside myself, " he said. "Seriously--it would help me. It makes me feel better. I'm going to getsome work as soon as I can, so that I don't spend it. I have the formright here. " He held his bag under the umbrella and pulled out theform. "If I can keep it from getting soaked . . . " He reached into hispocket for a ballpoint pen. "Can I write on your back? I mean, use yourback? 'BOISVERTE. '" He said the letters as he wrote them. "What's yoursocial security number?"

She hesitated and then told him. "A very nice number, " he said. 

"I've always thought so. It will be especially nice if I make it toretirement age. "

"All you have to do is sign, " Oliver said. "Here. " He handed her thepen and swiveled his body so that she could use his back. 

"Yi! What am I doing?" The pen moved firmly across his shoulder blade. 

"A good thing, that's what you're doing--what we're doing, " Oliversaid, putting the application in the bag. 

"Cute pen, " she said. 

"It's a space pen--writes upside down or in zero gravity. NASA uses it. "

"My father worked for NASA. "

"Oh, yeah? What did he do?"

"He was an engineer, called himself a launch pad maintenance man. Heand my mom live near Daytona. He's retired. "

"You don't have a southern accent. "

"I grew up in Brunswick, just down the road from Bowdoin. My dad workedon the base for years. He's from upstate New York. "

"And your mother?"

"Local gal. She's gotten used to Florida. I don't know if I could. Imean, you can get used to just about anything; but . . . "

"Nice in January, " Oliver said. "I know what you mean. I grew up inConnecticut. " A harder shower passed over them. 

"I love the rain, " Francesca said. 

"Me, too. " They sat and finished their coffee, watching the rain andabsorbing their conversation. 

"Bye, Oliver, " Francesca said finally, standing with the umbrella. "You're going to get wet. "

"I won't melt. " She smiled quickly, understanding it as he meant, thathe would be there for her dependably. She walked back the way she hadcome. Oliver stayed, enjoying the calm. Francesca had that effect onhim. When he was with her, he felt that there was nowhere he needed togo. He was already there, at the center. The world spread around themat greater and greater distances. 

Jacky! He felt a stir of affection and shook his head. He should haveknown she would tell Francesca--the big picture, anyway, if not thedetails. He hoped Jacky would find someone soon. She wasn't bashful. There was bound to be somebody in Maryland who would love to obligeher. Whoever he was, he was going to get a workout--and good crabcakes. Jacky had been straight with him. Oliver appreciated that. Andhe'd been straight with her. Maybe that was why he had a warm feelingwhen he thought of her; there was no residue of guilt or things heldback. 

He stretched and walked to the main road, taking the track along therocks and then though the woods. He had left the Jeep in the approacharea by the gate-house; the park was officially closed. A piece ofpaper was folded under one windshield wiper. It had a heart on it, drawn in pencil. When he got home, he taped it over the mantel. 

Myron read through the application the next day and tapped his desktopslowly. "The co-owner, " he said, "will have full privileges. "

"Right. "

"If she calls and identifies herself and says, "Myron, sell everythingand send me a check, " that's what I'll do. "

"Right. "

"Very good, " Myron said dubiously. "Just making sure. " He put theapplication and the check in a folder. "So, how quick do you want toget rich?"

"That's a trick question, I bet, " Oliver said. 

Myron appraised him again. "It is and it isn't, " he said. "Rewards arewhat you get for taking risk. If you want a big reward right away, youhave to take a big risk. Over a longer period, you can take smallerrisks--the smaller rewards add up; the smaller losses don't wipe youout. But there's another consideration. " He drew a double headed arrowon the top of a yellow pad. "People have different senses of time. "

Myron darkened each arrowhead. "Some live for the future; some live inthe moment; some--most--are in the middle. It's a natural thing. As faras risk/reward goes, we can keep a given balance in any time-horizon. We can be risk-adverse, say, short-term or long-term. " Myron underlinedthe arrow. 

"What we don't want to do is mix up the two. Short--term and long-terminvestments are different. Not only are the investments themselvesdifferent, but someone who is patient and looks far ahead won't behappy with in-and-out activity. Someone who is action-oriented, who isused to seeing results right away, won't wait years for a company todevelop or for interest rates to drop. You see what I'm getting at?"

"I do, " Oliver said. "It's interesting. I guess I'm more toward thepatient end. Risk? I don't mind risk. But I wouldn't want to lose morethan half. It's important to me that half, anyway, always be there. "Myron wrote a few words on the pad. 

"There are advantages to the patient approach, " he said. "Taxes arelower if you hold securities long term. You can buy into promisingcompanies cheaply--if you can give them a few years to grow. "

"I like that, " Oliver said. Myron made another note. 

"How about if I get you started, make the first buys?"

"Sounds good. "

"As time goes on and you get into it, you may want to take a moreactive part in making the decisions. We'll talk as we go along. "

"O. K. "

"You'll get a monthly statement. "

"Just one--to me, " Oliver interrupted. 

"Yes, " Myron added to his notes. "One statement. Call me or drop by anytime. "

"O. K. Thank you. " Oliver prepared to leave. "When do we start makingmoney?"

"Soon as the check clears, " Myron said. 

Should be interesting, Oliver thought, walking home. Myron was arealist. He didn't seem like someone who would rip you off or makehurried decisions. Porter came out the front door just as Oliver turnedin from the sidewalk. 

"Hey Porter, thanks for taking care of Verdi. I haven't seen you sinceI got back. "

"No problem. It was a help, actually. And, it gave me a chance to getto know Arlen better. " Porter beamed. 

Oliver didn't want to hear any confidences. "How's the baking going?"

"Solid. " Porter looked amused at Oliver's unease. "Scones are hot thisyear--can't make enough of them. Later, Slugger. " He punched Oliverlightly on the arm and unlocked a sleek black Toyota. Oliver watchedhim drive away. Porter was like a character in a comic strip; a sixfoot scone in a thought balloon hovered over his car. 

Oliver collected his mail. Gifford Sims of The First FundamentalistHospital was interested in talking with him. There were a couple ofbills. A Thanksgiving invitation from Amanda. "Mother and Paul arecoming. Heather has been asking about you. "

12. 

Sunday morning was cold and windy. Oliver waited at the beach, walkingback and forth in front of the driftwood log. After half an hour, hepoured a cup of coffee from the thermos. Steam curled up and was blownaway. He had an interview the following day at the Fundamentalisthospital; he ought to iron a shirt. Wear a tie? Francesca appeared, walking with long strides. 

"Hi, " she said. 

"Just in time, " he said, holding his cup in the air. "I was going todrink yours. What's the matter?"

"Conor and I are having trouble. God, that smells good!" Oliver handedher a cup. "Mmm--nice and hot. "

"I'm sorry, " Oliver said. 

"I don't want to bother you about it . . . "

"It's no bother. "

"Conor didn't get home until very late. I had trouble waking him up towatch the girls. I probably shouldn't have come. "

"Do you want to go back? I'll walk with you to the gate-house. "

"O. K. Just a second. Let's enjoy this. "

Oliver refilled his cup. "Getting nippy, " he said. 

"Snow anytime, " Francesca said. She looked at him and smiled--somethingto share, their snow. "Conor's not been happy with me. He plays around. It's a mess. "

"Oh. "

"I don't know what to do. We've been talking about making a change, spending the winter in Costa Rica. He says that his job isn't goinganywhere; he wants a break to decide what to do next. "

"Oh. " Oliver tried for a bright side. "You could practice your Spanish. "

"We could argue in Spanish, " she said. 

"What's his problem? Not that it's any of my business. "

"I don't know. Mommy, I suppose. Conor tends to think that the worldowes him a living. Conor's world is 95% female. He's cute and needy andout-front about it; there's always some woman ready to give him what hewants. "

"Tough life, " Oliver said. 

"He's not a happy man, " she said, "at least, never for long. He usesthat, too--the wounded Conor. Well, somebody tried to save him lastnight. "

"Pretty hard on you, " Oliver said. 

"I married him, " she said. "I'd divorce him tomorrow, but it isn't justme I have to think about. "

"Damn, " Oliver said. "I'd marry you the day after. "

"Thank you. Would you promise to make me a cup of coffee like thisfirst thing in the morning--for the rest of my life?"

"Or my life, " Oliver said. 

"Oh!" There was a tear in Francesca's eye. He thought she was going tohug him, but she turned and looked toward the water. "I've got tofinish one thing before I start another, " she said. "I don't thinkthere's much point to it, but I've got to try. I'm going to go with himon this trip. "

"I'll see you in the spring, then--I hope, " Oliver said. "I opened thataccount, by the way. I don't have the number yet, but you don't needit. If you get stuck for money, call Myron Marsh at Marsh and Cooleyand tell him who you are. It would probably take a couple of days, though. "

"Myron Marsh . . . "

"He has an office on Monument Square. "

"O. K. Let's go, " she said. 

They walked back side by side. "I like your Jeep, " Francesca said whenthey reached the main road. 

"Tried and true, " Oliver said. "Room for you and the girls. " She didhug him then, squeezing tightly against him. He felt her sob twice. Hislegs were set like granite posts. He could have held her forever. Shestepped back. "Francesca, " he started, but she shook her head, no, andput one hand up to his cheek. Her thumb rested across his lips and thenwithdrew. She seemed to be memorizing his face. 

"Bye, " she said. 

"Bye. " She turned and walked away. Oliver sighed heavily, got into theJeep, and drove in the other direction. His feelings were careeningaround, but his mind was clear. He and Francesca were together, eventhough they were apart. What he wanted, how beautiful she was, whatmight happen--the rush of his feelings did not alter that fact. 

He drove aimlessly, passed the mall, and headed north. In Yarmouth, hestopped for breakfast at the Calendar Islands Motel on Route 1. Twodining rooms were filled with elderly couples and the families of L. L. Bean executives. He signed for a table and waited in line. It waspleasant to stand there as though nothing had just happened. He hadgotten up in his restored cape with the large addition, fed his goldenretriever, and driven three miles for breakfast the way he did everySunday. He had a slight hangover and a secure future. He was on board. 

It really wouldn't be so bad, he thought--to be on board. What thehell, even a tie . . . The hostess led him to a sunny table. He ate alarge plate of blueberry pancakes with a side of bacon, feeling quitethe citizen, practically married, a man with responsibilities. 

But--you don't know her. This wasn't true, he decided. He knew herwhere it mattered--in her heart. Boisverte, he knew her maiden name. What difference did it make, where she went to school or what herbrother was like? Didn't she say she had a brother? Conor would neverchange. Why wouldn't she leave him? She would--when she was ready. He, Oliver, would be there. The waitress swished away. Nice legs, heregistered. Too young, though. You can't have them all, he told himselfas she disappeared into the kitchen. 

When he got home, he ironed a blue oxford-cloth shirt and a pair ofdress chinos. He washed the dishes and turned on the TV, mostly toavoid the temptation to go to Deweys. The Patriots lost in the fourthquarter. 

The next morning Oliver was on the road in time to stop for a bagel. Hemade an effort to keep crumbs off his shirt and tie. He was confidentthat he could handle any software needs that the hospital might have;it was the group dynamic that put him on the defensive. He felt falsewhen he made the little gestures required to fit in. He knew how, buthe also knew that eventually he would be unmasked and auto-ejected fromthe group like a splinter from its hand. Maybe the FirstFundamentalists wouldn't be so bad. Here I come, he thought. Love yourneighbor. Forgive him his independence. Let's get this over with. 

Gifford Sims was large. He wore a dark suit made from a lastingsynthetic material. His black hair was carefully combed; his face wassquare and unsmiling. "Come in, " he said, indicating a chair whereOliver was to sit. He rubbed his chin once and gazed out his officewindow at the carefully tended parking lot. He was not in a hurry tospeak, but he did not seem put off by Oliver. That was one thing aboutbeing short--you didn't threaten people. 

"We had someone in Boston doing the work, " he said finally. "Expensive. "

"Ah, " Oliver said. 

"She worked about twenty hours a week, sometimes more. "

"I see, " Oliver said. 

"We don't work on Saturdays unless we have to--babies don't always fitinto our schedule. " Gifford swiveled from the window and watchedOliver. Hard to blame them, Oliver started to say, but he smiledinstead, acknowledging the joke. It was a joke, he was pretty sure, although it was hard to tell from Gifford's expression. 

"It appears from your experience that you could handle the work. Arethese references current?"

"Yes, they are. "

"I have no further questions. " Silence. Gifford Sims, conversationalist. Oliver stood. 

"Thank you for taking the time. Lovely place . . . " He waved his arm, vaguely including the hospital and the parking lot. "Well, goodbye, Mr. Sims. "

"Goodbye. "

Oliver walked toward the main entrance. A young woman in the halllooked at him seriously. Her hair was blonde, the color of freshlyplaned maple. She had dark eyes and a compact graceful body. Oliver'sstomach tightened; he straightened and nodded as he passed. At thefront door, he said, "So long, " to the receptionist, a middle-agedredhead. 

"Y'all come back, now!" Oliver stopped. 

"Where you from?"

"Georgia, honey. "

"Good deal, " Oliver said, "the sun just came out. " The hospital, Gifford Sims notwithstanding, had a light atmosphere. Aside from alarge painting of Jesus near the entrance, the tone was functional andnon-denominational. A sign announced that two babies had been bornovernight. The hospital was known for its high-quality birthing. Icould work here, he thought. But he had no idea whether he'd get thejob. Gifford Sims hadn't exactly been blown over. On the other hand, there weren't many people around who could step right in and take over. Most good programmers already had jobs or would want full-time work. 

Oliver drove home. In the mail, there was a large flat package from abookstore and a letter from Myron saying that the account was open. Hewrote the number on a card and put it in his wallet in case he shouldsee Francesca. He decided not to send her a letter; she had her handsfull. If she needed cash, she knew how to get it. The arrangement gavehim a warm feeling when he thought about it. He was useful to her, evenif she never touched the money. 

There was a gift note inside the package: "This is the guy I wastelling you about. Home in one month. Muni. " The book was by GeorgeNakashima, _The Soul of a Tree. _ Oliver was immediately attracted tothe photographs of walnut, cherry, and chestnut tables. The tops weremade from wide slabs that had been left in their natural contours. Where the wood had separated as it dried, Nakashima had inlaidbutterfly keys to prevent the splits from widening. The keys were madeof contrasting woods--rosewood and oak. Their butterfly or bow tieshapes became design elements, quasi-geometric signatures. Oliver wasfascinated. 

Later, in Deweys, he tried to explain to Mark. "The tables knock meout. I mean, sure, it's hard to go wrong with a great piece of walnut. The guy must have gotten every trophy tree in Pennsylvania. But what Ilove is the way he treated splits. He repaired them with thesebutterfly keys. " Oliver made a quick drawing and showed it to Mark. "The keys _improve_ the look. They add the human touch, so that itisn't only a beautiful piece of wood--it's a beautiful piece made evenbetter. He turns a flaw into a strength by acknowledging it, workingwith it instead of trying to hide it. "

"Righteous, " Mark said. "I want one. "

"They're all in collections, now. The guy is famous, " Oliver said. "Ithink that his daughter is carrying on the tradition. "

"Must be nice to make something that lasts, " Mark said. 

"You've got enough money to make things, " Oliver said. "You've got anart degree, right?"

"Yeah, I can draw. But there's no money in it. "

"Why can't you do both?"

"I try sometimes, but it's hard to get into it. If I make a gooddrawing or painting, then what--I've got to frame it and beg somegallery owner to sell it for fifty percent of not much? Frig that. It'snot like I'm a frustrated genius. "

"Just frustrated, " Oliver said. 

"Look who's talking. Maybe you ought to forget programming and set up acabinet shop. "

"Maybe, " Oliver said. 

"Speaking of frustrated, " Mark said, "how are the ladies?"

"Not bad, " Oliver said. "I'm in love. "

"Oh, no!"

"It's complicated, " Oliver said. "Remember Francesca?"

"Big trouble. "

"Yeah, I guess. She's still with her husband, but maybe not for long. He's a jerk. "

"A bill-paying jerk. "

"He's not right for her. "

"And you are?" Mark set his pint on the bar. 

"I am--or could be--if she wanted. "

"So what are you going to do, put your life on hold?"

"I'm going to work, save some money. "

"No indoor sports?"

"Oh, that, " Oliver said. "I don't know. "

Mark shook his head. "Well, love is one thing, but I'd keep in practiceif I were you. "

"Maybe I'll buy a new sweater. "

"Now you're talking. What was his name again? George . . . "

"Nakashima. "

"The man!" Mark drank. "So how did you hear about him?"

"My father sent me the book I was telling you about. "

"You never told me about your father. " Oliver's explanation took themthrough another pint. 

"Something else, " Mark said. "You're lucky. My father was a drunk--tookoff when I was pretty young. He was hard on my mom. "

"Do you ever see him?"

"No. She heard that he died a few years ago. "

"Too bad, " Oliver said. 

"I don't know what his problem was, " Mark said. "My mom said that hehad a bad time in the Korean War. But . . . "

"How's your mom doing?"

"Fine. She's got a boyfriend with a bike. They tool around Albuquerque, have a good time. "

"Love it! Look, I'm out of here. "

"See you, " Mark said. 

Oliver walked home thinking that Mark seemed more vulnerable thanusual. Everybody's got a story. Everybody's got some kind of problem. It started raining. He was wet through when he got home. 

"Soaked, Verdi, " he said. He changed into dry clothes and considereddinner. Instant red beans and rice? The doorbell rang. He went down thestairs and opened the door to the street. Jennifer Lindenthwaite wasstanding there, dripping. 

"Hi, Oliver. "

"Jennifer!"

"Aren't you going to ask me in?"

"Sure. Come in and dry off. I got soaked, too. Just got home. " He ledher upstairs and into the apartment. "What's happening?"

"Oh, nothing, " she said. "Rupert threw me out . . . I'm pregnant. "

13. 

"Gaaaagh . . . Jennifer, that's terrible! That's great. Imean--here's a towel. " Oliver whipped in and out of the bathroom andhanded her a maroon towel. "Do you want to take a shower? How about acup of tea?"

"Tea would be lovely. I _will_ take a shower. " She closed the bathroomdoor behind her, and Oliver rushed to fill the tea kettle. The showerstarted. Milk? Sugar? Honey?

"Verdi, " he called, "Jennifer is here for tea. " The words echoed. Verdiwas nowhere to be seen; probably he had taken refuge upstairs. Oliverpaced back and forth from the stove to the fireplace. Why had she cometo him? He felt the future looming, threatening to sweep away thecontrolled life that he complained about but that suddenly seemed moreattractive. 

The shower stopped. Jennifer stepped out a few minutes later wearinghis Navy blue bathrobe. She was rosy cheeked and much recovered. 

"Uh, how do you like your tea?"

"Do you have any chamomile?"

"Umm, no. I should get some herb tea. All I have is English Breakfast. "

"Oh, that's fine. Just a little milk, thanks. " She sat next to thefireplace and looked around the apartment while Oliver fixed the tea. 

"I don't know, " he said, handing her a mug. "Whiskey might be a betteridea. " Jennifer took a sip and sighed. 

"That's so good. I forgot how nice your apartment is. "

"It's large enough, " Oliver said. "Walking distance from Deweys--I likethat. So, what happened? You look great. "

"I feel great. I'm just starting to show a little--getting into thefifth month. " Oliver counted backwards. "What happened is that Rupertfreaked out when I told him I was pregnant. He became--I don'tknow--_distant. _ I thought he was just nervous and would get used toit, but he got more and more uptight. I couldn't take it anymore. " Shedrank her tea and sighed again. 

"So today, I . . . I said to him: 'Look, Rupert, _what_ is thematter? We're going to have a baby. What is _wrong_ with you?' I guessI should have been more diplomatic. You know--said something like:'Rupert, I need your affection; I'm feeling all alone here. ' But Ididn't _feel_ diplomatic. I was mad as hell, actually. "

Owl's words echoed: "_Anger is the outer face of fear. _"

"Scared, " Oliver said. 

Jennifer looked at him. "Maybe so, " she said. "I thought we had afamily. I thought we were all set to go. "

"Well, sure, " Oliver said. 

"'So, ' Rupert said, 'who's the father?'

"'What do you mean?' I said. 

"'It's not me, ' Rupert said. I was shocked. Anyway, it came out that hehas a very low sperm count. He knew it all the time and never told me. I told him that you and I had a one time thing last summer, and hefreaked out. 

"'I'm not paying for his kid, bla, bla, bla. '

"I practically begged: 'Couldn't it be like we adopted him--or her?'

"'It's his problem, ' he said. He called my baby a problem. How could helove me if my baby is a _problem?_"

"Good question, " Oliver said. "Jesus, Jennifer. "

She put down her tea and held her arms out to him. "Come feel, " shesaid. She loosened the bathrobe and guided Oliver's hand to her belly, warm and taut. 

"Amazing!" Oliver said. 

"I'm still getting used to it, " she said. "I'm over the morningsickness. "

Oliver withdrew his hand slowly and straightened. "What are you goingto do?"

"Tonight?"

"Well, for starters . . . "

"I don't know. I just wanted to see you, to tell you. You weren't herewhen I got home. I couldn't find a parking place anywhere close. " Hervoice trailed off. "I've got a credit card; I can stay at the HolidayInn. "

"No way, " Oliver said. "You might as well stay here. Your clothes areall wet. " A relieved smile brightened her face. 

"Thank you, Oliver. "

"Music, " he said. He was hearing hearing strains from _La Traviata_ inhis mind. He wanted to play the opera, but he was afraid Jennifer wouldfind it too heavy. He played a tape of Native American flute melodiesechoing down a canyon. Soothing stuff. 

"Oh, I love this music, " she said. 

"Carlos Nakai, " Oliver said. "Are you hungry?" He was newly concerned. There were two of her. Check that--one of her and one of them, a newone. Jennifer looked pleased. 

"I've been so upset, it's hard to tell. I think so, actually. "

"I have some red beans and rice mix--no canyon greens, though. " Shelooked puzzled. He explained, "I was thinking of the music--what wouldgo with the rice and beans and the music--veggies from a canyon. "

"You're so imaginative, Oliver. "

"Frozen peas, best I can do. " He waved the bag in the air. They ate andwatched the news. Oliver slid a clean pillow case on the extra pillowand put a lamp on the other side of the bed. Seduction scenes wereeasier. They happened or they didn't in a great rush. Jennifer couldn'tfind a book that she wanted to read. She took a copy of _Wooden BoatMagazine_ upstairs, and Oliver followed her awkwardly. 

They lay side by side while she paged through the magazine. "I likethis one. " She pointed out a 32 footer at anchor in Penobscot Bay. Thebuilder and his wife were enjoying cocktails. A golden retriever wasslumped near the bow, his head between his paws. 

"Nice, " Oliver said. "I wonder if Verdi would like it. Remember Verdi, my cat? Verdi, where are you anyway?"

"I haven't seen him since I got here, " Jennifer said. 

"He's hiding. Anti-social. He'll come out when he's hungry. "

"I'm not hungry now, " Jennifer said, putting down _Wooden Boat. _ "Thatwas a good dinner. Thanks for taking care of me. "

"You're welcome. " Oliver turned out his light. 

"Nighty night, " she said and rolled to her side. The comforter wentwith her. She switched off her light and snuggled back against him. Hepulled the comforter back over him and brushed her hip with his hand. 

"I'm glad you came, " he said. 

"Don't be a stranger, " she said, settling closer. Her body was warm andself-contained. He patted her in response and said nothing. A baby? Helay there as Jennifer fell asleep. Her breathing was steady andunhurried. There was a lot to figure out. In the morning . . . He'dfigure out what to do in the morning. 

He awoke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Jennifer climbing thesteps. "Here you are, Sleepy. " She put a mug and a small glass downnear his head. "Milk in here. You don't use sugar, do you? I don'tremember you taking sugar. "

"Mmmughh. No. Thanks. "

"I'll be right back. " She returned with another cup and sat beside him, leaning back on a pillow propped against the wall. 

"Good, " Oliver said, balancing the mug on his chest. 

"Do you like it strong?"

"Yes, " he said. "I mean--while you're at it. I usually buy a darkroast. "

"That's what I like, " Jennifer said. "Organic. " She drank and put downher mug. "Do you think I'm awful?"

"Huh? No. Why should I?"

"Well, being a loose woman and all that. And then barging in withoutany warning. "

"What else were you going to do?"

"I'm not awful?" She smiled and turned closer. 

"Of course not. "

"You're not mad at me?" Oliver shook his head. "Well--could I have alittle hug?" She moved down and opened her arms. The bathrobe fellopen. Oliver put down his mug. He rolled over, partially covering her, his arms around her. "I won't break, " she said and drew him closer. "Oh, Oliver . . . " She was deep chested with high flat breasts thatwere beginning to swell. He fit his face over her shoulder, and shehugged him tightly. "Oh. " She moved her hands down his back and underhis shorts, pulling him to her. Oliver's thoughts skidded away. 

"Jennifer, " he breathed in her ear. "Jennifer?"

"God, " she said. "Do something. " She pushed his shorts down and reachedaround for his cock. As he entered her, she quivered and pressedagainst every part of him. "Oh! It's been forever, " she said. "Oh!" Shewanted him on her. She wanted him to come, to fill her up, to take hisdue. Oliver became a lord riding his finest horse, his property, hisright. 

"God, " she said an hour later when he woke up again. "Rupert never madelove to me like that. "

"Yumm, " Oliver said. He was in a pleasant haze. "I think . . . "

She waited. "Yes?"

"I think we should have breakfast. "

"Definitely. "

"I don't have anything--how about Becky's?"

Oliver was first in the bathroom. He was looking out over the street, waiting for Jennifer, when Verdi bumped his ankle. "There you are!Where have you been? Under the couch?" Verdi ran expectantly into thekitchen. "You shall have a mighty breakfast. "

Verdi gobbled his food and stood by the door. Oliver let him out. Theclouds were low and dark; a three day rain was settling in. Verdi slunkaround the corner of the house, and Oliver went back upstairs. 

"All dry, " Jennifer said, brushing a hand over her skirt. 

"Here's a hat, if you want it. Could rain any time. We'd better drive. Hey, you look good in a Mariner's hat. "

"I like hockey, " she said. "Not the fighting, the skating. They aresuch great skaters! My father used to take me to Bruins games. My caror yours?"

"Doesn't matter. Mine's closer. "

"I love Jeeps, " she said, getting in. As they turned down Park Street, Oliver began to be troubled. When he parked at Becky's, he realizedthat he was worrying about Francesca. He imagined her face, calm andquestioning. What if she were there? He took a deep breath, pulled openthe front door, and walked in. No Francesca. Good--one problem put offfor another time. 

He chose a table at the far end of the diner and sat facing the wall. Jennifer made herself comfortable and surveyed the crowd. 

"I like it here, " she said. "I don't know why I don't come here moreoften. "

"Good place, " Oliver said. Jennifer ordered a fruit bowl with granolaand yogurt. He asked for bacon and eggs, homefries with green peppersand onions, and Texas toast. "Cruise all day on this, " he said when thewaitress delivered. He took a bite of bacon. They couldn't put off theconversation forever. "So--my baby, huh?"

Jennifer smiled. "Your baby. You're the man. "

"I'll be damned. " He found himself grinning. 

"You don't look unhappy--to be a daddy. " It was a question. 

"Well, I'm not. " He was getting used to the idea, feeling a bit proud. 

"I like this fruit, " she said. 

"What do you think we should do?" As the words came out of his mouth, Oliver knew that he had crossed a line. The line had been crossedalready--she was going to have his, their, baby--but he hadn't admittedit. We. 

She looked at him for a moment and dropped her eyes. She poked aroundin her fruit with her spoon. "We could be happy, " she said quietly. 

"We'll need a crib or something, " Oliver said. 

A tear splashed on Jennifer's fruit bowl. "Yes. Yes, a crib. And a babyblanket. "

"A car seat, " Oliver said solemnly. Jennifer wiped her face clean. 

"A car seat. " She giggled. "Apple pie. Do you like apple pie?"

"You're kidding, " Oliver said. "Of course. "

"I make good apple pie, " she said. 

"What about Rupert?"

"Rupert is history. "

"But you're married. "

"Not for long, Sweetums. He can't wait to get rid of me and have hisprecious space back. " Oliver thought of his apartment and felt a smallpang. "It's not even his house; his parents let him have it when theymoved to Hilton Head. Everything in it, practically, was theirs. Icouldn't get rid of any of it. God, I hated those chairs. "

"My place is big enough, " Oliver said. 

"Your place is wonderful, " she said. "For now, anyway. Is there awashing machine?"

"Around the back--there's a utility room. Damn!"

"What's the matter?"

"Thanksgiving. I'm supposed to go to my sister's. "

Jennifer lifted her spoon triumphantly. "No more Hilton Head! That'swhere Rupert and I were going. Oh, how wonderful!" She lowered herspoon. "The beach is nice, but Rupert's mother--what a trip. "

"Wait 'til you meet my sister. " Jennifer's face fell. "Just kidding, "Oliver said. "To hell with it. Why don't we have our own Thanksgiving?"

"Would they be upset?"

"Not really. I can go another time--maybe over the holidays. We don'tget along all that well, but I like her daughter, Heather. I like being'Uncle Ollie. ' "

"Already, I'm a disruptive influence, " Jennifer said. 

"We could have a good time, " Oliver said. "They're going to roast aturkey at Deweys. "

"I could make some pies. "

"Solid. I'll call Amanda when we get home. "

"I'll go get my clothes. " She looked at him for confirmation. 

Oliver nodded. It was a done deal. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"No. It will be easier if I just go. "

"O. K. I'll get some food. "

Later, in Shop 'N Save, Oliver marveled at how easy it was to startliving with someone. He made reasonable guesses at what Jennifer mightlike to eat. He remembered chamomile tea. I was married once, hereminded himself. I know how to do this. A baby? That seemed unreal. Yet he had felt it, secure and growing. Probably, Jennifer shouldn'tdrink too much. He bought a bottle of Merlot and a six pack of ale. Hebought organic corn chips made with what he thought was the good kindof fat. She said that she wanted to make pies. Better leave that stuffto her, he thought. We can get baking dishes at The Whip and Spoon onCommercial Street. It would be nice if that programming work camethrough. He should follow up with Gifford Sims. Jennifer was stillworking. She could help with the bills. 

He made two trips up the stairs with armloads of groceries. Porter'scar was parked in front. It had been there often, lately. Oliverwondered if he had moved in. "The house is filling up, Verdi. " He putaway the food, listening to Van Morrison and The Chieftains. His eyecaught the heart that Francesca had drawn--probably not a good idea toleave it there. He peeled the tape from the wall, folded the heartcarefully, and put it with the Marsh and Cooley account information ina brown manila envelope. Something told him to keep the account andFrancesca to himself. If he could put Francesca in a separate place, keep her from Jennifer, he wouldn't have to choose between them. He wasuneasy about this, but he didn't know what else to do. He had a plasticfiling box where he kept his income tax information returns. He slidthe envelope into the folder for the oldest year, closed the box, andput it in a corner of the closet. 

"I'm home, Handsome!" Oliver trotted downstairs and took a load ofclothes from Jennifer. 

"I'll put them on the couch for now, " he said. "I'll make some shelvesor something. How did it go?"

"Fantastic. Rupert was just leaving when I got there. I told him I wasmoving out and he hardly changed expression. I told him I'd have mystuff out by tomorrow night. "

"You don't fool around. "

"Only with you. " Jennifer hugged him and stepped away. "More in thecar, " she said happily. They made several trips. "This is most of it. The summer clothes are put away; I'll get them tomorrow. And the sheetsand towels I bought--I'm damned if Rupert's going to get those. "

"Right, " Oliver said. "You should park where the Jeep is, behind thehouse. The next time I go out, I'll park on the street when I comeback. There's only one space with the apartment. "

"Oh, I'm driving you out. "

"No problem. When you get to nine months, you shouldn't be lookingaround for parking. "

"There's my cross country skis and my bike . . . "

"We can put those in the basement. I have a storage area down there. "

"It's so cozy here. " Jennifer was glowing. 

"I bought some chamomile tea. "

"Oliver, you're the perfect man--_my_ perfect man--my PM, my PrimeMinister. "

"Does that mean you want some?"

"It would be wonderful. "

Oliver made tea, thinking that Jennifer had a lot of stuff. Shelveswere a necessity. There were two bare walls upstairs. He could buy pineand use the two pieces of walnut for the top shelves. Maybe not. Savethe walnut for something else. 

"Oh God, the books!" Jennifer said. 

"Huh?"

"I have a lot of books. "

"More shelves, " Oliver said. "I'll help you with the books. "

"We'll need boxes. "

"I'll get some tomorrow at the U-Haul place. "

"Rupert will be gone after nine. "

"I don't care, " Oliver said. 

"It just makes things smoother, " she said. 

By late afternoon the next day, they had carried the last load into theapartment. The living room was full of boxes. They sat at the kitchentable and made plans. Jennifer was going to work in the morning, theday before Thanksgiving. Oliver was going to make shelves and then movehis tools down to the basement. They could use his workbench to holdthe additional kitchen stuff. Jennifer had a whole set of dishes shehad bought, refusing to use the ones that had belonged to Rupert'sparents. 

Gifford Sims called and asked if Oliver could start the followingMonday. Oliver told Gifford that he'd be there bright and early. Jennifer bought a bushel of apples and another baking dish. By noon onThanksgiving Day, most of the shelves were built and filled. The bedwas remade with tan sheets that were bordered with blooming roses. Verdi was calming down, and the rain had stopped. The apartment smelledof pie. Boxes of books were stacked high in one corner of the livingroom. Not much space left, Oliver thought, but much more homey. 

"So--Deweys later?" he asked. 

"The pies are ready, " Jennifer said. "I hope it won't be too smoky. "

"We don't have to stay long, " Oliver said. 

Jennifer stood. "Nap time, " she said. Oliver watched her hips swingeasily around the corner of the steps. He thought of laying out theremaining shelves, yawned, and followed her upstairs. 

14. 

It was cold and crisp, nearly dark. A neon Guinness sign glowed througha window by the door to Deweys. Oliver shifted the box of pies to onearm and hugged Jennifer with the other. He had a momentary desire to gohome and keep the news to themselves. 

"Here we go, " he said, opening the door. Music, warmth and the smell ofale and cigarettes poured out. Jennifer stepped in ahead of him. Theystood for a moment, adjusting to the light. 

"Olive Oil!"

"Hey, George. Jennifer, this is George. "

"Hello, George. What should we do with the pies, Oliver?"

"I'll ask Sam. "

The bartender pointed at a table pushed against one wall. "The bird isgoing over there--any time now. " Oliver put three pies on the table andstashed the empty box underneath. He ordered a pint of Guinness forhimself and a half for Jennifer. 

"Prescribed for young mothers, " he said, handing it to her and takingher coat. George stared at Jennifer's stomach. 

"Due in April, " she said. 

"Fatherhood, " Oliver said, setting the record straight and sipping hispint. 

"Jesus, Oliver . . . I've been making sculptures; you've been makingthe real thing. "

"It sort of makes itself, " Jennifer said. 

"Boy or girl?"

"Good question, " Oliver said. 

"We could find out, but I don't really want to, " Jennifer said. "Mmmm. "She made a face. "This what-do-you-call-it takes a little getting usedto. "

"Guinness, " Oliver said. "Stout. "

"Guinness is a kind of stout, " George said. "Some stouts are sweeter;some are a little lighter. "

"One thing about stout, " Oliver said, "it's hard to drink too much ofit. You get full first. Looks like most of the regulars are here. Where's Richard?"

"O'Grady? New York. He goes to his sister's every year. " George's eyeswent back to Jennifer. She was wearing a long sleeved turquoise jerseywith a revealing scoop neck. The jersey hugged her breasts and thencurved slightly out and back into dark slacks. "Athletic momma, " Georgesaid. 

"That's a title, " Oliver said. "You just got sculpted or something. "

"Painted, " George said. 

"What do you know about painting?" Mark Barnes had drifted next to them. 

"Hey, Mark, " Oliver said. He introduced Jennifer. 

"I've seen you somewhere, " Jennifer said to Mark. 

"Climbing out a bedroom window, " George said. 

"Was that it?" Jennifer smiled. 

"Couldn't have been recently, " Mark said. 

Sandy staggered into the room, carrying a huge turkey in a roastingpan. She lowered it to the table as the regulars cheered. Sandy hadworked in Deweys for years. She was popular--red-cheeked, oversized, hard-drinking, and tolerant. Another woman brought paper plates, plastic utensils, and a carving set. "Go for it, " Sandy said. 

"_Where's the broccoli? _" someone called. There was a chorus of boos. 

Sandy and her helper made another trip to the kitchen, returning withgarlic bread and an oversized bowl of salad. The group took turnshacking at the turkey. George and Mark argued about Giacometti. 

George maintained that Giacometti was better than Picasso. Mark wouldhave none of it. "All that angst! He never met a color he didn'tlike--cuz the color was always black. My God! I mean, for an Italian!"

"He was Swiss, " Jennifer said. 

"That explains it, " Mark said. 

"I love you, " George said. 

"I took Modern Art at Bowdoin, " Jennifer said. "I did a paper onAlberto Giacometti. "

"My God, " George said, "Bowdoin? They let you out of theImpressionists?"

"Oh, yes, " Jennifer said. "Giacometti was very good. Cute, too. "

"I knew it, " Mark said. "Cute. "

"How about some turkey?" Oliver suggested. 

Bringing the pies turned out to be a good idea; they disappearedquickly. Sam presented Jennifer with a pint on the house. She wastreated like a queen by many of the regulars--misty-eyed aboutmotherhood as long as they didn't have to deal with it. Two hourslater, she began to yawn. Oliver collected the empty pie dishes, andthey drove home, fortified against the cold, pleased to have beenaccepted as a couple for the first time. 

"I like your friends, " Jennifer said on the way home. She rubbed hereyes. "It _was_ smoky in there. "

"We should have left a little sooner, I guess, " Oliver said. "How'sJunior?"

"No complaints. "

"That was our coming-out party, " Oliver said. 

"Yep--we're an item now, " Jennifer said, patting him on the knee. 

The next day, Jennifer came home with a booklet on how to get a Mainedivorce. "Great news, " she said, "two or three months and it's over. Icalled Rupert. He was feeling guilty and said he'd sign whatever. It'spretty simple, really. We don't own much in common. "

"That's how it was with Charlotte. We had the house together, but shegot some money from her parents and bought me out. Wasn't all that muchequity, anyway. "

"Where was your house?"

"Peaks Island. "

"Oooh, " Jennifer said, "that must have been nice. "

"It wasn't bad . . . I like the ferries, but they get to be a pain. "

"I think we should stay right here until the baby is born, " Jennifersaid. 

"Uh, yeah. " Doing anything else had never crossed Oliver's mind. 

"But, afterwards, I think we should be looking for a place with moreroom--don't you?"

Oliver rubbed his forehead. "I guess, " he said. "I hadn't thought thatfar ahead. "

"April 24th, the big day, " Jennifer said. 

"Spring, " Oliver said. 

"I should be able to work until then. I get three months maternityleave. "

"Money, " Oliver said. "We'll see how the hospital gig works out. Hardto tell. "

"Oliver, let's not worry about anything. Let's just enjoy it. God, I'mso glad I'm not at Hilton Head!"

"We've got our own beaches, " Oliver said and was immediately sorry ashe imagined Francesca walking toward him. 

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing, " he said. 

"It _has_ happened fast, " she said sympathetically. "Let me fix yousome tea. " It wasn't such a bad thing to be fussed over, he thought. 

They stayed around the apartment most of the weekend. On Sundaymorning, Oliver woke up before Jennifer. It was snowing lightly. Hethought of getting out of bed quietly and taking coffee to CrescentBeach. Would Francesca be there? Would she miss him if he didn't go? Ifhe did go, how could he explain to Jennifer where he'd been? He wantedto share the new developments with Francesca, but he was afraid ofhurting her. Maybe it was better to let it be for a while. MaybeFrancesca wouldn't be there. Maybe she was already on a warm beach inCosta Rica, not a snowy one in Cape Elizabeth. 

He got up, made coffee, and turned on the radio. The public station wasplaying a Bach cantata. Oliver repressed a feeling of disloyalty as hetook the coffee upstairs. "_Love the one you're with, _" he repeated tohimself from The Rolling Stones. 

Jennifer hunched herself up on the pillows and accepted a mug with bothhands. "Mmmm, " she said, sipping. "Have to do it. "

"Do what?"

"Call Mother. "

"Ah, " Oliver said, "me too. "

"She'll be fine once she gets used to it. "

"You mean, used to me. "

"Yes, Silly. She's already excited about the baby. "

"Maybe we should drive down. "

"Yes, but I'd better go first. Then we'll go together--maybe atChristmas. "

"O. K. , " Oliver said. 

"Daddy won't care; he never liked Rupert. "

"Good man. "

Oliver took a long shower, standing under hot water, hearing snatchesof Jennifer's voice as she talked on the phone. He dried himself withone of her thick white towels and received a vigorous hug when hestepped into the kitchen. "She freaked out when I explained, but theworst is over, " Jennifer said. "I'm going to drive down next Saturday, stay the night, get things back on track. " Oliver wondered what "ontrack" meant. 

"O. K. , " he said. "One down. My mother will be excited, actually. "

"It is exciting, " Jennifer said. "Go on, get it over with. " Olivercalled and gave his mother the news, promising to bring Jennifer for avisit during the holidays. "There, " Jennifer said, "that wasn't so bad. I want to meet your mom. "

"You'll like her, " Oliver said. "Want to go down to Becky's? Honeymoonfruit bowl?"

By Monday, they were ready for the working world. Jennifer gave him agoodbye smooch and drove to The Wetlands Conservancy. Oliver stoppedfor a bagel on his way to the hospital and read the paper like a propercommuter. 

Gifford Sims shook his hand and then led him farther down the hall andinto another office. "Suzanne, " he said, "this is Oliver Prescott. Hewill be working with us on the computer. " He nodded at Oliver and left. A man known far and wide for his small talk, Oliver almost said. 

"Gifford is my uncle, " Suzanne said neutrally. She was the same tidychick who had looked him over on his first visit. She wore no make-upor jewelry. Her face had a healthy glow, framed by her softshoulder-length blonde hair. She smiled quickly, a flash of teeth, aninvitation, gone as soon as he took it in. Her mouth settled to apatient hurt expression. "What is your social security number?"

She filled out a form. "We still do payables by hand, " she said. 

"So, I should give _you_ the bill?"

"Yes. Just leave it on my desk if I'm not here. I'm usually here. " Thesmile again, this time rueful and just as quickly gone. She brushed herhair back with one hand. Oliver noticed lighter streaks in herhair--from the sun, probably. Her eyes were intelligent, a deepchocolate color. "I can mail the check or hold it for you. "

"Holding it would be simpler. "

"Good, " she said. "I'll introduce you to Dan. " She rose and movedaround him deferentially. My size, he thought. He was used to lookingup at women; it was relaxing to be taller for a change, if only by aninch. 

"Glad to meet you, " Dan said, shaking hands and grinning widely. "We'vegot plenty to do. " Suzanne excused herself. Oliver's eyes lingered onher as she went out the door. "As I was saying, plenty to do. "

"Right, " Oliver said. 

"I'm in charge of billing. That's what we use the computer for, mostly. Let me show you the computer room. " He took Oliver into anair-conditioned room where four women were working at terminals. Thecomputer was at the far end of the room, next to an enclosed lineprinter. "We bought a receivables package years ago, but it has beenmodified a lot. "

"Sure, " Oliver said. 

"Gifford has asked us to change the late messages. Here's what hewants. " Dan pulled a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and unfoldedit. "Over 30 days, this; 60 days, this; 90 days, here. " He circled thenumbers and underlined the messages. 

"O. K. , " Oliver said. "Where's the documentation?"

"We don't have much, " Dan said. "The original stuff is on that shelfover there. "

"Ah, " Oliver said. He pulled at one ear lobe. "What language are wetalking?"

"RPG II. "

"O. K. " Oliver groaned inwardly. He'd have to get a book. RPG wassupposedly the worst language ever devised. First time for everything. "No problem. " That was one thing about being a professional; he knew hecould do it. "Might take a while to get started . . . "

"Good! Good! We want it done right. " Dan rubbed his hands togetherenthusiastically. He was in his early forties, medium-sized, balding, energetic. "Let me know if you have any questions. We don't work onSaturdays. Did Gifford tell you that?"

"Yes. "

"Good! I'll get you a door key in case you have to get in here afterhours. We lock the computer room at night. "

"Dan, could you come here a moment?"

"Be right there, " he called to someone in the corridor. "This isOliver, everybody. " The women had all been watching them. "Ruth, Edna, Lillian, Vi. " He pointed to each in turn. Oliver smiled four times. "O. K. Gang, let's get to it. " Dan walked quickly out of the room, intent on the next problem. Oliver pulled a yellow pad from his bag andwrote names on the final page where they wouldn't be seen: Ruth, shortblonde; Edna, happy; Lillian, glasses, bored; Vi, body; Dan; Suzanne. What a pro, he bragged to himself. 

He looked through the manuals and tried to make sense of the system. The terminals in the computer room were used for data entry--billinginformation and payments. Terminals elsewhere in the hospital allowedpeople to look up information. Medical records were kept by hand in adifferent department. 

The operating system was complicated but not too different from one hehad used a few years earlier. There was a job control language thatscheduled daily updates and a weekly billing run. A log kept automatictrack of all programs that were executed. This gave him the names ofthe programs. He found Dan at the other end of the hospital and askedhim for a password. Once inside the system, he found the source codefor the billing programs. A lot of small programs were run in sequencebefore the bills were actually produced. He took a guess and printedout the last three to be run; the late messages were probablyhard-coded in there somewhere. The code was incomprehensible. Hecouldn't get anywhere without a book. He said goodbye and drove to theMaine Mall. 

There was only one book on RPG II. It was a language from the dawn ofcomputer history, thirty years old. He took the book to the Food Courtand began trying to interpret the code listings. Two cups of coffeelater, he drove home. He had made some progress, but there was a lotleft to figure out. 

There was a statement from Myron in the mail. Francesca was listed asjoint owner at the top. Her name, next to his, gave him a proudfeeling. Together. The feeling of connectedness with Francesca was deepand comforting, as long as he didn't think of Jennifer and the baby atthe same time. 

Myron had invested most of the money in some kind of fund. There weresmall amounts of General Electric, Royal Dutch Shell, Pfizer, Microsoft, and Citibank. A note suggested that he stop in. "Keepingpowder dry, " Myron wrote. "These blue chips will grow with the economy. We'll add to them on dips and as money comes in. Waiting for good entrypoints on some growth companies. " What was Pfizer? He'd ask Jennifer. On the other hand, he thought, maybe it would be best to keep quietabout this account--at least for now. He put the statement in hispocket and walked down to the Old Port. 

"What's Pfizer?" he asked Myron. 

"Pharmaceutical company. Solid. The long term outlook for the drugindustry is good. " Oliver inquired about the fund that was listed onthe statement. "Right, " Myron said. "It's a safe place to parkcash--government securities only, decent return. "

"I was wondering, " Oliver said, "if you could hold my statementshere--not send them. "

"We can do that. Let me make a note. No problem. "

"Thanks, " Oliver said. "I'll check in from time to time. "

"Or call me, " Myron said. "I've got my eye on some companies--domesticnatural gas, fiber optics, fuel cell technology. "

"I've heard of fuel cells. What are they?"

"They produce electricity directly from a source of hydrogen. You feedthem pure hydrogen or a hydrocarbon fuel; you get electricity, heat, and water. No pollution. Very reliable. Cars would be the bonanzamarket, but there are engineering problems to solve first--to make thecars cheap enough. There are a lot of other applications. Residentialpower. Industrial power. "

"Wowzir!"

"It's a ways off, " Myron said. "The people who develop a technologyaren't always the ones who make the big money with it. Developing abusiness takes a different kind of skill. " Myron shook his head. "I'vebeen burnt, " he said. "You put a winning technology together withwinning management--_then_ you've got something. "

"It's interesting. Well--do what you think best. I'll start followingthese companies. "

"No statement?" Myron inquired, making sure. 

"Save a tree, " Oliver confirmed. 

"Right. " A twinkle quickly disappeared. "Right. "

Oliver walked up Congress Street. He saw a rack of postcards in an artsupplies store window. I ought to send Muni a card, he thought. Thereweren't any that he liked, however. Maybe at the Museum. Christmasdecorations were already appearing. It was going to be a busy holiday. 

Arlen was collecting his mail when Oliver arrived home. 

"Hey, Arlen, how are you?"

"Just fine, Oliver. "

"Developments, Arlen!"

"I noticed--with a Volvo. "

"Jennifer. We must get together soon. She's great. She's going to havea baby. We're going to have a baby. "

"Congratulations! I'm happy for you, Oliver. Developments downstairs, as well. "

"I wondered, " Oliver said. 

"Porter, " Arlen said simply. 

"Excellent! The House of Happy Endings. "

"Thank you, Oliver. Let us hope so. When is the baby due?"

"April. "

"Oh, my. Definitely we must celebrate. Whoops, there's the phone. " Hewaved goodbye and let himself into his apartment. Oliver felt somethingat his feet. 

"Verdi! Were you out? Well, well, time to eat isn't it?" He closed thefront door behind him, and Verdi ran up the stairs. Oliver followed, seeing a can of coconut milk and a smaller can of Thai curry paste. Basil, a bit of chicken, green beans, rice . . . He was almost out ofshoyu, but that wouldn't matter with a curry. Tomorrow he would getshoyu. And more veggies. Jennifer was strong on veggies. 

15. 

Oliver concentrated on programming. He found and successfully changedthe late messages. Dan gave him a list of projects which he put asideuntil he could finish documenting the system. "You have to understandthe data before you can work with it, " he explained to Jennifer. "Thedata is everything. Most people don't know how to lay out a database;they make a mess that just keeps getting worse. "

"You did a nice job at The Conservancy, " she said. 

"At some point, you have to start fresh, " Oliver said. "The hospitalcan get by for awhile--if they don't try to change too much. I don'tthink they will. I don't think they want to spend the money. I mean, itworks--the present system. I'll know what I'm doing in a couple ofweeks. "

"They're lucky to have you, " Jennifer said. 

"They're good to work with. You'd think that they would be a littlescrewy--First Fundamentalists and all that, but they aren't. They'recheerful, mostly. Practical. The women can't wear jewelry. "

"Keeps them in their place, " Jennifer said. 

"Wedding rings are about it, " Oliver said. 

Jennifer cleared her throat loudly. 

"Oh, yeah . . . " Oliver said. "We should do something about that--onceyou get your divorce. "

"Was that a proposal?" She smiled appealingly. 

"Sure--you don't mean church and all that?"

"No, Silly. "

Oliver was relieved. "City Hall, " Jennifer said. "We'll have a nicedinner afterwards. Do something for us. "

"F. Parker Reidy's, " Oliver said. "Eat teriyaki and watch shoppers onthe snowy street. "

"Wherever you like, Dear. Speaking of snow, we're lucking out--Ishouldn't have any problem getting to Wayland. "

"How far is Wayland from Boston?"

"Depends on what time it is--half an hour, usually. I take 495 rightaround the city, no problem. Umm . . . Sweetums?"

"Yes?"

"I was wondering if you would do something for me. I know I'm beingawful, but--well--it's that snakeskin. It gives me a chill when I lookat it. " She put one hand on her stomach. "It's so--deadly. "

Oliver walked over to the steps and pulled out the thumb tacks thatheld the snakeskin. "Can't have you getting a chill, " he said. 

"Oh, thank you. I just can't help it--how I feel, " she said. 

"Of course you can't. " Oliver rolled the skin into a coil and put athick rubber band around it. He hefted it in his palm. "I'll take itdown to the basement. He sealed it in a Ziploc bag and stored it in atoolbox. 

The next day, Jennifer left at noon to see her parents. Oliver had apint at Deweys with Richard and went to bed early. He lay there, notused to sleeping alone, and thought about the relationship. It was likeliving with Charlotte again, but Jennifer was more fun. She was anatural mother--not at all bothered by pregnancy. All in all, therelationship was pretty good, but he avoided comparing Jennifer toFrancesca. 

In the morning he got up and took coffee to Crescent Beach as thoughhis life hadn't changed during the last two weeks. There was an inch ofsnow--not enough to keep Francesca away. As he approached the beach hesaw a shiny patch on the driftwood log. A Ziploc bag was taped to thelog where they usually sat. The bag looked as if it had been thereseveral days. 

He bent over and saw a heart drawn on the paper inside. "O+F. " He torethe bag from the log and removed the paper. It was folded. Inside, anote read: "Missed you yesterday. Leaving Wednesday. Be back in thespring, I guess. I hope you'll be here. "

Oliver folded the note carefully and looked south. "I'll be here, " hesaid. It was an acknowledgement and a promise. He felt a deep conflictin his loyalties, but it was bearable. The promise came from adifferent place than his attachment to Jennifer and the baby. 

He stayed a few minutes savoring the coffee and the cold damp air. Gulls circled and dove at the other end of the beach. The geese werelong gone. When he left, he took with him all traces of Francesca'snote. 

Jennifer arrived home during the early game. "Hi, Sweetheart, " shesaid. "The roads were fine. Mother is withholding judgment until shesees you, but Daddy is on board. Don't worry, she'll love you. "

"The Patriots don't look too good, " Oliver said. "I'll wow her with myknowledge of RPG II. "

"I said we'd come down at Christmas. "

"O. K. , " Oliver said. "Jesus!"

"What's the matter?"

"He dropped it, " Oliver said. "You're back nice and early. "

"We had a big breakfast around nine. I left right after. What do youthink of 'Emma' as a name?"

"No!" Jennifer's face fell. "Not another one! Get him out of there!"

"Oliver . . . "

"Yes--Emma, " he said. "I like it. Why Emma?"

"My grandmother's name was Emma. " Jennifer was smiling again. 

"Sure, " Oliver said, "I like it. What if it's a boy?"

"I don't know, " she said. "My father's name is Gene. "

"How about Frisco?"

"Frisco? But that's a place, not a person . . . "

"Nakano. Nakano Prescott, now there's a name. "

"I don't know. " Jennifer's hands went protectively to her belly. "Nak?Naky?"

Oliver raised his voice. "Nakano Prescott stretches, _makes_ the grab, takes a big hit and holds on! The Patriots got something when theysigned this guy. " He patted her. "Just trying it out--I'm not realstrong on Gene. "

"Well, we have four months, " Jennifer said. 

In April, early on the morning of the 26th, two months after they weremarried in City Hall and had their celebratory dinner at F. ParkerReidy's, Jennifer felt the first serious contraction. Six hours later, Emma Dior Prescott wrinkled her nose, squinted, made twofists--triumphantly, according to Oliver--and went back to sleep, breathing on her own. Jennifer was thrilled and tired. Oliver felt anew kind of pang when he saw Emma. She had dark hair and seemed to beclutching part of his heart with her tiny hands, as though she hadmoved from one support system to another. 

Deweys was barely open when he got there. "One for me and one more formy baby, " he said to Sam. "Jenn had a little girl. "

"No shit! Congratulations. Hey, the Guinness is on the house, man;you're going to need your strength. "

Oliver drank and relaxed. The winter had passed in a blur. Each day hadbeen filled with work and things to do at home; the months had slippedpast scarcely noticed. Jennifer's growing weight had defined the seasonthat mattered. 

"I have responsibilities, " he announced after his second pint. "I mustcall the grandparents. "

He walked home and talked to his mother and to Jennifer's father. Genewas particularly pleased. "I had my order in, " he said. "Does she looklike Jenny?"

"More like me, actually. "

Gene was quick. "Sweet thing! You're a lucky man, Oliver. "

Oliver was supposed to say, "Thank you, Sir, " or some such. "It was aneasy birth, " he said. "I'm going to pick them up tomorrow. "

"Fine, fine, " Gene said, "we can't wait to see her. "

"Come on up. "

"Fine. Dolly will call, tomorrow or the next day. "

Oliver's mother shrieked, sobbed, and made him promise to call themoment that they were ready for a short visit. Oliver agreed and hungup thinking that good news was easy to pass along. He had alreadywritten his father and explained the situation, so he needed only tosend a birth announcement. "Emma Dior Prescott--April 26th, 1994--7 lbs6 oz. Looks a little like us, " he added beneath. 

He walked to the corner and dropped the card in the mailbox. On his wayback, he met Arlen and told him the news. "A major event. I'm happy foryou, " Arlen said. Oliver took a nap and walked down to Deweys for moreGuinness and congratulations. He went to bed feeling as though he hadmade it through a one-way turnstile. Things were different on thisside; there was a lot to do. 

The next day he brought Jennifer and Emma home from Mercy Hospital. Verdi had gotten used to Jennifer. He sniffed Emma for a moment andthen jumped to his place on the living room windowsill, settling downas if to say: one more--what's the difference?

Emma slept and fed. Jennifer spent happy weeks keeping her close andoccasionally preparing a meal or cleaning the apartment. Oliver enjoyedholding Emma and being fatherly, although he sensed that his presencewas not entirely necessary. 

Dior and Paul came for a one night visit. His mother liked Jennifer andgushed endlessly over Emma. He and Paul had drinks in the backgroundand talked about work and the Red Sox. It had been how many years sinceCarleton Fisk had gone to Chicago? One of the all-time great catchers, a son of New Hampshire--the event still felt like the death of an era, almost the death of New England. 

Dolly and Gene were more formal. They were pleased and full ofinstruction. Gene inquired after Oliver's life insurance. 

"No?" He gave Oliver his most forgiving and father-in-law knows bestsmile, stopping just short of issuing an order. It happens to all ofus; you might as well get with the program--that was the message. 

Jennifer was satisfied with both visits. Nothing really mattered butEmma, anyway. "Isn't she a doll baby? The most precious doll baby, " shewould say, answering her own question and thrusting Emma into Oliver'sarms. 

"Yes, she is. Yes, you are, " he would say, holding Emma carefully. Shewas a good-natured baby. Her hearing was sensitive; she made faces andsometimes cried at loud noises. She liked music. Oliver had funtwirling her around the living room, keeping her high against hisshoulder so that she could see the walls spin by. 

One Saturday late in May, he received a note from Francesca saying thatshe was coming back that week and that the winter had not gone well. Jennifer didn't ask about the letter, perhaps she hadn't noticed it. Oliver said nothing. Later that afternoon, he took a roundabout routeshopping and walked out to Crescent Beach. The log had shifted positionduring the winter, but it was close to the same spot. He left a note intheir format: "O+F" in a heart on the outside. Inside, he wrote:"Welcome back. Much to tell you. " That was all he could bring himselfto say. If Francesca came out in the morning, at least she would have awelcome. Maybe he could get there, maybe not. 

Sunday morning, he went out for bagels and a newspaper. On his wayhome, at the last moment, he kept going down State Street. He crossedthe bridge, drove to Cape Elizabeth, and walked quickly to the beach. He didn't know what to say, but he was suddenly glad and hopeful thatFrancesca might be there. The force of his feeling surprised him. Thenote was gone. She wasn't around. She got it anyway, he thought as hehurried back. Probably. 

That week, when he thought of Francesca, he twisted his wedding ringaround and around his finger. He worried about her and about the girls. It occurred to him that Emma would be as large as Maria and Elena in afew years. It didn't seem possible. The following Sunday, he got upearly, put on running shoes, and told Jennifer that he would be backwith bagels in an hour or so. He bought coffees to go and carried themto the log in a paper bag. The water was cold that early in the season. There was no one on the beach. No note. No sculptures or arrangements. He and Francesca might never have been there. 

A figure appeared in the distance, walking with long familiar strides. He balanced the bag on the log and started toward her. She was wearinga gray sweatshirt and jeans. Her hair was shorter than it had been. Hereyes. Her beautiful mouth. They walked into an embrace that becametighter and tighter. There was no time, no weather, no ocean. Gettingcloser was all that mattered. Francesca was trembling. Oliver dug hisfeet deeper into the sand and moved one hand slowly across her back. She let out a deep breath and relaxed against him. When they steppedapart, it was like waking up in the morning. 

"Hi, " he said, stupidly. 

"Oliver . . . "

"You look like you've had a hard time. I brought coffee. " He pointedback to the log. 

"The worst is over, " she said. "I've left him. I'm still at thehouse--but only for a little while. Conor's staying with a friend. "

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm taking the girls to the West Coast. Seattle, I think. I need aclean break. If I stay here, Conor will keep hanging around and usingthe girls to keep me down. "

"Oh, " Oliver said. "Seattle is supposed to be a good place. I like theNorthwest. Shit. " They sat on the log, and Oliver handed her a cup. "From Mr. Bagel, " he said. "There have been changes in my life, too. "He paused. "I got married, " he blurted out. "I have a daughter, fiveweeks old. " Francesca put her cup down on the sand and took two stepstoward the water. She stood with her fingers to her lips in a prayerposition. Oliver explained what had happened. 

"How wonderful to have a baby, " she said in a low voice. "Emma--howwonderful. "

"She is, " Oliver apologized. 

"Are you happy?"

"I guess so, " he said. 

She turned. "Oh, Oliver!" She opened her arms, and this time it was shewho was consoling. A part of him wanted to scream with fury, but adeeper part became calmer as she held him. There were big problems offin the future--impossible problems--but they were _their_ problems. 

"God, I love you, " he said, stepping back. 

"It's a strange time to feel lucky, " she said, "but I do. " She lookedat his wedding ring. "I'm a bad woman now, too--along with everythingelse. "

"Bad to the bone, " Oliver said. He reached down for her coffee andhanded it to her. "Some bones, " he said. He sat on the log and shookhis head. "Damn . . . " They were quiet for a minute. "When are youleaving?"

"In three or four weeks. I'm going to drive out, bring as much as I canwith me. I've got to get a better car--something that will pull a smallU-Haul trailer and hold up. "

"The money is there if you need it, " Oliver said. "Jennifer wants tobuy a house in Cumberland or North Yarmouth. I'm going to use some fora down payment, but there will be plenty left--ten, twenty, thirtythousand--just call Myron and he'll send you a check. "

"I have enough to go on. And Conor will pay child support. I can work, you know. Did I tell you I was a registered nurse?"

"No. "

"Yeah, I went through a program after I got out of college. I onlyworked for a year before I met Conor. I'm glad I did, now . . . It'snice to know about the money. I don't know what's going to happen, really. I just know I've got to move. " She paused. 

"I wish I were moving with you. "

"Never leave someone for someone else, " Francesca said. "You've got tolive through these things. "

"That's what Mark says--my friend, Mark. Anyway, take the money if youneed it; I know you won't waste it. I wish I could help with themoving, but I don't think I'd better. "

"You _are_ helping, just by being you. Emma's going to need lots ofmoney, you know. "

"Not for a while. Listen, how am I going to find you?"

"My folks will know where I am: Richard Boisverte in Edgewater, nearDaytona. Conor will know--because of the girls. I'll send you a cardwhen I have an address. " She covered one of his hands with one of hers. "You're right--it's probably not a good idea to see each other. I'm abad woman now; I could be a _very_ bad woman any moment. "

"Damn, " Oliver said again. They were quiet again. 

"I've got to go, " he said, standing up. 

"I think I'll stay here for a bit, " she said. "I want to watch you walkaway. "

"Be careful, " he pleaded. 

"Bye, Baby, " she said. 

He looked at her for a long moment. She smiled for him, the smile thatentranced him the first day he saw her in Becky's. Her mouth traveledslowly down, along, and up a complex curve, sexual at its center, sensitive at its corners, wholly alive and in the moment. He nodded inthe Japanese manner, the way he had that day. Then he smiledquickly--an American promise laid on top of the Japanese one--and left. He looked back from the top of the bank at the end of the beach. Shewas watching him, unmoving. He lifted one arm high and walked out ofsight. A hundred yards farther, he followed a smaller path to aclearing overlooking the water. He dropped to the ground and lay in afetal position on his side with his knees drawn up and his handsbetween his legs. He hurt too much to cry. He just wanted to survive. There was only one level of feeling beneath his love for Francesca; hehad to get there. The hard cold ground was anesthetic and numbing. Halfan hour later, he brushed himself off, an animal on the earth, needingfood and warmth. 

"Where have you been?" Jennifer asked. 

"I ran into a friend who's moving, " he said. "Sorry to be so long. "

"Emma's asleep again. "

"Cold out there. Bagels, " Oliver said, raising the bag. "I'm hungry. "

16. 

Emma turned over. Emma crawled. Emma made smiling googling noises whenOliver came home and picked her up. Jennifer had three months ofmaternity leave, and she arranged to work part time for six monthsafter that. Oliver did not get life insurance, but he worked steadilyat the hospital. He took another smaller project to round out the weekand to try and get a few bucks ahead. 

Francesca did not come into Oliver's mind while he was busy. Sometimeshe thought of her when he was extra tired. She was a reassuringpresence, even though she was far away. Sunday mornings, when he wentout for bagels and a paper, he often wished that he were driving toCrescent Beach to bring her coffee. Instead, he would sit for a minutein his Jeep remembering the calm that they shared. Then he would drivehome, play with Emma, and do things around the apartment. 

On the Wednesday after Labor Day, Jennifer met him at the door. "Ifound it, today!"

"Hi, Scrumptious, how's Ms. Perfect?" He held Emma high. "That good, huh? Found what?"

"A house!" Jennifer said. "It's just right. I'm sure you'll like it. "

"Oh, yeah? Where?"

"North Yarmouth, about two miles from Gillespie's. It's on a dirtroad--off Route 9. "

"I like Gillespie's, " Oliver said. They sometimes drove out there tobuy vegetables and eat donuts at outside tables that overlooked theRoyal River. 

"It's a real Maine house with an ell and an attached barn, not too big, perfect for a garage and tools and stuff. We could get a doggie forEmma. "

"How much?"

"They're asking one-twenty. The house needs painting. There isn't muchland with it--four acres. "

"Four acres is a lot, " Oliver said. "I mean, not in the middle ofKansas, but . . . "

"It's about half field and half woods, " Jennifer said. 

"I guess we ought to go look. "

"Let's go!"

"Now?'

"Of course, now. If we want it, we have to make an offer fast. It justcame on the market. My friend Martha who works in real estate called methis morning. "

"O. K. , let me get an ale. You drive. " Oliver put four bottles of ale, bread, and a piece of cheddar in a day pack. "Back later, Verdi. "

The house sat up nicely on a stone foundation. Lilac bushes framed thekitchen door. "What do you think?" Jennifer asked after Oliver hadwalked around the house. 

"It looks dry, and it faces south, " he said. "One-fifteen. That's aslong as there isn't anything major wrong--rotten sills, bad water, orsomething. "

"We can get my friend Steve to inspect it, " Jennifer said. "He's got abusiness inspecting houses. He's very good. "

"Where are the owners?"

"Owner. It's a guy. I guess his wife died, and he's moving out of town. "

"Too bad, " Oliver said. "Looks like he had a good garden in back. "

"I saw that, " Jennifer said. 

"The house seems all right, but you can't be sure from the outside. Heating system could be shot. Septic system might not be any good. "

"I'll make an offer contingent on the inspection, " she said. "Stevewill find anything that's wrong. He does a radon check and all that. Costs about three hundred, I think. Three-fifty, maybe. "

"Worth it, " Oliver said. "The driveway is pretty rough, but that's nobig deal. " He looked around. "I like it. What do you think, Princess?"Emma googled. "That does it, " Oliver said. 

"I knew you'd like it, " Jennifer said. 

"Let's go down to Gillespie's and buy a pie, sit outside, and finishthis ale. " They drove slowly away from the house and out to Route 9. Jennifer had good bank connections; she was sure she could get amortgage for most of the money. Oliver said he had fifteen thousandtoward a down payment. Jennifer had another ten thousand. 

"Daddy will give us another fifteen. That would leave seventy-five. Iknow I can get seventy-five out of the bank. We make enough to takecare of the rest, fix it up, get furniture and all. "

"Maybe we could go easy on the furniture, " Oliver said. 

"Don't worry, I won't go crazy. We'll have a housewarming!"

"You're right about the place--plenty of room, but not too big. Itwould be good to get my tools laid out. "

Five weeks later, they slid a check across a glass-topped table. Atired balding man with a red face tossed Oliver a set of keys. "Kentucky, here I come, " he said. 

"We want to wish you the very best of luck, " Jennifer said. 

"_Weren't for bad luck, I wouldn't have no luck at all_--that's how thesong goes. But, thank you. " He stood, pulled a baseball cap down on hisforehead, and touched the brim in salute. "I'll be getting along. " Hewalked out. 

"B. B. King, " Oliver said. "Didn't he sing that?"

"Never mind, Oliver; we're bringing the good luck with us. "

"Congratulations, " Martha said. 

"Oh, thank you!" Jennifer jumped up and hugged her. "Come on, Oliver. We've got to move. "

A week later, Oliver was sleeping in a new bed, high off the floor. Thephysical move doesn't take long, he thought; getting used to it takes awhile. He missed knowing that Arlen and Porter were downstairs. Porterhad made an extravagant cake for Jennifer the week after she had Emma. Driving home from Deweys to North Yarmouth wasn't as easy as walking upthe hill to State Street. No five minute walk to Becky's for breakfast, either. On the other hand, he had a good work space in the barn, and itwas quiet at night. 

Oliver counted his blessings. Verdi had made his first patrols and wasadjusting. The leaves were changing color fast. It was beautiful, really. Jennifer loved the new house. Emma had a room with a baby bedand a playpen right next to their bedroom. There were plenty ofprojects; that was fun. Old storm windows were leaning against the wallin one corner of the barn. He had to clean them and figure out wherethey went. There was a wooden ladder missing a couple of rungs. 

Oliver swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. "I'm goingto go buy a decent ladder. I want to put those storm windows in. "

Jennifer yawned. "Come back soon. "

"I won't be long. "

A few minutes later, he was bouncing down the road. There had been alight frost overnight; the air was snappy; it was a good day to getthings done. He needed to write to Francesca. Her letter was in thebottom of the toolbox in the back of the Jeep. He knew it by heart. Shewas renting a house in a section of Seattle called Ballard. Maria wasin school. Elena was in pre-school. Francesca was working in a familyclinic, lonely, but glad to be starting a life on her terms. It wassigned, "Love, F. "

He drove to the Yarmouth post office and waited five minutes for it toopen. He was going to send her a postcard, but he changed his mind andbought a stamped envelope. He went over to the Calendar Island Moteland wrote her a letter as he ate bacon and eggs and homefries. Hedescribed the new house and reported that Emma was crawling and wouldbe walking soon. Work was O. K. ; there were nice people at the hospital. He was thinking mainly of Dan and Suzanne, but he didn't go into it. Hesigned his own love and then added, "I miss you. I wish I could be twoplaces at once. " He tore the page out of his notebook and folded itinto the envelope. Crap. He really was two places at once, but hedidn't want to think about it. Better to get to work. 

The morning was warming when he untied the new ladder and carried itfrom the roof rack. He laid it on the grass and assembled it, tying offthe lifting rope. Jennifer put her head out the front door. "Where'veyou been?"

"Hi, pretty good, huh?" He pointed to the shiny aluminum ladder. "Istopped for breakfast. " He pointed to Verdi who was motionless beneatha rose bush by the corner of the house. "I see you. Where's Princess?"

"In her room. Why don't we bring the playpen out here? Will you watchher? I want to go to Gillespie's. "

"Sure. " They took the playpen apart and put it back together on thelawn. Emma sat in the sun surrounded by rattles, balls, and smallstuffed bears. Jennifer left and Oliver set up a window-washing stationin front of the house. Should I wash them all first, or one at a timeas I put them in? he asked himself. One at a time. He cleaned the firstand noticed a small lead disk numbered, 7, nailed to the outside faceof the bottom of the sash. 

"Aha, " he said. "But where is window seven, Emma? Where is windowseven?" He walked along the front of the house, checking each windowfor some kind of number. On the end of the windowsill of the fourthwindow, he found a disk numbered, 3. That makes a lot of sense, hethought. He continued around the end of the house. There was a two onthe next window. It _did_ make sense; the starting point was different, that was all. There were two windows at that end of the first floor. The numbering started at the far corner, came around the end, andcontinued across the front of the house. The windows that looked intothe ell at the other end were not fitted for storms, so number sevenwas the first one on the back side. 

"Looking good, " he said to Emma. He took the clean window around to theback of the house and put it in place. The sash fit flush with theouter casing. Metal clips held the window in place. He swiveled themover the sash and tightened them down with a screwdriver. "O. K. Thirteen to go. "

He was down to nine when Jennifer returned with a carload of groceries. "I got some cider from Gillespie's. How's Emma?"

"Having a good time, " Oliver said. "A couple of bees checked her out. No harm done. I think she likes it outside. "

"That's my precious, " Jennifer said, lifting her out of the playpen. "Oh, you need changing, oh my precious!" She looked at Oliveraccusingly. 

"Whoops, " he said. He unloaded the car while she changed Emma. "Greatstuff, this cider, " he said, knocking down a glass. 

The afternoons were short in October, but Oliver had the windows inplace by four o'clock. Jennifer had cooked a ham and baked two pies. The house smelled good. Emma was asleep. Oliver opened a bottle ofRioja, and they ate, listening to _Prairie Home Companion_ on thepublic radio station. He would rather have talked aboutsomething--Garrison Keillor was too smug for Oliver's taste--butJennifer loved him. He was funny, sometimes, Oliver admitted. And themusic was good. 

Later, in bed, Jennifer sighed contentedly. "I love it here, " she said. Oliver snuggled closer. "I've been thinking about two weeks fromtoday, " she went on. 

"Two weeks?" he mumbled. 

"For the housewarming. "

"Housewarming. " He put a hand on her breast. 

"Mmmm, " she said. "I want to invite _everybody! _"

"O. K. " Oliver moved one leg farther up on hers. He put his mouthagainst her neck. "Everybody, " he murmured. A small shiver went throughher. She was wifely now in bed, accommodating, easily satisfied. Oliverdid his part; she did hers. They fell asleep peacefully and properly. Oliver did not hear her get up to attend to Emma. 

In the morning they decided that "everybody" meant everybody but theirparents. The holidays were coming; they would see them soon. Besides, the party might be loud and last into the night, not a parents' kind ofparty. "The telephone man is coming tomorrow, " Jennifer said. "I'llcall my friends; you call yours. "

"O. K. , " Oliver said. "I might stop in at Deweys. "

At the hospital the following day, he invited Dan to the housewarming. Dan had twin girls in junior high and a devout wife. Oliver didn'texpect him to accept, but he liked Dan and wanted to ask. 

"Saturday after next? Can't make it, " Dan said. "I'm going to see mybrother. "

"Oh. Where does he live?"

"Upstate New York. He works on a farm. " Dan saw Oliver's surprise andcontinued. "It's a long story. We're twins. And now I havetwins--strange. Something happened at birth; my brother was bornretarded, mentally challenged. " Dan rubbed the back of his neck. "Wewere given up for adoption. I didn't find out about this until I wasgrown up. "

"No, " Oliver said. 

"Dale was raised in an institution and eventually got work on this farmwhere he gets room and board. It took me quite a while to find him. Igo see him every three or four months. "

"That's too bad, " Oliver said. 

"He's a worker!" Dan said proudly. "He's strong. He's in a lot bettershape than I am. "

"Is he happy there?"

"Yeah. We keep asking him to come and live with us, but he wants tostay there. He likes his responsibilities, takes them seriously. Hecomes over for a week's vacation every year. " Dan smiled. "He splitsall our wood when he's here. The girls love him. "

"Nice family, " Oliver said. 

"That's what it's all about. Sorry to miss the party, though. "

"Well, some other time, " Oliver said, raising one hand. 

"Lucille, " Dan called to a nurse down the hall, walking quickly afterher. 

"He does the work of two people at least, " Oliver said later to Suzanne. 

"Kind of a workaholic, really, " she said. 

"A great guy, " Oliver said. 

"He is. "

"Human, " Oliver said. "The other day . . . I shouldn't tell you this. "

"I can keep a secret. "

"We went out for lunch and Dan had chicken--barbecued chicken. 'Ithought you were a vegetarian, ' I said to him. 

"'I weaken sometimes, ' he said, chewing. 'Do you think the Lord willforgive me?'

"'If He doesn't forgive you, there's no hope for me whatsoever, ' Isaid. "

Suzanne laughed. "Or me. "

"Sinners, " Oliver said. 

"'Fraid so, " she said more softly. 

"Can you make it to the housewarming?"

"I don't think so. "

"Damn. What are you doing?"

"I've got a book, " she said. 

"Aha. Romance. A blonde hulk who will carry you away. " Oliver waslooking levelly into her eyes. 

A small smile turned the corners of her mouth down. "I'm waiting forsomeone my size. " They were in her office. Oliver registered that itwas very warm. He saw her shudder and give in to a wave of longing. Herlips parted and her breasts lifted. He reached for her in slow motionand stopped himself just before he touched her. 

He was shocked. "I . . . "

"I know, " she said. She closed her eyes. "God, I know. "

"Suzanne . . . " She shook her head and smiled helplessly. 

"I'll read my book. "

"We've got to talk sometime, " he said. She nodded. He took a deepbreath and left. 

Oliver was trembling as he drove away. What was that all about? He andSuzanne had become more friendly as time had gone by. They oftentalked, and she was always sympathetic. But he hadn't expected anythinglike what had just happened. His breathing was still messed up. Whenshe had surrendered to him, he had been jolted by a rush of strength. He felt like Ghengis Khan or something. 

Suzanne was sharp. She remembered everything he said about the computersystem, repeating things back to him word for word months later. Shewas very helpful. He depended on her support, he realized. There wassomething about her that got to him, a lonely bruised quality. She hadeloped in high school, run away to Tennessee, and returned eighteenmonths later. Her family and the church took her back, but . . . Shewas still living in a shamed shadow. 

He decided that he needed a Guinness. He stopped at Deweys, and twopints later he was back in control. Better than that. The last of thewarrior-lovers invited the entire bar to the housewarming and went home. 

17. 

Oliver didn't know what to do about Suzanne. They worked together; hecouldn't avoid her. He didn't want to avoid her. She was alive andvital and _for him_, somehow. He turned toward her like a plant towardlight. That's the problem, he thought the next morning as he drove intothe hospital parking lot. I've been attracted to her all along. I'veflirted with her and leaned on her. I'm a creep. 

Holding that thought firmly, he marched by Molly, waved good morning, rounded the corner, and went directly to Suzanne's office. She wasn'tthere. Her light was off. He went back to Molly and asked whetherSuzanne had come in. 

"She called in sick, Honey. "

"Ah. Too bad. "

"She said she'd be in tomorrow. "

"What's so funny?" Molly was giggling. 

"I asked her what was sick, and she said it was her hair. Her hair wassick. I wish _my_ hair was that sick. I hope she doesn't go and dosomething foolish. "

"I like your hair, " Oliver said, setting off the flashing "creep" sign. The phone rescued him. "I'd better get to work. "

"First Fundamentalist Hospital, " Molly said, her gorgeous drawlfollowing him around the corner. 

At least he had another day to think things over. His marriage wasgoing smoothly enough. Dull at times, sure. Weren't all marriages?Jennifer and he didn't have that much in common, as it had turned out. But they were good humored, and they shared a disposition to make thebest of things. He had his responsibilities; she had hers; they avoidedconfrontation. He was genuinely fond of her. And they had Emma. Emmawas a delight, a little like each of them, although she took after himin looks. He should have been on top of the world, compared to mostpeople. 

So--why was he reaching for Suzanne? There was something coiled insidehim, a force that he wasn't sure he could control. Intuition toldOliver that if he ran from it or pretended it wasn't there, he would bein even bigger trouble. 

He was at work before Suzanne arrived the next day. He watched herdrive in and walk toward the front entrance. Even at that distance andunder a parka, her body radiated a compact grace. Her hair was gatheredand held by a red scarf that hung to the nape of her neck. She hadn'tdone anything drastic. He waited a few minutes and went to her office. His heart was beating fast. 

"I'm sorry, " he began. 

She shook her head. "It's my fault, Oliver. You're married and you havea child. I lost control. I'm--not a good woman. "

"You're a wonderful woman. "

"I've been praying, " she said. "I don't pray like the rest of them, butGod hears everyone. "

Oliver pulled at one ear lobe, off balance. 

"I'm asking Him to take this want out of me. " Suzanne's voice trailedoff. "I don't think I can do it by myself. " Oliver's cheeks grew hot. "I was going to cut my hair practically off, but I couldn't. "

"I'm glad you didn't. "

She looked at him, helpless again. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know, " Oliver said. "I have the want, too. "

Suzanne smiled for the first time. "If you've got it like I do, one ofus is going to have to leave the state. "

"Maybe there's some other way, " he said. "Tell me how much you lovedisco. "

"I hate disco, " she said apologetically. "I like old time countrymusic. And jazz. Coltrane. "

"Oh swell, " Oliver said. "Have you ever been to the Cafe No, inPortland?" Suzanne shook her head. "Terrific place to hear live jazz. "He stopped, frustrated. 

"I'll leave if you want me to, " she said. "I ought to be able to get ajob somewhere else. "

"Don't do that. " He didn't know what else to say. "Don't do that. "

"Maybe if we didn't talk, " she said. "Only just about work. "

"O. K. , " Oliver said. "I'll try. I'd hug you but I think something wouldcatch fire. "

"Burning already, " she said, trying to smile. Oliver closed his eyesand took a deep breath. His feet felt like they were in cement. Hedragged them up, one after the other, and left. 

He finished a small project but couldn't bring himself to start thenext one. He drove into Portland without saying goodbye to Suzanne. This wasn't going to be easy, he thought. He went to Gritty's for partykegs. They brewed ale downstairs and pumped it directly from the bar. He didn't know how many people would come to the housewarming--somewould rather drink wine or the hard stuff. Five gallons of ale shouldbe enough. He bought six, to be on the safe side. 

He had lunch in Deweys, hoping to calm down. But the more he thoughtabout Suzanne, the more confused he got. Mark came in and Oliver askedhim, "What do you do when you've got a strong attraction going thatisn't--appropriate?"

"You're asking me?"

"Well, " Oliver said, "just an opinion. "

"What does she look like?"

"Nice looking. Nothing unusual. My size. Great body. " Oliver thought. "I guess what's unusual about her is how _connected_ she is. I mean, her body is in her face. She walks the way she feels. She's all onepiece. "

"_It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that zing. _" Mark said. "Ellington. "

"Hmmm, " Oliver said. 

"If it's inappropriate--whatever that means--and you go ahead with it, you suffer. If you don't go ahead with it, you suffer anyway. You'refucked, man. "

"Swell, " Oliver said. 

"Could be worse, " Mark said. 

"How?"

"You could be a zombie executive in suburbia. "

"North Yarmouth is close, " Oliver said. "Speaking of which--are youcoming to the housewarming?"

"Saturday, right?"

"Yeah--middle of the day, anytime. Bring a friend. "

"Friend? You think _you_ got problems? Later, man. " Mark rushed off. 

Suffer? Was it the male condition? I guess women suffer, too, Oliverthought. The human condition, then? He resisted this. Why _should_ wesuffer? The "we" he had in mind, he realized, was mostly Suzanne. Jackywas in there somewhere, and Francesca, higher and in the distance. Jennifer wasn't there. Jennifer and he did not suffer. She was hispartner. He admired her energy, respected her, loved her, even--in ageneral way. Wasn't that what marriage was all about?

_It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that zing. _

You're fucked, man. 

Do something. 

He drove back to North Yarmouth. "I'm home!"

"Hi, Sweetums. What's the matter? Here. " Jennifer thrust Emma into hisarms. "Watch Emma for a while, will you? I'm glad you came home early;I've got some things to do at The Conservancy. Oh, good!" She did notwait for an answer. "Tell me later--bad day at work?"

"Nah, " Oliver said. "Never mind. How's Precious?"

"Precious had a good nap. See you in a couple of hours. "

"Down, " Emma said. "Down. "

"O. K. , " Oliver said. "Down, it is. " He put her on her hands and kneesin the center of the living room rug. He heard the Volvo start and racedown the driveway. Too fast, he thought--hard on the front end. Emmamade a laughing sound as she crawled around in a small circle, the wayVerdi used to chase his tail. She rolled over, sat up, and looked athim with delight. 

"What a show off!" he said. "Very good crawl. Very good. Want to trythe toddle? Try the walk?" He got to his knees and closed her hand inhis fist. "Try walk?"

"Da Da, " she said. He pulled her slowly to her feet. Her other arm wentout for balance and she sat back down. 

"Very good!" Emma smiled victoriously. 

"She almost stood up, " he told Jennifer when she got back. "I'll betshe's walking in a couple of months. "

"I hope you're not pushing her. "

"The Olympic Trials are right around the corner. "

"Oh, Oliver. The Germans always win the baby walk. "

Oliver laughed. "What's for dinner?"

"Pizza--pesto and chicken. "

"God, " Oliver said. 

"Oh, something good happened at The Conservancy. Jacky Chapelle droppedby--remember Jacky? She's in town for a week. She said she'd come tothe party. "

"Ah . . . " Oliver cleared his throat. "I like Jacky. "

"I thought you did. "

"Surprised she isn't married, " he said, "a bit bossy, I guess. " Heshook his head sadly, reactivating the "creep" sign. 

"Well, you're taken. "

"Quite so, " Oliver said. "Just another hungry breadwinner. "

"Half an hour. Oh, Precious, did Daddy make you walk?"

"Mama, " Emma said as Oliver retreated to the barn. 

It was good that Jacky was coming, Oliver decided; it meant that shehad forgiven him or gotten over it or something. Maybe she had a newlover. That was a cheerful thought. He was in a good mood when Jennifercalled him in for dinner. 

In the following days, Oliver stayed away from Suzanne as much aspossible. The few times that they were by themselves wereuncomfortable, but at least they could show the hurt they felt, even ifthey didn't talk about it. Passing in the hallway was harder. Otherswould notice if they tried to ignore each other; they were forced to befriendly in a phony way, as though they didn't feel the force drawingthem together. Suzanne began to look strained. Oliver kept his headdown and worked hard. 

The day of the party was gray and drizzly, warm for late fall. Oliverstood in the open door of the barn, holding a paper cup of ale andwelcoming guests. By mid-afternoon, cars were parked around the firstbend of the driveway. Thirty or forty people were milling about in thehouse giving Jennifer advice and admiring Emma. Jennifer was flushedand pleased. She kept the conversations lively while she broughtappetizers in and out of the kitchen. Porter had come through with aquantity of scones, apricot--walnut and cranberry--orange. Oliver tookspecial pleasure in pouring a Glenlivet for Arlen. They stood inamiable silence as rain dripped from the barn roof. 

"Couple of cows and I'd be right at home, " Arlen said. 

"I've been thinking of getting a little John Deere. "

"Well--they can come in handy. "

"I guess. " Oliver's thoughts drifted to Jacky. She appeared, on cue, walking up the drive. He met her with a hug. "Jacky! You look great. "She held him tightly and then stepped back, knuckling the top of hishead. 

"How's married life?"

"Fine, " he said. She looked at him closely. 

"I'm thinking of trying it myself, " she said. "I don't know. "

"Uh, Jacky, this is my buddy, Arlen. "

"How do you do, " Arlen said, extending his hand. 

"A pleasure to meet you, " Jacky said. "What's that in your glass?"Arlen held his glass up for inspection. Jacky bent forward and sniffed. "Sarsaparilla!"

"Quite good on a rainy afternoon, " Arlen said. 

"Yumm, " Jacky said. 

"Oliver, sarsaparilla for the lady. "

"Right away. Does the lady like water with her sarsaparilla?"

"Half and half. "

"Yes, " Arlen said approvingly. Oliver prepared her drink and handed itto her. 

"To your new family and your beautiful old house, " she toasted. 

"Jacky! How nice!" Jennifer swept in and gave Jacky one of thoselengthy woman to woman hugs, timed to the microsecond to communicateeternal devotion, unceasing turf vigilance, equality before the GreatSister, and other messages beyond Oliver's understanding. Arlen exudedcalm; the two women might have been cows rubbing shoulders. "Come andsee Emma. " Jennifer led Jacky into the house. 

Arlen and Oliver resumed their positions in the doorway. "I don't wantto intrude, Oliver, but wasn't she the one . . . "

"Yup, " Oliver interrupted. "She was. "

"Interesting, " Arlen said. "Very attractive. "

"What do you think makes someone attractive?" Oliver asked. 

"Hmmm. Physical health. Energy. Integrity is most important, I think. "

"Integrity, " Oliver imagined Jacky and then Suzanne. 

"Of course, it's different for everybody. We all have our weaknesses. Little things. Porter's forearms, for instance--the way they swell upfrom his wrist. As soon as I saw them, I thought, oh, oh . . . "

"Lucky Porter, " Oliver said. 

"Olive Oil!" George bounced in from the ell. "Hi, Arlen, how're youdoing?"

"Just fine, George. "

"Bazumas, Olive Oil! My God! I thought I'd never see her again. I askedif I could paint her. She said yes but I'd have to drive to Maryland. "George hung his head. "It's a curse--art. "

"Maryland's just down the way, " Arlen said. 

"Arlen, my car!" George threw one arm in the air. "I'm lucky it starts. _Maryland?_"

"Life is hard, " Oliver said. 

"Food, " Arlen said, heading for the kitchen. 

"Yes, " George said, following him. Oliver looked down the driveway andfocused on a man walking slowly toward the house. The man smiled whenhe was closer. 

"You must be Oliver. Ah, yes. "

"I am. I remember you from somewhere. "

"Ba, ba, boom, " the man said and twirled around. 

"Bogdolf!"

"Eric Hallston, actually. I'm an old friend of Jennifer's. "

"You look so much younger, " Oliver said. 

"The miracle of make-up. When I do a Bogdolf, I use a lot of gray. People like an older Bogdolf. "

"I'll be damned, " Oliver said. "Well, come on in. What are youdrinking? Mead?"

"Mead? Very funny. Horrible stuff. Scotch would be nice, but that ale Isee would be fine. "

"Glenlivet, right there. " Oliver pointed to the table that was insidethe barn. "Help yourself. Jennifer's in the house. " Bogdolf Eric pouredhimself a stiff one. 

"I have a surprise in here, " he said, waving a manila envelope. "Youdon't have to like it. You don't have to accept. I'm sure Jenniferwill, but you are Lord of your Keep. "

"Bogdolf, what are you talking about?"

"Eric, please. "

"Eric. " Oliver watched him extract an eight by ten glossy photographfrom the envelope. He handed it to Oliver. 

"Last one left. " A puppy with big paws and big ears stared up atOliver. "She has her shots and everything. "

"Cute, " Oliver said. "What kind is she?"

"Mother is a golden. Father is a lab. Total retriever. "

"Could bring me my paper, " Oliver said, starting to slip. 

"Might be nice for your daughter. "

"Emma, " Oliver said, brightening. "Come see her. " He took Eric throughthe ell and into the kitchen. "Here we are, " he said. 

"Eric!" Jennifer hugged him warmly. 

"Eric has a puppy for us. "

"A puppy?" Jennifer looked at the photograph. 

"Oh, how cute! How cute! Oh, Oliver, wouldn't it be just perfect forEmma?"

"Mmm. " It was hard for Oliver to disagree. 

"I can bring her any time you'd like. Sooner would be better--youknow--bonding and all that. " Jennifer nodded wisely and took Eric tosee Emma who was in her playpen in the living room. Oliver went back tothe barn. Christ, he said to himself. It was beginning to get dark, arelief. 

"Gotta go, Handsome. " Jacky appeared at his elbow. 

"So soon?"

"Long day tomorrow. Driving back. "

"I'll walk you down, " Oliver said. 

"Where's your coat? You'll get wet. "

"I don't need one, " he said. They walked down the driveway incomfortable silence. The light rain had gradually wet things through. Branches and leaves were dripping, and the drive was muddy in patches. 

"You don't look so great, " she said. 

"I'm O. K. "

"Terrific kid. "

"She is. I don't know . . . It's the sex thing. "

"I thought so, " Jacky said. She was surprisingly sympathetic forsomeone who had been throwing wine glasses at him the last time he'dseen her. 

"How's _your_ love life?"

"Improving, " Jacky said. "I found a real nice guy. He works on CapitolHill, actually. "

"I'm glad, " Oliver said. "You look mellower. "

"I've been working my way through some of this sexual stuff, " she said. "I'm not so different. I mean--I still like my equipment. " Oliver puthis arm around her shoulders and hugged her. "But it's not _so_important. There are other kinds of bonds. " She paused. "I think maybeyou have some work to do in that area. But--leave it in the bedroom, Oliver. " They walked on. 

"I'm trying, " he said. 

"I think you have a little dom in you, " Jacky said. Oliver realizedthat he was having a talk that actually meant something. He filled withgratitude. 

"I love you, " he said. "I can't live with you, but I love you. " Theyreached her car. 

"Thank you, " she said. "That's sweet. " She got in the car, started it, and rolled down her window. Oliver put both hands on the window andleaned over. "Be true, " she said. "That's the main thing. " Hestraightened. 

"Take care, " he said. He didn't kiss her; his mind was going too fast. Be true? To what? He fought for understanding. 

"Bye, Oliver, " she said. She backed out and continued backwards downthe driveway at a good clip. Coordinated, he conceded. 

"Bye, Jacky, " he said, waving as she disappeared around the corner. Therain came a little harder. Drops washed down his face like tears. Nowonder things can grow, he thought. The rain forgives them. 

18. 

Bogdolf Eric delivered the puppy two days later while Oliver was atwork. Emma loved her and vice versa. As soon as Bogdolf's presencefaded, Oliver loved her too. They tried "Jesse" for a name, then "JesseWoofwoof. " "Woof" was what stuck. She was good--natured and full ofenergy, forever trying to get Verdi to play. Verdi would tolerate herbriefly and then swipe her in the nose. Woof would yelp and jump back, feelings hurt. Verdi would leap to a windowsill and ignore her. 

Oliver stayed away from Suzanne, although he badly wanted to talk toher. He could have gotten out of the hospital Christmas party if he hadmade an effort. He didn't. 

When the day of the party came, Jennifer was happy to stay home withEmma, Woof, and Verdi. Oliver put on a warm jacket and drove to thehospital where he passed a slow two hours exchanging glances withSuzanne. Various employees made speeches, and her uncle presentedawards. Dan's daughters were a hit playing a fiddle and accordionmedley of dance tunes and Christmas carols. Suzanne was wearing acaramel-colored cashmere sweater over a tight red skirt. She made aneffort to be cheerful, but she seemed tense. Without either of themmaking an obvious effort, they moved next to each other. 

"I've got to talk to you, " he said quietly. 

"Not here, " she said. 

"O. K. "

A minute later she turned toward him and said, "Follow me when Ileave. " Her lips barely moved. He nodded. 

When the party ended, she exited the parking lot, turned right, anddrove slowly until he came up behind her. She led him seven or eightmiles away from the coast and into the country before turning into anarrow driveway. They climbed between pines to the top of a short risewhere a small house faced away from the driveway. Suzanne parked in thecarport and got out as Oliver stopped. She waved for him to follow herand walked around to the front of the house. A screened porch lookedout on a two acre field, a tangle of browns and yellows in the weakDecember sun. A rectangle of field near the porch had been made into alawn. A flower border separated the lawn from the field. 

"Isn't this pretty, " Oliver said. 

"I guess it'd be easier to live in a condo, " she said, "but I like itout here. " The way she said "I" and "out here" was instantly familiarto Oliver. She was comfortable with being alone, in the company of thetrees and the field. A chickadee flitted to a large bird feeder andflew back toward the woods. The quiet hammered in Oliver's ears. Hetook a deep breath. Suzanne was looking at him in a concerned way. Shewas concerned about _him_, he realized--not their future, not theirwork, not their child--him. 

His knees began to shake. She felt it and moved closer. "I need to sitdown, " he said. Suzanne looked at the porch. Oliver went to his kneeson the hard ground. She bent over and put a hand on his shoulder. 

"I can fix us some tea, " she said. Oliver closed his hand on her wristand pulled her slowly to the ground beside him. She rolled gracefullyto her back, her eyes wide open on his. Her other hand was on his arm, lightly holding him to her. Time slowed. 

He brought his mouth down on hers. She softened and opened. He pressedharder, flattening her lips against her teeth. He could feel the groundthrough her head as he rocked in each direction. Her hand went to theback of his head, pulling him closer. Oliver's mind began to spin fromnot breathing. He started to pull away. Suzanne's head came up withhis. She made a pleading sound and drew him back to the ground. Hishand went to her hip. Heat spread across his upper chest and into hisarms. He put one hand on each side of her head and held her down as heraised his body and gasped for air. 

Suzanne's eyes were closed. She was breathing rapidly through hermouth. Oliver got to his knees, took off his jacket, and spread it nextto her. She did not resist as he lifted her hips and moved her onto thejacket. He lay next to her and put the fingers of one hand across hermouth. She kissed his fingers. He pushed up her skirt and reachedbetween her legs with his other hand. Her knees fell open, and hermouth opened under his fingers. She tilted her pelvis, pushed againsthis hand, and helped him to remove her warm underwear. 

He took off his pants and put his fingers back on her mouth as helowered himself over her. As he slid into her, she took the heel of hishand between her teeth. When he withdrew, she bit harder. He came indeeper, and she lifted against him. Her arms were flung out wide, palmsup. He was cradled in her hips. With each stroke, he felt the groundbeneath her, felt closer and closer to home. Suzanne strained up, jerked twice convulsively, and sent a clear cry across the field. Shewrapped him with both arms and urged him, helped him through the door. He fell headfirst, grateful, filling her as he fell, filling her forgood and all. 

He lay collapsed and quiet while his breathing straightened out. Suzanne giggled. "What?" he mumbled. 

"I'm hot on top and getting cold below, " she said. 

He pictured them from above. "Ummm, " he said, "spy satellites . . . "

"It's your ass going to be saved for intelligence, " Suzanne said. 

Oliver raised himself from her. "Enough to make a man put his pants on. "

"I've got a shower big enough for two, " she said. 

Minutes later, they were trading places under a stream of hot water, soaping each other and rinsing off bits of grass and dirt. "Greatbreasts, " Oliver said, rubbing each one respectfully. 

"The Lord was in a good mood, " she said, pushing against him. 

"Oh, oh, " Oliver remembered. "What about babies?"

"I'm on the pill, " she said. "Have been ever since Donny. "

"Donny?"

"He's the one I ran away with. "

"Oh. Good about the pill. "

"I wouldn't mess you up, " she said. "Or me, either. I could never havean abortion. How about that tea?"

"Yes, " Oliver said. 

"You're a much better fuck than Donny, " she said. Oliver wasembarrassed and pleased. "Well look at you blush! Come on, Lover--here's a clean towel. "

He dried himself and dressed. As he waited for tea, he thought aboutgoing home. Impossible. "We're in big trouble, " he said. 

"I knew that the first time I saw you, " she said. "If my uncle findsout, I'm a goner. Milk and honey?"

"Sounds good. "

Suzanne handed him a steaming mug. "I just don't get it, " she said. "How can anything that feels that right be wrong?"

"I don't know, " Oliver said. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-seven. "

"I'm thirty-six. "

"Perfect, " Suzanne said. Oliver sipped his tea. The room wascomfortable--clean and furnished simply. 

"Leaving isn't going to get any easier, " he said, a few minutes later. 

Suzanne got to her feet quickly. "I know. " Oliver took another swallowof tea and put his mug down slowly. He stood. Suzanne came into hisarms, tucking her head against his shoulder. He buried his face in herhair, breathed deeply, and squeezed her. Her hair smelled of mint. 

"Don't worry, " she said. "I'll do whatever you want. " He squeezed heragain in response and left, not trusting himself to look back. 

He couldn't go home. He drove into the city and had a Guinness atDeweys. He called Jennifer and said that he needed strong drink afterthe non-alcoholic Christmas party and that he'd be back soon with apizza. 

Richard came in, and Oliver ordered another pint. "What's yourdefinition of home?" Oliver asked him. 

"Home is where you're most yourself, " Richard said without hesitating. He looked comfortably around the bar. 

"Ah, " Oliver said. "Not necessarily where you sleep, then. "

Richard raised his eyebrows. "Not necessarily. I have two homes--at thelab and right here. "

"Lucky dog, " Oliver said. Richard flashed his smile. Be yourself andyou are home anywhere. Oliver drank up. "Well, I've got to be going. "

"Have a good holiday, Oliver. "

"You, too. "

"You smell like Deweys, " Jennifer said, when he walked into thekitchen. She took the pizza from his hands. 

"Good old Deweys, " Oliver said. "How's Precious?"

"Sound asleep. Oooh, it's getting chilly. "

"I'll get some wood, " Oliver said quickly. "Come on, Woof. " They had acouple of cords stacked in the barn, cut to two foot lengths. He turnedon the light and found the maul leaning against the corner where he hadleft it. He swung the maul and tossed the wood and pretended thatSuzanne wasn't sitting in her quiet living room, pretended that nothinghad happened. Woof sat attentively in the doorway. There was only thesplitting, the thunk of the maul into the chopping block, the klokkingsound of pieces thrown on the pile . . . 

"Pizza's ready. My goodness, Sweetums, what a pile!" Oliver gathered upan armful. 

"Should hold us for awhile, " he said. Woof bounded into the house, wagging her tail. "You know, " Oliver said, "we really ought to get adecent wood stove. More efficient. And if we have furnace trouble, itwould be good to have something besides the fireplace. "

"Maybe we could get the kind with glass doors, so we can see the fire, "Jennifer said. 

"They make good ones now, " Oliver said. 

"Let's go tomorrow. "

"Solid, " he said. Little by little, normality was returning, but he hadto work at it. Luckily, he didn't have to go to the hospital untilMonday. 

19. 

Saturday morning, Oliver and Jennifer bought a stove and brought ithome in the Jeep. Mark came out and helped move the stove from the Jeepto the living room in front of the fireplace. It would go in the cornerwhen they put a chimney up for it, but, for now, they could use the oldchimney. A hole for the stovepipe was waiting, covered by a decoratedpie plate. 

Sunday afternoon, Emma lay contentedly in her playpen near the newstove while a fire burned and Oliver watched the Patriots lose anotherone. Jennifer had driven in to The Conservancy for a couple of hours. Woof was outside. Verdi was curled by a window. The stove had cost abundle, but it was worth it, Oliver thought. They charged it on one ofJennifer's credit cards. 

"Da Da. "

"Yes, Emma. " He lifted her and held her in the crook of his arm. Shelooked up at him steadily as he walked back and forth across the livingroom. Muffled snapping sounds came from the stove. He heard the windoutside and saw bare branches moving in the trees across the lawn. Thesky was gray and darkening. "Here comes the storm, Emma, " he said. "Here it comes. " He put her down in the playpen, turned off the TV, andplayed _La Traviata. _

Pavarotti's voice swelled through the house. "Listen to that, Emma!" Hestroked Verdi and watched the lowering clouds. 

Jennifer came home full of enthusiasm and plans. "Eric is having aparty!"

"Hot diggety. "

"It will be fun! And lots of Conservancy people will be there. I really_have_ to go. And I think it's good for Emma. "

"Well, it's that time of year, " Oliver said, giving in. 

"We won't stay long. "

"We'll stay as long as you want, " he said. 

They went to bed early that night. When Jennifer reached for Oliver, hefollowed her lead, waited for her, and tried to stay close. He floatedaway and brought himself back. She was uncomplicated sexually. Thankgoodness. 

She rubbed his back. "Oooh, that was nice, " she said. "You worked sohard on the stove. You're tired. Poor Sweetums. "

"Mmmm, " he said, nuzzling and hiding his face on her shoulder. "Sweetums sleep now. "

The storm dumped eight inches overnight, the first real snow of thewinter. It was blustery and clearing when Oliver went outside in themorning. The Volvo was in the barn. Jennifer was staying home until theroad was plowed. He cleared off the Jeep and crunched slowly down thehill. As the clouds shifted, the light changed from gray to white andback to gray. The Jeep slid around a little, not much. He had concreteblocks in the back, three by each wheel. The heater threw out a blastof hot air. Four wheel drive is great, he told the world. People werebrushing snow from their cars and shoveling walks. Several waved as hepassed. The first snow was always a relief. 

He couldn't stop thinking about Suzanne. It would be best not to seeher. When he walked into his office, the first thing that he saw was anenvelope on his desk. It looked like the ones that his paycheck camein. "Oliver, " was written on the front. He opened it and took out anote. 

Hi. I'll understand if you don't want to see me. But if you do--I getoff at noon Friday. I can go straight home and do the shoppingSaturday. If you can't make it, next Friday would be good too. But ifyou don't want to, I'll understand. (I said that already. ) Missing you. S. 

P. S. Eat this note. 

Oliver folded the note into a small square and buried it in his pocket. Suzanne looked up when he put his head in her door. She was dressedplainly in a white blouse. Her hair was pulled back. Her eyes weresoft. "Saturday's a good day for shopping, " he said. 

She lowered her eyes for a moment. The corners of her mouth moved downand back, the beginning of her smile. "If you go early, " she said. Shewas tender and proud, so compact that Oliver wanted to sweep her intohis arms and keep her inside his shirt. He smiled helplessly and wentback to his office. Didn't mean to do that, he said to himself. But heknew he couldn't run from her; it would be like running from himself. This thing was going to destroy him if he didn't come to grips with it, if he didn't understand what was going on. 

It was a relief to sit at his desk. One thing about computer work, hethought. You can't do it and do anything else at the same time. Auditors were coming from national headquarters, and the trial balancewas off by $185, 000. Dan was hoping to find the problem before theyarrived. It was a lot of money. Oliver wondered if it had been stolen. Was there a First Fundamentalist embezzler? He concentrated until lunchtime, leaving his office only once. Suzanne drove out at noon, and heleft five minutes later. He wasn't sure he could take seeing her againthat day. 

He drove into Portland and had lunch at Becky's, glad to be back. Hestared at the booth where he first saw Francesca. It occurred to himthat he hadn't checked on his brokerage account for months. He ate thelast of his homefries and slid the plate across the counter. 

"Had enough?" The waitress paused. 

"No, but. . . "

"We've got good pie, today. Dutch apple? Banana cream?"

"Can't help myself, " he said. "Dutch apple. "

"Warm that up, " she said, stretching behind her for a coffee pot andfilling his cup with one motion. "You want that pie heated?"

"Sure. " He added creamer to the coffee, relaxed, and looked at a largephotograph hanging on the wall behind the counter. A wave was washingcompletely over the bow of a tanker. Both the ocean and the ship weremuddy shades of gray. It was a gray stormy day. There were no people insight--just the deck, battened down, waiting to rise through a crushingweight of water. A simple black frame. No caption necessary, not in awaterfront diner. 

He remembered eating lunch with Maria and Elena. That was fun. Cutekids. Walking the beach with Francesca. The memories eased his mind. But this is now, he reminded himself. He set his mug down with a clunkto emphasize the point. Now. He left a big tip and walked to thebrokerage office. 

"Hello, Oliver. "

"Myron. "

"Bet you want to see your statement?"

"Only if there's anything left. " Myron searched in a filing cabinet. 

"Ah, here we are. " He glanced over it. "Yes. Not bad. " He handed it toOliver. The balance was quite a bit lower than the last time Oliver hadchecked, although still higher than when they began. He looked at thedetail. There were two withdrawals of four thousand dollars each. Heput his finger next to them and pivoted the paper so that Myron couldread where he pointed. "Yes, " Myron said. "Francesca called twice. Ihad ten thousand in a money market fund, so we didn't have to sell anyshares to meet her request. "

"Good, " Oliver said. 

"An attractive woman, Francesca, " Myron said. 

"You've got that right, " Oliver looked at Myron. "Do you know her?"

"I do. I grew up in Brunswick. I was three years ahead of her in highschool. "

"I'll be damned. How is she doing? Did she say?"

"We didn't really get into it. She sounded fine. I sent the checks toan address in Seattle. "

"Well done. Thanks, Myron. "

"Marriages . . . " Myron said, raising his eyebrows. "Some work out andsome don't. "

"Yeah, " Oliver said. He looked at Myron's wedding ring. "I hope yoursdoes. "

"So far, so good, " Myron said. 

"Nice going with the account. If she needs any more, you know what todo. "

"I'll keep some powder dry, " Myron said. "See you. "

Oliver stepped outside. Greenery had been wound around the lamp posts. Holiday lights were strung overhead. The sidewalks were filled withshoppers crowded between store windows and low snowbanks piled alongthe curb. Someone had brushed the snow from the bronze lobstermankneeling on his pedestal outside the bank buildings. 

Oliver liked The Swiss Time Shop, run by a Swiss watchmaker. He boughta ship's clock set in a handsome maple case, a present for the house. 

"He says 'Ja!' and everything, " Oliver told George in Deweys. "Greatguy. He actually knows how to _do_ something. "

"Nice face, " George said, looking at the clock. 

"So, what's new with you, George?"

"Jesus, Olive Oil, the gallery owners . . . " George groaned and heldhis head with both hands. "They're all the same. They treat you likedirt. I just came from one--he kept me waiting for twenty minutes andthen he had another appointment. This guy wouldn't know a painting froma Christmas card. I was big in California, Olive Oil, big. Why did Iever come back to this place?"

"How about the art school? Maybe teach a course or two?"

George looked at him in disbelief. "Theory, that's all they want. Allthe _Top Bullshitters_ are there now, Olive Oil, _talking_ about art. That's what they want. " He shook his head. "Paint? It's no use. It's nouse. "

"The Top Bullshitters!" Oliver bent over laughing. "You're right. It'sno use. What are you going to do?"

George threw up his arms. "I don't know. Fuck 'em. Paint. "

"Let me get this one, " Oliver said. 

"It's no use. " George pushed his empty glass across the bar. "That wasa great party at your place. Eats. Bazumas. "

"Jacky, " Oliver said. 

"And that Martha chick--the real estate chick--she wants to look at mypaintings. Maybe she'll buy one. "

"She's got the money, " Oliver said. "Sell her a big one and go down andpaint Jacky. "

"I'd like to, " George said. "Something about her . . . "

"Yeah, " Oliver said. "Those were the days. " Oliver had thought life wascomplicated when he used to drive over the bridge to Jacky's. "Bazumas!" he toasted. 

"The finest, " George said. 

A pint later, Oliver reached in his pocket for tip money and felt asmall thick square. On his way back to the parking garage he droppedSuzanne's note carefully into a city trash container. 

20. 

On Friday, Oliver left the hospital fifteen minutes after Suzanne droveout of the parking lot. It had been a tense week. He wasn't any closerto the missing $185, 000, and he didn't understand what was happening tohim personally. He had avoided Suzanne, although at least once a day heput his head in her door and they exchanged smiles, a moment that was arelief to both of them. 

When he got out of the Jeep, Suzanne was standing in her doorway. "Youremembered how to get here. Come on in. " She shut the door behind himand came into his arms. "Hi, Stranger, " she said. 

He breathed in the familiar minty smell of her hair which was brushedout fully and freely to her shoulders. "God, you smell good. " Shesqueezed him and stepped back. 

"Let's get that coat off you. " She had changed into dark brown cottonpants, a cream colored T-shirt, and a red plaid flannel shirt, unbuttoned. She hung his jacket on a peg by the door. 

"You look great, " Oliver said. It was the truest thing he had said allweek. 

"Thank you. " She stopped a moment, pleased. "I put the water on. Wantsome tea? Some lunch?"

"Tea would be good. I'm not too hungry--maybe a piece of toast?" Hefollowed her to the kitchen. "I've got a headache. "

"I thought you looked tense. Well, you just let me fix you right up. "She pointed to a chair, and he sat down. She knelt by his feet. "Boots, " she said, untying the laces, "here we go. " She pulled them offand led him into her bedroom. "Lie down there; I'll be right back. "Oliver stretched out. He heard water running. Suzanne came in with awashcloth that she doubled and placed across his forehead and eyes. Itwas cool and moist. "There, " she said. He felt her hands on his anklesand then his socks were drawn off. She loosened his belt and fluttereda light cover over his knees and bare feet. "There, " she said again, satisfied. 

Oliver was rarely sick. It was odd but comforting to be treated like apatient. He relaxed into the coolness of the washcloth as soundsfloated in and out of consciousness. Suzanne moved around the house. Ajazz combo started up quietly in the living room. 

"Feeling better?"

"Yes. "

"I'll bring the tea. " She returned with mugs and two toasted Englishmuffins on a plate. She put them on a bedside table, went around to theother side of the bed, and lay next to him, her head propped up onpillows. 

They sipped tea and munched on muffins. "I like it here, " Oliver said. 

"It's cozy, " Suzanne said. 

"It's hard not talking to you at work, " he said. 

"I hate it, " she said. She put down her mug. "We don't need to thinkabout that now. "

"No, " he said, closing his eyes. She placed her hand on his chest andrubbed slow circles. Oliver sighed and surrendered to the palm of herhand and her fingertips. 

"Much better, " she said. Her hand moved slowly across his chest andthen down over his stomach. Her fingers reached under the top of hispants and paused. He sighed again and rolled a little closer. Her hairbrushed across his face, and her fingers worked downwards, quietlycircling and pressing. "Oooh, " she said. "We have lift-off. "

Oliver took a deep breath. Impulses swirled. He reached down in slowmotion and undid his pants. Then he rolled over onto his knees aboveher and opened his eyes. Suzanne watched him as he yanked off herpants. A knowing smile twitched at the corners of her mouth whileconcern and a plea for forgiveness showed in her eyes. She was wet andready. She held nothing back, let him drive her crazy, begged him forit, and then gave a series of wondering cries as releases rippledthrough her body, one after another. 

He withdrew, still hard, and kissed her. He lay back and stretched hisarms toward the ceiling. His headache was gone. Suzanne lifted one handa few inches and let it fall back on the bed. "Oliver?" He moved hishead closer so that he could hear her. "You hungry yet?"

"After awhile, " he said. He ran a finger lightly down the top of herthigh. 

"Gardenburger, " she murmured. 

He rested his whole hand on her leg. "Gardenburger, " he agreed. Shesmiled slightly. The devil and the angels were gone from her face. Shemight have been a sunset or an early morning lake. They lay quietly fora minute. 

"I love it when you just _take me_ like that. "

"Mmm, " Oliver said. 

"All week, I don't know who I am. I get a hint, like, when you smile atme--but when you fuck me, I know. " Her hand lifted again and fell overagainst his stomach. He patted her hand. She sighed contentedly andslid her hand down. "Oh, " she said, "we've got work to do. " She rolledto his side and put her open mouth on his chest. She stroked himsteadily and then rolled to her back pulling him over on her. "Come on, Lover. Give it to me. " She was urgent, calling repeatedly. The needbuilt deeply and quickly, leaping into her, turning him inside out andhelpless in her arms. 

It was an hour later when he opened his eyes. "I was going to wake youat three, " Suzanne said. 

"Make that two gardenburgers, " he said. "I'd better take a shower. "

Suzanne cut up an onion and fried it with the burgers. 

"Damn, " Oliver said, emerging from the steamy bathroom, "onions!" Hewas still waking up. Suzanne was dressed again. Oliver sat at thekitchen table to eat, but he couldn't take his eyes from her breasts. They were just right, hanging and swelling under her T-shirt; they wereperfect for his mouth, like pears, but so much better. "God!" He shookhis head. "You are too much. "

Suzanne flushed. "Is that going to hold you?"

"Terrific, " he said. He ate quickly and stood. "I've got to go. "

"Hold on. " She came close and picked a blonde hair from his shirt. "Don't want you getting caught. "

"No, " Oliver said. 

"Will you come back?" she asked softly. 

"Are you kidding? As soon as I can. "

She hugged him as though he were breakable. "I'll be waiting. " It wasalmost an apology. 

He ran one hand down her hair and the compound curve of her back. "Savethat kiss for next time, " he said. 

"That one and a couple more. "

He left with difficulty and drove home. Jennifer was on a day trip tosee her mother; she wouldn't be back with Emma until six or so. Woofmet him at the door, sniffing at his clothes with extra interest. "Justbetween us, " Oliver said, rubbing her ears. He changed clothesimmediately. By the time Jennifer and Emma got home, he had baked anacorn squash, started a fire, done two loads of laundry, and split morewood. Celtic music was playing. 

"Mother says hi. Precious was very good, weren't you Precious?" Olivertook Emma. "Doesn't it smell good in here!"

"Dinner's all ready. "

"Oh, and a fire. How nice to be home. Let's turn that music down alittle. "

"Da Da. "

Oliver pushed Suzanne to the back of his mind, struggling for time tounderstand or to outlive what was happening. Early the next morning, hecut a Christmas tree in the woods behind the house. He bought lightsand a tree stand at K-Mart. By noon, they were hanging tinsel on thetree, and Jennifer was telling him that she could finally get somereally nice decorations. Rupert had never wanted to bother with a tree. 

At one-thirty, they walked across a graveled driveway in Falmouth andknocked on Bogdolf Eric's door. Oliver was carrying Emma; Jennifer helda canvas bag containing a fat beeswax candle and two bottles of wine, aChardonnay and a Merlot. 

"Ah, Jennifer!"

"Eric, " she said, handing him the bag and accepting his hug at the sametime. 

"And here we have Oliver and Miss Emma, " he said, disengaging. 

"Merry Christmas, Bogdolf. "

"Oh dear, I'm afraid--no Bogdolf today. The Lore Keeper is--in thefield. " He laughed heartily. "You'll just have to put up with plain oldEric. Come in. Come in. "

"Woofy is just wonderful, " Jennifer said. "She's the nicest dog I everhad. "

"Oofy, " Emma said. 

"Isn't she, Precious? Yes, she is. "

"A great dog--Eric, " Oliver said. 

"Yes. " Eric nodded wisely. He looked into the bag. "Now, what have wehere?"

"For immediate consumption, " Oliver said. 

"Good!" Eric said. 

He's a jerk, Oliver thought, but he's a friendly jerk. Several ofJennifer's friends were already there. In an hour the house was full ofpeople Oliver hadn't met. Jennifer moved happily from group to group. There were many children under ten years old, and there was muchdiscussion of Montessori and Suzuki methods. The men talked aboutbusiness and boats. Oliver wasn't put off by boat talk; he liked boats, had grown up around them, but he had never needed to own one, had neverwanted to pay for one. These skippers were all cruising in the samedirection: bigger is better. The business they talked was really aboutpeople. No one seemed interested in how to _do_ anything--just in whosaid what to whom during the endless reshuffling of executive ranks. 

Oliver knocked down as much of the Merlot, a good bottle, as hedecently could. There was a sharp cheddar, Havarti, Brie, a salsa, anavocado dip, baby carrots, and various kinds of chips. As he ate anddrank, the conversations around him blurred together, so that he caughtthe intent but not the detail, a more relaxing state. He had a smallDewars and refrained from asking Eric to release the Laphroiag from itshiding place. He began to see large wind-up keys protruding from thebacks of the guests. I must have one too, he thought, but set for adifferent kind of motion. These guys would march back and forth infront of the yacht club, six steps one way and six steps the other, until they wound down. 

He stepped outside and explained his key theory to a woman who wassmoking in front of the garage. She was thin with large dark eyes and ahigh-strung manner. "I'm more of an all-terrain guy. Take it slow; keepgoing until your hat floats. "

"I got the _other woman_ key, " she said in a surprising husky voice. "Igo in a straight line and turn around and no one's there. After awhile, I do it again in a different direction. "

"Shit, " Oliver said sympathetically. 

"It has its moments, " she said, flicking ash from the end of hercigarette. 

"What's your name?"

"Marguerite. "

"I'm Oliver. "

"I know. "

"You do? How?"

"Everyone does. You're the short one who married Jennifer and saved herfrom Rupert. Cute kid, by the way. "

"Aha, " Oliver said. That explained the identical looks of comprehensionhe received when Jennifer introduced him to her women friends. He _is_short, they were thinking. "Emma. Yes, " he said to Marguerite. "Thanks. What's it like--being the other woman?"

"Well, you do the heavy support work, and she gets the house. "

"Damn, " Oliver said. Marguerite finished her cigarette. 

"Do you smoke, Oliver?"

"I try to stick to drinking, " he said, finishing his whiskey. 

"Guess we better go inside and reload, " she said. She turned her backto him and bent over. "Wind me up, would you?" Oliver laughed and puthis fist on her back. He rubbed five vigorous circles. 

"There you go, " he said. "My turn. " Marguerite cranked him up, and theywent laughing back inside the house. 

Oliver was getting a pretty good buzz. Lots of water, he instructedhimself as he poured another drink. Jennifer was sitting in an armchairwith Emma in her lap. Oliver drifted to one side of the room and lookedat books--Joseph Campbell, Robert Bly, biographies of lesser known NewAge gurus. A voice caught his attention and he glanced at a tall mantelling a boat story. It was Conor. A well padded blonde stood by hiselbow and patted his arm when he said, "It wasn't _my_ graveyard. "Conor scanned the horizon for approval. Oliver had just time to goneutral and stop staring. He was startled. It was as though Francescamight be right around the corner. He went over to Jennifer whosuggested that they think about leaving--Emma was tired. Oliver agreedand then edged up to the group where Conor was comparing investmentswith another handsome salesman type. 

There was a pause in the conversation, and Oliver asked, "Do you knowMyron Marsh?"

"Marshmallow? Sure, " Conor said. "I used to have resources with him. Too conservative for me. You've got to step up to the plate--uh . . . Have we met? I'm Conor. "

"Oliver. "

"Up to the plate, Oliver. " He looked down, charming, sorry for Oliverwho was too short to hit it out of the park. 

"Ah, " Oliver said. 

"Myron's a good man, " Conor said, "known him for years. "

"Good man, " the other guy echoed. 

"I like him, " Oliver said. "I guess I'm conservative. "

"Nothing wrong with that. " Conor swept his arm expansively, making roomfor conservatives. 

"The next generation's asleep, " Oliver said, pointing to Emma. "Got topull anchor, head for port. Nice talking with you. "

"Standing clear, " Conor said. Oliver felt a rush of relief thatFrancesca had left the guy. Marguerite caught his eye. She raised hereyebrows, amused. Complicated, Oliver thought, easier to go home. 

Jennifer made an effortless series of goodbyes, impressing Oliver withher skill once again. "Farewell, Eric, " he said to the host. 

"Merry Christmas, Oliver. "

It was dark and much colder as they settled into the Volvo and drovehome. "What a great party, " Jennifer said. "You know, I was talking toMary. If you're tired of bouncing around, I think you could get a goodposition at Tom's bank. She said he was looking for someone to come inand learn the ropes, take over as MIS officer. "

"Do I look like the officer type?"

"If you don't, no one does. It doesn't have anything to do with height. You were having fun with Marguerite. "

"Yeah, I like her. What's her story?"

"Poor Marguerite, she's had--unfortunate affairs. I really don't knowwhat men see in her. She's awfully skinny. "

"Well, " Oliver said, "she's sympathetic. "

"Too sympathetic, " Jennifer said. "She ought to pick some nice guy andget on with it. " Get it on, Oliver started to say, but didn't. "It wasso nice to see all the children playing, " Jennifer continued. "Wouldn'tit be wonderful for Emma to have a little brother to play with?" Shereached over and rubbed his leg. 

"Get on with it, you mean?"

"Oh Sweetums! Of course not! Not like that. But it _would_ be nice, wouldn't it?" She kept her hand on his leg. 

"Yes, " Oliver said. "Seems like yesterday that Emma was born. "

"It does, " Jennifer said enthusiastically. 

Oliver took one hand from the steering wheel and rested it on top ofJennifer's. "Merry Christmas, " he said. "Merry Christmas, Emma. " Helooked over his shoulder at Emma, buckled into her car seat, serene, half asleep. "I love Emma. "

"And me?"

"And you, " he said. It was true, but why did his heart sink after hesaid it? There were loves and there were loves. He patted her hand andcorrected a small skid. 

21. 

Oliver enjoyed Christmas in the new house. He talked to his mother andhis sister on the phone, took pictures of Emma in front of the tree, and made another bookshelf for the living room. Jennifer eased up onthe little brother plan, accepting his suggestion that she might notwant to be heavily pregnant in July. "A little pregnant would be fine, "she said. Oliver agreed--a three or four month delay. He tried not tothink of Suzanne. He decided to skip the coming Friday visit. 

Tuesday, at work, he handed Dan a picture of Emma. "Pride of thePrescott's, " he said. 

"Chip off the old block. Does she program yet? A cutie! She'll keep youbusy. "

"She will. How was your holiday?"

"Fine. My brother came for a couple of nights. Lots of music, goodeats. " Dan patted his stomach. "Have to work it off. Any luck with thetrial balance?"

"Not so far. "

"Well, if you can't find it, you can't find it. Month to month, we'redoing fine; the numbers aren't getting worse. I've got to find Vi. " Heraced away at Dan speed. 

Oliver took a deep breath and walked down the hall to Suzanne's office. She looked at him, glad and appealing. "Friday . . . " he started. Sheblushed. 

"I've got something to show you at the house, " she said. 

"Good, " he heard himself say. He stood there, grinning, amazed athimself. "Friday, " he confirmed. He went back to the computer--happybut frightened. He couldn't make excuses; he _had_ to see her. Don'tpanic, he told himself. Just stay for a couple of hours and go toDeweys for a Friday night drink with the boys. Go home smelling ofGuinness and cigarettes . . . He was skidding, losing control. Heplunged into the hunt for the missing money with renewed determination. 

Computer programs evolve and become more complicated over time. Thisaccounting package had been in place for eight years. Many new versionshad been installed and much had been changed to suit this particularhospital. It would take too long to set up a parallel test system, andit probably wouldn't help, anyway. The best hope for fixing programmingproblems is to catch them when they happen, when there are clues tohelp in the search. The monthly trial balance is off--why? What changedlast month? A weird data situation? A new program? Modifications to anold program? But in this case, the accounts had drifted out of balanceover a six-month period, nearly two years earlier. The imbalance hadremained constant since then. Either the problem had been fixed, or itwas still there and might or might not happen again. 

Naturally, the previous programmer hadn't bothered to keep a log ormake comments in the programs. Typical. Oliver was used to cleaning upafter other programmers. In fact, their mistakes were the source ofhalf his work. Still, it annoyed him that they didn't take time to dothe job right; comments made life easier for everyone. 

On Friday, he told Dan that he didn't think he could find the problem. "Not unless it starts happening again. "

"It's not worth spending any more time on it, " Dan said. 

"What will the auditors do?"

"I don't know. Fudge it, probably. Create some kind of miscellaneousadjustment account. We'll see. Oh, we got a package from IBM--lookslike another operating system release. "

"No sweat, " Oliver said. "I'll install it after the month-endrun--midnight, the 31st. "

"I'll put it in the cabinet in the computer room, " Dan said. 

Oliver took care of loose ends until noon and waited for Suzanne todrive away. Half an hour later, she met him at her door. They clung toeach other silently and then stepped inside. Oliver hung up his coat. 

"So, what are you going to show me?"

She pointed to the living room. "Come see. "

He followed her into the room where a quilt in the making was spreadout on the rug. A roll of white cotton batting leaned against thecouch. Rectangles of brown and faded gold were stitched to a neutralbacking--some were small, some large, some nearly square, others longand thin. Short irregularly curved stems cut from cloth--mostly black, a few reddish brown--were sewn randomly over the rectangles, crossingover and under each other, separate, yet interlocking. He saw itsuddenly. "The field! Looking down. "

"Bingo!" Suzanne said. "I make a different quilt every year for thehospital benefit auction. "

"Wow, I love it. What goes on the bottom?"

"I've got a piece of dark brown material. "

Oliver's eyes moved around the quilt. The patterns were unpredictable, but they had a sense of purpose, a natural order. "You could live inthere, " he said. 

"That's the idea. Want some tea?" Oliver nodded while his eyes lingeredon the quilt. He went into the kitchen and watched Suzanne make tea. She was wearing faded white jeans and a long mustard colored sweatshirtthat clung to her curves. So compact and modest. Where did that superbquilt come from?

"It's so good to see you, " she said, putting his tea in front of him. 

He looked at her intently. "God, you're beautiful!"

She sat down, considering. "My teeth are too big. I look like abulldog. " She raised her eyes to his. "I guess I'm all right from theneck down. "

"You're so--_connected, _" he said. "Your face is like your body. Yourhand is like your face. "

"I'm feeling bad about this, " Suzanne said. She got up suddenly andknelt by his chair. "Oliver . . . " He pushed back from the table. Sheburied her face in his lap, and he stroked her hair as she rocked herhead back and forth. 

"What?" he asked. 

"Help me. "

"Of course, of course I will. "

"I've been so bad, " she said. "I keep thinking of your little girl. "She rose on her knees. Her face was lost and pleading. She reached downand undid her jeans. She pushed her jeans and underwear down over herhips and put her hands on his legs. She swallowed. "I know it's crazy. "Her voice trembled. "Would you spank me, Oliver? Please?" He didn't sayanything, and she placed herself across his lap. He felt foolish. Heraised his hand and slapped her lightly. "Harder, " she said. "Please. "He slapped her harder and felt her sigh. She lifted and waited for thenext blow. Soon she was whimpering and breathing harder, crying outwhen he struck. As he spanked her, the cries became more intense. Hebegan to want them; he felt as though they were his--or theirs. Whenshe collapsed, weeping, he stopped and lifted her from his knees. Hestood and carried her to the bedroom. He lowered her to the bed and laynext to her, caressing her slowly. 

Her face became calm. "So good to me, " she said without opening hereyes. He took off his clothes and hovered over her. Her mouth waspartly open, expectant. He couldn't think any more. He plunged down andinto her. She quivered and took him, let him fuck her as hard as hewanted, arched under his bite, and held him while he made her his. 

"Are you all right?" Oliver asked, ten minutes later. 

"Does the Pope wear funny hats?"

"Suzanne?"

She rolled against him, her breasts soft on his upper arm. "Yes?"

"God, Suzanne. That was different. " She put her hand on his chest andrubbed slow circles, the way she'd done when he'd had a headache. "I'vebeen on the receiving end--a while back. But I never dished it out likethat. "

"How did it feel?"

"Kind of strange, at first. Then it felt good. "

"I knew we were in trouble, " she said. "What happened?"

"What do you mean?" he asked. 

"To that relationship, when you were--receiving. "

"Oh, " he said. "I changed. Yi! What time is it?"

"Getting on for three. "

"Baby, I've got to run. I hate to. " He was already dressing. 

"I know, " she said. 

He was gaining speed. Deweys was his only hope. He had to get there andget Suzanne to the back of his mind before he could go home. The quiltstopped him. 

"Suzanne. " She came naked into the living room. "This quilt isspecial. " He thought. "It's because you are . . . And I don't meanjust because you're twenty-seven and gorgeous. How did you do it?"

"I follow my heart, that's all. " She looked at the quilt. "It needs alot of work. "

"I've really got to go. Damn!"

She blew him a wistful kiss. "Bye, Baby. "

Oliver fled. He drove fast, hoping that speed would force him into thepresent, that driving would require all of his attention, but images ofJacky and Suzanne kept replacing each other in front of him. Suzannesurrendered to him the way he had surrendered to Jacky. Suzanne gaveherself to him totally. Her trusting eyes put him in a powerful place. But as he swelled with strength, something else happened--a littlevoice whispered: _take care of her; she's yours. _ He never felt thatwith Jacky or with Jennifer. They took care of themselves. 

The quilt had shocked him. Suzanne was gifted. She was so sexy, sophysical, so loving--how could she not have children? She deserved agood husband and family, not a misfit for a lover, too old for her, andmarried besides. Her breasts. God. Oliver drove faster. 

"Pint of the finest, " he said to Sam. His favorite spot was empty atthe end of the bar. He leaned against the wall and listened to TajMahal playing the blues, keeping precise and honest time. He slid theempty glass toward Sam. "Let's do that again. " Women. Halfway throughthe second pint, he said it out loud, "Women, " and let go a deepbreath. Deweys at that hour was securely masculine. It was understoodthat women were a source of difficulty, desirable though they were. Oliver glanced around the room. The man didn't exist, in Deweys, atthat hour, who didn't have the scars to prove it. 

He raised his glass to Mark who had just come in. "What are you goingto do?" he said. 

"About what?"

"Women. "

"Ah, marriage, " Mark said. 

"It's not so bad, " Oliver said. Better than the first time. Love thekid. But, Jennifer's working less and spending more. She wants to haveanother baby and be a full time momma. She wants to add on to thehouse. "

"You just got the house. "

"I know. What she wants to do makes sense, but it's a lot of money. Most of her friends have boats. They _all_ have boats. Wouldn't it benice to go sailing with Emma?" Oliver lifted his hands in a helplessgesture. "She's even got me lined me up for a good job at a bank. "

"Where the money is, " Mark said. 

"I mean, it's not bad. It's just . . . " Oliver shook his headnegatively. "Gathering clouds, " he said. 

"Sounds like a stripper, " Mark said. "Wasn't there a famousstripper--Tempest Storm?"

"I don't need a stripper, " Oliver said, suddenly pleased with himself. 

"Tempest Storm, " Richard O'Grady said, shuffling to the bar, brighteyed. "Volcanic!"

"Hey, Richard. What's happening?"

"Nothing volcanic--but I found a '55 T-Bird. It's a little rough. Mymechanic and I are putting it in shape. "

"Nice, " Mark said. "It will appreciate. "

"Right, " Richard said. "If it survives my niece. It's going to be apresent for her eighteenth birthday. "

"Would you be my uncle?" Oliver asked. 

"Since she's not quite seventeen, that means I'll have to drive it fora year. " Richard illuminated the universe with one of his smiles. 

"Well, you want to test it out, " Mark said. Oliver laughed and drankmore Guinness. The room filled with the Friday crowd. He would be homean hour late. So be it. Jennifer would forgive him. Emma would give hima big smile. Woof. Verdi. 

In the following months, Oliver slipped further. 

Suzanne took days off, left early for the dentist, and called in sickwhen they couldn't stand to be apart any longer. No one seemed tonotice that they were often absent from the hospital at the same time, although Molly began smiling at Oliver in a shrewd and tolerant way. "What are _you_ smiling at?" Oliver asked her as he was leaving oneafternoon. 

"Mama didn't raise no fools, " she said. 

"I like your mama--she make biscuits, by any chance?"

"Melt in your mouth, " Molly said. "Almost as good as mine. "

"I want to die and wake up in Georgia, " Oliver said. Molly was warninghim. If she had figured it out, the rest would too. 

Suzanne gave herself to him utterly. She hoped that he would make loveto her when he came over, but if he wanted only to hold her or to havehis back rubbed, that was fine, too. He learned about her religiousbeliefs. She went to church every Saturday with the Fundamentalists anddid her part in their community which included a school as well as thehospital. She was good-natured about her uncle and didn't take therules too literally. How could she and carry on with Oliver? Shebelieved in prayer. "Every night I ask forgiveness. I ask the Lord toshow me the way. I need a lot of forgiving, " she said. 

"You're so sweet, " Oliver said. 

"I can be a bitch, " she said. "I just don't feel that way around you. "She lifted her face, lips parted for a kiss, and he pulled her to him. 

She told him about her father, a long-distance trucker who drove awayfor good when she was eight. He had a drinking problem and was abusive. He lived in California somewhere, she thought, or at least he had once. Her mother remarried when Suzanne was in high school. Suzanne didn'tlike her new stepfather. When her mother moved out of town, Suzannestayed behind for her last year of high school, living with her uncleand aunt. That was when she ran away with Donny, a sax player, and gota taste for jazz. She left him when she realized that his love fordrugs was a lot stronger than his love for her. 

She told him funny stories about Harley, who ran the local U-Haulfranchise and was forever hitting on her for a date. She liked Harley. "He can fix anything. " He was a Fundamentalist in good standing. "Ifthey can put up with Harley, they can put up with me, " she said. 

Their relationship remained intensely physical. Oliver spanked her afew more times, but it quickly became a ritual, not a punishment. Suzanne didn't want him to hurt her. She wanted him to control her, adifferent matter. He felt increasingly responsible for her. He didwhatever he wanted with her, sexually. She molded to his needs andbecame more beautiful by the week. 

One afternoon, as Oliver was leaving the hospital, Gifford called himinto his office. "What can I do for you?" Oliver asked. 

"Nothing special, " Gifford said. "I wanted to check in with you. We arepleased with your work. "

"Thank you. I've had a lot of cooperation from Dan and--Suzanne. "

"Yes. Suzanne said that you were attentive to detail. " Gifford rubbedhis chin. "She's my niece, you know. "

"Yes, " Oliver said. 

"She's had troubles in the past, but she's overcome them with hard workand the Lord's help, " Gifford said. "She'll make someone a fine wife. "

"He'll be a lucky guy, " Oliver said. 

Gifford agreed. "And how is your family?"

"Fine, " Oliver said. "Fine. Emma will be walking any day. "

Oliver began drinking wine every night at home, taking refuge in ajovial family life that was drifting toward the rocks. He lookedstressed when he wasn't drinking. Jennifer worried about him and urgedhim to dump the hospital job. 

"Well, " Oliver said to her one evening, pouring a large glass ofChianti Classico, "you're going to like this--_they_ are dumping _me_. "

Jennifer applauded. "I'll have a glass of that. What happened?"

"They were ordered to. The auditors did a solid job--took them weeks, remember?"

"I do, " Jennifer said. "There, Precious. "

"Dan was right about the missing money. They didn't think anything ofit, said it was well within reasonable limits. Can you imagine, $185, 000? They treated it like fifty cents. What do you think happensat General Motors? My God, millions must get screwed up every month. "He clinked glasses with Jennifer. "Here's to the miscellaneousadjustment. I still don't know whether it was stolen. I doubt it, somehow. "

Oliver cut off a piece of cheddar. "Anyway, they took the books back toheadquarters, and today they ordered us to switch to a differentsoftware package, one that will be standard at all their hospitals. Centralized control. No more local programming. Bye, bye, Oliver. " Hewaved his glass. 

"Bye, bye, " Emma said. Jennifer hugged her. 

"I'm about done now, really. A couple of reports, one more operatingsystem revision . . . I'm a little sad about it. It's surprising howyou get to _like_ people. I mean, the Fundamentalists are nutso withall their rules, but they do a lot of good. If you're an overweightsingle parent with three children, no education, and no job, they'llfind a place for you. They work hard, and they help each other. Dan isa really nice guy. And . . . " he stopped. "I just remembered--I have apresent; it's in the Jeep. I was going to surprise you. "

Oliver returned from outside carrying Suzanne's quilt. "I couldn'tresist, " he said. He unfolded it and held it up. "It was on display fora month at the hospital, one of the items for their benefit auction. It's handmade. I kept seeing Emma sleeping under it, so I made a bidand got it. "

"Oooh, " Jennifer said. "Ooooh, Precious, look what Daddy got for you!"

"Do you like it?" Oliver asked. 

"It's beautiful, " Jennifer said. 

"That's what I thought. "

"Who made it?"

"Suzanne--you know, the woman I told you about who has been so helpful. See? Look down here. " He pointed out a tangle of stems in one cornerwhere "SUZANNE" had been stitched in a way that made the letters looklike part of the growth. "See there?"

"Oh, I see it. How clever!"

"It's a field, " Oliver said. 

"How much did you bid?"

"You don't want to know. "

"That much? Oh well, I suppose it's for a good cause. "

"Right, " Oliver said. "Emma. " He scratched his head and drank moreChianti. "Money. What was that guy's name? The bank guy?"

"Tom. I'll call Mary tomorrow and check it out. "

Oliver felt his insides contract. "Guess it can't hurt, " he said. Hefolded the quilt. 

"Da Da, " Emma said. 

"It's a quilt for you, Special One. "

"Sweetums, next weekend . . . "

"Yes?"

"It's Daddy's birthday and Mother is having a major party, Saturdaynight. "

"That's nice, " Oliver said dutifully. "Can't make it though. "

"How come?"

"Saturday is the 31st, month-end. It's the only time I can installthose damn operating system changes--after the monthly reports andbackups and before any new transactions. "

"Oh dear. "

"It's my last responsibility, the last round-up. "

"Well, Daddy will understand. I'll take Precious down Saturday morningand come back Sunday afternoon. I hope the roads aren't bad. "

"Don't go if they are. "

"We'll see. Time for nighty-night, Precious. Da Da got you a lovelyquilt. "

22. 

Oliver adjusted his tie. The blue blazer that Jennifer had bought fitwell. "You look wonderful, " she said, brushing non-existent dust fromhis shoulder, her face happy behind him in the mirror. The oxford-clothshirt was soft and expansive. His gray wool slacks were tightlycreased. His shoes gleamed. Her creation. "Now don't be late. "

Oliver turned and saluted. "Aye, aye . . . Jennifer, I don't knowabout this. "

"You'll like Tom. He's a dear. "

"I'll probably stop in for a pint, after. I'll be back by seven. "

"We'll eat late. You look just right. "

Oliver drove into Portland and parked in the Temple Street garage. Thedowntown high-rise buildings were all banks now. The highest points inthe city used to be church steeples, Oliver thought. Now, all you seeup there are bank signs. 

He entered the dark and ornate lobby of Pilgrim's Atlantic. Money wastaken seriously here. He looked for the elevator. "Topside, " Tom hadsaid. 

When the elevator doors opened at the top floor, Oliver was disorientedby the orange carpet, the color-coordinated flowery wallpaper, and thesunny windows. A well-built maternal receptionist smiled from behind anantique table. Where was he? He returned her smile. Two silver-hairedexecutives approached and passed each other in the center of the largeroom. They had magnificent chests and sun-bronzed features. They noddedantlers and continued on their separate paths to polished doors. 

Oliver stared, entranced. A red-haired assistant wearing a tight skirtand a close-fitting white blouse came from behind a corner and followedone of the executives into his office. In front of her, she held asilver tray. There was a glass of milk on it and a small plate ofcookies. Nursery school, he thought, and started to laugh. The powerfloor is a nursery school!

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Yes, ha. Yes. Tom Alden. Three o'clock. "

"You must be Mr. Prescott. "

"Oliver. "

"Please make yourself comfortable. Mr. Alden will be with you in just amoment. May I get you a refreshment?"

"Ah, that's very nice of you. Let's see. " Take your blouse off. Laphroiag. A ticket to anywhere . . . "Coffee--cream, no sugar, ifyou would. " The woman pressed a button and spoke softly. Oliver sat onthe edge of a love-seat and considered the reading matter on a coffeetable: _Fortune, The Rolls Royce, _ and a copy of _The Economist. _ Theredhead appeared at his side, bending fetchingly as she set down a cupand saucer. "Thank you, " Oliver said sincerely. 

"Oliver? How good of you to come. " Tom, a slimmer darker trophy elk, smiled winningly and shook hands. "How's that coffee? It's Pilgrim'sblend; we have it roasted to our specs. Margaret, we'll be tied up forawhile. If Jack Dillon calls, tell him I'll get to him by four. Thanks. Come on in, Oliver. " He patted Oliver warmly on the shoulder. "How'sJennifer?"

"Fine. She sends her best, by the way. "

"Good. Good. " Tom opened one of the polished doors and ushered Oliverinto his office. The harbor spread out before them. A ferry was halfwayto Peaks Island. 

"Nice view, " Oliver said. "I love the look of those ferries. "

"One of the better perks, " Tom admitted. "The town is growing fast. Ihope we aren't overstressing the harbor. "

"Often a subject of discussion at our house, " Oliver said. 

"Jennifer does good work with The Wetlands Conservancy. We do what wecan to help. Jacky Chapelle, one of ours, used to be on their board. You know Jacky?"

Oliver felt his room to maneuver slipping away. "Yes, " he saidinnocently. 

"One of our best, Jacky. We took her on at a lower position and madequite a career for her. We take care of our own at Pilgrim. " Tomswiveled around to face Oliver more directly. "Why do you want to comeaboard, Oliver?"

"Pilgrim has an excellent reputation, " Oliver said. 

"We're the can-do bank, " Tom said, smiling. "Didn't Mary tell me youguys have added to the crew?"

"Yes, " Oliver said. "Emma. She just had her first birthday. " He shookhis head, letting Tom see that he appreciated the gravity and thewonder of it. 

"Mary and I have twins. The future becomes--more important, " Tom said. Daddy would love this guy. 

"You want to do your part, " Oliver said. 

"I'll be honest with you, " Tom said, leaning forward, "we're lookingfor a good man for our MIS position. We need someone who can handlechallenge, take on responsibility. Technology is changing fast, Oliver;Pilgrim must change with it. We're a large organization, but we keep asmall turning radius. That's how we stay in front of the competition. Teamwork. You know--in the last analysis--business is all aboutpeople. " He stopped to gauge Oliver's enthusiasm. Underneath all thenautical bullshit, Oliver sensed a fairly sharp guy, hard-workinganyway. 

"I can do the work, " he said. "But it would take me six months to getup to speed. "

"We've got four, " Tom said. 

"What are weekends for?" Oliver asked. That got him the job. That andthe Jennifer connection and some boat talk. 

He walked to Deweys and was greeted loudly by George. "Olive Oil, myGod!" George waved at Oliver's blazer, slacks, and shiny shoes. "Whathave you done?"

"Pilgrim Atlantic is taking me aboard, " Oliver said. 

"My God . . . Is the money that good?" George's eyes gleamed. 

"Money's good. It gets better if you keep your mouth shut and worksixty hours a week. I haven't actually started. I just came from theinterview, but it's a pretty sure thing. I'll buy. " Sam set two pintsin front of them. 

"Maybe it won't be too bad, " George said. "Lot of women in there. "

"All very well for you, George. I am a man with responsibilities. "

"I see them going in. They look like they're going to jail. I want tosave them, carry them away on a white horse. " George shook his headsadly. "I can't afford a horse. "

"There aren't any white horses left, " Oliver said. "_Silver_ was it. "He raised his glass to the impossibility of it all. "How's thepainting?"

"I'm taking a break from painting, working on a sculpture. I'm doing agolden cockroach. " George's face changed when he talked about hisprojects. His big smile and round eyes were upstaged by his prominentforehead and the bones in his cheeks. His mouth went from boyish todisciplined. "Intelligent, " he said. "Indomitable. King of thecockroaches. "

"Too much. What's the King doing?"

"He's poised, feeling with his antennae, sensing his direction. "

"I like it, " Oliver said. 

"Yeah, come over and see it. "

"We talked about Friendship sloops, " Oliver said, after a swallow ofGuinness. "They're big on boats at Pilgrim Atlantic. "

"Boats!" George shook his head wonderingly. 

"Actually, I like them, " Oliver said, "I wouldn't mind trying to makeone some day. There was a dinghy that belonged to a neighbor of ourswhere I grew up. It was very light on the water. Light--but curved andstrong--like a winter oak leaf that had drifted down. Herreschoff. Itwas a Herreschoff dinghy. He was the Mozart of boat designers. "

"Like to see that, " George said. 

"It was white, " Oliver said. "Always seemed freshly painted. Owl, mystepfather, liked boats. He died in one, or--off one. _Graceful thingsare stronger than they look. _ He told me that once. It's almost adefinition. "

"Easy to see. Hard to make, " George said. 

Two pints later, Oliver slapped George on the back and walked to theparking garage. It occurred to him, as he drove home, that he hadforgotten Pilgrim Atlantic for a whole hour. 

In the morning, Jennifer was up early. Oliver carried Emma out to theVolvo and secured her in the car seat. "Be careful, " he said toJennifer. She kissed him quickly and lowered herself behind the wheel. "Regards to all, " Oliver said. "Wish your father a happy birthday forme. "

"I will. " Her eyes lingered on his face. "Go back to bed, " she said, worried. "You've got a long day ahead. "

"Last one at the hospital, " Oliver said. 

"See you. "

"See you. Bye, Emma. " Emma smiled for him, and Jennifer took off downthe driveway, too fast, as usual. Oliver went back to bed for an hour. 

He stayed around the house, split wood, and organized his tools. Hewatched a basketball game and took a nap. His plan was to start the dayover again around eight in the evening, eat breakfast at a diner, andbe at the hospital in time to make sure that everything was ready atmidnight for the operating system revision. With luck, he could be atSuzanne's by one or one-thirty in the morning. "I know you need to begood on Saturdays, " he had said to her. "But it will be _Sunday_. I canactually stay all night, for once. " Suzanne thought for a second. 

"If I'm in bed, the door will be open, " she said. Oliver felt a jolt ofelectricity, remembering. 

He looked around the house and ruffled Woof's ears. "See you tomorrow. So long Verdi--wherever you are. " He drove away in the dark and begancollecting himself for computer work. 

His schedule was perfect. The reports ran correctly. He made an extraset of backups and had time to clean out his desk before midnight. Theoperating system went in without a hitch. Shortly after one, he easedup Suzanne's driveway. 

Her lights were on. 

"Hi, there, " he called softly as he stepped inside. She cameimmediately to the door and held open her arms. "Mmmm, you looksleepy, " Oliver said. 

"I've been reading, mostly, waiting for you. I took a nap after church. Are you very tired?"

"Not really. I took a nap, too. "

"Want some tea? I have one strawberry jam left from last summer. "

"Love some. " He stepped back and looked at her white bathrobe. "Doesthis come off?"

"Pull here, " she said, offering him one end of the cotton belt. 

"Later, " he said. "I was just curious what was underneath. "

"_I_ am underneath, " she said. They had tea and toast in the kitchen. 

"Your quilt is a big hit. "

"Oliver, you spent too much. "

"I had to have it for Emma. "

"The church will find good use for the money. "

Emma. The church. They fell silent. It was late and still. There wereno distractions. Suzanne turned toward Oliver. Her face was rueful andsweet and helpless. He slapped her hard, turning her head sideways. Itwas like a snake striking. 

She turned her face slowly back to him. A tear welled up in each eye. Oliver's mouth was open in shock. "Suzanne . . . " he said, horrified. 

"It's all right, Baby, " she said. The tears slid down her cheek. "Youcan hit me again, if you want to. It would only help me remember you. "

"_No, no!_ I never want to hit anybody again, let alone you. I don'tknow what happened. "

"It's the strain of what we're doing. I feel it, too. " She was speakingthe truth for both of them. She was braver than he was. "We have tostop, " she said. 

"It's true, " Oliver said. "Suzanne, " the words came in a rush, "youwould be such a wonderful mother. You are so special. You deservebetter. " A bitter wind was tugging at his heart. "You're right--we haveto stop. " He stood up. "This is hard. Better to get it over with. "

"You have been so good to me, " she said, standing slowly. "Maybe theLord's going to let me get away with one. " She came to him, and theirmouths met--a long gentle meeting. As they pulled apart, Oliverrealized that they were separating as equals. He felt a ripping in hischest. He walked quickly to the door and took his coat from the peg. Suzanne stood in the center of the room. She was crying, but her facewas clean and shining. 

"Bye, Oliver, " she said. "Don't feel bad. "

He couldn't speak, could only acknowledge her and try to thank her witha helpless wave. He went out the door without putting on his coat anddrove away without looking back. 

The wind in his chest began to howl. He gripped the steering wheeltighter. Suzanne was right. She was right. He turned south on the mainroad. He was right, too, to go--before they got caught, before she wasseriously hurt. She would get over him. She had a lot going for her. 

The wind howled louder. It was like a dark angel blowing through him. He had never hit a woman before. He hadn't known he was capable of it. The dark angel was telling the truth, blowing him down the road. He hadto set Suzanne free. She was better off without him in the long run. She sensed that, too, although they hadn't talked about it directly. They were a perfect match physically, and he loved her, but they werejust too different. He banged the wheel with one fist and hung on asthe angel blew harder. 

Enormously harder. _Jennifer. _ He had to leave her, too. Freeeverybody. Oh, no! _Emma. Emma. _ He hit the wheel again and shook hishead, but the angel wouldn't let him alone. "Do it now, " he toldhimself. "Do it now. While you can. " Could he?

Yes--if he kept going. The truth kept blowing through him. He couldn'thave continued, otherwise. He bounced to a stop in front of his house, went inside, turned on all the lights, and played _La Traviata_ at topvolume. He put his toolboxes in the Jeep and covered them with a tarp. He dumped his clothes in piles on the back seat, shoes and boots on thefloor. He filled a cartridge box with cassettes and put it in the frontseat with the George Nakashima book. He gathered bathroom stufftogether and remembered his briefcase and the file box where he kepthis credit card information, the brokerage agreement, bank statements, and his passport. He put these in the front of the Jeep and tookanother look around the house. He added a flashlight and a picture ofEmma to the pile in front. Woof and Verdi watched uneasily. 

He made a mug of black tea and sat at the kitchen table with a pen anda pad of paper. 

"Jennifer, I have to leave. I just realized it. It's better to do itnow while you're away. I don't think I could if Emma were here. I can'tgive you the life you want and that you should have. It will be betterfor Emma, too, in the long run. I am very sorry to cause you this pain. You have been nothing but sweet to me, and you deserve better. I don'tknow where I'm going, but it won't be anywhere around here--so youdon't have to wonder if I'm going to come driving in. Take care ofEmma. I couldn't do this if I didn't know it was best for everybody. 

"Here is enough to keep you going for three months. I'll send more assoon as I can. You can have the house and everything else. I just tookmy tools and clothes. I'm sorry. Oliver"

He wrote a check and left it on top of the note. He washed the mug andleft it on the dish rack. Woof made a whimpering sound. Oliver pattedher. "Take care of everybody, " he said. 

Verdi sniffed at the door. "You want to come with me?" Oliver asked, suddenly hopeful. He opened the door and watched Verdi stalk around theend of the house. "No. You're better off, here. " He turned out thelights and drove down the hill. "So long, " he said. 

A band of gray was lightening in the east. The wind was still blowingthrough his chest but without the angriest gusts. He thought ofstopping at Becky's in Portland, but he couldn't face leaving anotherfamiliar place. It was better to drive. Drive where? South. That'swhere people go when they leave Maine. Down the turnpike. He pulled offat the first rest stop and nodded at a trucker who was walking back tothe parking lot. Take a leak, a cup of coffee. Go. 

23. 

Oliver stopped for breakfast in Chelmsford and then made it south ofWorcester before his adrenaline burned down. Massive numbness lay aheadlike a fog bank. Stop, he told himself. He found a motel and asked fora room. "Sure thing, " the desk clerk said. "That'll be six hundredbucks. "

"What!"

"April Fool. " The clerk fell over the counter, laughing. 

"That's me, " Oliver said. 

He slept all afternoon, ate at a Burger King across the road, watchedthe news, and fell asleep again without ever really waking up. 

The next morning, he stared over a cup of coffee and tried to getorganized. It was Monday. Jennifer and Emma were home. The damage wasdone. Suzanne. What a peach she was. He wrote to her, thanking her forbeing wonderful. It wasn't just you, he told her. He had to leaveJennifer, too. Suzanne would understand that intuitively. He wrote thathe didn't know where he was going, but that he wouldn't be back anytimesoon. He asked her to send his last check to Jacksonville, Florida, care of General Delivery. He signed it "Love, Oliver. " Spring was agood time of year to go down the coast. He wanted to get far from Maine. 

He called Myron and asked him to send a check for ten thousand dollarsto the same address. "No problem, " Myron said with admirable restraint. "Do it this afternoon. "

"Thanks. " Oliver paused. "Any word from Francesca, lately?"

"Not since those two withdrawals. "

"I guess that's good, " Oliver said. "I'll be in touch. "

"I'll be here, " Myron said. Oliver hung up, relieved. He had no plan;he was still numb. Might as well change the oil in the Jeep, hethought. Get something done. 

While he waited for the car, he wrote to his mother, telling her thatthe marriage was over. Nobody's fault, he assured her with Arlen'swords. He didn't want her to be surprised by the news if she happenedto call Jennifer. Nor did he want to stop in Connecticut and explain inperson. He needed to be alone and somewhere else. His mother wouldunderstand, although she would be upset. She acted on _her_ feelings;she knew what it was like, the necessity of it. She must have oncewritten a note to Muni that was similar to the one he had left forJennifer. He felt more sympathy for each of them. 

He stayed another night in the motel. The desk clerk directed him to aChinese restaurant down the road where he ate silently and noticed thathe had no desire to drink. He was still numb. Eating and breathing andsleeping seemed all he could manage. 

By mid-afternoon the next day, Oliver was in Jacky country. The lightwas different in Maryland--flatter and more open. It was full spring. As he approached the turnoff to the town where Jacky lived, he admittedto himself that he was not going to stop. It was comforting to think ofher. Their passionate relationship had run its course, served itspurpose, and, in the end, had left no bad feelings. She was his friend. Be true, she had told him at the housewarming. Well, he had been. Forbetter or worse. Now he needed to be alone. "Be true!" he called outthe window as he passed the turn. Leaving Jacky's, he thought--it mustbe time for Willy Nelson. _On the road again . . . _

Oliver drove steadily, stopping early, and taking walks at the end ofeach day. His mind remained knotted in Maine. He went over and overconversations with Jennifer. She had been consistent, alwaysherself--cheerfully ambitious, social, not right for him. He tried notto think about Emma. 

Three mornings later he found the Jacksonville Post Office. Myron'scheck was there; Suzanne's was not. He endorsed the brokerage check fordeposit and mailed it to his bank. What to do next?

He was feeling more rested. He'd gotten into the rhythm of travelingand didn't want to wait around for the other check. He bought a roadatlas and flipped through the maps over a cup of coffee. Key Westlooked interesting. Oliver had never been all the way down the coast. But then what? He pictured himself doing a u-turn and driving back upthe length of Florida. I think I'll hang a right, he decided. Arizona. Tucson. That ought to be different. 

He left a forwarding card at the Post Office and turned west. As hesettled into the drive to Tallahassee, he let out a sigh and relaxed. He'd made the right decision, although he didn't know why. 

The lush green South eventually gave way to the Texas plains and thenthe dry highlands of New Mexico. There was something elemental and downhome about New Mexico that was similar to Maine, Oliver found. TheIndians were impressive--silent and aware, not unlike the Japanese inthat respect. New Mexico wouldn't be a bad place to live. 

Tucson was a small city in a basin rimmed by desert mountains. TheUniversity of Arizona was a modern oasis in the center. Suzanne'sletter was waiting at the Post Office--a check and a note:

Oliver, Everything is the same except you're not here. I miss you. Don't worryabout me--I'll be O. K. In a couple of months. There will always be aplace in my heart for you. Please be careful. All my love, Suzanne

His heart twisted. He was recovered enough to feel bad. That was betterthan feeling nothing, he supposed. Oliver mailed the check to his bankand considered what to do. He was far enough from Maine and had beengone long enough so that he was beginning to realize that he didn'tlive there any more. He rented a motel room and decided to eat in areal Mexican restaurant, if he could find one. He asked around and wastold to drive out East Speedway and look on the left. Fairly far outalong a strip of gas stations, discount stores, and used car lots, hespotted a substantial wooden building with a restaurant sign. 

He parked and walked inside to another sense of time and space. Thedining room was cool and dark, purposefully shaded from the sun by oldtimbers and thick walls. It was quiet. It might have been 1800 or 1600. The awareness of time stretched further back than anything he had feltin New England. 

He ordered carne secca, beef flavored with intense dry spices that hehadn't before tasted. He drank tequila and wine. A stern guitarembraced the silence. At the end of the meal, Oliver had a finaltequila. To his astonishment, he began to cry. Tears ran down hischeeks while he sat still, occasionally sipping his drink. When thetears stopped, he dried his face with a cloth napkin and shook hishead. Much of the numbness was gone. He hurt. 

For the first time since he had left Maine, Oliver wanted comfort. "Francesca, " he said. He wasn't all that far from the West Coast. Hecould probably get to Seattle in four or five days. He had been headingthere all the time but hadn't known it. He collected himself and droveback to the motel. He was in pain, but he had a plan--get to Francesca. 

Three long days of driving later, he pulled into the parking lot of thehotel in Eugene where he had stayed when he had met his father. Seattlewas only six hours away. The next morning, he bought a bright red shirtand a bottle of Laphroiag. 

As he drove north on I5, he thought about Francesca and what to say toher. He forgot it all as soon as he found a parking place, late in theafternoon, several blocks from her address in Ballard. The city wasattractive, bustling, built on hills overlooking Puget Sound. It hadbeen hot in Tucson. Here, it was cool again, although Seattle wasmilder than Maine. 

He locked the Jeep and walked nervously along a sidewalk. He crossed astreet and passed several houses surrounded by large hedges. Childrencalled. He stopped. Francesca was standing at the edge of an elevatedlawn in front of the next house. Her back was to him. A tall man stoodnext to her, his arm around her shoulders. Beyond them, Maria and Elenawere kicking a soccer ball. They looked older and bigger. Francesca andthe guy were comfortable together, familiar. Oliver was shocked, although he shouldn't have been. Francesca was a beautiful woman. 

He turned slowly and walked away, trying to get out of sight and catchhis breath at the same time. He felt as though he'd been kicked in thestomach. Francesca! He'd been counting on her in the back of his mindand deep in his heart. He turned the Jeep around and drove toward thewater until he reached a street that was lined with art galleries andbars. He saw a parking spot and stopped. 

Oliver got out of the Jeep and walked into the nearest bar. Two pintsof local ale later, he was able to stretch his legs and try to face thesituation. There wasn't much to it, really. He had driven five thousandmiles to get away from Maine, and he'd discovered a happy Francesca. That, at least, was good. But he was in trouble. He kept drinking. 

When the bar closed, Oliver walked out and swayed on the sidewalk. Hewent to the Jeep and thought about rearranging things so that he couldput the back seat down and sleep inside. Later, he thought. Deep needpulled him towards Francesca's house. He walked back up the hill. Whenhe got to her house, the lights were out. He stood there, half out ofhis mind. He walked into the dark carport and stopped by a set ofwooden steps that led to a side door. There was a doormat on theconcrete floor by the steps. Oliver looked at the door, kneeled, curledon the mat, and passed out in his new red shirt. 

He woke up just before dawn. The house was quiet. My God, he thought, what am I doing? He got stiffly to his feet and left as quietly as hecould. He was still drunk, but he was able to drive out of the city andfind a truck stop where he slept in the Jeep for three more hours. 

He awoke with a bad hangover and ate breakfast shakily. Shaving wasn'tworth it. He drove aimlessly south, back the way he had come. When hereached Portland, he turned toward the coast and drove with morepurpose. The Devil's Churn wasn't that far from Portland. 

24. 

The hurt that Oliver had felt since Tucson was much worse. Being truehad taken him far from everyone, had torn his connections to everythingoutside himself. He had always been a bit remote, distant from others, an observer; now he was completely alone. He felt an intense pain, akind that he had never known, a gnawing and ripping internal pain fromwhich he couldn't escape. He was being torn apart. When he reached theparking area at The Devil's Churn, he opened the Laphroiag and took twolong swallows. He put the bottle on the front seat and got out of theJeep. 

The sun was setting behind a layer of low dark clouds. Oliver walkedslowly down the wooden steps--slippery from spray at the bottom. Thesurf was high. Waves exploded up the fissure in the rocks, roaring andseething. The violent water matched his internal state perfectly. For amoment, he was suspended in an eerie calm between the two madnesses. Heunderstood for the first time why people committed suicide. The painhurt too much. End it. 

He moved closer to the edge of the rocks. _Large Waves Come WithoutWarning. _ So what? Owl disappeared in the Atlantic. One in each ocean, Oliver thought. Another wave bore in. He walked gallantly to the edgeand turned to look back. His father was standing on the steps--stoic, concerned, non-judgmental. Come what may, he was _with_ Oliver. A loudwhistling sound came from the wave. Oliver took a deep breath, paused, exhaled, and followed his father up the steps. 

At the top, he waved goodbye again as he had the last time Muni droveaway. "So, " Oliver said. He shivered and shook himself like a dog. "So. " He didn't know what was ahead, but he knew that he wasn't goingto kill himself. He was his father's son; he had the same tenacity; hewas going to go the distance. The knowledge came from a deeper placethan the pain. It gave him secure footing, a place where he could standand bear the hurt. His father had given him life twice. He stared outat the sea and sky, wondering at the cold dark beauty of it all andfeeling deeply sorry for all those who had put guns to their heads orswallowed too many pills or jumped from bridges. 

It began to rain. Oliver drove back toward Portland and stopped at thefirst motel. The woman on duty looked at him suspiciously. Heremembered that he hadn't shaved and that he'd slept in his clothes. Itseemed a long time ago. "I'm all right, " he said. "It's been a longtrip, that's all. "

When Oliver awoke the next morning, he was sober and hungry. Theintense pain was gone. Only a residual ache reminded him of the stormthat had almost gotten him. He took a long hot shower and dressed. Onceagain he had no plan, but he had something much more precious--time. Heate a large breakfast in a café and thought things over. 

It was better, he decided, to stay away from Maine for a while. Letthings settle down. He could help support Emma. He could see her whenshe was a little older--be at least a small part in her life. Jenniferwould be up for that. He didn't have to work in a bank, for God's sake. He could find a part-time job or a project with some smaller group. Maybe he could set up a wood shop and make a few things. Thanks toMyron's investing, he still had most of his original stake. It wasthere for Emma and for Francesca, if she should need it. 

Oliver paged through his atlas. He liked New Mexico. Portland, Oregonwas pleasant. Seattle seemed more interesting. Honolulu? Maybe evenJapan . . . But, here he was in the Northwest. He wasn't ready to seehis father or his uncle. He needed to get settled first. He needed towork, to make some money. Maybe even have some sort of relationship, although he was in no rush. Sex was great, but it wasn't going to rulehim any more. Sex got the job done, got the babies made. Aside fromthat, it mirrored the relationship--whatever the relationship was. Hedidn't think there would be any big surprises there. He'd been aroundthat barn. 

"Where you headed?" the waitress asked. 

"Seattle, " Oliver said. At least he'd have one friend there. He smiledbroadly, pleased with his decision, and left a large tip by his plate. 

"What'cha doing up there?"

"Starting over. "

"I done that once or twice. " She swept up her tip. "You're youngenough. Good luck to you. "

"Thanks, " Oliver said. "Thanks a lot. "

He stopped on the outskirts of Seattle and called Francesca. 

She answered, "Hello?"

"Hi, Francesca. "

"Oliver?"

"Yup, how're you doing?"

"Oliver! What a surprise! I'm fine. "

"I'm in Seattle. "

"No!"

"Yeah. I wondered if you wanted to have coffee or something. I don'twant to be in the way or anything, but I'd love to see you. Lots totell you. "

"Oliver, of course. How could you possibly be in the way?"

"I have a confession. Actually, I came to see you a couple of days ago. It was late in the afternoon. You were standing outside your house, with your guy, and I turned around and left. I'm O. K. About it now. "

"Oliver, that was my brother!"

"What?" His mind reeled. 

"Yes, my brother, Giles. "

Oliver vaguely remembered Francesca telling him about a brother. "Ohyeah, Giles, " he said. 

"He's a pilot for Delta. He comes by sometimes when he has a layover. Can you come over now?"

"Uh, sure--be about half an hour, I guess. "

"I can't believe it!" Francesca said. 

"Me neither. Great! See you. " Oliver walked quickly to the Jeep anddrove to Ballard, struggling to adjust. 

Francesca was waiting in front of the house. They had a long wordlesshug. Oliver felt immediately the familiar calm that radiated outwardfrom them, only now he seemed to take a more active part in generatingit. 

"You've changed, " she said, stepping back and looking at him closely. 

"I've caught up, I think. "

"It's so good to see you. "

"How are the girls?"

"Just fine. They're in school. They'll be back soon. " She led himinside and gave him a tour of the house. He sat at a kitchen table andexplained his situation while she made tea. Francesca didn't sayanything until he finished. 

"Jacky called me after your housewarming. She was worried about you. "

"I like Jacky, " Oliver said. 

"She said Emma was a doll. "

"Quite true, " Oliver said. 

"Oliver, where are you staying tonight?"

"I hadn't got that far yet. " Oliver considered. "I don't know. "

"Well, I do, " Francesca said. "You're staying right here. " She extendeda long arm and pointed over his shoulder. Oliver turned and saw thebronze heart on a shelf, leaning against the wall. He could feel histhumb stroking the letters. 

"O plus F, " Francesca said softly. 

"O plus F, " he repeated, turning back. 

He looked into her eyes--patient and amused, mysterious, the color ofthe inner heart of black walnut--and knew that he was home. 

EPILOGUE

Eight years later, at this writing:

Emma speaks schoolgirl Spanish and has a half brother named Kenso. 

Maria and Elena are blooming. 

Oliver, Francesca, and the children go to Hawaii or to Kamakura everyother year. It has been five years since they moved back to Maine. Theyare often seen walking on Crescent Beach, early Sunday mornings. 

Jennifer is married to Bogdolf. 

Jacky married a lawyer and has a stepson. They live in Maryland. 

Richard O'Grady is just the same. 

Mark is richer, and George is more appreciated. 

Conor lives in North Carolina. 

Arlen left the CPA firm. He owns and runs a bakery with Porter. 

Suzanne married Harley and moved to Vermont. They have two girls and aboy.