O+F Part 23

"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's Churn 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 j.a.panese-American, more j.a.panese--he lives in j.a.pan. But we were the same underneath--same kind of seriousness or intensity or something."

"What does he do?"

"He's an architect. He was teaching a cla.s.s at the University of California, 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 gave me some money--said you were only as rich as what you give away. What's your 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 make sure 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 and put away the thermos. "Francesca . . ."

"Yes?"

"You're probably going to think I'm nuts. I hope you won't be mad at me." He took a deep breath. "I'm putting the money my father gave me in a brokerage account. I want you to be joint owner, so that if anything happens to me you'll have the money. Or, if you need some for an emergency--it will be there." Francesca took a swallow of coffee and stared 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 get statements or anything. It would just be there if you need it. It could be 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 you out. She had hopes for you, but she said that the two of you were incompatible for the long run."

"Uh--she's right."

"Don't be embarra.s.sed," Francesca said. "How else were you going to find 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 made Oliver burst out laughing. "No," he said, sputtering, "no." Francesca gave him a curious look. "Good looking woman, though," he went on. "Not as beautiful as you."

She accepted this without comment. It was a quality Oliver liked in her. Francesca _was_ beautiful. She knew it and didn't make a fuss about 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 get some work as soon as I can, so that I don't spend it. I have the form right here." He held his bag under the umbrella and pulled out the form. "If I can keep it from getting soaked . . ." He reached into his pocket for a ballpoint pen. "Can I write on your back? I mean, use your back? 'BOISVERTE.'" He said the letters as he wrote them. "What's your social 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 to retirement age."

"All you have to do is sign," Oliver said. "Here." He handed her the pen 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," Oliver said, putting the application in the bag.

"Cute pen," she said.

"It's a s.p.a.ce 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. He and 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 worked on 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. I mean, you can get used to just about anything; but . . ."

"Nice in January," Oliver said. "I know what you mean. I grew up in Connecticut." A harder shower pa.s.sed over them.

"I love the rain," Francesca said.

"Me, too." They sat and finished their coffee, watching the rain and absorbing their conversation.