O+F Part 35

"Yeah, I went through a program after I got out of college. I only worked for a year before I met Conor. I'm glad I did, now . . . It's nice 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 to live through these things."

"That's what Mark says--my friend, Mark. Anyway, take the money if you need it; I know you won't waste it. I wish I could help with the moving, but I don't think I'd better."

"You _are_ helping, just by being you. Emma's going to need lots of money, 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, near Daytona. Conor will know--because of the girls. I'll send you a card when 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 a bad woman now; I could be a _very_ bad woman any moment."

"d.a.m.n," 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 walk away."

"Be careful," he pleaded.

"Bye, Baby," she said.

He looked at her for a long moment. She smiled for him, the smile that entranced him the first day he saw her in Becky's. Her mouth traveled slowly down, along, and up a complex curve, s.e.xual at its center, sensitive at its corners, wholly alive and in the moment. He nodded in the j.a.panese manner, the way he had that day. Then he smiled quickly--an American promise laid on top of the j.a.panese one--and left.

He looked back from the top of the bank at the end of the beach. She was watching him, unmoving. He lifted one arm high and walked out of sight. A hundred yards farther, he followed a smaller path to a clearing overlooking the water. He dropped to the ground and lay in a fetal position on his side with his knees drawn up and his hands between 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; he had to get there. The hard cold ground was anesthetic and numbing. Half an hour later, he brushed himself off, an animal on the earth, needing food 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 when Oliver came home and picked her up. Jennifer had three months of maternity leave, and she arranged to work part time for six months after that. Oliver did not get life insurance, but he worked steadily at the hospital. He took another smaller project to round out the week and to try and get a few bucks ahead.

Francesca did not come into Oliver's mind while he was busy. Sometimes he thought of her when he was extra tired. She was a rea.s.suring presence, even though she was far away. Sunday mornings, when he went out for bagels and a paper, he often wished that he were driving to Crescent Beach to bring her coffee. Instead, he would sit for a minute in his Jeep remembering the calm that they shared. Then he would drive home, play with Emma, and do things around the apartment.

On the Wednesday after Labor Day, Jennifer met him at the door. "I found 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 dirt road--off Route 9."

"I like Gillespie's," Oliver said. They sometimes drove out there to buy vegetables and eat donuts at outside tables that overlooked the Royal 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 for Emma."

"How much?"

"They're asking one-twenty. The house needs painting. There isn't much land with it--four acres."

"Four acres is a lot," Oliver said. "I mean, not in the middle of Kansas, 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 just came on the market. My friend Martha who works in real estate called me this 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 the kitchen door. "What do you think?" Jennifer asked after Oliver had walked around the house.

"It looks dry, and it faces south," he said. "One-fifteen. That's as long as there isn't anything major wrong--rotten sills, bad water, or something."

"We can get my friend Steve to inspect it," Jennifer said. "He's got a business 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. "Steve will find anything that's wrong. He does a radon check and all that.

Costs about three hundred, I think. Three-fifty, maybe."