O+F Part 50

"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 looking for a good man for our MIS position. We need someone who can handle challenge, take on responsibility. Technology is changing fast, Oliver; Pilgrim must change with it. We're a large organization, but we keep a small turning radius. That's how we stay in front of the compet.i.tion.

Teamwork. You know--in the last a.n.a.lysis--business is all about people." He stopped to gauge Oliver's enthusiasm. Underneath all the nautical bulls.h.i.t, Oliver sensed a fairly sharp guy, hard-working anyway.

"I can do the work," he said. "But it would take me six months to get up to speed."

"We've got four," Tom said.

"What are weekends for?" Oliver asked. That got him the job. That and the Jennifer connection and some boat talk.

He walked to Deweys and was greeted loudly by George. "Olive Oil, my G.o.d!" George waved at Oliver's blazer, slacks, and shiny shoes. "What have you done?"

"Pilgrim Atlantic is taking me aboard," Oliver said.

"My G.o.d . . . Is the money that good?" George's eyes gleamed.

"Money's good. It gets better if you keep your mouth shut and work sixty hours a week. I haven't actually started. I just came from the interview, but it's a pretty sure thing. I'll buy." Sam set two pints in 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 to save them, carry them away on a white horse." George shook his head sadly. "I can't afford a horse."

"There aren't any white horses left," Oliver said. "_Silver_ was it."

He raised his gla.s.s to the impossibility of it all. "How's the painting?"

"I'm taking a break from painting, working on a sculpture. I'm doing a golden c.o.c.kroach." George's face changed when he talked about his projects. His big smile and round eyes were upstaged by his prominent forehead and the bones in his cheeks. His mouth went from boyish to disciplined. "Intelligent," he said. "Indomitable. King of the c.o.c.kroaches."

"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 of Guinness. "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 make one some day. There was a dinghy that belonged to a neighbor of ours where I grew up. It was very light on the water. Light--but curved and strong--like a winter oak leaf that had drifted down. Herreschoff. It was 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, my stepfather, liked boats. He died in one, or--off one. _Graceful things are stronger than they look._ He told me that once. It's almost a definition."

"Easy to see. Hard to make," George said.

Two pints later, Oliver slapped George on the back and walked to the parking garage. It occurred to him, as he drove home, that he had forgotten Pilgrim Atlantic for a whole hour.

In the morning, Jennifer was up early. Oliver carried Emma out to the Volvo and secured her in the car seat. "Be careful," he said to Jennifer. She kissed him quickly and lowered herself behind the wheel.

"Regards to all," Oliver said. "Wish your father a happy birthday for me."

"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 down the driveway, too fast, as usual. Oliver went back to bed for an hour.

He stayed around the house, split wood, and organized his tools. He watched a basketball game and took a nap. His plan was to start the day over again around eight in the evening, eat breakfast at a diner, and be at the hospital in time to make sure that everything was ready at midnight for the operating system revision. With luck, he could be at Suzanne's by one or one-thirty in the morning. "I know you need to be good on Sat.u.r.days," he had said to her. "But it will be _Sunday_. I can actually 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 of electricity, 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 began collecting himself for computer work.

His schedule was perfect. The reports ran correctly. He made an extra set of backups and had time to clean out his desk before midnight. The operating system went in without a hitch. Shortly after one, he eased up Suzanne's driveway.

Her lights were on.

"Hi, there," he called softly as he stepped inside. She came immediately to the door and held open her arms. "Mmmm, you look sleepy," 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. "Does this 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."