ner of the room and
scratched luxuriously, stretching full length, as though he had been
waiting to do this for some time. "Aieee! Swell, Verdi." Oliver hung
his coat on a peg and gathered up the boards. For the moment, he laid
them 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 piece
of pine. In the meantime . . ." He opened a can of salmon Friskies.

Verdi ate, and Oliver refilled his water dish. The boards were
beautiful. He'd been right about the color of Francesca's eyes. There
was an actual black walnut, a large one, at the edge of the parking
area behind his building. It shaded his kitchen window during the
summer and dropped hundreds of furry green walnuts that were gathered
by squirrels each fall. Oliver had planted six walnuts in yogurt
containers. He'd let them freeze first, done everything right, but none
of them came up. The seeds were finicky for such a powerful tree. Maybe
they had to pass through a squirrel. "Biology is complicated," he said
to Verdi.

The kitchen had been a master bedroom in the original house. The
appliances, counter, and sink were arranged along one wall and part of
another, leaving plenty of space for a table in the center. The wall to
the adjoining living room had been mostly removed; the two rooms
functioned as one. Steps led to a landing and then to an attic bedroom
with 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 along
the walnut. He enjoyed making things from wood: easy shelves, chests, a
cradle once for a wedding present. He had a table saw and a router in
the basement, but he kept his tools under a rough workbench that he had
built along one wall of the kitchen. A "Workmate" stood in the living
room 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 might
be made from the grain, was something iconic and alive, more alive than
what could be said about it. Oliver took particular pleasure in
finishing a shelf or a chest, hand rubbing the surface and seeing the
patterns of the grain shine and deepen. He would have to buy legs if he
were going to make a table. Or learn how to use a lathe. He didn't have
a lathe. Maybe he could make a small box--to hold something special. He
could give i