inland. As he
rode to his hotel in a light rain, shivering a bit, he thought, Hawaii
made me soft. Good place, though. "Aloha," he said, thinking of Ken and
Michiko.

10.

The hotel registration clerk reached under the counter. "Message for
you, 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's
Churn parking area, tomorrow, Monday, at 10:30 in the morning. Route
101 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 from
the 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 early
from the hotel, stop for breakfast on the way, and have plenty of time.
He was still functioning on Hawaiian time; he stayed up late, watched
TV, and wondered about his father. Unpredictable, Ken said.

In the morning, it rained off and on as he drove over the coastal
range. The road curved and swooped through steep-sided valleys. Douglas
Firs grew straight and pointed on every slope; their branches trembled
with moisture; the light was luminous. There was an occasional burst of
dazzling sun and then the clouds rolled in again. Logging trucks owned
the road. Only a few smaller roads met the highway. What would life be
like ten miles to the left or right? A gas station? A tavern? Another
world.

The coastal highway was wide open, almost barren in comparison to the
lush woods. Rain swept in from the ocean. A TV forecaster in a truck
stop spoke of the first winter storm. Lucky Oliver. The windshield
wipers worked well, though, and the rain let up as he eased into a
parking area on a rocky headland. The Devil's Churn. No one else was
there. 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 were
there so that he could introduce her to his father. He had an urge to
start the car, to leave quickly. Francesca looked sorrowful. "O.K.," he
said. She _was_ there, in a way. A car much like his turned off the
highway.

A short man wearing black pressed pants and a gray windbreaker
approached