er and more himself. But he
was sad for his father, and he had a sense of loss for things left
behind, his Maine life, no longer quite remembered.

He left a big tip and hit the road. Deer Isle is out between Penobscot
Bay and Jericho Bay. It's a romantic place, softer than the rest of
Maine. The light is warmer. Probably that was what attracted his
father, Joe thought. He took the fast route through Augusta and
Belfast. Three and a half hours later, the Deer Isle Bridge came
suddenly into view, high, too thin, an arrow shot gracefully over
Eggemoggin Reach. Joe could not drive over it without remembering that
its sister bridge in Tacoma shook itself to pieces.

By one-thirty he was bumping down his father's road. The barn seemed
empty when he stopped in front. Ann came out of the house to meet him.
She was wearing a denim skirt and a black blouse. Her blonde hair was
braided and wound behind her head. They had a long wordless hug. Ann
had always been nice to him, and he was glad to be there, to be a
supportive presence. She sighed and stepped back.

"How nice to see you, Joe. Brendan's here. He flew in yesterday."

"Hi, Joe." Brendan, his half brother, came through the front door. They
patted each other on the arms, a compromise between hugging and shaking
hands.

"Brendan. A sad day," Joe said.

"Yes." He was eleven years younger than Joe, healthy, blonde like Ann
and squarely built like their father. His stylish short haircut,
regular features, and white teeth were made for soap opera if his face
had been less triangular. His small chin, set in front of a strong
neck, gave him a power lifter look. He was wearing chinos and a tight
fitting short sleeved shirt with an insignia over one pocket.

Joe stretched. The sky was covered with an even layer of gray cloud. It
was unseasonably warm. "Good to get out of the car," he said. "Drove up
from Boston."

"I got a flight to Bangor, yesterday," Brendan said. "Mother picked me
up." They entered the house and sat in the living room. Something
bumped against Joe's ankle.

"Jeremy! Well, well. Jeremy. He looks in good shape, Ann. Thank you for
taking care of him." He turned to Brendan. "He abandoned ship on my
last visit. I didn't realize it until I was in New Hampshire."

"Oh, he was great friends with your father. And, after a while, he got
on nicely with Georgia." Georgia was a fluffy black and white cat.

"Ah, yes, Georgia--a champion mouser." As if to take a bo