ue talent but without the courage to use it."

"Too bad," Brendan said. "We know people like that in San Francisco."
He was genuinely sympathetic.

"I'm glad we had a chance to talk," Joe said, on their way out.

"Right on."

Joe made Ann and Brendan promise to visit him in Hawaii. Ann told them
that she had decided to stay on in the house, at least for a while; she
needed time to adjust. She had friends on the island and money enough
to cope with the coming winter. Joe said that he would be leaving first
thing in the morning and that they shouldn't bother getting up to say
goodbye.

He slept restlessly and dressed at first light. Ann was already up.
"You must have coffee, at least," she said.

"It smells great. Thanks." He poured milk from a little pitcher into a
mug decorated with a Maine Public Radio logo.

"Just like your father," Ann said, "ready to go in the morning."

"Mmm--delicious. Goodbye, Jeremy," he said to the cat who was rubbing
against his ankle, anxious to be let out.

"Well, get going then. Take the mug. Keep it. Maybe it will remind you
of Maine and help bring you back."

"Thanks, Ann. It was very good to see you and Brendan. Take care of
yourself." He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. She followed
him outside and picked up Jeremy, holding him, tawny and orange,
against her white bathrobe as Joe drove away.

He bought a doughnut in Bucksport and took the coastal route for old
time's sake. He stopped for breakfast at Moody's, in Waldoboro. Moody's
hadn't changed much in twenty years; they'd extended the dining room;
the non-smoking area had gotten larger. Waitresses ran chattering back
and forth to the kitchen, unimpressed as ever with anyone who did not
live in Lincoln County. He ate bacon, eggs, toast, and homefries,
taking his time.

The whirlwind visit to Deer Isle was still sinking in. He was having
trouble accepting that his father was dead. It was good of him to have
left the money, and Joe was very glad to have the painting and the
drawing of his mother. First choice. That had been a message of some
kind. He, like Brendan, felt that his father had been disappointed in
him for not living a more artistic life. Too late to talk about it now.
Overboard and gone by, as they said on Deer Isle. "He was a hard man,"
Brendan had said in the barn. Brendan was right, although you had to
know his father well to realize it, what with the big smile, the
blarney and all.

Montpeli