ere."

"Good old Maxie. Max Mueller, you should look him up when you go back
east."

"I will," she said.

"When are you going?"

"A week from tomorrow."

"Oh."

"Yes, I've had the ticket for two months." He poured them more wine.
Rhiannon leaned back in the plastic chair, looked at the painting over
the table, and then studied the drawing above the bookshelf.

"My father did those," Joe said. "He did the painting last year, not
long before he died. The drawing is of my mother. She wasn't much older
than you are."

"She was beautiful," Rhiannon said.

"Not as beautiful as you," Joe said factually.

"I could do that," she said, pointing at the drawing. She indicated the
oil. "But I couldn't do that."

"Color ups the ante," Joe said.

"Awesome," she said, still looking at the oil.

"Takes time," Joe said. "There's about fifty years practice between the
two."

"And then gone, all that experience gone," Rhiannon said.

"Gotta do it while we can," Joe said. "God, what a good dinner. I hate
to see you go, Rhiannon."

"Don't you get lonely?" she asked. An appealing smile spread across her
face. Joe imagined her clothes dropping away, saw her naked, her clean
tight skin, touches of private color at her breasts, the subtle curve
where she would swell with pregnancy. He shook his head, more to clear
it than to say no.

"Batman," he said. "Batman keeps me company. Although I do worry about
him sometimes. He's younger than I am."

"Joe--could I stay? For the week? Until my plane?" She spoke quietly
and held him with her large dark eyes. He should have seen it coming,
but he was surprised.

"Umm, with me?" She nodded. "Oh, Rhiannon."

"You think I'm too young," she said.

"No, that's not it. Rhiannon, you are not too young." He searched for
words. "It's not you; it's me. I'm too old." He swallowed a mouthful of
wine. "There was a time when I would have crawled around the island for
you on my hands and knees. Let me see if I can explain."

She stood, turned once around, and sat down again. "You don't have to.
It's all right. And besides, you're wounded." She pointed at the
Band-Aid on his cheek.

"I'm not that wounded. I'm changing. Did you ever see a chameleon
change color?"

"No," she said.

"I had one on that branch, right out there." He pointed through the
glass of the lanai door. "It was brown. Each time I looked, it was a
little less brown and a little more green. You could barely see it
chan