Beach.

In the morning, he answered two job advertisements that were in the
paper and then ate breakfast at Becky's. The day seemed to have started
without him--jet lag. The booth where he had first seen Francesca was
empty. He imagined her there and felt better, more centered.

He walked to Monument Square and entered one of the big name
brokerages. He left quickly, put off by slick advertisements on the
walls and expensively dressed men exuding earnestness. Farther along
the Square, he found a local firm staffed by a short man with a tired
expression. The top of his head shone. Brown graying hair started just
above his ears, swept back, and hung loosely over the back of his shirt
collar. He was eating a bagel. A grandfather clock stood in one corner.

"I'm thinking about opening an account," Oliver explained.

The man swallowed and raised his coffee mug. "Why?"

"I like your clock." The man gave him a longer look and sipped coffee.

"I bought it at an auction. Never been sorry. Sometimes, you've got to
pay for quality; sometimes you get a deal."

"I like auctions," Oliver said.

"My name is Myron Marsh. I've been called, 'Swampy.' I've been called,
'Mellow.' I prefer, 'Myron.' "

"What! No 'Shorty?' '' The corner of Myron's mouth twitched, but he
said nothing. "O.K., Myron. I'm Oliver Prescott."

"You live around here, Oliver?"

"State Street, near the bridge."

"You know anything about investing?"

"No."

"What kind of money are you talking about?"

"Seventy-two thousand."

"Not a bad start," Myron said. "We could get some good balance with
that." He opened a filing cabinet and handed Oliver a form. "Tell you
what," he said. "Why don't you fill this out and come back with a check
when you're ready. Then we can talk about where you want to go with
this and what we might do."

"Thanks," Oliver said.

"Here's a booklet that explains our fees and general setup."

Oliver went home and read the material. The application provided for
joint ownership of the account. An idea formed. He didn't have a will.
If he died, his money would go to his mother. She didn't really need
it. Why not make Francesca joint owner? Then, if he died, she could use
it for herself and her girls. If she needed money for an emergency, it
would be there. She wouldn't have to do anything, just sign the form
and know that the account existed. She might not like the idea, might
be afraid of strings attached. But there weren't an