ing him on the knee.

The next day, Jennifer came home with a booklet on how to get a Maine
divorce. "Great news," she said, "two or three months and it's over. I
called Rupert. He was feeling guilty and said he'd sign whatever. It's
pretty simple, really. We don't own much in common."

"That's how it was with Charlotte. We had the house together, but she
got some money from her parents and bought me out. Wasn't all that much
equity, anyway."

"Where was your house?"

"Peaks Island."

"Oooh," Jennifer said, "that must have been nice."

"It wasn't bad . . . I like the ferries, but they get to be a pain."

"I think we should stay right here until the baby is born," Jennifer
said.

"Uh, yeah." Doing anything else had never crossed Oliver's mind.

"But, afterwards, I think we should be looking for a place with more
room--don't you?"

Oliver rubbed his forehead. "I guess," he said. "I hadn't thought that
far ahead."

"April 24th, the big day," Jennifer said.

"Spring," Oliver said.

"I should be able to work until then. I get three months maternity
leave."

"Money," Oliver said. "We'll see how the hospital gig works out. Hard
to tell."

"Oliver, let's not worry about anything. Let's just enjoy it. God, I'm
so glad I'm not at Hilton Head!"

"We've got our own beaches," Oliver said and was immediately sorry as
he imagined Francesca walking toward him.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said.

"It _has_ happened fast," she said sympathetically. "Let me fix you
some tea." It wasn't such a bad thing to be fussed over, he thought.

They stayed around the apartment most of the weekend. On Sunday
morning, Oliver woke up before Jennifer. It was snowing lightly. He
thought of getting out of bed quietly and taking coffee to Crescent
Beach. Would Francesca be there? Would she miss him if he didn't go? If
he did go, how could he explain to Jennifer where he'd been? He wanted
to share the new developments with Francesca, but he was afraid of
hurting her. Maybe it was better to let it be for a while. Maybe
Francesca wouldn't be there. Maybe she was already on a warm beach in
Costa Rica, not a snowy one in Cape Elizabeth.

He got up, made coffee, and turned on the radio. The public station was
playing a Bach cantata. Oliver repressed a feeling of disloyalty as he
took the coffee upstairs. "_Love the one you're with, _" he repeated to
himself from The Rolling Stones.

Jennifer hunched herself up on the pi