llows and accepted a mug with both
hands. "Mmmm," she said, sipping. "Have to do it."

"Do what?"

"Call Mother."

"Ah," Oliver said, "me too."

"She'll be fine once she gets used to it."

"You mean, used to me."

"Yes, Silly. She's already excited about the baby."

"Maybe we should drive down."

"Yes, but I'd better go first. Then we'll go together--maybe at
Christmas."

"O.K.," Oliver said.

"Daddy won't care; he never liked Rupert."

"Good man."

Oliver took a long shower, standing under hot water, hearing snatches
of Jennifer's voice as she talked on the phone. He dried himself with
one of her thick white towels and received a vigorous hug when he
stepped into the kitchen. "She freaked out when I explained, but the
worst is over," Jennifer said. "I'm going to drive down next Saturday,
stay the night, get things back on track." Oliver wondered what "on
track" meant.

"O.K.," he said. "One down. My mother will be excited, actually."

"It is exciting," Jennifer said. "Go on, get it over with." Oliver
called and gave his mother the news, promising to bring Jennifer for a
visit during the holidays. "There," Jennifer said, "that wasn't so bad.
I want to meet your mom."

"You'll like her," Oliver said. "Want to go down to Becky's? Honeymoon
fruit bowl?"

By Monday, they were ready for the working world. Jennifer gave him a
goodbye smooch and drove to The Wetlands Conservancy. Oliver stopped
for a bagel on his way to the hospital and read the paper like a proper
commuter.

Gifford Sims shook his hand and then led him farther down the hall and
into another office. "Suzanne," he said, "this is Oliver Prescott. He
will be working with us on the computer." He nodded at Oliver and left.
A man known far and wide for his small talk, Oliver almost said.

"Gifford is my uncle," Suzanne said neutrally. She was the same tidy
chick who had looked him over on his first visit. She wore no make-up
or jewelry. Her face had a healthy glow, framed by her soft
shoulder-length blonde hair. She smiled quickly, a flash of teeth, an
invitation, gone as soon as he took it in. Her mouth settled to a
patient hurt expression. "What is your social security number?"

She filled out a form. "We still do payables by hand," she said.

"So, I should give _you_ the bill?"

"Yes. Just leave it on my desk if I'm not here. I'm usually here." The
smile again, this time rueful and just as quickly gone. She brushed her
hair back with