a, let me out." Oliver pointed at the ferry terminal, and
George stopped.

"Yeah, come on over tomorrow morning, if you're not doing anything."

"O.K., I'll see."

George beeped twice and drove into the thickening snow. Oliver bought a
ticket for Peaks Island. The ferry was nearly empty, cheerful with its
high snub bow painted yellow, white superstructure, and red roof. It
was not as spirited as the red and black tugs that herd tankers to the
Montreal pipeline, nothing could match the tugboats--but the ferry was
close; it had the human touch, a dory that couldn't stay away from
cheesecake, broad in the beam, resolute, proof against the cold rollers
of the outer bay. After two long blasts, the ferry churned away from
the wharf. A line of gulls on the lee side of a rooftop watched them
move into the channel and gather speed.

Twenty minutes later, the ferry slowed, shuddered, and stopped at the
Peaks Island landing. Oliver walked uphill to the main street, unsure
why he had come. Habit took him around by his former house. No lights
were on, no sign of anyone home. He continued around the block,
surprised at his disappointment. He hadn't seen Charlotte for six
months and had no reason to see her now. He considered this over a cup
of coffee at Will's. It was natural to check in sometimes with old
friends. I mean, we were married, he told his cup.

_Jealousy is a symptom--like the effects of drought_. Owl told him that
once. They had been standing on the club dock, having one of their rare
conversations. He was telling Owl about Kiersten, how she wouldn't take
him seriously, her smile always for Gary--star everything. Owl's voice
was sympathetic but with a dissatisfied edge, as though he were
impatient with or imprisoned by his superiority, his tenure at Brown,
his aluminum boat, one of the fastest on the sound.

Oliver never thought to ask for an explanation, and then, sadly, it was
too late. It was years before he understood Owl's jealousy
pronouncement. He wasn't jealous any longer, certainly not where
Kiersten was concerned. God, she'd driven everybody crazy.
Territory--now that was different. You want your own territory, your
own mate, your house, your space. It still pissed him off to see his
old garage surrounded by Mike's messy piles of building materials. But
he wasn't jealous. Charlotte was better off without him; she had a
child, finally.

The waitress had a tolerant smile. Thank God for waitresses. He lef