Blanc from a half empty bottle. "Here's to your cozy place,"
he toasted. Mo raised her glass and sipped.

"I had fun last week with your friends," she said. "Quite a character,
that Morgan."

"I had a card from them in Kauai. They found Hamura's." Mo listened as
she chewed salad. "Yeah, we go way back," Joe said. "What did you think
of Edie?"

"Dynamite," Mo said.

"She got me thinking about writing a story. I tried, but I'm not
satisfied." He told Mo about Alphonse. "I've been reading about
fiction. I'm not really getting it."

"Schools can be useful," she suggested. "Sometimes it's good to be
around others doing the same kind of work. I like to go to a seminar
once in a while--the trouble is, it costs so much. Have you heard of
Goddard, in Vermont?"

"I have."

"They offer MFA programs--non-resident, or close to it."

"It's an idea. I'll think about it."

Time slipped by. Mo told stories about summers on Nantucket where her
grandmother had a twelve room "cottage" on the water. So that's where
she developed her beach strut, Joe thought. Mo's father had slyly
dominated the family even though her mother had all the money. Mo was
ambivalent toward her father. She was proud of his intellect and
accomplishments, but she had an inside view of what he had taken from
every one around him and the price he himself had paid for academic
success. She was looking for a way to be like him without being like
him, Joe decided.

Mo tried her new espresso machine. She was having dinner guests the
following evening. Joe visited the bathroom and noticed that she had
left open the door to her bedroom. The bed was freshly made with lilac
purple sheets. A huge white flower by Georgia O'Keeffe waited on the
wall.

He thought it would be nice to listen to music, but he didn't say
anything. He was tuning into Mo's way of inhabiting her space, her
large eyes, quiet, cat-like. He talked about Kate and Max and then fell
silent.

"So how's your love life?" she asked suddenly. Her eyebrows were
raised. She bent forward, making herself smaller.

"Nothing to write home about--if I had a home."

"You're a good looking man, Joe Burke. Just the right amount of gray in
your mustache. Aristocrat. Rebel. How did your nose get that crook in
it, by the way. I've been meaning to ask."

"Oh, that," Joe said, "the rebounding wars--in high school." She had
surprised him. He thought she was moving away from him, and now he
sensed the outlines