ver, you." Audrey, or Monica, came up and put her
hand on Rolf's arm. "Cindy and Jake are at the ferry." Rolf nodded.
"And Kate needs a jar of capers."

"A Mediterranean condiment. I'm on my way. Small or large? The capers .
. . The jar, I mean."

"Better get large," Audrey Monica said.

"Well, I shall look forward to hearing about the settlers later," Joe
said, drawing a beer. It was delicious, much like the ale at the brew
pub. Jackson came by, filled a paper cup, and told him that it was from
the brew pub.

"Good stuff, no?"

"Wicked good," Joe said in Maine speak. "Ono," he added in pidgin.

"Hello, there." It was Sally, happy and more tired than he remembered.
She swept up and threw her arms around him, then turned and introduced
a stout man waiting at her side. "Gino, this is Joe."

"Hi, Gino. You are the second Gino I've known. Congratulations on your
marriage, by the way," They shook hands.

"Thank you. It has been, what, six years now?" Gino turned to Sally.
She was rangy and athletic. Gino came only to her ear, but he was
solidly built and did not seem smaller. His eyes were dark and rather
impenetrable.

"Going for seven," Sally said.

"Can you believe our little girl is getting married?" Joe asked her.

"It's time," she said.

"Maybe you'll be a grandfather, Joe, ha, ha."

"Ha, Gino. I hope so."

"Ha. Come Joe, help me with the wine." He led Joe to his car, and they
carried two cases into the house. "One red, one white. Special. I
brought them from Denver."

"Kate tells me you have a wine store."

"Small, yes. But we do all right. People in this country are
discovering wine."

"Hey Joe, is this one of your father's?" Max was standing in front of
an oil painting at the far end of the living room. Gino and Joe went
over.

"For sure," Joe said. He hadn't seen it before.

"Wedding present!" Kate called from the kitchen. "We brought it over to
make the house seem more like home." It was a Deer Isle scene. An apple
tree in full bloom, crowded by woods behind it, leaned over the edge of
a field and a stock car that was missing its hood and engine. The car's
wheels were twisted strangely in the grass. A large yellow 90 was
painted on a blue door. White blossoms lay scattered on the wreck.
"'Memorial Day' is the name of the painting," Kate said coming closer.
"You like it?"

"Pretty good," Max said.

"I think he's getting better," Joe said. "Is he coming, Kate, by the
way?"

"No. He sa