n't decide whether or not to go to Florida? How many hours could
he work if he became a full time student? One evening, he swung through
his door, stood by the blinking red light on his answering machine, and
heard Ann say in a sad voice, "Joe, I'm sorry to have to shock you like
this. Your father died--yesterday. Please call me if you get in by
eleven or so, our time."

"Damn!" he said. "Damn."

It was seven-thirty--past midnight, Maine time. He got a reduced fare
to Boston for the following afternoon on an emergency basis and began
putting things into his Filson bag and then taking them out. He
couldn't feel anything. He gave up packing, lowered himself to his
mattress, and waited a long time for sleep.

In the morning, he called Ann to tell her that he would be there the
next day in the afternoon. She said that she'd give him the details
when he got there. His father had died of a heart attack. He told her
to keep her chin up and said that he'd call Kate.

"Kate?"

"Hi, Dad."

"Honey, I've got bad news. Your grandfather died--the day before
yesterday." She let out a small cry and was silent. "I just found out.
Ann called. I'm going out there for a couple of days."

"Oh, poor Grandpa. I had a dream about him last week. He was standing
by the painting he gave me--the one of the woman in the barn door--and
he was smiling at me, very loving and kind. Oh . . . " She sobbed, and
her voice got farther away as though she had dropped her arms.

"I'm sorry, Honey. He had a good life," Joe said helplessly.

"He pau hana, now," she said.

"Yeah," Joe said. "I call you when I get back, huh?"

"O.K., Dad."

"O.K. Bye, Honey."

"Bye, Dad."

He packed two changes of clothes, a sweater, and a jacket. It was
nearly November, practically winter in Maine. "So long, Batman. Hold
the fort." It was a relief to trot down the stairs and get moving.

At midnight, Boston time, he emerged stiffly from the plane and walked
into Logan terminal. He rented a small car and stopped for the night at
the first motel he came to on Route 1.

15

Joe opened his eyes, blinked, and realized that he was in a motel in
Massachusetts. He drove to Portland and stopped at Becky's on the
waterfront. Several regulars were in their usual seats. One of the
waitresses had gained a few pounds. Joe ate breakfast and sat over a
second cup of coffee, enjoying the voices and feeling that he'd changed
since he left Maine. He felt better--tough