ped down the stone steps to the Depresso patio. Willow was
reading at a table, leaning back, her long legs stretched out before
her, crossed at the ankles.

"Hey, Willow."

"Hello, Patrick. Hungry already?"

Patrick patted his stomach. "You make great sandwiches, but--I'm
celebrating. I got a raise."

"Impressive," Willow said.

"I'll tell you about it, if you'd like. But I've got to get a beer.
Want one?"

"No thanks."

Patrick returned with a Heineken, his new favorite. "Yeah, I finished a
house and garage up on the mountain. The Van Slyke's. Do you know
them?" Willow shook her head, no. "He's a painter, and she's a--looker.
He showed me his studio. Do you know what art is, Willow?"

"God, Patrick," she said.

"What's the matter?"

"You ask the most amazing questions."

"Well, I asked Hendrik--Mr. Van Slyke--and he showed me his studio."

"Modest Hendrik."

"He was modest, in a frustrated way. He showed me a painting that he's
been working on all year. Said he couldn't get it. He said that art had
to be true."

"He didn't!" Willow clapped her hand over her mouth.

Patrick looked at her. "You think I'm a moron." She took her hand away.
"I am. But I'm a persistent moron." He took a swallow of beer. "True,"
he said. "I know about true. In science, what is true can be verified.
What is true, is true for everybody. But Hendrik's true is only true
for Hendrik."

"Especially true for Hendrik," Willow said.

"So, it's a different kind of true," Patrick finished.

"Different from science," Willow said, "but useful."

"Useful . . . " Patrick thought.

"Like Beethoven or Dylan true," she said.

Patrick watched people on the sidewalk. "There's more," he said, after
a moment. "There's more about this art and science stuff. I don't
understand it, yet. What's the matter?" he asked for the second time.
Willow was wiping tears from her cheeks.

"It's not your fault," she said. She stood suddenly. "I'm going now."
She pedaled away with her book in the basket. What did I say? he
wondered. He went inside scratching his head. Sue and Jim were at the
bar. He thought about his usual dinner of rice and vegetables. To hell
with it. Deanie's, he said to himself and went back outside. Willow was
gone.

He walked past the News Shop and Ann's Deli and turned down the hill to
Deanie's for a celebratory steak, still wondering what had upset
Willow. The dining room was comfortably filled, cheerful without being
noisy