me is Martin, and also . . . You've got to keep this to
yourself." Cree moved closer. "Do you remember Martin Merrill in
Woodstock--lived on the Byrdcliffe Road, played banjo and fiddle?"

"Sure," Cree said. "He was around a lot. He had a glamorous mother,
right?"

"Right." Willow sipped coffee. "One night, Patrick and I were in the
Depresso--about a week before we left town. We'd decided to get married
and move to Tallahassee so Patrick could go back to school. We were
celebrating. Martin came in, and we told him our plans. He was happy
about it and said he had a wedding present for us.

"Patrick said to him, 'Wedding present? All right! We don't even have a
date.'

"'Soon,' I said.

"'Nobody knows,' Patrick said.

"'My parents already fear the worst," I said.

"'I've got to call my father,' Patrick said.

"Well, when Patrick said that, Martin leaned across the table. 'You
mean our father, don't you?' I thought Patrick was going to fall off
his chair; his mouth opened and nothing came out. 'Take it easy,'
Martin said. 'It's no big deal.'

"'The hell it isn't,' Patrick finally got out.

"'It is and it isn't,' Martin said.

"'How did you know?' Patrick asked.

"'After my dad died--my other dad--I heard my mom talking. She and her
best friend were drinking. They thought I was asleep. She'd never said
anything. I guess she was worried that the family would throw her out
or disown her or something.' Martin looked sad. 'You remember things
like that. When you showed up, I knew right away.'

"'I thought there was something similar about you two,' I said. Patrick
held his hands across the table, extending his fingers.

"'Same hands,' he said. Martin spread his fingers to compare, and then
they clasped hands for a moment.

"'I figured you knew,' Martin said, 'because of the way you kept
watching me."'

"I'll be damned," Cree said. Willow finished her coffee.

"So, they talked and decided not to rock the boat."

"You never know, do you?" Cree said.

"The next morning, we got up and there was Martin's car in the driveway
with a ribbon tied around the hood ornament. He'd come in silently in
the middle of the night and left it. There was a note on the seat that
said congratulations and that he used Pennzoil in it. The registration
was signed over to Patrick. I mean, we didn't even have a car. The next
week, away we went, rocking down the coast to a new life."

"Nice, that was nice," Cree said.

"Patrick