John Moncure Wetterau_O+F

Library of Congress Number: 00-193498

ISBN #: Hardcover 0-7388-5815-3

Softcover 0-9729587-1-1

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

either are the product of the author's imagination or are used

fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or

dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. This book was

printed in the United States of America.

Acknowledgements:

Cover art by Majo Keleshian. I want to thank Majo, Sylvester Pollet,

and Nancy Wallace for suffering through early versions of the book and

for offering useful suggestions. Thanks to Francois Camoin and the

Vermont College MFA program for giving me a good shove down the road to

fiction. And thanks to Ellen Miller for her consistent encouragement

and support.

for Rosy

Tall. Dark hair. Nose almost straight. Mouth curving around prominent

teeth. Beautiful, Oliver realized as their eyes met perfectly.

"Francesca, sorry I'm late," another woman said, guiding two girls into

the next booth.

"I just got here."

"Hi, Mommy." Francesca's smile turned down, traveled around, and turned

up independently at each corner.

"Hi, Sweetheart. Turn around, now."

One of the girls was looking tentatively at Oliver, holding the top of

the booth with both hands. He waved at her, raised his eyebrows, and

bent to his eggs. Toast. Nothing like toast. He wiped up the remaining

yolk. Where's the husband? Probably one of those jerks in a Land Rover.

A bad golfer. Cheats. Christ. Oliver drank the rest of his coffee and

prepared to leave. As he slid sideways across the green plastic seat,

he again caught the woman's eyes. They were calm and questioning, brown

with deepening centers the color of the inner heart of black walnut. He

stood and nodded in the Japanese manner. No one would have noticed,

unless perhaps for her friend.

He buttoned his coat before pushing open the outer door of the diner.

The air was damp, tinged with car exhaust and diesel. The first flakes

of a northeaster coasted innocently to the ground. Francesca--what a

smile! She reminded him of the young Sinatra in _From Here To

Eternity_, awkward and graceful at the same time. The friend was

heavier and looked unmarried, a career teacher, maybe. Problems on

short leashes yapped around her heels. Oliver shrugged, pulled a watch

cap over his ears, and walked toward the Old Port.