Warmth rushed through Oliver as he stared at her writing. Francesca was
answering in kind; she had accepted his valentine. "What do you think
about that, my friend?" he asked Verdi. "What do you think about that?"
Verdi bumped against his ankle, a sign of high satisfaction. It was
good to be home.
Oliver looked around the living room. The mantle was empty without the
walnut box. He wished that he had a picture of Francesca to take its
place. He unrolled the snakeskin and pinned it vertically to the wall
by the steps, admiring the silver and ivory colors and the dark
diamonds that had curled around the snake.
He went early to bed and spent a long time looking out at the night and
remembering the trip: the gardens and the Japanese restaurant in
Portland, Michiko standing by her moss-rock, Diamond Head, The Devil's
Churn, his father's face--there had been much to see and few words.
What was there to say about these things? Owl had cautioned him more
than once: "_Listen to what people say, but pay more attention to what
they do._" What would he _do_ with the treasures of this trip?
Treasure, literally. One thing he could do was to put his father's
money to work. He decided to open a stock brokerage account. He needed
to get a programming project, so that he wouldn't start spending the
money. And he needed to see Francesca. She was more fun to think about
than job interviews; he drifted to sleep remembering her on Crescent
Beach.
In the morning, he answered two job advertisements that were in the
paper and then ate breakfast at Becky's. The day seemed to have started
without him--jet lag. The booth where he had first seen Francesca was
empty. He imagined her there and felt better, more centered.
He walked to Monument Square and entered one of the big name
brokerages. He left quickly, put off by slick advertisements on the
walls and expensively dressed men exuding earnestness. Farther along
the Square, he found a local firm staffed by a short man with a tired
expression. The top of his head shone. Brown graying hair started just
above his ears, swept back, and hung loosely over the back of his shirt
collar. He was eating a bagel. A grandfather clock stood in one corner.
"I'm thinking about opening an account," Oliver explained.