"I think we should have breakfast."
"Definitely."
"I don't have anything--how about Becky's?"
Oliver was first in the bathroom. He was looking out over the street,
waiting for Jennifer, when Verdi bumped his ankle. "There you are!
Where have you been? Under the couch?" Verdi ran expectantly into the
kitchen. "You shall have a mighty breakfast."
Verdi gobbled his food and stood by the door. Oliver let him out. The
clouds were low and dark; a three day rain was settling in. Verdi slunk
around the corner of the house, and Oliver went back upstairs.
"All dry," Jennifer said, brushing a hand over her skirt.
"Here's a hat, if you want it. Could rain any time. We'd better drive.
Hey, you look good in a Mariner's hat."
"I like hockey," she said. "Not the fighting, the skating. They are
such great skaters! My father used to take me to Bruins games. My car
or yours?"
"Doesn't matter. Mine's closer."
"I love Jeeps," she said, getting in. As they turned down Park Street,
Oliver began to be troubled. When he parked at Becky's, he realized
that he was worrying about Francesca. He imagined her face, calm and
questioning. What if she were there? He took a deep breath, pulled open
the front door, and walked in. No Francesca. Good--one problem put off
for another time.
He chose a table at the far end of the diner and sat facing the wall.
Jennifer made herself comfortable and surveyed the crowd.
"I like it here," she said. "I don't know why I don't come here more
often."
"Good place," Oliver said. Jennifer ordered a fruit bowl with granola
and yogurt. He asked for bacon and eggs, homefries with green peppers
and onions, and Texas toast. "Cruise all day on this," he said when the
waitress delivered. He took a bite of bacon. They couldn't put off the
conversation forever. "So--my baby, huh?"