"Integrity," Oliver imagined Jacky and then Suzanne.

"Of course, it's different for everybody. We all have our weaknesses.

Little things. Porter's forearms, for instance--the way they swell up from his wrist. As soon as I saw them, I thought, oh, oh . . ."

"Lucky Porter," Oliver said.

"Olive Oil!" George bounced in from the ell. "Hi, Arlen, how're you doing?"

"Just fine, George."

"Bazumas, Olive Oil! My G.o.d! I thought I'd never see her again. I asked if I could paint her. She said yes but I'd have to drive to Maryland."

George hung his head. "It's a curse--art."

"Maryland's just down the way," Arlen said.

"Arlen, my car!" George threw one arm in the air. "I'm lucky it starts.

_Maryland?_"

"Life is hard," Oliver said.

"Food," Arlen said, heading for the kitchen.

"Yes," George said, following him. Oliver looked down the driveway and focused on a man walking slowly toward the house. The man smiled when he was closer.

"You must be Oliver. Ah, yes."

"I am. I remember you from somewhere."

"Ba, ba, boom," the man said and twirled around.

"Bogdolf!"

"Eric Hallston, actually. I'm an old friend of Jennifer's."

"You look so much younger," Oliver said.

"The miracle of make-up. When I do a Bogdolf, I use a lot of gray.

People like an older Bogdolf."

"I'll be d.a.m.ned," Oliver said. "Well, come on in. What are you drinking? Mead?"

"Mead? Very funny. Horrible stuff. Scotch would be nice, but that ale I see would be fine."

"Glenlivet, right there." Oliver pointed to the table that was inside the barn. "Help yourself. Jennifer's in the house." Bogdolf Eric poured himself a stiff one.

"I have a surprise in here," he said, waving a manila envelope. "You don't have to like it. You don't have to accept. I'm sure Jennifer will, but you are Lord of your Keep."

"Bogdolf, what are you talking about?"

"Eric, please."

"Eric." Oliver watched him extract an eight by ten glossy photograph from the envelope. He handed it to Oliver.

"Last one left." A puppy with big paws and big ears stared up at Oliver. "She has her shots and everything."

"Cute," Oliver said. "What kind is she?"

"Mother is a golden. Father is a lab. Total retriever."

"Could bring me my paper," Oliver said, starting to slip.

"Might be nice for your daughter."

"Emma," Oliver said, brightening. "Come see her." He took Eric through the ell and into the kitchen. "Here we are," he said.

"Eric!" Jennifer hugged him warmly.

"Eric has a puppy for us."

"A puppy?" Jennifer looked at the photograph.

"Oh, how cute! How cute! Oh, Oliver, wouldn't it be just perfect for Emma?"

"Mmm." It was hard for Oliver to disagree.

"I can bring her any time you'd like. Sooner would be better--you know--bonding and all that." Jennifer nodded wisely and took Eric to see Emma who was in her playpen in the living room. Oliver went back to the barn. Christ, he said to himself. It was beginning to get dark, a relief.

"Gotta go, Handsome." Jacky appeared at his elbow.

"So soon?"

"Long day tomorrow. Driving back."

"I'll walk you down," Oliver said.

"Where's your coat? You'll get wet."

"I don't need one," he said. They walked down the driveway in comfortable silence. The light rain had gradually wet things through.

Branches and leaves were dripping, and the drive was muddy in patches.

"You don't look so great," she said.

"I'm O.K."

"Terrific kid."

"She is. I don't know . . . It's the s.e.x thing."