O+F Part 24

"Bye, Oliver," Francesca said finally, standing with the umbrella.

"You're going to get wet."

"I won't melt." She smiled quickly, understanding it as he meant, that he would be there for her dependably. She walked back the way she had come. Oliver stayed, enjoying the calm. Francesca had that effect on him. When he was with her, he felt that there was nowhere he needed to go. He was already there, at the center. The world spread around them at greater and greater distances.

Jacky! He felt a stir of affection and shook his head. He should have known she would tell Francesca--the big picture, anyway, if not the details. He hoped Jacky would find someone soon. She wasn't bashful.

There was bound to be somebody in Maryland who would love to oblige her. Whoever he was, he was going to get a workout--and good crab cakes. Jacky had been straight with him. Oliver appreciated that. And he'd been straight with her. Maybe that was why he had a warm feeling when he thought of her; there was no residue of guilt or things held back.

He stretched and walked to the main road, taking the track along the rocks and then though the woods. He had left the Jeep in the approach area by the gate-house; the park was officially closed. A piece of paper was folded under one winds.h.i.+eld wiper. It had a heart on it, drawn in pencil. When he got home, he taped it over the mantel.

Myron read through the application the next day and tapped his desktop slowly. "The co-owner," he said, "will have full privileges."

"Right."

"If she calls and identifies herself and says, "Myron, sell everything and send me a check," that's what I'll do."

"Right."

"Very good," Myron said dubiously. "Just making sure." He put the application and the check in a folder. "So, how quick do you want to get rich?"

"That's a trick question, I bet," Oliver said.

Myron appraised him again. "It is and it isn't," he said. "Rewards are what you get for taking risk. If you want a big reward right away, you have to take a big risk. Over a longer period, you can take smaller risks--the smaller rewards add up; the smaller losses don't wipe you out. But there's another consideration." He drew a double headed arrow on the top of a yellow pad. "People have different senses of time."

Myron darkened each arrowhead. "Some live for the future; some live in the moment; some--most--are in the middle. It's a natural thing. As far as risk/reward goes, we can keep a given balance in any time-horizon.

We can be risk-adverse, say, short-term or long-term." Myron underlined the arrow.

"What we don't want to do is mix up the two. Short--term and long-term investments are different. Not only are the investments themselves different, but someone who is patient and looks far ahead won't be happy with in-and-out activity. Someone who is action-oriented, who is used to seeing results right away, won't wait years for a company to develop or for interest rates to drop. You see what I'm getting at?"

"I do," Oliver said. "It's interesting. I guess I'm more toward the patient end. Risk? I don't mind risk. But I wouldn't want to lose more than half. It's important to me that half, anyway, always be there."

Myron wrote a few words on the pad.

"There are advantages to the patient approach," he said. "Taxes are lower if you hold securities long term. You can buy into promising companies cheaply--if you can give them a few years to grow."

"I like that," Oliver said. Myron made another note.

"How about if I get you started, make the first buys?"

"Sounds good."

"As time goes on and you get into it, you may want to take a more active part in making the decisions. We'll talk as we go along."

"O.K."

"You'll get a monthly statement."

"Just one--to me," Oliver interrupted.

"Yes," Myron added to his notes. "One statement. Call me or drop by any time."

"O.K. Thank you." Oliver prepared to leave. "When do we start making money?"

"Soon as the check clears," Myron said.

Should be interesting, Oliver thought, walking home. Myron was a realist. He didn't seem like someone who would rip you off or make hurried decisions. Porter came out the front door just as Oliver turned in from the sidewalk.

"Hey Porter, thanks for taking care of Verdi. I haven't seen you since I got back."

"No problem. It was a help, actually. And, it gave me a chance to get to know Arlen better." Porter beamed.

Oliver didn't want to hear any confidences. "How's the baking going?"

"Solid." Porter looked amused at Oliver's unease. "Scones are hot this year--can't make enough of them. Later, Slugger." He punched Oliver lightly on the arm and unlocked a sleek black Toyota. Oliver watched him drive away. Porter was like a character in a comic strip; a six foot scone in a thought balloon hovered over his car.

Oliver collected his mail. Gifford Sims of The First Fundamentalist Hospital was interested in talking with him. There were a couple of bills. A Thanksgiving invitation from Amanda. "Mother and Paul are coming. Heather has been asking about you."

12.

Sunday morning was cold and windy. Oliver waited at the beach, walking back and forth in front of the driftwood log. After half an hour, he poured a cup of coffee from the thermos. Steam curled up and was blown away. He had an interview the following day at the Fundamentalist hospital; he ought to iron a s.h.i.+rt. Wear a tie? Francesca appeared, walking with long strides.

"Hi," she said.

"Just in time," he said, holding his cup in the air. "I was going to drink yours. What's the matter?"

"Conor and I are having trouble. G.o.d, that smells good!" Oliver handed her a cup. "Mmm--nice and hot."

"I'm sorry," Oliver said.

"I don't want to bother you about it . . ."

"It's no bother."

"Conor didn't get home until very late. I had trouble waking him up to watch the girls. I probably shouldn't have come."

"Do you want to go back? I'll walk with you to the gate-house."

"O.K. Just a second. Let's enjoy this."

Oliver refilled his cup. "Getting nippy," he said.

"Snow anytime," Francesca said. She looked at him and smiled--something to share, their snow. "Conor's not been happy with me. He plays around.

It's a mess."

"Oh."

"I don't know what to do. We've been talking about making a change, spending the winter in Costa Rica. He says that his job isn't going anywhere; he wants a break to decide what to do next."