He remembered her gray eyes; she was the one who had smiled at him on his first night in town. Up close, he noticed tiny freckles and a gap between her front teeth. "I'm Sue," she said. "Hi." "Claude is a famous ski jumper, did you know?" She was grinning widely. "You ski, Patrick?" Claude asked. "A little." "I'm from the U.P., did 300 feet at Iron Mountain." "Yo!" "No more. Now I go one time a year to the Bear Mountain meet. Little jump." "You won last year," Sue said. "Year before, Cher." "Claude, have you seen Jim?" "Not today." She frowned. "Bye, Claude. Bye, Patrick." Patrick watched her leave. "So who's Jim?" he asked. "Her boyfriend--alcoholic dude, a nice guy. She likes you." Claude drifted along the bar; he knew everyone. Patrick was beginning to feel at home in the Depresso. Amber had come in twice during the week, once with Willow and once with a builder named Art. She had smiled at Patrick, but she wasn't available--although her smile seemed to indicate that any day she might be. I'm on her list, Patrick thought, smiling back. He finished the Darwin book and started _An Introduction to Mathematics_ by Alfred North Whitehead. One evening in the Depresso, Sue came over to his table and asked what he was reading. "Listen to this," he said. "Operations of thought are like cavalry charges in battle: they are strictly limited in number; they require fresh horses; they must be made only at decisive moments." Sue wrinkled her nose. "Too much." She sat down. "I mean, this book is a classic. What is math, anyway? Right here," Patrick said, patting the cover. "Lays it out. You can learn anything you want from books." "Why aren't you in school somewhere?" "I was; I quit. It was just a place where they put you in a box--a lawyer box, a doctor box. I didn't want to be in a box. Besides, it was expensive." Sue giggled. "So, where are you from, Sue?" "Michigan, same as Claude--except he's from the U.P." "What are you doing in Woodstock?" "Art Students League. I model and take classes." "Should have known," Patrick said, "everyone I meet is an artist." "You seen Jim: tall, cute?" "I don't think so." "He's a reader, too. He gets a pile of books and a six-pack, lies on the couch and reads all day." She looked around and sighed. "Later, Patrick." She left, relaxed and alert, like a fox on the move. The next night she sat at his table again. "It's hot," she said. "Want a beer?" "No thanks." "I get thirsty staring at white all day," Patrick said. "You want to go swimming?" "Sure." Patrick surprised himself. "Where?" "I know a place." "I don't have a car." "I've got my roommate's for the night." When they got into the car, Sue twisted and reached past Patrick to arrange something on the back seat behind him. She was sweating slightly, and he was astonished by her sweet rich smell. "That's strange," he said, "we've got the same smell. How can that be? Same genes? I'm mostly Irish. What are you?"