"My dad plays the fiddle." Martin was like a softer version of his dad, tall and thin. Heidi was watching him closely. He began to feel too warm. He rose to his feet. "Well, I'd better be going. It's been nice to meet you." "Wait a minute," Martin said. "It's raining; I'll give you a ride." "You just got here." "No problem, I was just picking something up. I'll be back later this afternoon," he said to his mother. "Goodbye, Patrick. I hope things work out for you. Do tell your father that everything's fine. And come and have dinner with us sometime, won't you?" "That would be nice," Patrick said. Martin dropped him at Gert's and wished him luck. "Oh, yeah," Patrick said as he was half out of the car. "Do you know where Mead's Meadow is?" "Sure. It's near the top on the other side, after you pass the Mountain House. Right up Rock City Road, up and over. You go down a hill, and the road bends left. You'll see a little logging road on the right--goes down through the woods a little ways, across a wet spot, and up onto the meadow." "Thanks." Patrick waved and watched him drive away. Neat car. He said hello to Gert and ate his sandwich on the porch, thinking hard. He started to write a letter to his parents, but he crumpled it after the first paragraph. He went inside. Gert was busy in the back of the house. He hesitated and then picked up the telephone and called home, collect. By good luck, his father answered. "Dad, this is Pat." "Pat! Where are you?" "I'm in Woodstock--great town. I just looked up Heidi and Martin Merrill." "How are they?" His father's voice sounded far away. "Fine. They've got a big place. She's nice, makes good coffee. Martin plays the fiddle." Patrick paused. "His hands, Dad, they are just like yours--like mine. He reminds me of you." Patrick ran out of words. There was a brief silence. "It's a long story, Pat. I'll tell you about it the next time we get together. Martin is your half-brother." Patrick let out his breath. "I was wondering. I didn't say anything." His father was silent for a moment. "Maybe that's best, Pat. We wouldn't want to upset anybody; only a couple of people know. Come see us at Christmas in Costa Rica or Florida--wherever we end up; we'll talk about it. Basically, Heidi was afraid she'd never have a baby." "Dad, look, I've got to go. Thanks for telling me. I won't say anything. I'll let you know about Christmas. Say hi to Mom." Patrick hung up softly. He stood for several seconds and then went back out on the porch where he sat down again and watched the rain. I'll be damned, he thought. His father must have been about his age when he was in Woodstock. Patrick saw him in a new way. Heidi must have been incredible; she was still good looking. It was cool to have a brother, but it was strange not to be able to say anything. Martin didn't seem like a bad guy for someone who had it easy. "Patrick, the window at the end of the upstairs hall is stuck. Could you close it for me?"