"I'll be here all week," Brendan said, "if anything needs doing." "We're not going to have a ceremony. He didn't want one," Ann said. She looked down at the floor for a moment and then raised her head. "I'm going to bake something, if you boys will excuse me. Friends are going to start coming by; I want to have something to offer them." "Chocolate chips?" asked Brendan. She left without answering and they finished their wine in silence. "Might as well pick a painting," Joe said. Brendan came with him to the barn. When they were inside, Brendan said, "The old goat!" Joe spotted his father's special stash of Laphroaig and reached for it. "To the old goat," he said and took a healthy swallow. He passed the bottle to Brendan. "You're all right, Brendan." Brendan drank and cleared his throat. "Yowsir!" Joe searched through paintings, mostly oils, and chose a small one, unframed, that had been done earlier that year--a spring scene of the woods at the edge of the field behind the barn. The leaves were just out, and his father had captured the delicate early green, chartreuse, that is gone in a week. The young leaves were modestly and unashamedly tender. There was nice work with interarching birches among the other trees and in the meeting of the woods and the field, but the light on the leaves was the main act. "A good one," Brendan said. "Not too big, easy to mail." "I'll bet you could carry it on the plane, if you packed it," Brendan said. They rummaged around and found a shipping box just large enough for the painting and the drawing. "Good idea," Joe said. "Now I even have the money to frame it. How are you doing these days, by the way?" "Not bad. I'm teaching a course at a community college. Of course, the bay area is expensive. Wheeler's making the big bucks. It's a full time job just keeping him out of trouble, making sure he eats right, and so on." Brendan grinned. "I can't imagine what the house is going to be like when I get back. Wheeler hasn't put anything away since he was born. He just picks things up and carries them to different places." "Creative chaos," Joe said. "Great, until you need the garlic press." "I'm with you," Joe said. "I hate looking for things. Wheeler is an excellent fellow, though." He pictured Wheeler, very tall, hawk nosed, wearing glasses, bent over an architectural drawing, the top of his head seeming to glow. "Oh, I couldn't survive without him," Brendan said, taking another swallow of Laphroaig. "He was a hard man, our father. Maybe you didn't know, not having lived with him and all." "I suppose so," Joe said. "Did he give you a hard time when you, umm, came out?"