"Let me buy a round," Joe said. About four beers later he got into the truck, blinking. "Jesus, Batman, Ten Mile Creek, hell of a place!" He made it to a motel and called it a day. The next morning he had a big breakfast. The grip of the Northeast was loosening. Driving all day was beginning to seem natural. "Roll 'em, Batman," he said, "Bach first. Then, we'll move on to Gabby Pahinui, get into Willy Nelson, and The Grateful Dead. We've got a delivery for Kate." The truck was running great. Traffic was light. Ohio went by, and Indiana, like a dream. 2 Madison, Minneapolis, Fargo, the long run over to Missoula, Spokane, Seattle, finally. Joe parked by Ivar's and stretched, tired but satisfied. He was meeting Kate for lunch where they could look across Puget Sound. A few minutes later, Kate appeared from behind a group of tourists. They had a reunion hug. "How was the trip, Dad?" "Pretty good. Took the northern route, right straight across. Let's eat." They were in time to get a window table. "So, long drive," Kate said. "I was up for it. It's nice to see the country that way once in a while--you forget how big it is. Those high rolling plains in Montana are something else. They'll have snow in a couple of weeks. I could use some new tapes and a book or two." "You know the place: Elliot Bay Book Company." "Yeah, I thought I'd check it out this afternoon. I'm going to get a room at the Edgewater and be Mr. Luxury for a couple of days." "You could stay with me. Audrey's on a trip for a week; it wouldn't be any hassle." "Thanks, but I don't want to be in the way . . . I'd take some home cooking, though." "How about tomorrow night? You could meet Jackson." "Sounds good. What happened to Rolf?" "Oh, Rolf. We have lunch. I love Rolf, but he doesn't really want to live in this period. That's what he calls it, 'This period.' He's happier in bookstores reading about early Scandinavian immigrants." "I was just reading about a Swede who was making cider with a hand press he bought for a quarter when he was 12. It was in the paper this morning. He'd been married 50 years. Said his wife was Norwegian but she was taking pills for it." Kate laughed, a full wraparound laugh. She had her mother's coloring--chestnut hair, light brown eyes, and rosy cheeks. "You'll like Jackson; he's very different." "I'm sure I will. I liked Rolf--he was appealingly gloomy." "Jackson's an artist. He gets mad when I say that; he says he's a craftsman. You should see the things he makes: jewelry, furniture--he can make anything." "Speaking of art, your grandfather gave you a painting. It's in the truck." "Oh! Is it good?" "I like it. I don't know if you will."