"Right," Joe said. "I'm from Maine and upstate New York, originally. I've been in New Haven. I love those old Yale buildings." "Awesome," Rhiannon agreed. "My father doesn't think much of Yalies." "Good man," Joe said. "So, what does your mom do?" "She works in marketing," Rhiannon said abruptly. "What's wrong with that?" "Oh, nothing. We're not getting along right now. I don't like her boyfriend." "Uh, oh. That's hard," Joe said. "He's such a creep. I'd get my own apartment but I'm leaving. I've never had an apartment." "It's fun," Joe said. "Do what you want. But you have to buy a lot of stuff--beds and toasters and things. Actually, I don't even have a bed. I sleep on a camping mattress." "I wouldn't mind that," Rhiannon said. "Would you show me your place some time?" "Sure." "People should do what they want to," she said fiercely. "Damn right--although, it's not so easy sometimes." The more they talked, the more comfortable he felt with her. "Well," she sighed when they reached her apartment building, "good night, Joe." "Good night, Rhiannon. See you in the morning?" "I'll be there." 19 Summer was almost gone. Joe and Rhiannon crossed the boulevard at the Ewa end of Ala Moana park and walked toward the beach. The weather was warm and overcast, for a change. Rhiannon chattered about her upcoming trip to see her father in Connecticut. Joe made his standard suggestion to pack only one carry-on bag. He offered the use of his Filson, but she wanted her own, and, besides, she wasn't sure when she was coming back. They were relaxed with each other--Joe from habit, and Rhiannon from instinct. Sometimes love is easy, he thought. It's just a given, just there. Why deny it? Even so, he was afraid to touch her, to open the door to pain and loss and sexual inadequacy. Old age was coming soon enough; he didn't have to have his nose rubbed in it. An admiring whistle cut through his thoughts. Three young men were standing by a tree in front of them and to their right. Joe nudged Rhiannon to the left, changing direction, but she would have none of it. She kept her direction and held her head high. "Right here, Baby!" One of them was slim and tense; two were heavier. They were eighteen or nineteen, Rhiannon's age. They moved to block the walk. Joe and Rhiannon stopped. "Fucking haole," one said coming up to them. He pushed Joe hard. Time slowed. Joe sensed Rhiannon reaching into her bag. As Joe stepped back from the shove, the slim one slipped to the side. I'm going down anyway, Joe thought. He held the shover's eyes, smiled slightly, and jammed him under the chin with the heel of his hand, driving him back and turning him. He grabbed at Joe, but Joe drove him face down into the gravel. Joe scrambled sideways and was spinning toward the others when the lights went out.