"It's an arrowhead from Vermont. My stepson, Max, found it." She weighed the arrowhead in her palm, as he had. "Max made the box. He was in New Zealand . . . It's a special wood from there. Kauri, it's called." Rhiannon placed the arrowhead back in its oval and turned the box around, looking at it from each side. Joe pointed at the picture of Stone Man. "He did that, too." Rhiannon leaned over the table and looked closely at the photograph. Her eyes opened wider. "Awesome." "He balances there and watches over the valley. His hands are weights. 'Stone Man,' Maxie calls him." "Looks like New England." "Yup, Vermont. Londonderry." "I know where Londonderry is," she said. "My father took us skiing there." "Good old Maxie. Max Mueller, you should look him up when you go back east." "I will," she said. "When are you going?" "A week from tomorrow." "Oh." "Yes, I've had the ticket for two months." He poured them more wine. Rhiannon leaned back in the plastic chair, looked at the painting over the table, and then studied the drawing above the bookshelf. "My father did those," Joe said. "He did the painting last year, not long before he died. The drawing is of my mother. She wasn't much older than you are." "She was beautiful," Rhiannon said. "Not as beautiful as you," Joe said factually. "I could do that," she said, pointing at the drawing. She indicated the oil. "But I couldn't do that." "Color ups the ante," Joe said. "Awesome," she said, still looking at the oil. "Takes time," Joe said. "There's about fifty years practice between the two." "And then gone, all that experience gone," Rhiannon said. "Gotta do it while we can," Joe said. "God, what a good dinner. I hate to see you go, Rhiannon." "Don't you get lonely?" she asked. An appealing smile spread across her face. Joe imagined her clothes dropping away, saw her naked, her clean tight skin, touches of private color at her breasts, the subtle curve where she would swell with pregnancy. He shook his head, more to clear it than to say no. "Batman," he said. "Batman keeps me company. Although I do worry about him sometimes. He's younger than I am." "Joe--could I stay? For the week? Until my plane?" She spoke quietly and held him with her large dark eyes. He should have seen it coming, but he was surprised. "Umm, with me?" She nodded. "Oh, Rhiannon." "You think I'm too young," she said. "No, that's not it. Rhiannon, you are not too young." He searched for words. "It's not you; it's me. I'm too old." He swallowed a mouthful of wine. "There was a time when I would have crawled around the island for you on my hands and knees. Let me see if I can explain." She stood, turned once around, and sat down again. "You don't have to. It's all right. And besides, you're wounded." She pointed at the Band-Aid on his cheek. "I'm not that wounded. I'm changing. Did you ever see a chameleon change color?" "No," she said.