" She was tanned, wearing a large white "Harbor Fish" T-shirt over
dark brown cotton pants.
"Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom."
"It's right over there, Elena--the first door." Francesca pointed and
put her free hand on the other girl's head. "Stay with me, Maria."
"Takes two hands--motherhood," Oliver said.
"Two aren't enough, really." Her voice was low and easy. An elderly
couple passed them on their way out. Oliver waved at their table which
was being cleared.
"Why don't you take it?"
"It's crowded, today. Thank you," Francesca said. "Why don't we share?"
"Sure," Oliver said. "Is anyone joining you?"
Francesca tipped her head to one side and ran fingers through her hair.
She looked at Oliver and shook her head deliberately. There were no
words, or too many, to explain. "My lucky day," Oliver said. She
smiled--tribute was tribute, even in Becky's at rush hour. Maria tugged
at her hand.
"I'm hungry."
"Let's eat, then," Francesca said, moving toward the table. When she
reached the booth, she said, "Mr. . . . is going to eat with us."
"Oliver."
"Mr. Oliver."
"No. Oliver Prescott is my name. Oliver Muni Prescott. But--Oliver,
please.
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