"I love my valentine."
"Good. My friend, George, is an artist. He showed me how to cast it.
What did you do with it? Not that it's any of my business."
"Hid it." Francesca giggled. "Where did you get the box?"
"Made it."
"I wondered," she said. "It's beautiful. Did you find your father?"
"I did." He told her about Hawaii and meeting his father at The Devil's
Churn in Oregon.
"Dramatic," she said. Her eyes were soft.
"It was. It was the way he wanted it."
"Did you feel that he was your father?"
"Yes. We're different. I'm American, and he's Japanese-American, more
Japanese--he lives in Japan. But we were the same underneath--same kind
of seriousness or intensity or something."
"What does he do?"
"He's an architect. He was teaching a class at the University of
California, Berkeley, until the end of the year."
"Is he married?"
"Yes. Two children--a boy and a girl, grown."
"Oliver, you have a half brother and a half sister!"
"It's true. I haven't absorbed it yet."
"Did you like him?"
"Yes. He was pretty impressive. Disciplined. Didn't say much. He gave
me some money--said you were only as rich as what you give away.
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