Yet he had felt it, secure and growing. Probably, Jennifer shouldn't
drink too much. He bought a bottle of Merlot and a six pack of ale. He
bought organic corn chips made with what he thought was the good kind
of fat. She said that she wanted to make pies. Better leave that stuff
to her, he thought. We can get baking dishes at The Whip and Spoon on
Commercial Street. It would be nice if that programming work came
through. He should follow up with Gifford Sims. Jennifer was still
working. She could help with the bills.
He made two trips up the stairs with armloads of groceries. Porter's
car was parked in front. It had been there often, lately. Oliver
wondered if he had moved in. "The house is filling up, Verdi." He put
away the food, listening to Van Morrison and The Chieftains. His eye
caught the heart that Francesca had drawn--probably not a good idea to
leave it there. He peeled the tape from the wall, folded the heart
carefully, and put it with the Marsh and Cooley account information in
a brown manila envelope. Something told him to keep the account and
Francesca to himself. If he could put Francesca in a separate place,
keep her from Jennifer, he wouldn't have to choose between them.
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