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her ears. "What does Julie love to do?" she asks suddenly. "I ask because it might not be possible for her to go to the kind of school your parents want for her."
    "Love?" Jeff turns, surprised by the question. His skin is lightly freckled. He has the coloring of a northern man. "Gardening," he answers after a minute. "Walking Tullus." He pauses. "Anyway, it's my mother with the hopes. I think my father pretty much gets the picture."
    "I notice that Julie's often in the rose garden."
    "She'll find a man," Jeff announces. "She'll be all right."
    Sydney is taken aback. Though, possibly, in Julie's case, an independent life is not a reasonable expectation.
    "I think the man will find her," Sydney corrects.
    "Not too soon, I hope."
    Sydney smiles. "No, not too soon."
    Sydney notes that the topography of the beach is vastly different in the daylight. The night before, while she stood at the water's edge, the houses seemed far away. This morning, they are so close as to be intrusive.
    "What do you love?" Jeff asks.
    "What do I love?"
    Unprepared for the volley and return, Sydney cannot think. She puts a hand to her temple. She could say with ease what she used to love, but Daniel is gone now.
    "I like this," she says, gesturing.
    "The beach?"
    "Walking on it. Looking at it." She feels heat in her face. Her response is lame at best, uninspired. "I like being with Julie and your father. I like kayaking. . ."
    About to say body surfing, Sydney stops herself, not wanting to be reminded of the night before, that slithering touch. She is aware that she has not listed Ben or Mrs. Edwards as among the people or things she likes. If she had, she doubts Jeff would have believed her. After an evening and a night spent in the house, Jeff cannot fail to be aware of a certain dismissive tone in Mrs. Edwards's voice when speaking to Sydney, a certain disingenuousness in Sydney's when replying.
    Sydney decides not to ask Jeff what he loves. She wonders if he would say Victoria.
    "Presumably you liked school," Jeff says after a time.
    "I did."
    "Will you go back?"
    "Not sure. I did like the idea that my life was based on asking questions. And finding answers to those questions. I suppose I believe that being wise is more important in the long run than having a lot of money." Sydney laughs. "Which is good because I'm never going to have any."
    Jeff smiles.
    "I suppose I could have achieved that goal in any field if I'd worked hard enough," she continues. "Biology or chemistry, say. So it's probably more that I'm fascinated by what makes humans tick." She shrugs her shoulders. "Or maybe it's simply that I had a grandiose idea of adding in my small way to the collective sum of human knowledge."
    "I know all about grandiose fantasies," Jeff says.
    Sydney tries to match her stride to Jeff's. "What does your dad do?" she asks.
    Remarkably, no one has told her. She hasn't wanted to inquire in case Mr. Edwards is unemployed--too well-off to have to work, recently downsized from a hefty corporate job, or simply retired.
    "He's an architect."
    Sydney stops, reined in by surprise. She does a quick mental tour of the house. No architectural models, no framed drawings-- at least none that she has noticed. "I'd never have guessed that," she says.
    "He has his own practice in Boston. Or did. He works from home most of the time now."
    "I'd love to see something he's done."
    "It's possible he has some work with him in his room. You'd have to go to Needham, though, to see the models and the drawings. They're very beautiful."
    "I'm not sure I've ever met a man capable of going weeks without once mentioning his profession."
    "You could know my father two years and he wouldn't tell you if you didn't ask."
    "Unusual these days, when a man is often measured by what he does, by how successful he is."
    "Not Dad. He couldn't care less."
    "And you?"
    "Me? Oh, you'd know within the week."
    "And Ben?"
    "Before the day was over."
    Sydney and Jeff reach the far end of the beach,