Homeport

another moment, then shrugged. They both knew that wasn’t what he’d meant. Ryan had already been gone a week.
    He dug into the bag of pretzels he’d taken to eating by the pound. They made him thirsty, and when he was thirsty he drank gallons of water. Then he had to piss like a racehorse.
    He’d worked it out in his mind that all the liquid was flushing toxins out of his system.
    “Ms. Purdue and Clara are dealing with the caterer,” he told her. “We don’t have a final count for attendees, but they’d like the menu approved. I’d like you to take a look at it before we sign the final contract. It’s really your show.”
    “It’s our show,” Miranda corrected, still checking off her list. She wanted both the paintings and the frames cleaned before the opening, and had sent a memo to restoration giving them priority.
    “It better be a good one. Closing off this gallery has a lot of the visitors grumbling.”
    “If they come back in a couple of weeks, they’ll get more than their money’s worth.” She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes.
    “You’ve been putting in a lot of hours on this.”
    “There’s a lot to do, and not much time to do it. Anyway, I like being busy.”
    “Yeah.” He rattled his pretzels. “Neither one of us is looking for loose time right now.”
    “You’re doing okay?”
    “Is that the code for are you drinking?” It came out with an edge he hadn’t intended. “Sorry.” His fingers dived into the bag again. “No, I’m not drinking.”
    “I know you’re not. It wasn’t code.”
    “I’m dealing with it.”
    “I’m glad you came back home, but I don’t want you to feel you have to be there with me if you’d rather be with Annie.”
    “The fact that I’ve figured out I want to be with Annie makes it a little rough to stay there sleeping on her couch. If you get the picture.”
    “Yeah, I get the picture.” She crossed over to dip into the pretzels herself.
    “Any idea when Ryan’s getting back?”
    “Not exactly.”
    They stood for a moment, each crunching pretzels and contemplating the annoyance of sexual frustration. “Wanna go out and get drunk later?” Andrew grinned at her. “Just a little recovery humor.”
    “Ha ha.” She dug into the bag, came up with a few grains of salt, sighed. “Got any more of these?”
    • • •

    Ryan’s first stop in San Francisco was the gallery. He’d chosen the old warehouse in the waterfront district because he’d wanted a lot of space, and had decided to separate his business from the dozens of galleries downtown.
    It had worked, making Boldari’s more exclusive, unique, and allowing him to provide fledgling artists with a chance to show their work in a top-flight gallery.
    He’d decided on a casual ambiance rather than the elegance he’d created in New York. Here, paintings might be spotlighted against raw brick or wood, and sculpture often stood on rough metal columns. Wide, unframed windows provided a view of the bay and the busy tourist traffic.
    A second-floor cafe provided artists and art lovers with foamy cappuccino and lattes at tiny tables reminiscent of a sidewalk trattoria while they looked down on the main gallery, or gazed up at the third-floor studios.
    Ryan settled himself at one of the tables and grinned across at his brother Michael. “So, how’s business?”
    “Remember that metal sculpture you told me looked like a train wreck?”
    “I think my opinion was it looked like the wreck of a circus train.”
    “Yeah, that was it. We sold it yesterday for twenty thousand and change.”
    “A lot of people have more money than taste. How’s the family?”
    “See for yourself. You’re expected for dinner.”
    “I’ll be there.” He leaned back, studying his brother as Michael ordered coffee for both of them.
    “It suits you,” Ryan commented. “Marriage, family, the house in the burbs.”
    “It better, I’m in for the duration. And a good thing for you. It helps keep Mama off your ass.”
    “It doesn’t help much. I saw her yesterday. I’m supposed to tell you she needs new pictures of the kids. How is she supposed to remember what they look like if you don’t send pictures?”
    “We sent her ten pounds of pictures last month.”
    “You can deliver the next batch in person. I want you and the family to come in for the exhibit and fund-raiser at the Institute. You got the memo on that, right?”
    “Yeah, I got it.”
    “Any problem with the