"No," Joe laughed. He was going to brush off the question, but he saw that Rhiannon was serious. "Almost," he said. "We are too much the same, I think. Too pigheaded, or self-centered, or something. She's connected to Rob, the guy we met when we first went in." Rhiannon brightened. The afternoon cumulus clouds had dissipated in a pale blue sky. Pink wisps of cirrus trailed to the west. They walked down Kapiolani Boulevard and turned up Keaumoku.
"Did you go to school here?" he asked.
"Roosevelt. I graduated last year."
"You don't sound like you've been here all your life."
"Five years," Rhiannon said. "My parents got divorced and I came out here with my mom."
"Oh. Where's your father?"
"He's in New Haven. He's a chef in a great Italian restaurant. I'm going to see him soon; I've been saving up. I mean, he's paid for the ticket, but I want to have my own money when I get there."
"Right," Joe said. "I'm from Maine and upstate New York, originally.
I've been in New Haven. I love those old Yale buildings."
"Awesome," Rhiannon agreed. "My father doesn't think much of Yalies."
"Good man," Joe said. "So, what does your mom do?"