"Martin, really!" Martin ignored his mother and stared at Patrick.
Questions didn't bother Patrick. He thought. "I don't know—scientist maybe, someday."
"Good deal. I don't know what I am either." Martin clapped his hands together and poured himself a cup of coffee. "But I'm working on it. Lot of good music around town, good musicians showing up. I've got a little recording studio in back."
"Do you play?"
"Very well," Heidi said.
"Not much," Martin said. "Fiddle. Banjo." Patrick imagined him playing the fiddle. He had large hands.
"My dad plays the fiddle." Martin was like a softer version of his dad, tall and thin. Heidi was watching him closely. He began to feel too warm. He rose to his feet. "Well, I'd better be going. It's been nice to meet you."
"Wait a minute," Martin said. "It's raining; I'll give you a ride."
"You just got here."
"No problem, I was just picking something up. I'll be back later this afternoon," he said to his mother.