"Of course they do," Cree said. "Now, I'm trying to remember—weren't you into music?"
"I was. I mean, I am. I love it, but I don't perform or anything."
"Bart is pretty good on the piano. I'm thinking of changing to a better teacher."
"I grew up on lessons," Willow said. "I think I had too many. When I was in Woodstock, I used to go up to AhnRee's and play his piano, try to write songs. I found that I couldn't. It was a great disappointment. It was like I was too grooved in the classical; I couldn't get loose, couldn't get away from it. I guess if I were really talented I would have blown it off and done my own thing." She paused. "I wouldn't push it too hard. Nudge, maybe. Scone?"
Cree's face lit up as she bit into the scone. "Mighty fine," she said.
"That's what I do best," Willow said. "It's a wonder I can still see my feet. I'm starting a cafe in January."
"Spectacular! I'll be there. You look terrific. I'm the blimp. I'll
think about the music lessons. Thanks, Willow." They watched the
Mustangs struggle. The other team was doing most of the attacking.
"What's your little one like? . . . Dylan?"
"Right. After Bob," Willow said. "He's more even tempered than Martin, but he's pretty intense. Quiet. He's got a thing for cats, which I take to be a good sign." The attackers lined up for a corner kick. "What ever happened to Joe Burke?"
"Oh, Joe." Cree smiled. "He was something. He and Sally went to Hawaii to live, then they broke up. He's in Maine. They had a daughter. He's remarried, I think."
"He was interesting," Willow said.