"Hid it." Francesca giggled. "Where did you get the box?"
"Made it."
"I wondered," she said. "It's beautiful. Did you find your father?"
"I did." He told her about Hawaii and meeting his father at The Devil's
Churn in Oregon.
"Dramatic," she said. Her eyes were soft.
"It was. It was the way he wanted it."
"Did you feel that he was your father?"
"Yes. We're different. I'm American, and he's Japanese-American, more Japanese—he lives in Japan. But we were the same underneath—same kind of seriousness or intensity or something."
"What does he do?"
"He's an architect. He was teaching a class at the University of
California, Berkeley, until the end of the year."