"I was. For four years."
"You have children?"
"No."
"Mmmm . . ."
"Large waves come without warning," Oliver said, looking out at the gray ocean.
"Beautiful here," his father said. Oliver nodded. For the first time, a suggestion of a smile crossed his father's face as he waved at the wild shore guarded by The Devil's Churn. "Most don't get this far. What kind of work you do?"
"I program computers. Used to teach math. I like to make things out of wood sometimes." That seemed to sum it up. Not a very big sum, Oliver thought.
"You know George Nakashima? Made furniture?"
"No."
"Mmmm . . . He lived in Pennsylvania, died two, three years ago." His father reached inside his jacket and handed Oliver an envelope. "This yours," he said.