The park was very large. We drove for some time through a beautiful wood until the wood ceased, and the house came into view. Inside were miniatures, small faces we gawked at until a housekeeper showed us the master’s finer portrait in an upper room. I dredged up a shaming moment: you asked me a question, then ducked as I spewed an idiot’s vitriol, blindness disguised as rage. The house stood well on rising ground, and beneath its slopes the thirsty couples held their glasses high at Café Can’t Wait. I spent time at its flimsy tables but then I walked under trees whose leaves exhaled gusty stories of good deeds; I learned empty houses are excellent teachers; I sent you away and felt you grow tremendous in your absence. Ask me again.