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and clutches it to his heart.
    “Can’t it at least wait until tomorrow?” I plead.
    “Who kept you out of reform school last year?” insists Bernard. “
Who
became your legal guardian and arranged it so Mother could tutor you here at the house, thus enabling you to graduate from high school?”
    “Point taken,” I shoot back. “You’ve graduated from mentor to
tormentor
in the short space of a year.”
    Bernard’s arms are now flailing above his head like Tippi Hedren in the movie
The Birds.
    “Have I ever asked
anything
of you, other than to read those articles I send you on how to care for your combination skin?” Once again he punches in the number and shoves the handset up to my ear.
    I walk outside the summerhouse to talk in private. He follows me. Real close.
    “How am I supposed to get Gil back if I don’t know whether or not he’s seeing anyone?” complains Bernard.
    So
that’s
what this is about. I’m not supposed to hunt for pole lamps and a captain’s wheel coffee table, but for evidence of another
person.
Gil picks up, and following some friendly chitchat, I arrange to go and visit him after dinner. At least this way I can grab a few hours of shut-eye this afternoon.
    As soon as I hang up, Bernard hysterically begins making plans. “We’ll eat early and then leave at half past six. I’ll make a casserole for you to give him since I can’t imagine he’s been eating properly. Then I’ll wait at the diner around the corner while you go in and visit.”
    “I’m not taking you with me! What if he
sees
you?” By now I’m picturing the mug shot.
    “I’ll wear a disguise.” Bernard says this as if it solves absolutely everything.
    Looking directly at the largest vase in the room, I ask, “Are any of these in my price range in case I accidentally drop one on your head?”
    “He won’t even know I’m there,” insists Bernard.
    “Do you want the short answer or the long answer?” I ask.
    “Short,” he says. There’s a crazed note of hope in his voice.
    “No!” I bang my hand on the bed since just about everything else in the vicinity is an antique and there’s no point breaking a thousand-dollar lamp just for emphasis.
    “Wait! What’s the long answer?”
    “No F-ing way!”
I say, and give the bed one more hard hit. “Furthermore, I’m not taking sides. Or going on some fact-finding mission. This is getting really weird. It feels as if my parents got divorced while I was in college. It happened to, like, half the freshmen—out of the blue they got calls in early October saying their folks were splitsville, that they’d been waiting the past few years, until the kids left home.”
    “That’s exactly why we must get Gil back! So you’re not permanently damaged by living in a broken home.”
    “Stop saying
we
!”
    Bernard studies the dark circles under my eyes and the uncombed hair. “I think you’re just tired,” he says, as if this explains why I’m not agreeing with him.
    “I’m exhausted!” I hurl myself prostrate on the new daybed. “This is a really nice bed, by the way.”
    “I thought sateen sheets would be a bit much, so I got Egyptian cotton with a very high thread count, a silk blend comforter, and goose down pillows.”
    “Mmmm,” I kick off my sneakers and let my head sink into the luxurious pillow.
    “Okay, get some rest while I run down to the shop. It’s been incredibly busy ever since this chain of diners and soda bars started buying from me. I send them pictures of 1940s and ’50s kitsch and they send money.” Bernard bounds out the door, apparently cheered that I’m willing to take on his case, at least within reason.
    It feels so good to lie there and listen to the fresh green leaves rustle and the sparrows chirp. The buds on the purple lilac bushes outside my window still look tentative, as if waiting for just one more sign that spring has come to stay for good. My thoughts drift as I head toward sleep.
Working in the yard I can make