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jokes, borrowed from the great George Burns. "Say good-night, Gracie."
    "Good-night, Gracie," she said, and then she yawned, which wasn't part of the routine, but still a nice touch.
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
    Chapter 15
    I spent the weekend doing boring weekend stuff--laundry, groceries, paying bills, cleaning house and, of course, catching up on my shows. I always like to start my week with a full tank of gas, a full fridge and money in my wallet; otherwise, I feel like I'm behind before I even get started. Having clean clothes to wear is also high on the list. It's strange, but I find working every day hard to get used to, although I did it for ten years before my mom died. It seems that once you stop punching a clock, you immediately forget how to do it; and then, you don't even remember what the clock looks like.
    Given that I'm fairly obsessive, you m ight think I showed remarkable restraint by not spending the weekend online looking for my father, but the truth is my brain was on overload. If I didn't have some downtime to absorb all that new information, my head would explode. Besides being obsessive, I'm also hyperbolic, which sounds like a disease, but isn't.
    I was glad I hadn't planned to have Sunday dinner with Aunt Peg and Adam. I didn't feel like talking about my mom, my dad, family secrets, or anything that came under those headings. Instead, I invited my next-door neighbors, Sandy and Mike, over for Indian take-out and a glass of wine. It was fun and relaxing and just what the doctor ordered--if you could get a doctor to write you a prescription for Curry, Pinot Grigio, and an evening in the company of nice people.
    By Monday morning, I was refreshed and ready to tackle the world, or at least ready to tackle my in-box. I was in such a good mood, I could've even handled Lisa's crying, but I hoped I wouldn't have to. As a precaution, and to spread the good cheer around, I stopped at Einstein's on my way to work to pick up a dozen bagels for the office, including cinnamon-raisin , Lisa's favorite.
    A fter I settled in at my desk with a second cup of coffee, I e-mailed Becca to ask about Joe's funeral arrangements; I felt obligated to pay my respects. It occurred to me that Joe's parents might be the ones making the arrangements, considering the bitter divorce proceedings, but Becca would still have the information.
    I worked non-stop until lunchtime and managed to jam out quite a bit of paperwork, if I do say so myself. I wish I were a steady worker, but, unfortunately, I only have two speeds: full- speed ahead and dead-stop. Happily, it was a full-speed kind of day. I was mulling over whether to get a sub or a salad from the delivery place across the street when my cell phone rang. I normally don't answer it at lunchtime as a way to establish boundaries for my clients. Just because they have my cell number (which is more for my convenience than for theirs), doesn't mean that I'm on call for them 24/7. But I saw it was Becca, so I decided to pick up.
    "Hey, Becca, I've been thinking about you. How are you holding up, sweetie?"       
    "I'm not, Jamie, not at all." Her voice sounded ragged, lik e she'd been crying all weekend.
    "I can only imagine. You must b e overwhelmed, how can I help?"
    "I'm calling because I don't know what to do," she wailed. "The state attorney's office called and asked me to come in for questioning. Why would they do that? What do they want from me? Why is this happeni ng? I can't take it anymore!"
    I could hear her hysteria escalating and I knew I had to talk her down off the ledge, figuratively speaking. At least I hoped it was figurative. You never know a person's limits; and sometimes, you don't even know your own.
    "It's okay, Becca. It's probably just a routine thing. Listen, I know someone at the state attorney's office, how about I call him for you and see what I can find out?"
    She paused and then in a voice as small as a little girl's, she said, "Yes, please...and will