Well, amen to that.

When the meeting was over I helped stack the chairs, and thought about joining people for coffee at the Flame. I went straight home instead. Elaine wasn't home yet, and I checked the answering machine and found a message from Michael, my elder son.

He said, "Dad, are you there? Pick up if you're around, will you? I guess you're out. I'll try you again later."

No request to call him back, and not a clue what it was about. I played the message back a couple more times, trying to divine something from the words and the tone. He sounded strained, I decided, but a lot of people do when they have to talk to a machine. Still, he probably left messages all the time. He had a good position with a firm inSilicon Valley, he made sales calls all the time, spent half his life on the phone.

Of course it's probably different when you're calling your father.

It was a few minutes past ten, and three hours earlier inCalifornia. I looked up his number and dialed it. It rang four times and I got his machine, rang off without leaving a message.

I went and played back his message again. Sat there frowning at the answering machine.

I went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, and I was drinking a cup when Elaine came home with Monica in tow. I poured a cup for Monica and put the teakettle on for Elaine, who only drinks coffee in the morning. I fixed her a cup of chamomile tea and the three of us sat around and talked about the concert, and about the Hollanders. I would have mentioned the phone message, such as it was, but it could wait until Monica went home.

When the phone rang Elaine was closer to it, so she picked it up. "Oh, hi!" she said, sounding delighted, but that didn't give me a clue to the caller's identity. She always responds that way, even when it's a telemarketer trying to get her to switch her long-distance service to Sprint. "How'sCalifornia? Oh, you're here? That's wonderful! But listen, your dad's right here," she said. "I'll let you talk to him."