“Why do you write it down if you make the call right away?” the kid Abe asks him.

“Because the customersees you write it down,” Frank tells him, “and he knows you take his business seriously.”

By one o’clock, Frank has visited a dozen or so of the best restaurants in San Diego. Today, he works his way from south to north so he’ll end up in Encinitas to meet Jill for lunch.

She’s a vegetarian, so they meet at the Lemongrass Cafe off the PCH, even though the restaurant isn’t one of Frank’s customers and he doesn’t get comped there.

She’s already seated when he gets there.

He stands in the foyer for a second, looking at her.

For so long, he and Patty thought they couldn’t have a baby. They’d resigned themselves to the fact, then boom.

Jill.

My beautiful daughter.

All grown up now.

Tall, pretty, shoulder-length chestnut hair. Dark brown eyes and a Roman nose. Dressed casual but smart in blue jeans and a black sweater. She’s readingThe New Yorker and sipping on a cup of what he knows is herbal tea. She looks up and smiles, and that smile is worth everything in the world to him.

They were estranged for a long time after he and Patty split up, and he doesn’t blame her for being bitter. Those were tough times, Frank thinks. I put her and her mother through a lot. Through most of college, she barely spoke to him, even though he paid all the tuition and room and board. Then, at the end of her junior year, something just clicked in her. She called and invited him to lunch, and it was awkward and shy and totally terrific, and from there they slowly built their relationship back up.

Not that it’sFather Knows Best yet. She still harbors some resentment, and can be a little sharp from time to time, but they have a steady Tuesday lunch date, and he won’t break it for anything, no matter how busy a day he’s having.

“Daddy.”

She sets the magazine down and stands up for her hug and kiss on the cheek.