“Sweetie.”

He sits down across from her. The place is your typical Southern California hippie-Buddhist-vegetarian joint, with natural-fiber everything on the tables and walls, and waiters who speak in whispers, as if they’re in a temple and not a restaurant.

He looks at the menu.

“Try the tofu burger,” she says.

“No offense, sweetie, but I’d rather eat dirt.”

He sees something that looks like it might be an eggplant sandwich with seven-grain bread and decides to go with that.

She orders soup with tofu and lemongrass.

“How’s the bait business?”

“Steady,” he says.

“Have you seen Mom lately?”

“Sure.” Like every day, Frank thinks. If it’s not her checkbook, it’s the car needing maintenance, and there’s always something with the house. Plus, he pays the alimony every week, in cash. “You?”

“We did the dinner and shopping thing last night,” Jill says. “Part of my continuing, albeit futile, campaign to get her to buy an article of clothing that’s not black.”

He smiles and doesn’t mention her sweater.

“She dresses like a nun since you left her,” Jill says.

Well, at least we got the obligatory mention ofthat out of the way early, Frank thinks. And, just for the record, sweetie, I didn’t leave her-she kicked me out. Not that she didn’t have her reasons, or that I didn’t deserve it.

Just for the record.

He doesn’t say it, though.

Jill reaches for something on the seat beside her, then hands him an envelope across the table. He looks at her curiously.

“Open it,” she says. She’s beaming.

He takes his reading glasses out and puts them on. Getting older is a bad idea, he thinks. I should give it up right away. The stationery is from UCLA. He takes out the enclosed letter and starts to read it. Can’t finish, though, because his eyes start to mist up. “Is this…”