“Zippo. Blank stares on Forty-seventh Street. Hey, good name for a science fiction movie. So, what else you been up to?”

Joel’s tone was conciliatory. Well, good. “I’ve read a couple more of Rosalie Gilder’s letters. From the Jewish Museum Web site.”

“You have? Why?”

“I’m not sure. I wanted to get to know her better, I guess.”

“Ah, Chinsky. You never change. Okay, talk to you later.”

After we hung up, I squinted down Canal. Just because Mr. Chen had nearly fallen over in a faint when he saw the photos, and just because I was irritated with Joel, didn’t mean other jewelers might not have seen these pieces. I’d need to keep going, but that would have to be tomorrow. All along Canal, Closed signs were going up in store windows.

Hungry, thirsty, and tired, I headed to Pho Viet Huang for a bowl of noodle soup. I was annoyed at Joel for getting on my case, annoyed at my mother for being right about me getting annoyed at Joel, and annoyed at myself for having the sneaking suspicion Joel might be right, too. Joel Pilarsky and my mother-now there was an unholy alliance.

The soup was full of mint, bean sprouts, and beef, and after it I felt much better. I went to the park, sat on a bench, and spent twenty-five minutes on a conference call with my brothers. Ted’s and Elliot’s wives, Ling-an and Li-jane, were in on the call; Andrew’s boyfriend, Tony, stayed out of it; and Tim’s girlfriend, Rita, was too new to get mired in Chin family business. The subject was my mother, her stay in Flushing, and how we could leverage the experience into an argument for a permanent move. The conclusion we came to, as usual when the five of us discussed anything, was none at all.

“She was adjusting, she just needs time,” was Ted’s mild assessment.