Flick, flick, flick around April's head that was now lowered in deep humiliation for what her mother was doing. Flick, flick, flick, they walked the sidewalk leading to the front door. For April it was like walking the plank on a pirate ship. Flick, flick, flick. She knew what was in store.

Flick, flick, flick around the door of the house. Skinny was ousting in the unspoken message of the Speech Secret Mantra. After that she began the Three Secrets Reinforcement Blessing. This would go on for a long time.

"Gete Gete Para Gete Para Sum Gete Bodhi Saha!" Skinny chanted the heart sutra. It meant something like: Get smart, hurry up and run to the other shore a whole bunch of times.

Impatient for results, Skinny started the Six True Words Mantra. " Om Ma Ni Pad Me Hum." She yammered just like the bald guys in the orange robes who turned up to dance through Washington Square and Chinatown sometimes, but Skinny did it without the finger cymbals.

I bow to the jewel in the lotus blossom. I bow to the jewel in the lotus blossom. I bow to the jewel in the lotus blossom. In other words, I bow to the god I see in you. Something like that.

Shit. April clutched the red envelope that was guaranteed to keep her spiritually and energetically protected during Skinny's ousting of bad qi and request for positive results in her attempt at the Black Hat feng shui cure. April wanted to sink through the sidewalk and disappear under the Earth's crust.

Actually Skinny's personal meaning of the mantra was a little different: Almost dead daughter, again returned to life by constantly vigilant, all-powerful mother. That was Skinny's mantra.

She pushed April through the front door and took a bow at the changes that had been made to the entry and living room. The left wall just inside the door was covered with a huge mirror where there used to be just a little one. Must be borrowed. Wind chimes hung on the light over the door. And wow! Surprise, all the corners of the foyer and living room were hung with colored strings tied in knots at intervals. The strings were stuck on the ceiling with tape and puddled on the floor. April knew that the blue strings at the top represented the part of her body that was injured, the throat. They hung up there closest to ceiling where the higher power resided. Next the red string at eye level represented April, the human in need. When April had been a child, eye level had been much lower. And last was the yellow string puddled on the ground representing Earth. Thus April was bound to heaven and Earth, yin and yang, as her mother tried to transform and release her newest health problem.

Bowls of oranges and other symbolic gifts were evidence of the day's visitors. So much trouble to get the energy right, to balance yin and yang in the body and in the room. April could not help but be touched by the effort Skinny and her friends had made. And April could tell by the strong aroma of simmering ginger that Skinny had been brewing her cures, too.

Sniff, sniff, sniff. Skinny stopped chanting and was smelling her now. "Let me see tongue," she demanded. She was ready to play doctor.

April knew what was coming up and backed away. She didn't want nasty Chinese fake medicine. Boiled-for-five-hours mung sprouts and green food for sore throat wasn't so bad, but disgusting snake broth and some of the other crazy shit made her gag. April was not going to stand there and let her mother pinch her nose tight with iron fingers to get it down. She was too old for that.

"You want to talk?" Skinny screamed. The woman didn't know how to keep her voice down.

April nodded, bowing almost as a joke with as much respect as she could muster to the jewel in the lotus blossom, the god in her mother.

"Then open up mouth. Can speak by morning. Hao bu hao?" Okay or no okay.

"Hao." April opened her mouth. It was worth a try.

Fifteen

"Mr. Frank, this is Birdie Bassett returning your call." Birdie's voice was soft, almost a whisper. She spoke to an answering machine, but the doctor came on before she finished.

"Yes, this is Dr. Frank. Thank you for calling back so quickly."

Birdie did not jump into his pause.

"I want you to know that we at the institute are deeply saddened by your husband's passing," he went on.

Birdie was sure he was.

"Your husband was a wonderful man." The doctor's voice was pitched to soothe, but she wasn't soothed by it. She'd been studying the foundation's tax returns all afternoon and knew that Max had given the Psychoanalytic Institute of New York a whopping five million dollars over the last several years. It hurt her that she'd never heard of it.

"The funeral was very moving," Dr. Frank went on. "And there was a wonderful turnout. I couldn't get anywhere near you to pay my respects," he rattled on.

"Yes, the line was very long," Birdie acknowledged, and she hadn't known a quarter of the people who'd shaken her hand. It had made her feel horrible. So much of her husband's life had already been lived decades before she was even born. But the funeral was three weeks ago; enough about it.

"Dr. Frank, how well did you know my husband?" she asked.

"Oh, very well. He'd been deeply interested in psychoanalysis for many years, as you know. And, of course, he served on our board. I was privileged to know him personally for over twelve years."

Birdie exhaled silently. A growing complication of missing Max desperately was her increasing fury at all the things he'd done without her.

"He was a very astute businessman, very helpful. We will miss him a great deal." Dr. Frank's voice droned on. It sounded more unctuous than sad to Birdie, and she hated this shrink already. He'd never get any more money from her.

"How was he helpful to you?" She said the words slowly, trying to get a handle on her feelings.

"Your husband advised us on the reorganization of our institute, helped us with our business plan. He donated to our building renovation. He was very active." He sounded surprised that she didn't already know all this.

"I wasn't involved in the foundation. Your call came as a surprise to me. I'm playing catch-up," Birdie admitted. In fact, Max had treated her like one of his children. He hadn't told her anything.

"I'd be delighted to help you. What would you like to know?"

There was a subtle change in his tone. Birdie hesitated. She needed a translator, someone close enough to Max to explain his state of mind, his decisions, even the cause of his death. If she didn't know whom she could trust, how could she go about finding out if he'd died of natural causes? You're next. She couldn't get the words out of her mind. Next for what? Finally she answered.

"Dr. Frank, there are a lot of things I need to know, including everything about you. I never heard of the Psychoanalytic Institute until your call today."

A long silence suggested Dr. Frank's continued surprise.

"That's the reason I asked how well you knew him," she added. "The truth is, I have some questions about the way my husband died."

"What do you mean?" the shrink asked cautiously.

"He was a very healthy man," she said.

"Yes, he was lucky. He did not show any vulnerabilities. He hadn't slowed down yet."

"He was a healthy man. He had the heart of a forty-year-old," Birdie said flatly.

"I understand, but surely your doctors have told you that it's not uncommon for older people-"

"He was in good health. I would know," she insisted.

"Well, healthy people can have hidden vulnerabilities."

Dr. Frank still sounded smooth, and Birdie realized that he was arguing with her. She didn't like that.

"I thought shrinks were supposed to listen," she said sharply.