"And is there anything you can do about it, Frank?" my mother asked.
I didn't answer immediately. She knew me well enough to know I never hesitated. I always had an answer-yes or no, straightforward.
"Frank, are you there?"
"I am here, Mama," I said, rubbing my temple.
"Did you hear my question?"
"Yes, I did."
"And?"
"And it's nothing you need concern yourself with," I said, not wanting to say any more. That wasn't why I had called her, after all. My mother was a fount of advice, but this time, I needed to handle things my own way.
"Then why did you call me?" she asked, the tone of her voice carrying that knowing edge that made me smile. She could read me like an open book, though she wasn't a blood relation.
"I'm writing a book."
"Oh? And what do you need from me?"
"I'm stuck. I've been staring at the first page since I brought her here."
