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On Thursday all was quiet on the Beth-front. On Friday I went to lunch at the Bettinger Foundation.

I managed to find a parking spot that turned out to be about a five minute walk from the designated address. I reached my destination with approximately a minute to spare.

Just after pushing through the revolving doors of the Foundation's main entrance, I was greeted by a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties. "Dr. Phelps, I'm Tim Jameson," he said with a smile as he extended his hand. While my hand and mouth were reciprocating his gestures, he added further: "I hope you didn't have any trouble locating us."

"No problems," I said. "As usual, the biggest challenge always is to find a parking spot."

He slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "What a dummy," he said in self-chastisement. "I forgot to tell you we have underground parking. I must apologize most profusely for my mistake."

I did my best to keep a straight face and said: "Oh, just grovel a little, and we'll call it even."

Without missing a beat, he bowed before me and took two humble steps backward. While remaining bowed, his right hand extended outward to his side, inviting me to move in the indicated direction. He said: "Sire, I am not worthy of your kindness."

"Your groveling, my son, has brought light to my life," I responded. "Arise, now, and let us proceed on our good way."

While Dr. Jameson was straightening up, I noticed a security guard looking on with bemused, if somewhat perplexed, detachment. I looked quickly at Dr. Jameson and, then, back to the guard. I tapped my temple a few times with my index finger and gave a pitying glance toward Dr. Jameson.

Realizing that he was the object of further attentions, Dr. Jameson smiled somewhat sheepishly and pointed a finger at the guard and said: "I'll get you for this George." The guard made motions of innocence.

Still smiling, Dr. Jameson turned toward me and indicated: "The dining room is this way," pointing off to my left.

We walked in silence for a moment. Soon, we were at the dining room, a surprisingly large area.

He held up two fingers to the maitre d'. He added: "Something by the windows, John, please."

There were quite a few people in the dining area. I didn't know whether all the people in the room worked in the building or were mostly guests, but, in either case, if this room were any indication of things, the Foundation seemed to be fairly actively engaged in whatever it was it did.

The maitre d' brought us to a table near the far corner of the room, where the building-length windows met up with the back wall. The windows overlooked a set of flowered terraces leading to a grassy area which sloped gently down to a shallow valley that appeared to run behind the building.

The maitre d' placed a couple of menus before us and indicated that a waitress would be with us shortly. John left us and returned to the reception area.

We spent the next couple of minutes in silence, examining our menus. Eventually, we each made our selections and put the menus down.

While waiting for the waitress, Dr. Jameson said: "I heard you speak last year at the Network Support Conference for the Survivors of Terrorist Attacks. I was, as were many of the people who attended that conference, very moved by your talk."

I remained silent. The view outside the window attracted my eyes.

He was silent for a moment while he joined me in looking out the window. Eventually, he said: "Speaking to strangers about the tragedy of losing your mother and sister during a terrorist incident must have taken a lot of courage."

I turned away from the window's view and looked at Dr. Jameson. "Actually," I began, "the experience of preparing and giving the talk proved to be quite cathartic and therapeutic for me. I don't know if what was said on that occasion helped anyone else, but it helped me a great deal. It was kind of the last stage of a process of letting go."

The waitress came and asked for our orders. We each, in turn, complied. She departed almost as quickly as she had arrived, taking our menus with her as she left.

As soon as she had gone, Dr. Jameson confessed: "I had wanted to meet with you soon after your talk, but I didn't feel right about intruding at that time. I thought I would let some time pass before approaching you."

"I appreciate your consideration," I acknowledged. I waited for him to focus in on the reason for the meeting.

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