<div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/4474/fy1ijwqfvup45ew6g.jpg) <br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Peter Warcaof</span></strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">CGDA Benefactor</span></strong></div></div></div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">Our pre-arranged server, walks to us and reports.  I nod.  Ari has heard.<br/><br/>We return to the table.  I drum my fingers on the table.  It is a rare gesture for me.  It sounds like a drumbeat.  What to say?  It has always been tempting to sweep her up in my arms and tell her she will be safe.  Should I have told her that before?  I cannot now.<br/><br/><strong>“Jaclyn—you may be skewed in your thinking at the moment.  We do not want to commit you, but . . . How about this?”</strong>  The drumbeat of my fingers pounds louder.  I stop that: <strong>“How about 24 hours?  24 hours to get the eye thing taken care of.  We’ll call Taffy—you go to her, she come to you.  We are not kidnappers.”</strong>   <br/><br/>Ari looks at me with a raised eyebrow: yes, I have spoken of committing her; yes, I have conceded that she might get better help from others; yes, I have told her I know she thinks we are kidnappers.<br/></span>