tracks that surrounded the giant, fern and palm covered atrium area. Itlooked like the kind of place you'd have a John Woo shoot-out, but the one atthe start of the movie, not the end. He could almost picture the doves takingwing in slow-motion, going for sky that was only beyond those glass ceilingpanels, a dying buddy cop being cradled by Chow Yun Fat as he finallyexpired. Walking down the slight ramp of the skybridge, he found the roomright in front of him, a small door hanger on the entry lever saying "Welcometo Your Room! Enjoy Your Stay!" The wonders of the Modern Boutique Hotel.Move-in for James was always the same: dip the card in the slot, pushthe handle, enter, cross immediately to the desk, set the metal suitcasedown, flip the latches, pull out his MacBook, set it next to the TV, open it up,launch the DVD player and start watching Festen. This he did without a wasted motion beyond the useless ritual of it all. The first moments of the film started to play across the screen as James walked to the far bed, and folded himself down slowly. He never couldfigure out why he chose a Double Queen Room every time, but it was atradition he would not break. He kicked off the Jordans, stretched to his fullon the bed and pulled the cell phone from his pocket.He watched, half-watched really, as Christian walked up the road,about to get picked up by his brother Michael. James hit re-dial."Hello, James." The strident nasality of Dr. Hynek's voice would neverbe called soothing, but it that was how it effected James whenever he wouldcall."I'm in Sunnyvale. At the Domain, all checked-in.""Good, James, Good," the Dr. was obviously typing something furiouslywhile he spoke with James, a typical feature of the many calls between thetwo, "you're sure you want to do this?""I've already started watching the movie again."Good, but you're still sure you want to do this? You want to go seeyour father?" James paused. It had been eight years since he had seen his Dad,three years before he started therapy, and two years before he published hisfirst novel. James was, in every way that mattered to him, a completelydifferent person than he had been during his father's 50th birthday party."I'm sure.""Alright," The good doctor's typing paused, "I am forwarding a feweMails your way. They're from the start of our therapy sessions. Do youremember when I had you write them?" James did, vividly. As long as he had been writing, these were thehardest things he had ever committed to any sort of permanence."Yes, I remember.""Good. Read them over, look at who you were and think about who youwant to be and if after that you still want to make the trip, then there'snothing to stop you."