The people who were looking and not buying must be viewing everything through the lens of suspicion. It was like those writers who tried releasing works under a pen name and found the reviews far less rapturous, at least until the true author was revealed.

If he could just prove to people that Bob was the one really doing the writing, then he was sure they would love it.

And suddenly Derrick got an idea. It was wonderful and awful at the same time.

The Haldon Cam.

All Derrick had to do was upload the footage of Bob typing away on his typewriter. That way would-be buyers would know it was real.

And then it would sell like hotcakes.

BRIDGET

My Daughter Will Have

“Good morning!”

Her dad’s voice startled Bridget. She snapped the laptop closed. She hadn’t heard him get up—or come home in the first place. The only reason she’d known he was home was the suitcase sitting next to the front door.

Now he stood behind the recliner, yawning. He was wearing boxers and a white T-shirt.

How long had he been standing there? Long enough to see that Bridget hadn’t been answering emails, doing homework, or working on the database? Long enough to see that she’d been writing?

“What time did you get in last night?” she asked. “I didn’t even hear you.”

Her dad flew home every Friday night, but by the time he landed and took a Lyft home, it was often after midnight. And less than forty-eight hours from now, in the darkness of what barely qualified as Monday morning, he would get up and take a Lyft back to the airport. During the week, he traveled all over the US selling food-grade plastics for Portland Plastic Pack, otherwise known as Triple P.

“Late. Our gate wasn’t ready for some reason, and we just sat on the tarmac forever.” He blew air through pursed lips. “It’s just good to be home. Ready for some Marco’s?”

“Sure.” Breakfast on Saturday mornings at Marco’s was a tradition that had started before her mom even got sick. Later this afternoon, they would play Scrabble, another family tradition.

“Let me just take a shower.” He ran his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, making it stand straight up. “I’ll be ready in fifteen.” He shambled back down the hall.