The editor-in-chief turned over the first page and creased the stapled corner—that was a good sign.

“Who’s this character?”

“He’s my dad.”

“Can you write more about him?”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“He’s dead.”

“Well bring him back to life!”

I stood there, shocked. Even for Waterbee, that was a calloused comment.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He didn’t skip a beat. “Go, write, we have an open slot to fill next week.”

I turned around and was halfway out the door when Mr. Waterbee said, “Oh yea, and Jefferson … “

“Yes, sir?”

“Can you tell Jones to come in here? I’m going to tell him you’re moving into his office.”