I spent the morning in front of the computer, hands poised over the keyboard, waiting for inspiration to strike.
It didn’t.
Whatever fuel had fanned the fire the other day was gone, and after a weekend away from the story, I didn’t know how to pick it up again. Though the door to my study was closed, I could hear the television downstairs. Every so often Lee’s mother would say something out loud or laugh, and when she went into the kitchen for a drink I heard the floor creak with her steps. I wondered what she was watching that was so funny. I wondered what she was going to have for lunch. Rice obviously, but with what?
I stared at the blinking cursor and wondered if she was getting lonely down there by herself. Maybe I should go down and see how she was doing. Maybe if I got up and
