I’m at the end of the road with my new book and am in the process of working up my query letter, so there’s not much news to share on that front. So I thought I might share a couple of stories I’ve written in the last year and haven’t shared anywhere. This story is completely unconnected to my books. It was in response to a prompt I found online somewhere. It was just for fun and practice, but I think it turned out okay. I hope you’ll enjoy it too. I’d love to hear your comments! And I’d also like to hear your ideas for a title.

I broke three eggs into the bowl. They seemed kind of scrawny. I cracked a fourth.

She scraped at something visible only to her on the countertop across from me. “Why?”

I added a splash of heavy whipping cream to the bowl and started whisking. “What do you mean, why?”

She huffed. “You know what I mean. Why are you going?”

The mixture made a satisfying hiss as it hit the hot pan. “How do I have a choice?”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at me. “You always have a choice. You taught me that.”

“Fair enough.” I pushed the eggs toward the middle of the pan with a spatula as they congealed, making sure liquid filled the gap. “But choosing not to do this would mean losing my job.”

She slammed her left palm onto the counter so hard the salt shaker toppled over. “You hate that job!”

Satisfied the eggs were cooked, I sprinkled shredded cheese on half. I spoke slowly, aware of my volume. “That’s for sure, but, and I don’t mean to sound like a wise guy, we need to eat. And I need to pay the mortgage, and keep the heat and lights on.”

“Get another job.” Her lip trembled. She took a ragged breath and turned away. Didn’t want me to see her crying, I guess.

I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. “It’s not that simple, baby.”

“Why?” She whirled back to me, her face flushed. “Can’t you get a job you hate that doesn’t make you leave me for weeks?”

I slid the omelet onto the plate, folding it over as it slid out, and put it on a plate in front of her. “Not one that pays like this.” I walked past the stove, opened a drawer, and got out two forks. At the refrigerator next to the drawer, I stopped. “You want ketchup?”

She sneered. “No, I don’t want ketchup. Ew!”

I shrugged and handed her a fork. “You used to like ketchup on your eggs.”

She rolled her eyes. “When I was five.”

I hugged her from behind. She stiffened, but didn’t try to shrug out of it. Her barstool put her head at just the right height, so I kissed the top of it. “You’ll always be my little girl.”

She leaned into me. After a few seconds, she began quaking, sobbing silently. “I miss Mom,” she said after she’d gathered herself a little.

I held her tighter. “I do too, love. It hurts so much. I try to be strong for you, but it’s hard.” I paused. “But we have each other. We have to stick together.”

She threw her fork onto the plate. It clattered off and skittered across the counter, as if running away in fright. “We can’t stick together if you leave me here all by myself half the time.”

I let go of the hug, but squeezed her shoulders, holding my breath for a few seconds. “Come with me.”

Pivoting on the barstool, she turned toward me, her eyes wide. “What?”

“I don’t leave for a week. Make arrangements. Talk to your teachers. You can do homework on the road.”

She knit her eyebrows and shook her head, her mouth opening and closing, seemingly struggling to form words. “But…I…but…it’s my senior year.”

“Not all of it. And you don’t have to come every time I go on the road.”

“But semester exams.”

“Take them early. Make them up. You’re the smartest, most talented kid I know. You’ll figure it out.”

She flushed. “You think I’m smart?”

I put my hands back on her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. “Are you really asking me that question? I don’t think you’re smart. I know you’re smart. And kind and strong and courageous. And beautiful. Just like your mom.”

She bobbed her head and smiled shyly before wrapping her arms around my chest, squeezing so hard she made my back crack. “I can really go?”

“As long as you’re okay with hours on the road listening to my choice of music, punctuated by hours in hotels waiting for me to finish selling crap I don’t believe in to people I don’t like and then listening to me complain about it.”

“I am, I am!”

“Good. We are decided. Now, eat your eggs and get to school.”

She gave me one last squeeze and let go. “I can’t wait.” She turned back to her plate. “Daddy?”

“Yes, love?”

“Can I have some ketchup?”