Page 56 of Breakout Year

Akiva

Late November

Akiva selected the file from the menu. Clicked rename . Typed This Gilded Land FINAL . Loaded the attachment and sent it to Sue. She knew it was coming. Had been pestering him about it for almost four weeks after he’d brought it up. A moment later, his phone rang. Sue, calling over FaceTime.

“If I read this, will you stop sulking?” Sue’s phone shook as she held it, blurring the world behind her.

“I’m not sulking,” he said sulkily. He’d been trying not to sulk, anyway.

At least the High Holidays had mostly kept him off his phone.

Players couldn’t be signed until after the World Series was over, but that didn’t stop the entire baseball media from breathlessly speculating about next year’s free agency deals—which meant, now that the playoffs were done, anything could get announced at any moment.

To cope, Akiva had put his head down three weeks ago and poured himself into finishing the book, a sprint that left him with a crick in his neck and a manuscript he mostly didn’t hate. “If the book is bad, just tell me.”

Sue made a noise. “The book will not be bad.”

“People are going to think I’m ripping off your writing style.”

“You sure do like to invent problems when the world has enough of them.” But it was fond. “Has that boy called or are you going to mope around your house some more?”

Eitan had texted the second each holiday was over, as if he’d been waiting at his phone just for that.

Akiva had tried to be slow to respond to wean them off one another.

Either it had worked or Eitan had simply settled back into his life in Cleveland, because he texted less now.

It was okay, Akiva told himself. Even if it wasn’t, it was for the best. “He’s busy. ”

“He’s busy.” Sue snorted. “He’s busy or you’re stubborn.”

“What’s that?” Akiva cupped his hand by his ear facetiously. “My computer is saying I have your edits to do.”

At that, Sue’s face went serious. “My first book I sent to the publisher so fast, I didn’t have a chance to enjoy having actually written it. Take some time. Do something for yourself. I hear Cleveland is nice this time of year.”

“It’s late November.” Almost Thanksgiving, though Akiva’s plans were taking him as far as Mark and Rachel’s house. “Anyway, let me know what you think of the book.” Then he hung up.

Now the only thing left for him was edits.

He’d start those…in just a minute. His house was drafty in the winter, and he spent a while documenting its poor weather stripping, the various gaps in the window frames.

Maybe he needed to live somewhere else, somewhere he wouldn’t be afraid to mount the TV Eitan had given him—because it was easier than shipping it back to Cleveland—without worrying about it tearing a chunk out of the wall.

Checking the windows turned into cleaning their panes turned into organizing his bedroom turned into neatening his computer desktop.

His browser opened and somehow navigated to a discount airline site where someone—definitely not him—had set up price alerts for trips to Cleveland. If he bought a ticket, he could be in Ohio tomorrow. He selected a ticket. Entered his information. Hesitated.

Sue might talk a big game, but yesterday after PT, she’d had trouble holding onto a water bottle with both hands.

If he stayed, he could edit her books. Even if his words were never published under his own name, they would be under hers.

He’d know. He’d know and that’d be enough.

He was doing the correct thing, the certain thing, the safe thing.

So he removed the ticket from his cart, then opened the document, and began spinning her notes into a story. At least he could control how this one would end.