He envisions car chases and loud explosions, gunfire, and brawny, inexplicably barechested men doing manly things.
“That would be something,” he says weakly.
Biz waits until Emmaline trudges to the ladies’ room for what has to be the fourth or fifth time. Then she leans across the table. “They love your work; they want a second book.”
“I don’t know,” he hedges. The advance for this book deal has bought him some breathing room. “I thought I’d give my own project some attention.”
She purses her lips. “Just remember, once your advance earns out, you’ll get royalties but they’ll be very delayed. Quarterly payments. And by the looks of Emmaline, you’ve got a baby coming any day now.”
He deflates, dropping his shoulders. “That’s true.”
Sensing weakness, she goes harder. “I know what your teaching salary is. And babies are expensive. You wrote that last one so quickly. Just whip out another one and then turn to your dead god book.”
She almost had him. She would have had him if not for the dismissive ‘dead god’ comment. He’s been working on the novel for literal years, since his MFA program. She signed him on the strength of that book, and now she’s pushing him to set it aside to write another thriller.
No. He believes in his book even if she doesn’t.
“I’ll think about it,” he hedges, always eager to avoid conflict.
“Great,” she says.
From the way she twists her mouth, it seems she knows her comment went too far.
She’s scribbling her signature on the credit card slip when Emmaline returns, breathless and rosy-cheeked.
“You’re never going to believe what I just overheard in the queue. There’s been a terrorist attack.”
Biz gasps, and Caleb’s stomach twists.
“Where?”
“Turkey.”
“Tragic,” Biz murmurs, tucking her card into her wallet.
“No, you don’t understand.” Emmaline’s voice is strained, urgent. “Somebody stole processing chemicals from an open-pit silver mining operation.”
His mouth goes dry. He cuts his eyes toward Biz then back to his wife.
“Did they?—?”
Emmaline nods, wide-eyed. “Yes. They poisoned the water supply for a joint U.S./Turkish military installation.”
“Just like the book,” he breathes.
“We don’t know that, yet.” She pats his hand.
“Any casualties?” Biz asks.
“It’s a developing story. I’m not sure.” She looks dazed.
Caleb’s not sure how he feels. Stunned, sick, worried. And if he’s being honest, exhilarated, which is objectively terrible.
Biz looks appropriately somber and repeats, “Tragic.” After a brief pause. “You’re going to hit a list for sure. At least USA Today. I wouldn’t be surprised if you make The New York Times. It’s terrible. But, for you, it’s a stroke of luck.”
Is that what this is? Luck?
Chapter Two
