"Good Lord you're up and dressed early. Or have you been awake all night? Pacing? Do you still pace at night? Have you finished that book of yours? Can't use me as an excuse anymore. It's been ten years."

I circle the room and he pivots round with me, one palm on the corner of his desk. He cranes his neck and watches as I pass before the large sheet of cork board hung on the back wall, tacked with all manner of note papers, printouts and charts. I brush the tip of my fingernails across the tacked papers.

"What's all this then, if not a book? Are you still stuck on the plot? What is it this time? Your characters? Are they boring you? Is that it?"

He stands trembling for a long moment, then steadies himself and brings his hand up to his face. He sighs into his palm. I know he wants to call me a bitch.

"You know, one thing, you got me reading. I'll give you that. And I still read. You taught me well. I can pick out lousy plots, hollow characters, biases. I hate being used. I once tossed a book out a hotel window for betraying me."

He gropes behind for the arms of his swivel chair - the one I gave him for his 50th birthday - and sits back heavy in the leather seat. He groans and reaches for the switch on the old goose-necked lamp beside the computer, then realizes the light is already on. He folds his arms and lowers his eyes. I reach the door and stand leaning against the jamb, just like I used to when his dinner was ready.

"I read one of your book reviews the other day. You still know how burst a writer's balloon. Nothing gets past you. Fuck, have you ever really enjoyed reading a book? Or are you just bitter? I got out of your life without asking for a bloody thing that wasn't mine. Your kid still loves you. You owe me a book. Hell, maybe I'll get to review it."

The toilet flushes. Doug pushes his chair back and puts his feet on the desk. I wink.

"Perfect. Into your steady-as-she-goes pose."

Our son Jason sails the down the hall, stockinged feet sliding along the smooth hardwood - a happy boy.

"Well, Doug. I'll be back, when? Say, just after dinner Sunday. You boys have a good time."

Jason is already in the other swivel chair facing the computer. We've said our good byes. He's eager to plug into that virtual world of his.

I leave the office and walk to the front door. Tiny explosions trail off behind. The last thing I hear is a hollow computerized voice utter, "whatever you say, commander." I close the door and walk through the rain to my car. I love driving in the rain. Sometimes I drive for blocks out of my way just to hear the sound of the tires. Not tonight, though. I've got to be in Vancouver by seven to read at the launching of my third novel. Doug must really hate me. I don't even own a computer.