Chapter 8
When he woke up, Spence felt better than he had since Jeff’s death. The healing power of sleep. Or as Shakespeare put it, ‘Sleep that knits up the raveled sleeve of care’.
After breakfast, he pushed aside his fears that he wouldn’t be able to write without Jeff beside him and opened the file for the book. He was glad that, Jeff’s semi-serious whining to the contrary, they had come up with a basic plot for the story. You always did that. But when it came down to it, you had ideas that made the books work better than if I was doing them on my own. Spence sighed deeply. Now that’s what I have to do. Finish this on my own.
He set to work, trying to think, when he came to an impasse, about what Jeff would have suggested to get past it. They had worked together long enough that, as
