Ghost Writer - Pandora Pine Page 0,25

his home?

Walking back to the office door, Cope set his hand on the knob. It turned with ease. There was nothing standing in the hallway.

On tiptoe, Cope crept into Wolf’s bedroom. The baby was asleep on his back with his hands thrown out to either side of him. Wolf was just the way they’d left him when he and Jude had tucked him into bed.

Cope stood beside his son’s crib for a few minutes, soothing himself with the rhythms of his sleeping baby’s breath. When he felt like he had himself back under control, he scooped up Wolf and headed for the stairs.

Jude wasn’t going to like any of what Cope was about to tell him. Not one bit.

12

Jude

Jude was half asleep on the couch. He’d been watching The Mandalorian for what had to be the hundredth time. He knew the lines by heart and had a definite crush on Mando in that armor suit. In his opinion, Baby Yoda was the only baby who came close to being cuter than his own son.

Cope coming down the stairs brought Jude back to reality. He hit the pause button and turned to look at his husband. Seeing a sleeping Wolf in his arms was a surprise. The baby monitor was right in front of him. Wolf hadn’t made a peep since they’d put him down for the night. Why was Cope carrying him and what looked like pieces of typing paper?

“Are you and Wolf okay?” Jude was looking the baby over but didn’t see anything wrong with him. Cope’s face, on the other hand, was as white as a sheet. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. One he hadn’t been expecting.

“I don’t know how to explain this to you.” Cope set the baby down in his bassinet before walking back toward Jude and grabbing his phone. Cope tapped the screen several times before taking a seat on the sofa.

“Start at the beginning.” Anxiety was trying to run riot through his body. Jude took a deep breath and turned his attention to Cope. Both he and Wolf were okay and that was all that mattered.

“I was in the office typing.” A smile briefly flashed across Cope’s face. “The words were flowing like a waterfall.”

“When I brought laundry upstairs, I could hear you banging away.” What was banging now was Jude’s heart against his ribcage.

“The words were there for the taking, but they came at a heavy price. I swear I could feel my parents right there in the office with me.”

Jude understood what a heavy emotional toll writing this kind of book could take on someone. It had only been six months since he’d returned to his childhood home in Navajo Nation. Even now he was still struggling with the memories, good and bad, being home had brought back to him. Instead of interrupting the story, Jude reached for Cope’s hand.

“I was feeling the weight of it all and got up from my desk. I’d promised you I would only be gone an hour and I knew it had been much longer than that.”

“Two and a half hours to be exact, but that doesn’t matter. I wanted you to have as much time as you needed.”

Cope nodded, pulling his hand back from Jude. “I was walking out of the room when I heard the typewriter behind me.”

“What do you mean you heard the typewriter?” Cope wasn’t making any sense. It was a manual typewriter. Only the old-fashioned electrical ones hummed when they were on.

“It was typing without me. Ghost writing, I guess you could say.” Jude didn’t know how it was possible, but Cope’s face paled further.

Jude felt his mouth drop open. A million questions flooded his brain, but he couldn’t push any of them past his lips.

“That’s exactly how I felt too. I could see the keys depressing and hear the strikers hitting the paper.” Cope handed the two sheets of paper to Jude. He was still holding a crumpled piece in his trembling hands.

“What the hell is this?” Jude mumbled. His eyes never left the papers.

“It’s lyrics from a Christian hymn called It is Well with my Soul.” Cope flashed his phone toward Jude. “I’d been certain it was from some church song when I read the words, but I didn’t know which one until just now.”

“Have you ever heard this song before?” Jude looked up at Cope. His body felt like it was in a state of shock. None of this made any sense. How could a typewriter