Wish you were here.”

I stared at the word myself glowing on the glass.

I laid the phone flat on the metal desk beside my keyboard.

The house on Elm Street was seven thousand miles away.

I pictured the floor plan, the exact distance from the front door to the master bedroom.

“Which book are you reading?” I typed.

“That new thriller from the bookstore,” she answered.

“The kids are sound asleep.