There was no studio audience on the set of Simon Janey Live, but there was a small seating area off to the left. Visitors were instructed to remain quiet and to be careful of the cables running across the floor.

Pete sat in the middle, between Aviva and Katie, his Litton publicist. Audrey sat on the other side of his wife. He glanced back into the glass booth to see if Norah had returned, but there was no sign of her. Clearly, his assumption had been right—she was Ted’s daughter. But for some reason she had kept it a secret from him. Pete didn’t know who finally told Ted the truth, but he was grateful. The knowledge had given his friend the desire to live. If only Norah was willing to face him, it might stick.

A cameraman steered his equipment toward the stage and the lights went on, bathing Ted and Simon in brilliance. Simon smoothed his hair. Ted did nothing.

“Quiet on the set,” came a voice through the loudspeaker—presumably from the director inside the engineer’s booth. A man kneeling under the camera held up his fingers and counted down out loud, pointing silently when he reached one.

Simon looked directly into the camera and spoke. “Ted Shriver is a writer who rose to fame in 1969 with the publication of his first book, Dobson’s Night, which the New York Times called ‘a rich exploration of a contemporary male ego unable to cope with the depth of his own love, rendered in luxuriously restrained prose and destined to become a classic.’ It sold over one hundred thousand copies in hardcover and was a finalist for the National Book Award. That was followed by two more critically acclaimed novels, The Worst of Daniel Prince in 1973, and Last Game, which was published in 1977 and went on to receive the prestigious Clampett Award. In 1981 he published his much-anticipated Settlers Ridge, a darling of the critics until the New York Times discovered that it contained several paragraphs lifted almost verbatim from a memoir of Vietnam veteran Rick Beardsley. Mr. Shriver never addressed the allegations and withdrew from public life. That was over twenty-five years ago. He has never done an interview since. That is, until tonight. He is here with us in the studio to break his long and mysterious silence. Welcome, Mr. Shriver, and thank you for being here.”

Pete glanced from the stage to the monitor and saw that Ted’s face was on camera, looking somber and terribly old. He nodded in recognition of the welcome but didn’t say a word. Pete shifted in his seat. The camera went back to Simon.

“Let’s jump right in to the issue of timing. After all these years of cutting yourself off from society and refusing to make any kind of public statement, you have agreed to come on a national television show. Why now?”

Ted cleared his throat. “Just to be accurate,” he said, “I didn’t ‘cut myself off from society.’ I wasn’t living in a cave in Afghanistan—I was in a house in Connecticut, reading the papers, having drinks at a local pub most Friday nights, sometimes even talking to a neighbor.”

“Fair enough. But you certainly shunned the media.”

Ted’s face filled the monitor again. This time, he opened his mouth to speak and then winced. He rubbed his forehead. Audrey and Aviva leaned forward simultaneously.

“Yes,” Ted finally said. “That’s true.”

“So I’ll go back to my question—why now?”

Ted sucked his cheeks and Pete could tell he was in terrible pain. Pete tried willing him to make it through. It seemed to work. Ted took a few breaths and responded, “You left me no choice.”

“What does that mean?” Simon asked.

Ted bowed his head in thought and the camera stayed on him. After several moments, Simon spoke again. “Mr. Shriver?”

Ted still didn’t lift his head.

“Are you okay?” Simon asked.

The camera stayed on Ted as he sunk lower, bending over at the waist. Audrey rose from her seat, her hand to her throat. Pete stood, too.

“Mr. Shriver?” Simon repeated, but there was no response. The camera went back to his face as he tapped his earpiece. “Apparently, Ted Shriver needs a few minutes to recover and we’re going to break for commercial. Please stay with us.”

“We’re out,” someone said.

Simon pulled off his mike and jumped from his chair. He grabbed Ted’s shoulders so that he could lift his head and look into his face.

“He’s unconscious!” he called, and they were immediately surrounded.

Pete rushed onto the set and knelt in front of his friend. “Ted, can you hear me?” he said.

Someone tried to hand Pete a glass of water, which confused him. Was he supposed to splash it on Ted’s face or pour it down his throat? He shook his head and went back to his friend.

“Ted,” he said, gently patting his face. “Can you hear me?”

“I’m calling an ambulance,” Aviva said, taking out her cell phone.

“We’re already on it,” came a voice over the speaker.

“Let’s lay him down,” Pete said, because it seemed like his friend was about to slide off the chair. Two stagehands helped him lift Ted off the seat and lay him gently upon the carpeted set floor.

Ted groaned softly and Pete sighed in relief. “I think he’s coming around,” he said. “Ted, can you hear me? Do you know where you are?”

Ted mumbled something unintelligible.

“Can you say that again, pal?” Pete asked, putting his ear near Ted’s mouth.

“Where’s Norah?” he whispered.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find her. Hang in there.” He looked up to see Didi standing over him. “He’s asking for Norah.”

“I haven’t seen her,” she said, and then spoke into her headset. “Can someone find Norah?”

“Is he going to be okay?” Audrey asked.

“Of course he’s going to be okay,” Pete said. He leaned toward his friend. “You’re going to be fine. The paramedics are on their way.”

“Salz,” Ted whispered, then he took a sudden deep breath and his whole body went rigid in some kind of spasm. When it relaxed, he was unconscious.

“Ted!” Pete said. “Ted!” He looked behind him. “Does anyone know CPR?”