THE TOWERS FAMILY SAGA
        Episode 61
The Arizona sun climbed
over the ridge of the Rim.
Robert sat at his laptop,
his fingers moving fast.
He was checking the logic
of a new firewall scene.
Minnie walked in with a
bowl of fresh citrus fruit.
"Virginia sent these from
the hospital garden," she.
"She says the patients
find the work very calm."
Robert nodded his head,
his mind on the 6x9 page.
The monospaced font kept
his thoughts in a line.
"The clarity is the key
to the whole saga," he.
He looked at the letters,
Courier New and steady.
Dorothy arrived with a
stack of library books.
"The kids want to know
if Robin has a family."
Robert looked at his girl
and smiled with his eyes.
"Tell them she has four
sisters and a mother."
The house felt very warm,
filled with real purpose.
Shirley set up her gear
on the small wooden desk.
She opened Photoshop to
tweak the book graphics.
"I'm centering the text
on the spine today, Dad."
She worked with the red
and gold of the canyon.
Barbara called in from
the Boom Lake office.
"The shipping manual is
sold out in Phoenix," she.
The Towers were no longer
a name tied to a crime.
They were a name tied to
the truth and the grit.
The radical honesty was
the fuel for the fire.
They didn't hide the
prison or the lost gold.
They wore the history
like a shield of iron.
Minnie started the prep
for the evening steak.
The Mexican rub was the
only spice they needed.
The scent filled the room
as the shadows grew long.
"We are lucky, Robert,"
Minnie said to the sink.
He stood up and walked
to the window with her.
"We are real," he said,
watching the red sunset.
The daughters gathered
around the small table.
Virginia, Dorothy, and
Shirley sat together.
Barbara walked in with
a box of new printings.
The saga was a record
of a family standing up.
They were the Towers of
the desert and the sun.
Robert felt a peace that
he had never known before.
The debt was a ghost.
The work was the life.
The air was very clear.
They were finally home.
He saved the final file
of the long afternoon.
Every character was in
its perfect position.
The future was a page
waiting for the ink.

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