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crab-like, matte black robot the size of his hand to his dad. “Your old multi-tool is in here, too.”
    Ian turned the robot over in his hands and rubbed his fingers against the rough, 3D-printed shell. The heavy, burnt smell brought him back to the lab at the University of Chicago. I loved that work. He gripped the item in his hand and felt the thrill of discovery and invention again, of the power in his chosen discipline. “The field has changed too much since then,” he said.
    “You’re smart, Dad. You can catch up,” Jack said.
    Candy got up, took off her goggles and eyed the two of them. “Really? Those old toys? When are you going to grow up?” she said to Ian.
    “They’re not toys,” Jack said.
    Candy projected a haughty laugh in the boy’s direction.
    Jack’s face darkened. “He can do it if he wants. You can do anything, if you want it badly enough.” He looked to his father for support.
    Candy bent forward and laughed harder. “The crazy ideas you put in that boy’s head,” she said to Ian.
    “They’re not crazy!” Jack walked up to her and put his finger in her face. “Tell the truth!”
    She stopped laughing and slapped the boy hard across the face.
    Jack held his breath, looked at his father.
    “That was uncalled for, Candy, don’t you think?” Ian asked her.
    “No,” she said, finally taking her eyes off of Jack and heading for the kitchen. “It’s long overdue. And there’s something else that’s overdue. I’m calling Larry and you’re accepting that job. You know you’re not getting anything else in this job market. Nothing that pays nearly as well. Nothing that a washed up old bag like you would qualify for.” She took her mobile screen out of a kitchen drawer, unrolled it and tapped it quickly.
    “I hate you!” Jack yelled and ran out of the room. He slammed the door to his room behind him.
    “I haven’t made my decision,” Ian said.
    “Oh yes, you have. It’s ringing.” She held it out in his direction and lifted her eyebrows in a manner that made Ian want to punch her in the face over and over again.
    Jack appeared in the living room. “Sorry, Dad.”
    Ian smiled at him. “What for?”
    Jack looked at the floor.
    “What about me, you little brat? What about my apology,” Candy said to Jack, the screen still ringing in her hand. “Hmm?”
    “Jack,” Ian said. “Just don’t respond. Let it go.”
    “But I hate her!” He ran to his room and slammed the door again.
    Ian sat back and crossed his arms. When will I escape this? I’m about ready to go to work digging ditches. Maybe self-employed. I’m about ready to jump out of this window.
    “Hey there— No, not right— Someone wants to speak with you.” She walked over to Ian, that look on her face again: you better do what I tell you, or else. And Ian knew what that else was: the silent treatment, nasty looks, snide comments and, inevitably, physical violence. He had a new one to add to the list: proxy-punish him through Jack. That was the worst one.
    “Well?” she said. She tapped the screen.
    “Ready to come back to reality, buddy?” Larry’s voice echoed throughout the tiny living room.
    Ian stood up, smiled at his wife and took the screen. He walked to the square picture window, pushed open the side window and tossed the screen out of their twenty-third floor window.
    ***
    “Be there tomorrow at 7 AM,” Larry said. He stood in the doorway of the master bedroom and looked down on Ian.
    Ian lay on his bed, his hands behind his neck, deep in thought, his eyes closed, a delicate Bach violin sonata playing from his screen on the nightstand.
    Larry cleared his throat. “We can drive down together, tonight.”
    Ian lay still on the bed, his mind deep into robotics. He needed a practical idea. Something that would actually be useful to people, that could fit into their daily rhythms. Not just a prototype but something that will work. What about the software though?
    “Did you hear me—” Larry