Page 24 of Man of His Dreams

No, this was too much. Flip narrowed his vision to the things that were his business.

He saw that the ghost on the bench hadn’t moved on because he clung so tightly to his grief. In fact, the reason why all ghosts remained was that they were unable to let go of something that tied them to life. There wasn’t room in those individuals for the future because the past took up too much space.

Losing things could be terrible—but it could also lead to change. To better things.

What had Miss Amelie said to Tony? He’s gonna think he lost everything, but he ain’t. Boy just needs to make enough room for you.

In a way, Flip was a ghost as well, clutching at lost opportunities, bad decisions, hurtful betrayals, deep-seated fears.

Right then and there, Flip let go of it all, including his skepticism and self-doubt. All fell away from him like plaster peeling off a façade, and for the first time since he was a young child, he felt as if he could fully expand his lungs.

Hot tears ran down his cheeks, but they were due to relief and joy rather than sorrow. Although he’d already walked for miles, he could have run all night. He could almost have fucking flown. A sense of promise filled him. A sense of potential. He was alive, he’d written a damned good book, and he could shape his future however he wished.

Then Flip remembered the rest of what Miss Amelie had said—You two got stories to tell—and he knew precisely what he wanted that future to look like.

Although Flip wanted to shout his exultation, he didn’t particularly want to have a conversation with those cops; he had better ways to spend his time. So he turned back to the ghost on the bench and smiled. “I have to go right now, but if you like, I can come back another night. I’d love to hear about your daughter if you want to tell me about her.”

When the ghost smiled like that, he was almost beautiful. “Really?”

“I want to know about her. I bet she was special.”

“She was. She truly was.”

Maybe talking about her would free this ghost from enough grief that he’d be able to move on. But even if not, it would surely bring some happiness to his gray existence, and Flip could spare the time.

But right now he had more personal matters to attend to. He said good-night to the ghost, waved cheerily at the confused cops, and hurried home.

Chapter

Eleven

Now that he’d received his epiphany, Flip had expected Scratch to reappear. But he didn’t, not even when Flip wandered around his apartment, Eye wide, calling him. That was disappointing but not devastating. Perhaps Flip could find a way to draw him forward later.

The rest of Flip’s plan would have to wait for morning, but he did draft an email to his agent, thanking her for her enthusiasm over the completed manuscript and briefly outlining his idea for the next book. Seeing the proposal actually written out made it seem much more real. He felt exhilarated and a tiny bit terrified, which he thought was a fine combination. A good author shouldn’t feel overly comfortable with his or her project; for the manuscript to truly shine, creating it should prove at least moderately challenging.

Even though it was late, he couldn’t help but do a bit of background research for the new book and scribble some notes in the battered notebook he dragged around for that purpose.

His dreams didn’t include any ghosts that night but they were interesting nonetheless. Mostly they were about forgiveness. Flip forgave Ethan and his parents, not because they necessarily deserved it, but because doing so would be healthiest for him. He forgave himself too, which was harder. Dream-Flip said, “Hominem te memento. Remember you’re only human, and sometimes humans screw up.”

He felt refreshed as soon as he awoke. He knew he’d fuck up again—and that he’d inevitably be fucked over by others—but he also knew that when these things happened, he possessed the strength to move on. Because if you didn’t move on, you were nothing but a ghost.

His agent, an hour ahead of him in New York, had already replied. She seemed enthusiastic about the new book idea. Maybe she was simply relieved that he even had an idea, but that was fine.

A little before nine, Flip grabbed his suitcase, carried it downstairs, and took it outside. Miss Amelie had just arrived in her spot, so he helped her set up. “You leavin’ town, boy?” she asked, waving at his suitcase, but her expression said she knew better. She sat in her folding chair and gave him an expectant look.

“I’m sticking around for a while. Do you know anyone who could use some clothing in my size? Nothing fancy, but there’s some comfy jeans in there and my favorite old Ramones shirt.”

“You don’t need any of it?”

Flip shook his head. “I’m making room for something better.”

“Uh-huh.” She leaned back, looking completely smug. “I know someone. Leave it here.”

“Thanks.”

“What you gonna do now?”

“Have some breakfast and then, I hope, meet up with a friend. You wanna tell me how that’s gonna go?”

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