Page 46 of Dream Lake

“Were you… are you…”—Alex reached for the clipping on the floor—“this guy? Gus Hoffman?”

The ghost mused over the possibility. “I flew a P-40. I’m sure of it. Not a cargo plane.”

“You were a pilot facing the enemy,” Alex said. “What’s the difference?”

The ghost looked outraged. “What’s the differencebetween a fighter or a transport? You’re in a fighter, you’re alone. There’s no low-and-slow, no coffee and sandwiches, no one else to keep you company. You fly alone, you face the enemy alone, you die alone.”

Alex was secretly amused by the pride and arrogance threaded through his tone. “So you were in a P-40. Facts are, you were a pilot, you were in love with Emma, and you remember stuff about the house she grew up in, as well as the cottage at Dream Lake. All this falls in line with you being Gus Hoffman.”

“I must have come back to her,” the ghost said distractedly. “I must have married her. But that would mean—” He gave Alex a sharp glance. “Zoë could be my granddaughter.”

Alex rubbed his forehead and pinched the corners of his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “Oh, great.”

“That means hands off from now on.”

“You were pushing me to go after her,” Alex said in outrage.

“That was before I knew about this. I don’t want you becoming part of my family tree.”

“Back off, pal. I’m not going nearanyone’s family tree.”

“I’m not your pal. I’m… Gus.”

“Theoretically.” Alex glared at him as he stood and whacked the dust from his jeans. He set the article aside and tied the top of the large garbage bag.

“I want to find out what I looked like. And when I died, and how. I want to see Emma. And I—”

“I want some peace and quiet. Not to mention five minutes alone. I wish to hell you could find a way to disappear for a while.”

“I could try,” the ghost admitted. “But I’m afraid if I do, I might not be able to talk with you again.”

Alex gave him a sardonic glance.

“You don’t know what it was like,” the ghost said, “being alone and invisible to everyone. It was bad enough that even getting to talk toyouwas a relief.” He looked contemptuous at Alex’s expression. “Hasn’t occurred to you to think about that, has it? You ever tried to put yourself in someone else’s shoes? Ever taken one minute to wonder about someone else’s feelings?”

“No, I’m a sociopath. Just ask my ex-wife.”

A reluctant grin spread across the ghost’s face. “You’re not a sociopath. You’re just an asshole.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s good you got divorced,” the ghost said. “Darcy wasn’t the right woman for you.”

“I knew that when I first met her. Which is exactly why I married her.”

Pondering that, the ghost shook his head in disgust and looked away. “Never mind. Youarea sociopath.”

Thirteen

As soon as the contracts were signed and a schedule of periodic payments had been agreed upon, a large number of decisions had to be made quickly. Zoë had instantly approved of the cream-colored stock cabinetry and the maple for the butcher-block countertops. However, she still had to choose hardware such as knobs, pulls, and plumbing fixtures, as well as tile, carpet, appliances, and lighting.

“This is where it helps to have a limited budget,” Alex had told Zoë. “Some of the decisions are going to make themselves when you see the prices.” They had agreed to keep to the bungalow style of the house as much as possible, with simple wainscoting, rich wood, and subtle tones with the occasional bright splash of accent color.

Justine had no interest in color palettes or browsing among tile samples, which meant that Zoë would choose the decorating and finishes. “Besides,” Justine had said to Zoë, “you’re the one who’s going to live there, so you decide how it should look.”

“What if you end up not liking it?”

“I like everything,” Justine said cheerfully. “Go for it.”

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