I looked toward the bookcase and the lectern for a sign, but it was daylight. Ghosts walk the night.
Finding the phrase in Galatians on a frosty morning—the fire had gone out—was an anticlimax to the drama of last night. John had more charisma than Paul.
I was going back to John’s words when the telephone rang. It was my agent calling about the new multi-book contract.
I took the commuter train in to the city. We talked and, it seemed, endlessly redrafted the publisher’s offer. I was exhausted when I boarded the train to return home. I fell asleep almost immediately, as I’d been able to do when I was younger and commuted five days a week.
In a vision Eliza emerged from a huge open book and took my hand. We walked in a wooded place where shadows obscured the boundaries. I could make out
