We went on in this fashion for a few more minutes. I must have done well, because Lily looked utterly captivated by my answers. I said, “I’d be thrilled to do some inkblot tests, or we can go outside and I can tell you the shapes of clouds.”

“That’s all right. I need a little more of your personal history, so I’d like you to tell me your earliest memories.”

It was refreshing to talk nonstop about myself. While I gabbed, I also tried to use my brainpower to lift a book off the shelves. It was a slim volume called Spiritual Transformations: Adventures of a Shapeshifter by someone called Don Pedro. I scrunched my face in my effort to make it move.

Lily put down her pad and said, “I know this is a painful process.”

“It’s arduous work, but I’m happy to soldier on.” The damn book hadn’t budged a smidgen.

“I’d like you to process what we’ve discussed and we’ll have a session this afternoon.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said, and when Lily glanced down at her notes, I grabbed the book and took it back to the maid’s room.

It had an intriguing cover with a man morphing into different shapes, including a platypus. The memoir used the same flowery language I’d seen in the composition books I’d brought, and I recognized several of my favorite words and expressions.

This must be the memoir I’d ghostwritten, and I knew I was commissioned for a follow-up. I went back and forth from the book to my outline and somehow I knew the story I wanted to write. When I put my pen to paper, the words flowed easily.

Lily and I had a quick lunch of strawberry yogurt and then she said we should return to the small parlor.

“The day is too nice to be stuck inside. Let’s go outside.” She pursed her lips as she thought, so I added, “It’s wrong to waste such fresh air.”

“All right. Let me get my notepad.”

She left the kitchen, I spotted a half bottle of zinfandel on the counter and took several glugs to quench my red-thirst. I was wiping my mouth when she came back with her notepad and a jaunty cotton hat.

We went into the garden, where there was a table and chairs in the shade of the old oak. I noticed that the truckasaurus had been moved to the covered carport. I grabbed the red-handled pruners from where I had left them.

“You don’t need those,” Lily said. “I want you to focus on our session.”

“Gardening puts me in the zone. Otherwise I’ll just be distracted by all that needs to be done here.”

“All right. I may as well weed while you whack.”

“Do you know anything about gardening?”