“I only had one beer,” he heard himself say.

“You’re not drunk, son.” Ray stepped forward so that the moonlight shimmered over his dramatic mane of silver hair and into the brilliant blue eyes that were bright with humor. “You’re going to want to breathe now, before you pass out.”

Phillip let out his breath in a whoosh, but his ears continued to ring. “I’m going to sit down now.” He did, slowly, like a creaky old man, easing himself down onto the grass. “I don’t believe in ghosts,” he said to the water, “or reincarnation, the afterlife, visitations, or any form of psychic phenomenon.”

“You always were the most pragmatic of the lot. Nothing was real unless you could see it, touch it, smell it.”

Ray sat beside him with a contented sigh and stretched out long legs clad in frayed jeans. He crossed his ankles, and on his feet were the well-worn Dock-Sides that Phillip himself had packed into a box for the Salvation Army nearly six months before.

“Well,” Ray said cheerfully, “you’re seeing me, aren’t you?”

“No. I’m having an episode most likely resulting from sexual deprivation and overwork.”

“I won’t argue with you. It’s too pretty a night.”

“I haven’t reached closure yet,” Phillip said to himself. “I’m still angry over the way he died, and why, and all the unanswered questions. So I’m projecting.”

“I figured you’d be the toughest nut of the three. Always had an answer for everything. I know you’ve got questions, too. And I know you’ve got anger. You’re entitled. You’ve had to change your life and take on responsibilities that shouldn’t have been yours. But you did it, and I’m grateful.”

“I don’t have time for therapy right now. There’s no place on the schedule to fit sessions in.”

Ray let out a hoot of laughter. “Boy, you’re not drunk, and you’re not crazy either. You’re just stubborn. Why don’t you use that flexible mind of yours, Phillip, and consider a possibility?”

Bracing himself, Phillip turned his head. It was his father’s face, wide and lined with life and filled with humor. Those bright-blue eyes were dancing, the silver hair ruffling in the night air. “This is an impossibility.”

“Some people said when your mother and I took you and your brothers in, that it was an impossibility we’d make a family, make a difference. They were wrong. If we’d listened to them, if we’d gone by logic, none of you would have been ours. But fate doesn’t give a horse’s ass about logic. It just is. And you were meant to be ours.”

“Okay.” Phillip shot out a hand and jerked it back in shock. “How could I do that? How could I touch you if you’re a ghost?”

“Because you need to.” Casually, Ray gave Phillip’s shoulder a quick pat. “I’m here, for the next little while.”

Phillip’s throat filled even as his stomach tightened into knots. “Why?”

“I didn’t finish. I left it up to you and your brothers. I’m sorry for that, Phillip.”