A Step of Faith Page 2

  I didn’t like the question or the way he asked it. It sounded foreboding. “I’d like them to be here,” I said. “For the verdict.”

  He nodded. “All right then.” He raised his voice a little. “You already know that we found a tumor. The question is what kind. After another review of your MRI and CT scans and after consulting with a few of my colleagues, we feel confident that the abnormality detected is a meningioma.” He paused as if the word might mean something to me. It didn’t, but it sounded bad.

  My father’s brow fell. “What’s that?”

  “A meningioma is a tumor of the membrane that surrounds the brain and spinal cord.”

  Falene lifted her hand to her forehead.

  “I know it sounds bad,” the doctor said. “But it could be much worse. Most meningiomas are operable and benign. Not all, but most.”

  “How do you know if it’s benign?” my father asked.

  “That will require a biopsy. Meningiomas are generally slow-growing, so sometimes we take a wait-and-see approach, but since you’re already experiencing symptoms, it’s likely that the tumor is putting pressure on your brain. I recommend that we perform surgery to remove the tumor and relieve the pressure. Then, after the surgery, we’ll do a biopsy and determine whether the tumor is benign or malignant.”

  “If it’s benign?” my father asked.

  “Then there’s no need for further treatment and we send you on your way.”

  My father nodded. “And if it’s malignant?”

  “Then we’ll determine whether or not the cancer has spread to other parts of the body and go after it with all the arrows in our quiver.”

  “Which means I won’t be able to walk,” I said.

  The doctor turned back toward me. “No, you should be able to walk.”

  “He means cross-country,” Falene said. “He’s walking across America. He’s already halfway.”

  The doctor looked at Falene for a moment as if he was trying to decide whether or not she was being serious, then turned back to me. “No, you would have to postpone that. So Missouri isn’t your home?”

  “No,” I said.

  He nodded thoughtfully. “You’ll probably want to be treated closer to home. It wouldn’t make sense traveling this far for care.”

  “If I had a home,” I said.

  “You can come back with me,” Nicole said. “I’ve quit my job, so I could take care of you full-time.” She looked at me fondly. “It will be like old times.”

  I noticed the look on Falene’s face.

  “It’s your decision,” my father said. “But I think you should come back to Pasadena with me. I’d like to have you close, and we’re just four miles from the UCLA medical center.” Then he added, “It would be a good place to start rebuilding your life.”

  I looked at him, wondering what he had meant by his latter comment.

  “UCLA is a top-ranked cancer hospital,” the doctor said. “In fact, a former colleague of mine is out there. He’s one of the top neurosurgeons in the country. I’d be happy to contact him.”

  “We’d appreciate that,” my father said.

  “I could still come down to help,” Nicole said.

  “We could write it off,” my father said, always in accountant mode.

  “What if I do nothing?” I asked.

  Falene glared at me.

  Peculiarly, the doctor looked less surprised by my question than everyone else in the room. “If you weren’t already showing symptoms, maybe nothing. At least for a while. But even if it’s benign, a brain tumor can still cause significant problems. In the short term, you’ll only get sicker. In the long term, it could cause disability or take your life. Of course it’s up to you, but I don’t see that doing nothing’s a real option.”

  Falene was still glaring at me.

  “Any more questions?” the doctor asked.

  “When can I leave?” I asked.

  “You should spend the night,” he said. “You can leave in the morning.”

  “I’ll have to book our flight anyway,” my father said.

  “With your permission I’ll contact the cancer center at UCLA and make a referral,” the doctor said.

  “You have our permission,” my father said.

  The doctor looked at me for confirmation. “Is that all right with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell the nurses to prepare for your discharge in the morning.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” my father said.

  “Don’t mention it,” he replied. He walked out of the room.

  “That’s good news, right?” Nicole said. “Meningioma?”

  “Considering what it could have been, I think you might have just dodged a bullet,” my father said. He put his hand on my arm. “It will be nice having you around for a while. Just like old times.” He looked at me for a moment, then said, slightly smiling, “Hopefully better.”

  I nodded.

  “So you’ll be leaving in the morning,” Nicole said. “I’ll book my flight for tomorrow afternoon. That way I can spend the night.” Nicole turned to Falene. “I can spell you.”

  “I’m okay,” Falene said.

  “You look exhausted,” my father said bluntly.

  “I’m okay,” Falene repeated. She looked at me. “What do you want me to do?”

  She looked exhausted, but I could tell that she was bothered by Nicole’s intrusion. “Whatever you want.”

  For what felt like a long time she looked at me with an expression I didn’t understand. Then she walked up and kissed me on the forehead. “Okay. Get some rest.” She walked out of the room and I watched her go, sensing that something terrible had just happened. I wanted to call her back. I almost did, but Nicole broke my train of thought.

  “When would you like me to come to Pasadena?”

  CHAPTER

  Three

  I’m going home. Wherever that is these days.

  Alan Christoffersen’s diary

  I woke the next morning just a little after sunrise, the first rays of dawn stealing through the blinds, striping the wall across from my bed with amber, horizontal bars. Nicole was sitting next to me. Her blond hair was slightly matted to one side and she was looking at me. “Morning, handsome,” she said softly.

  I rubbed a hand over my eyes. “Good morning.”

  “You slept well.”

  “You’ve been here the whole night?”

  “Every minute of it,” she said. “But I wasn’t awake the whole night. I fell asleep around one, so I got some rest.”

  “You didn’t need to do that,” I said.

  “I know. I wanted to.”

  “Thank you.” I looked around the room. “Where’s my father?”

  “He went back to his hotel. He said he’d check out, then come over here to get you. He’ll be here before nine.”

  “Where’s Falene?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since she left yesterday afternoon.” She brushed a long strand of hair back from her face. “How are you feeling?”

  “A little better than yesterday.”

  “That’s encouraging,” she said.

  It wasn’t, of course. The tumor wasn’t going away until it was cut out of me.

  Nicole reached over the bedrail and lifted the St. Christopher that lay on my chest. “You’re still wearing the medallion I gave you.”

  “I never took it off.”

  She smiled as she ran her thumb over the token. She looked into my eyes. “Do you ever think about the time we spent together?”

  “Of course.”

  “What do you think about it?”

  “That depends on if I’m thinking about Angel or Nicole.”

  “Angel,” she said softly. “I almost forgot about her.”

  “That’s a good thing,” I said.

  She kissed me on the cheek. “That is a good thing. You saved my life.”

  “I don’t—”

  She put a finger on my lips. “You
did. I’ll never be able to repay you for what you did. And I’ll never forget the time we spent together. It was the most loving and beautiful experience of my life.” Her eyes began welling up with tears. “And here you are again. If something had happened to you . . .” She pulled down the railing, then laid her head on my chest, her eyes meeting mine. “You have to be okay.”

  I put my hand on her head, my fingers plying through her silky blond hair. “I’m going to be okay. You don’t have to worry.”

  After a moment she raised her head. “Do you remember what you said to me the last time we spoke on the phone?”

  I shook my head.

  “You promised that I’d see you again. And here we are.”

  “I hadn’t expected it to be quite this soon,” I said.

  “I’m not complaining.” After a moment of silence she said, “The nurse said the doctor would be coming by to see you again before you leave.”

  “When is that?”

  “Your flight’s booked for a little after noon. I told them we’d be leaving around ten. Are you glad to be going back with your dad?”

  “It will be interesting. It’s been more than a decade since I lived at home.” I took a deep breath. “I don’t know what he’s expecting. He made that comment yesterday about rebuilding my life. I wonder if he means now.”

  “He’s just excited to have you home. Why wouldn’t he be?” She glanced up at the room’s clock. “Would you like me to ask the nurse to bring your breakfast?”

  “I’d rather have another catheter put in.”

  She grinned. “Can I get you something from the cafeteria?”

  “Sure. How about waffles or pancakes. Whichever you think looks better. And a side of scrambled eggs.”

  “Scrambled it is. Anything to drink?”

  “Cranberry juice if they have it.”

  “Pancakes, scrambled eggs, and cranberry juice.”

  I raked my hair back with my hand. “I’ll get dressed while you’re gone.”

  She stood. “I’ll hurry.”

  I watched her as she walked out of the room. I knew she had feelings for me. I just didn’t know what to do with them. Nicole was beautiful and sweet and I knew her almost as intimately as I had ever known anyone. I guess that happens when you walk with someone to the edge of their life.

  It’s an ancient Chinese custom that if you saved someone’s life, you were forever responsible for them. I understood that. I suppose, in a way, I felt that way about Nicole. I loved her. But I wasn’t in love with her. That’s not to say I couldn’t be. Maybe I just didn’t know. I hadn’t yet hung a vacancy sign on my heart.

  And then there was Falene. My feelings for Falene were as complex as the changes in my world. Falene was more than beautiful and loyal: she was my one constant—the safe ground in the emotional tsunami in my life.

  My feelings for both women were confusing and, perhaps, moot. I still didn’t know whether or not I was going to live.

  I climbed out of bed and walked to the bathroom. It had been a while since I had looked at myself in the mirror and I looked about as rough as I had expected. My skin was dark with tan and dirt and my jaw was covered with a fresh beard. My hair was long and as tangled as a rat’s nest.

  On a metal shelf above the bathroom sink was a personal hygiene kit with a plastic comb, a disposable razor and a small travel-size can of Barbasol shaving cream. I lathered up my face, then, stroke after stroke, shaved off my beard. I turned on the shower. I hadn’t showered since Hannibal, and the warm water felt marvelous as it washed away several days of grime, coalescing in a steady stream of dirty water on the floor pan. The shower had a retractable seat and I adjusted the shower head, then sat down and bowed my head beneath the stream, letting the water flow over me. Fifteen minutes later I got out and toweled off. I pulled on some fresh underwear and pants, then opened the bathroom door to let the steam out.

  “I’m out here,” my father said.

  He was sitting in the same chair he had occupied the day before, again wearing the same clothes as before.

  “Morning,” I said.

  “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

  “Good,” I said.

  “The nurse said the doctor was going to drop by before we left.”

  “Nicole told me.”

  “I didn’t see Nicole.”

  “She went to get me some breakfast.” I toweled off my hair, then combed it back and came out of the bathroom. I dug through my pack for a clean shirt.

  “Our flight leaves at twelve twenty-seven,” my father said. “We should be at the airport at least an hour early, so we should leave here by ten-thirty. That leaves us fifty-seven minutes to get to the airport.”

  My father was crazily precise about numbers. I had wondered before whether his obsession came from years of accounting or if he was just born that way and it led him to accounting. Cause or effect.

  “How long ago did Nicole leave?” he asked.

  I buttoned up my shirt. “About a half hour. She should be back soon.”

  “She’s a great gal,” my father said. “I’ve enjoyed helping her with her finances.”

  I was getting a pair of socks from my pack when a wave of nausea swept over me. I grabbed the plastic tub they’d given me to vomit in and leaned over the bed.

  “You okay?”

  It was a moment before I answered. “Yeah. Still nauseous.”

  It was a couple minutes before the nausea passed and I set down the tub. “Have you heard from Falene this morning?”

  “She left,” he said.

  I looked up at him. “Left? Where?”

  “She went home. She left last night.”

  I looked at him in disbelief. “Without saying goodbye?”

  “She asked me to say goodbye for her.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Just then Nicole walked into the room carrying a plastic tray crowded with food. “You’re up,” she said brightly.

  “Mostly,” I said.

  I looked at the tray.

  “I know it’s a lot. But the pancakes and waffles both looked good, so I got you both. I also got you a side of bacon. I thought you needed the protein.” She turned to my father. “Good morning, Mr. Christoffersen.”

  “Good morning, Nicole,” he replied.

  Nicole set the tray down next to my bed. She poured the cranberry juice into a glass of ice, then handed it to me. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you.”

  She sat down. “Did the doctor come by?”

  “Not yet,” I said. I sat down on the side of the bed.

  “You look a little pale,” Nicole said.

  “He just had another bout of nausea,” my father replied.

  “I’m feeling better,” I said.

  I poured syrup on the waffles and began to eat. I was halfway through breakfast when the doctor walked into the room.

  “Good morning, everyone. How are you feeling, Alan?”

  “A little dizzy.”

  He nodded. “Like I said yesterday, you can expect that to continue until the tumor’s removed. We’ve contacted the cancer center at the UCLA hospital and they have you registered into their system. You have an appointment scheduled for tomorrow morning. I’ve sent over your files, including your MRI, so they are just awaiting your arrival.”

  “That’s fast,” my father said.

  He smiled. “I’ve got some pull. And I have more good news. I spoke with Dr. Schlozman last night and he’s agreed to take you on. You’re very fortunate to get him. If I had a brain tumor, he’s the one I’d go to. But I should warn you, he’s a little . . . interesting. He might take a little getting used to.”

  “Arrogant?” I asked.

  Dr. Kelson grinned. “No, not that. He’s just quirky. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” I said.

  “No problem. Do you have any questions?”

  I shook my head. No one else spoke.

  “All right,
then have a safe flight home. Good luck, Mr. Christoffersen. I hope you’re back on the road soon.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “So do I.”

  “Let’s just get you better,” my father said. “We can worry about this walking jazz later.”

  CHAPTER

  Four

  I’ve never before realized that it’s a privilege to be allowed to make up for the hurt we’ve done in our lives. This is most evident to me now that I have broken a heart and not been allowed to pick up the pieces.

  Alan Christoffersen’s diary

  A half hour later I checked out of the hospital. Nicole’s flight to Spokane was scheduled to leave three hours after our flight to Los Angeles, so we said goodbye in the hospital lobby and she went back to her hotel while my father and I took a taxi to the airport.

  The St. Louis airport has notoriously slow security and I had another bout of nausea as I was going through the security line. I threw up on the floor outside the security stanchions, which created no small stir.

  My father helped relieve some of my embarrassment by loudly announcing, “He has a brain tumor,” which had the remarkable effect of turning everyone instantly sympathetic. More than a dozen people wished me well.

  After we had boarded the plane and settled into our seats, I took the airsickness bag from the pouch in front of me and opened it on my lap.

  Even with everything I had to think about, Falene’s abrupt departure weighed heaviest on my mind. Once we were in the air, I asked my father, “Did Falene say anything before she left?”

  My father reached into his carry-on bag and brought out an envelope. “She asked me to give you this. I wanted to wait until we were alone.”

  I extracted from the envelope an ivory-colored card embossed with an iridescent foil seashell. Inside the card was a folded square of papers. My name was written on it in Falene’s handwriting. I unfolded the pages and began to read.

  My dear Alan,

  Sometimes a girl can be pretty deaf to the things she doesn’t want to hear. I should have heard your answer in your silence. I’ve asked you twice if I could be there when you arrived in Key West and you never answered me. I should have known that was my answer. If you had wanted me there, you would have answered with a loud “yes.” Forgive me for being so obtuse (I learned that word from you). But there’s a good reason I ignored the obvious. The truth was too painful. You see, I love you. I’m sorry that you had to learn it here, so far from me. I looked forward to the day when I could say it to your face. But I now know that day will never come.