Richard Paul Evans: The Complete Walk Series eBook Boxed Set Page 53

  CHAPTER

  One

  The strength of a friendship can be measured by the weight of the burden it’s willing to share. (If you want to test this just ask someone to help you move.)

  Alan Christoffersen’s diary

  Where was I? My stomach ached. My head spun. Then remembrance returned. St. Louis. I’m in a hospital in St. Louis. McKale is gone. Still gone. Always gone.

  My room was dark and still except for the soft humming and occasional beeps from the monitors next to my bed. I was awake for nearly a minute before I realized that I wasn’t alone. My friend Falene was sitting quietly next to me. My anxiety softened at the sight of her.

  “Hi,” I said. My mouth was dry.

  “Hi,” she echoed softly. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fantastic.”

  She smiled sadly. “Are you still dizzy?”

  “A little.” I shut my eyes as a wave of nausea passed through me. When I could speak, I opened my eyes. “What time is it?”

  “It’s a little past nine.”

  “Oh,” I said, as if it meant something. “. . . Day or night?”

  “Day. I kept the blinds down so you could sleep.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “I’ve been here all night. With your father.”

  I slowly looked around the small, dim room. “My father?”

  “I made him get something to eat. He hadn’t left your side since yesterday. I don’t think he’s eaten since he got here.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “No, it isn’t.” She reached over and took my hand. “He didn’t want to leave your side. People love you, you know.”

  “I know,” I said softly. I squeezed her hand as I looked into her eyes. I could see the fear in them behind her tears. She was so beautiful. And she was so good to me. Why was she so good to me? I hated seeing her so afraid. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  She leaned forward and raised my hand to her cheek. A tear fell on my hand. Then another. After a moment she leaned back and wiped her eyes. “You’d better be okay.”

  “I will be,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

  It was a hollow assertion. We both knew that I had no idea whether or not I would be.

  The room fell into silence. After a moment she said, “I never got back to you with Kyle’s number.”

  Several weeks earlier I had asked her to find my former business partner Kyle Craig’s phone number for me. With all that had happened since then, I’d forgotten about it. “Did you find him?”

  “Sort of . . .” she said, her expression turning dark. “Remember I told you that there were a lot of people looking for him?”

  “Yes. Is he in trouble?”

  “He’s dead.”

  Her words stunned me. “Dead?”

  She nodded.

  “Someone killed him?”

  “He committed suicide.”

  I didn’t speak for nearly a minute, my mind processing this new reality. “When did it happen?”

  “About a month ago.”

  I closed my eyes. I had tried to call Kyle to tell him that I forgave him for what he had done. I now realized that even though I hadn’t had the chance to say it to him, I truly had forgiven him, because the strongest emotion I felt at the news of his death wasn’t the need for revenge or even anger, but sorrow. Not for me, but for Kyle. Sorrow for the choices he’d made that led him to where he’d ended up.

  I slowly breathed out. “Oh, Kyle.”

  My mind skipped back to when I’d brought him on at my newborn agency. Those were adventurous days, and even though we worked too much, there were good times and lots of laughter. To celebrate our first million-dollar client we bought a dozen laser-tag guns from the Sharper Image catalogue and played laser tag in our office after work. McKale thought we were crazy. I remember her rolling her eyes and saying, “Boys and their toys.” We just thought we were unstoppable. Our sky had no limit. Kyle had not only shared my dreams, but helped fuel them. He helped me dream them. Those were the best of days. I was sincerely sorry that Kyle was gone.

  “He didn’t deserve that,” I said softly.

  Falene narrowed her eyes. “You’re a better person than I am,” she said, “because I thought he got exactly what he deserved.”

  “What he did to me was wrong, but he could have changed. He could have been the man he once was.”

  “You amaze me,” Falene said. “After all that he did to you, you still forgive him?”

  I turned and looked at her. “I suppose I have.”

  It was another ten minutes before my father walked into the room. He was wearing the same clothes he’d had on the day before. When I was younger this would have embarrassed me.

  “Hi, son,” he said. His eyes were dark, ringed with exhaustion. More disturbing to me was his expression—the same stoic, gray mask he wore the week my mother was dying. I hated seeing it on his face again, though not as much for my sake as his. He walked up to the side of my bed. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” I said. It was a fib—the kind of reply you give when you don’t want to give one. I was glad he didn’t press me on it.

  “I just checked at the nurses’ station. The doctor will be here around noon with your test results.”

  “I feel like I’m waiting for the jury’s verdict,” I said. I looked back at Falene. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  “How’s your brother?”

  She frowned. “I still don’t know where he is. He’s disappeared.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I didn’t want to cause her more distress so I let it go. “Think I could get something to eat?”

  “I’ll let the nurse know that you’re awake,” Falene said. She stood and walked out of the room.

  I turned to my dad. “Falene said you haven’t been eating.”

  “I haven’t been hungry.”

  “You still need to eat,” I said.

  “You worry about yourself.”

  Just then there was a short knock and someone else entered my room. At first I thought it was a nurse. It wasn’t. It was Nicole, the woman I had stayed with in Spokane after being mugged. When she saw me, her eyes welled up with tears. “Alan.” She walked quickly to me and we embraced. “I got here as soon as I could.”

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “I told her,” my father said.

  My father, an accountant, had taken on Nicole’s finances after she had inherited money from her landlord.

  Nicole kissed my cheek, then leaned back, looking into my eyes. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “I can tell you’re lying,” she said. “This feels like déjà vu, doesn’t it? You’re spending way too much time in hospitals.”

  “I feel like I’m just walking from one hospital to the next,” I said. “Hopefully there’s a good one in Key West.”

  “Hopefully you’ll never find out,” she replied. She kissed my cheek again, then stood, looking at my father. “Hello, Mr. Christoffersen. It’s good to see you again.”

  He reached out his hand. “It’s good to see you again too.”

  “Your dad has been such an angel,” Nicole said. “I’d be lost without him.”

  My father looked very pleased. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I wish all my clients were so pleasant.”

  Nicole smiled, then turned back to me. “It’s just so good to see you.” She leaned over and hugged me again. When we parted, I noticed that Falene had slipped back into the room. Her eyes were darting back and forth between Nicole and me.

  “They’ll be here with your breakfast in a few minutes,” Falene said.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Nicole, you remember my friend, Falene.”

  Nicole looked at Falene. “Of course,” she said. “You came to my house in Spokane.”

  “That’s right,” Falene said softly.

  Nicole quickly turned back to m
e. “So what happened? What are you doing here?”

  “I started getting dizzy a few weeks ago. On the way to St. Louis I passed out on the side of the road. I woke up here.”

  “Thank goodness someone stopped to help you,” she said. “So they don’t know what’s going on?”

  “He has a brain tumor,” Falene said, sounding slightly annoyed.

  Nicole looked at her. “I know,” she said. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “The doctor will be in around noon to give us an update,” my father said.

  Nicole took my hand. “Then I got here just in time.”

  The room fell into silence. Falene looked at Nicole for a moment, then said, “I’m going to get some rest.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “I’ll watch over him,” Nicole said.

  Falene glanced furtively at her, then said, “I’ll be back before noon.” She turned and walked out of the room. I watched her go, feeling uncomfortable about the tension between the two women. The room again fell into silence. After a moment I asked Nicole, “How is Kailamai doing?”

  “She’s doing really well. I couldn’t ask for a better roommate. You were definitely inspired to match us up.”

  “Did your sister ever come to visit?” Nicole looked as if she didn’t understand my question so I continued. “. . . You were going to get together for a vacation at Bullman Beach.”

  “I can’t believe you remembered that,” she said. “Yes, she came in May. We had a great time. It was . . . healing.” She took a deep breath. “So, back to you. Was this a complete surprise?”

  “A gradual surprise,” I said. “I got dizzy partway through South Dakota and ended up in a hospital in Mitchell. But the doctor there thought it was just vertigo and gave me some pills. It didn’t hit me hard again until just before St. Louis.”

  “We’re lucky it was someplace you could be found,” my father said. “Instead of some country back road.”

  “You do know that you’ve walked more than halfway,” Nicole said. “I looked it up on MapQuest. Your halfway mark was a town in Iowa called Sydney. You probably don’t even remember walking through the town, do you?”

  I thought about Analise and the night I had spent at her house. “Yes, I remember,” I said simply.

  Just then a nurse walked in carrying a tray. “Breakfast, Mr. Christoffersen.”

  Nicole stepped back as the nurse prepped the meal, setting it on the table over my bed. Almost everything on the tray was mostly water. Jell-O. Juice. Melon. I took a few bites.

  After the nurse left, I said to Nicole, “Think you could find me some real food?”

  CHAPTER

  Two

  “Wait and see” is no easier now than it was as a child.

  Alan Christoffersen’s diary

  Falene returned to my room about ten minutes before noon. She looked more tired than when she had left and still looked upset.

  “Did you sleep?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Not really. The only place I could find was the waiting room. There were a lot of screaming kids.”

  “You should have just rested in here,” I said. “Like my father.”

  I pointed my thumb at my father, who was reclined in a chair, his head back, and mouth wide open as he snored.

  “That’s okay,” Falene said. “I don’t think I could have slept anyway.”

  My doctor arrived a few minutes after noon, studying an iPad as he walked in. He glanced up at all of us and said, “Good morning. Or afternoon. Whichever it is.” He looked at me. “I’m Dr. Kelson. How are you feeling?”

  “Tired.”

  “Still dizzy?”

  “A little.”

  My dad woke, wiping his eyes and yawning loudly before realizing where he was. “Sorry,” he said.

  “Welcome back,” Nicole said.

  “Did I miss anything?”

  “No,” she said. “The doctor just got here.”

  “I’m Dr. Kelson,” the doctor said to my father. He turned back to me. “Are we free to speak, or should I send everyone out?”

  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.