Walking on Water: A Novel Read Free

grandchildren. There were lovers, entwined andimpatient to be elsewhere. There was a returned soldier dressed in camouflage, his wife’s cheeks wet with tears and his two children holding balloons and a hand-drawn welcome home sign. There were the lonely businessmen with loosened ties and tired, drawn faces flush from cocktails, impatiently checking their watches and smartphones.
    Camille, my acquaintance from the plane, was halfway across the room from me. She was being held by a tall, silver-haired man as tan as George Hamilton. I guessed he was her father. She said something to him and they both turned and looked at me. She waved and I waved back before they both turned away.
    I saw a beautiful young Hispanic woman who reminded me of Falene. I took my phone back out and replayed the voice mail I’d received just before hearing about my father from Nicole.
    “Alan, this is Carroll. Sorry it took so long, but I found your friend. Her phone number is area code 212, 555-5374. Good luck.”
    My friend, he called her. Was that what Falene was? She’d been my executive assistant when my life was good. She’d been my comforter after McKale’s funeral. She’d been my support throughout my walk. Then, after expressing her love for me and disappearing, she’d become an enigma. Friend was too inadequate a word.
    I had hired Carroll, a private investigator and friend of my father’s, to find her—which he had. At least physically. Emotionally, I had no idea where she was. I wondered if she still cared about me. The thought of calling her crossed my mind, but I quickly dismissed it. I was inthe middle of enough emotional turmoil. Besides, it was already past 2 A.M . in New York.
    It was nearly a half hour before my pack appeared near the end of the long parade of baggage. I lifted it over one shoulder and walked out of the terminal to the curb to wait. Five minutes later my cell phone started ringing. It was Nicole. “Did you say Delta?”
    “Yes,” I said. “I’ve got my pack.”
    “I’m just entering the airport now. I’m driving a red Pontiac Grand Prix.”
    “I’m near the second exit,” I said. “I’ll watch for you.”
    A few minutes later I spotted her and waved. She sidled up to the curb, popped the trunk, then got out of the car. It had been three months since I’d last seen her, and she looked different. She’d lost weight even though she had little to none to lose, and her hair was styled differently. She looked different but pretty. She was always pretty.
    I laid my pack on the ground and we embraced. “It’s good to see you,” she said.
    “It’s good to see you,” I replied. “Thank you for being here.”
    I threw my pack in the trunk and slammed it shut; then Nicole handed me the car keys. We both climbed in and I drove off toward the hospital. Another hospital—the sixth since McKale’s accident. I was spending way too much time in hospitals.
    Even though it was October I rolled my window down a little. The night air was sweet and cool. I love California; I always have. But I couldn’t believe I was back so soon.

CHAPTER
Two
    As happy as I am to see Nicole again, we’re living in denial, ignoring the fact that the last time we saw each other I broke her heart. I wonder how long our fiction will last. It’s like repairing a leak with duct tape and wondering how long it will hold.
    Alan Christoffersen’s diary

“How was your flight?” Nicole asked.
    “Long.” I adjusted the rearview mirror. “How did you find out about my father?”
    “We were supposed to have our weekly phone call to go over my finances. You know your father—he’s never late, and he never misses anything. So when he didn’t call I called his cell phone. A client of his answered. He told me that your father had been rushed to the hospital with a heart attack. He said they’d been at lunch when your father started to complain of chest pains.
    “The client had had a heart attack before, so he recognized what