Walking on Water: A Novel Read Free Page A

was going on. He called 911 and they rushed your father by ambulance to the hospital.”
    “How did you get down here so fast?”
    “I took the first flight from Spokane to LAX. He had just gotten out of surgery when I arrived.”
    “Thank you for coming,” I said.
    “I care about him,” she said softly. “He’s been good to me.”
    As I listened to her, it occurred to me why Nicole was so close to my father. I had initially assumed it was because of her inherent kindness—which was, no doubt, part of the reason. But her closeness to him transcended mere kindness or friendship. It was something muchdeeper. She had been close to her own father before he committed suicide. I believe that she was looking to fill that hole—first with her landlord, Bill, the man who had unexpectedly left her a sizable inheritance, then with my father. It made sense. No wonder she had caught the first flight here, and no wonder my father loved her so deeply. She was the daughter he’d never had, and she gladly played the part.
    I reached over and took her hand. She put her other hand on top of mine.
    “What else do you know about his condition?” I asked.
    “Not much. They won’t give me the full details since I’m not family. I had to tell them I’m his niece just so they’d let me see him. The doctor will talk to you.”
    “He’s there this late?”
    “No. But he said he’ll be there in the morning.”
    “But you’ve seen my father?”
    “Yes.”
    “How does he look?”
    “He looks like he’s had a heart attack,” she said. “When I saw him he was still pretty drugged up. I held his hand for a while.”
    “I should have been there,” I said. I looked over. “I shouldn’t have gone back out. He didn’t want me to go. Maybe he knew.”
    “Don’t do that. No one knew. He was glad you were going to finish your walk.”
    “He said that?”
    “Yes. He knew how important it was for you. I know he didn’t see that at first, but he came around.”
    I breathed out slowly. “It really is good to see you again. The last time we talked . . .”
    She stopped me. “Let’s not go there. I’m here for you. That’s all you need to know.”
    I squeezed her hand.
    “So how is the walk going?” she asked.
    “One step at a time.”
    “How far did you get?”
    “Almost nine hundred miles. I made it to Folkston, Georgia, just a few miles from the Florida state line.”
    “Meet anyone interesting?”
    “Very.”
    “More interesting than me?”
    “I found a woman who had been tied to a tree by a cult leader. I ended up spending part of the night in their compound and helping another woman escape.”
    “That’s got me beat,” she said. “You should write a book about your walk. I’d buy it.”
    “I’d have to say it’s fiction.”
    “Why is that?”
    “No one would believe it was true.”

CHAPTER
Three
    It is an inevitable and frightening moment in our lives—the day we realize our parents might be as flawed as we are.
    Alan Christoffersen’s diary

We arrived at the hospital a few minutes past midnight. I had been to Pasadena’s Huntington Hospital before. Actually twice. The first time was when I was nine and I’d had pneumonia. The second time was a year later when I was playing punchball at school and broke my arm.
    It had been a long time since either of those events, and the hospital didn’t look the same as I remembered it.
    Following Nicole’s directions, I parked near the east tower. We went inside and took the elevator to the second floor.
    The corridors in the ICU were wide and lined with glass walls separating patients’ rooms. We approached the nurses’ station. A tired older woman with tousled hair and wearing dark blue scrubs looked up at me with heavy eyes. “May I help you?”
    “I’m here to see Robert Christoffersen.”
    She pushed a few keys on her computer, then looked back up at me. “Are you family?”
    “I’m his son. I just got into town.”
    “Just a minute.” The