A Step Of Faith Part 14

"I don't know. A few months ago. Before I came in here."

"She got a job offer from a modeling agency back East. She wasn't going to take it, but after you took off, she gave up."

He flinched. "What do you mean, she gave up?"

"Just what I said. She said she failed with you and gave up."

"Falene never failed at anything."

"She said she failed with you."

In spite of his practiced defiance, he actually looked upset. Finally he stammered out, "What I do with my life has nothing to do with her."

"Do you really believe that? She picked up her life and moved here to keep you out of trouble."

"You don't know anything about me."

"I don't know anything about you except that you've brought Falene a lot of pain."

He slammed the gla.s.s barrier. "I love my sister."

"I can see that," I said. "Your sister has done everything she could to help you and you repay her by breaking her heart."

He pounded the window again.

"Deron!" a guard shouted. "Knock it off."

"What do you want?" he said. "You came here to tell me that?"

"I came here to see if you knew how to find her."

"I'm in jail. How would I know how to find her? Why didn't she tell you where she was going? She like wors.h.i.+ped you."

I felt ashamed to hear that. "I don't know."

"Maybe she doesn't want to see you. Maybe you're the reason she left."

"Maybe," I said. "She's been carrying a lot of people by herself for a long time. Maybe she just hit her limit. If you love her, now's a good time to start showing her."

I expected another outburst. Instead he looked down for a moment, then to my surprise said, "Thanks for looking out for her. She deserves that. If I hear from her, I'll let her know you came by."

"Thank you," I said. I hung up the phone and walked out of the room.My flight arrived back in Los Angeles that evening at eight. The effects of my surgery were exacerbated by my traveling, and I was feeling so exhausted I wasn't sure I could make it through the terminal. Gratefully, my father picked me up at the terminal curb.

"How'd it go?" he asked as I climbed into the car.

"He was no help at all."

"Sorry," he said. A moment later he asked, "What was he like?"

I reclined my seat. "Nothing like Falene. Nothing at all."

CHAPTER Eleven

I've read that there are specific, predictable stages of grief. But there must be as many manifestations of those stages as there are bereft.

Alan Christoffersen's diary

Over the next few weeks I was hoping to hear from Carroll about Falene, but he never called. Physically, I was getting stronger, though my recovery was coming slower than I had hoped, and I was tired most of the time. Emotionally, I was depressed. Sitting in one place made it easy for all my negative thoughts to circle and land on me, like flies on roadkill. All I could think about was getting back out on the road.

Three weeks after my surgery I went back to the hospital to have my staples removed, which I expected to be painful, but the skin around my incision was still numb from where the nerves had been cut and I felt no pain. The next day I began walking again. I started at two miles, then, a week later, increased to three, then four. The dizziness was gone. I still got occasional headaches, but that, and exhaustion, seemed to be the extent of my complications.

A month after my surgery I went back again to see Dr. Schlozman. After telling me a pretty funny joke about Superman in a bar, he gave me a clean bill of health and we scheduled my next MRI for a year out. That afternoon I started making plans to return to the road.A couple nights later, at dinner, my father said, "I noticed you had your maps out."

I looked up at him. He had been strangely quiet all afternoon, like he was brooding. I finally understood why. "Yes, I was planning my route."

"Then you're going back out after all."

"That was always the plan."

I couldn't read his expression. "When are you leaving?"

"August thirtieth," I said.

"That's next week."

"It's next Tuesday."

He was quiet for a moment, then said, "Are you up to it?"

"I'm not all the way back, but Dr. Schlozman didn't see any problem with it."

He pushed his plate away, then said, "I don't understand why you're doing this. Why not just stay here and get on with your life?"

"Right now the walk is my life."

"Walking is no life," he said. "It's just walking."

"What about what you said on the way here? You said I'm ent.i.tled to my own grief, and that I need to allow it to run its course."

"Yes, but allowing it to run its course doesn't mean running from it."

"I'm not running from my grief. Believe me, it follows me every step of the way."

"And that's a good thing?"