A Step Of Faith Part 9

"She's a friend and she cares. Where's the crime in that?"

I shrugged. "I just don't want to hurt her. She means too much to me."

"She's a big girl," he said. "When is she coming?"

"The sixteenth."

He nodded. "It will be nice having a woman around."The next two weeks were miserable. As my surgery date neared, I started sleeping more-sometimes as much as fourteen hours a day. Dr. Schlozman had warned me that I would likely become more fatigued, but I think it was more than the tumor. I was also fighting depression. There was just too much around to remind me of McKale, too much time to think, and too little to do. You don't realize how many memories of someone a place can hold until they're gone.

My dizzy spells and headaches were increasing in frequency and duration, and I began to have trouble walking. Still, I hated lying in bed. My father had an elliptical machine in his garage, which, with some difficulty, I used twice a day, though probably as much out of boredom as a desire to keep active.

My father's routine was as rigid as it had been when I was a boy. We ate dinner every night at six-thirty sharp, followed by dishwashing, then television in the family room with his customary bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

There was one gradual and unwelcome change to our routine. Every night during dinner, when I was captive at the table, my father began pressing me with questions about my future, specifically my employment. He asked whether or not I was going to stay in advertising, if I planned to work for another firm or start a new agency, and if I would accept investors. "I know money people," he said on more than one occasion.

With his typical fastidiousness he would verbally walk me through a list of pros and cons for each option. Then, during his free time, he began searching the Internet for job openings at Los Angeles agencies and writing down their phone numbers just in case I wanted to "test the waters."

For several days he got on a kick about me getting a car, which he offered to buy even though I was in no condition to drive. Although I appreciated his support, I knew what he was doing. He was trying to nail me down.

I suppose just as telling was what he never talked about. He never mentioned McKale, and he never talked about my walk. I could understand why he wouldn't bring up McKale. But I couldn't understand why he wouldn't talk about my journey. There was so much to talk about.

From all appearances he resented my walk even though he had endorsed it back in Spokane.

I humored him through it all, but it seemed that each dinner got gradually more uncomfortable. Nicole couldn't get here soon enough.The day of Nicole's arrival I moved my things to my childhood room so she could have her own bathroom. We picked her up at the airport around three in the afternoon. After our reunion, I began feeling unwell, so my father drove me home, then the two of them went shopping for dinner.

I had forgotten what a good cook Nicole was. She made broiled salmon with polenta and acorn squash soup. Dessert was a lemon meringue pie from the Marie Callender's in Arcadia.

Somewhat surprising was that my father, who drank as infrequently as I did, opened a bottle of Chardonnay. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him that happy or loose.

Later, after my father had gone to bed, Nicole knocked on my bedroom door. "It's me," she said softly.

I opened. Nicole was wearing sweat pants and a Victoria's Secret PINK T-shirt. She looked cute.

"Come in," I said.

She walked inside, running her hand down my arm as she stepped past me. "Your dad's home is nice," she said. "It's very ..."

"Seventies?"

She grinned. "I was going to say cozy." She walked over to the window and pulled back the curtain. "Which home did McKale live in?"

"That one," I said, pointing. "The little ranch-style house."

"You married the girl next door." She spotted the prom pictures on my dresser and walked over to them. She lifted one and burst out laughing. "Is this you?"

"In my defense, my dad cut my hair back then."

"No, you look great." She looked at the picture, then back at me. "You were adorable as a teenager." She smiled at me. "You still are."

"Thanks."

"And this is McKale?"

"That's McKale."

"She's beautiful." She looked at each of the pictures, stopping at the one odd one. "Who's this?"

"I think her name was Jennifer. Or Jodie. Or Justine. Actually, I have no idea what her name was. That was a girls'-preference dance at another school."

"I take it she didn't get the memo that you were taken?"

"Apparently not. First and last date."

"How did McKale take it, you going out with someone else?"

"She handled it with her usual pa.s.sive aggressiveness. She said it didn't bother her, then went out on a date the next weekend with some football jock. I think she just wanted to remind me that she had options."

"We girls are like that." She stepped away from the bookshelf. "How is it being back here with your father?"

"It's been difficult. He's made it pretty clear that he wants me to stay."

"Yeah, he told me that while we were shopping. He asked if I'd help talk you into abandoning your walk."

I looked at her and frowned. "He really said that?"

She nodded.

"I'm finishing my walk."

"I know. I tried to explain to him how important it is to you." She took my hand. "Don't be angry with him. He's just worried about you. Remember how upset he was when he found out you'd been mugged? And now you have a tumor. You may be over thirty, but he's still your father. And you're the only family he has." She took my hand. "He just cares."

I thought about what she'd said, then breathed out slowly. "I know."

"Other than that, how have you been feeling?"

"It's getting worse," I said. "The doctor said it would."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It will be over soon."

Something about the way I said this affected her. Her eyes welled up.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She wiped her eyes, then looked into mine. "Sorry. I didn't like how that sounded."

I put my arms around her and she fell into me. I held her for several minutes. Then she leaned back. "I better let you get your rest."