The Walk

Also by Richard Paul Evans

The Christmas List
Grace
The Gift
Finding Noel
The Sunflower
A Perfect Day
The Last Promise
The Christmas Box Miracle
The Carousel
The Looking Glass
The Locket
The Letter
Timepiece
The Christmas Box

For Children
The Dance
The Christmas Candle
The Spyglass
The Tower
The Light of Christmas

Richard Paul Evans

Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events
or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2010 by Richard Paul Evans

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or
portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address
Simon & Schuster Subsidiary Rights Department,
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First Simon & Schuster hardcover edition April 2010

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Designed by Davina Mock-Maniscalco

Manufactured in the United States of America

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Evans, Richard Paul.
The walk / Richard Paul Evans.

p. cm.
1. Voyages and travels—Fiction. 2. Identity (Psychology)—Fiction.
3. Diary fiction.   I. Title.
PS3555.V259W35     2010
813'.54—dc22              2009052981
ISBN 978-1-4391-8731-9
eISBN-13: 978-1-4391-9990-9

Foremost, I wish to thank my friend, Leo Thomas (Tom) Gandley, who lived more of this book than anyone would choose to. I know that it was oftentimes difficult to share the loss of your own “McKale,” and I am grateful for your contribution to this book.

Also, Karen Christoffersen and her beloved Al. May his name live on around the world through these books.

I also wish to thank the usual suspects, with a few changes to the line-up. First of all my friend and former editor, Sydny Miner. It has been a pleasure working with you for more than a decade. I wish you well. Amanda, I look forward to walking on with you. Thanks for your help.

David Rosenthal and Carolyn Reidy for believing in the idea for this series.

Gypsy da Silva for enduring my impossible schedules with a smile. Liss, for being my advocate and friend. I
love you.

Dr. Brent Mabey and Caitlin James for research assistance. The wonderful staff at the Redmond, Washington, Marriott, who set us on the right path.

Lisa Johnson, Barry Evans, Miche Barbosa, Diane Glad, Heather McVey, Judy Schiffman, Fran Platt, Lisa McDonald, Sherri Engar, Doug Smith, and Barbara Thompson.

My family: Keri, Jenna and David Welch, Allyson-Danica, Abigail, McKenna, and Michael. Jenna, thanks again for your help, love, and insight. Now get your own book done!

And, of course, my dear readers. Welcome to my walk.

—Richard

To my father, David O. Evans

The Walk

My name is Alan Christoffersen. You don’t know me. “Just another book in the library,” my father would say. “Unopened and unread.” You have no idea how far I’ve come or what I’ve lost. More important, you have no idea what I’ve found.

I’m no one important or famous. No matter. It is better to be loved by one person who knows your soul than millions who don’t even know your phone number. I have loved and been loved as deeply as a man can hope for, which makes me a lucky man. It also means that I have suffered. Life has taught me that to fly, you must first accept the possibility of falling.

I don’t know if anyone will ever read what I’m writing. But if you are holding this book, then you have found my story. You are now my fellow sojourner. If you find something in my journey that will help with yours, keep it.

Some might call this a love story. Those without love will call it a travelogue. To me, it is one man’s journey to find hope. There are things that happened to me that you might not believe. There were lessons learned that you might not be ready for. No matter. Accept or dismiss what you will. But let me warn you in advance—which is more than I got—that what you read won’t be easy. But it’s a story worth telling. It’s the story of my walk.

According to legend, once the sand of Key West is in your shoes, you cannot go back from whence you came. It is true for me. I’m alone on the beach watching the blood-red sun baptized in the Gulf of Mexico. And there is no returning to what I left behind.

The air is saturated with the smells of salt water and kelp and the sounds of breaking waves and screeching seagulls. Some part of me wonders if this might be a dream and hopes I’ll wake in bed and find that I’m still in Seattle, and McKale is gently running her fingernails up and down my back. She would whisper, “Are you awake, my love?” I would turn to her and say, “You’ll never believe what I just dreamed.”

But it’s no dream. I’ve walked the entire length of the country. And the woman I love is never coming back.