Walking on Water: A Novel (5 page)

He didn’t smile. “On your
walk
.”

“Florida.”

“Did you walk through the Okefenokee Swamp?”

“Not through it. Around it.”

“On Highway One?”

“Yes. You’ve been there?”

“No. Almost.”

More silence. He reached up and adjusted the oxygen tube that ran to his nose.

“Do you need any help?” I asked.

“No.” He put his hand back down. “They’ve got me strung up like a marionette. Has the doctor talked to you?”

“Yes.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He said you’re going to be okay.”

“You don’t need to lie. I know what happened. Damage to the LAD. They call it the widow maker.”

“He didn’t say you were going to die.”

“They never tell you you’re going to die.”

“They tell people they’re going to die all the time,” I said. “
If
they’re going to die.”

He didn’t reply.

“I’m not lying,” I said. “I’m just more positive than you are.”

“I’m positive,” he said. “That I’m probably going to die.”

“That’s not helpful,” I said.

“I’m not trying to be helpful. I’m being honest.”

“Being negative is no more honest than being positive. You should be more positive. Attitude is everything. You always used to tell me that. How would you have felt if I had talked that way when I was in the hospital?”

“Which time? You spend so much time in hospitals these days I’m thinking of buying you your own gown and having it monogrammed.”

I shook my head. “You’re cranky.”

He was quiet a moment, then said, “You’re right, I wouldn’t have liked it. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

“At the house.”

“Smart. Did you turn the lights out?”

“Of course.” I took a deep breath. “I noticed that you’re working on your family history.”

“You went into my room?”

“I’m sorry. I just . . .” I stopped. I wasn’t sure why I had gone into his room. “What brought this on? The family history . . .”

“I don’t know,” he said. His voice softened. “There’s just something about getting older. You feel yourself drawn back.”

“Back where?”

“Back to your roots. When you get older something makes you want to know where you came from. Who knows? Maybe it’s a way to compensate for not knowing where you’re going.” He rubbed his chin. “These days they have all these online genealogy sites. I’ve met some relatives I didn’t even know I had. It’s been nice catching up.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were doing this?”

“You weren’t around.”

“I was here for two months. You never once mentioned that you were working on your history.”

“I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“I’m interested.”

I sensed that he was pleased.

“Do you mind if I read what you’ve written?”

“No. Of course not. Who else would want to?” A moment later he asked, “Is Nicole here?”

“She’s in the hall.”

“Good,” he said. “She’s a good girl.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “Was it hard seeing her? After your last parting?”

“It was a little awkward. But she’s been great.”

“She has a heart of gold,” he said. He paused a moment, then asked, “How about Falene? Did you find her?”

“Your friend Carroll found her. I haven’t talked to her yet.”

“Why not?”

“He just called yesterday. There was already too much on my mind.”

“You mean with me?”

“Yes.”

He took a deep breath. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I do worry . . .” I paused, suddenly filled with emotion. “I’m sorry I left. I should have been there for you.”

He looked at me for a moment, then said, “No. You did the right thing. You couldn’t have seen this coming. Hell, I didn’t see it coming. I’ve been eating wheat bread and egg whites for the last ten years, I jog two miles every day and never miss my morning calisthenics. I thought I was going to live forever.” He shook his head. “No, you did the right thing. You need to finish your walk.”

The room fell into silence. After a while he said, “Why don’t you tell Nicole to come in?”

“I’ll get her,” I said.

I walked out into the corridor. Nicole was standing near the door clutching a crumpled Kleenex. She looked
up at me as I came out. Her eyes were swollen. “My dad wants to see you.”

“I don’t know if I should go in,” she said. “I can’t stop crying.”

“It’ll be okay,” I said. “He wants you there.”

She wiped her eyes one more time, then walked to the side of my father’s bed and reached over the rail to take his hand. “Good morning,” she said.

“It is,” he said. “I’m with my two favorite people.” He looked into her eyes. “Why are you crying?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m a crier.”

“Me too,” he said. “It’s a curse.”

In spite of her tears, Nicole started laughing. Then my father did as well. “Come give me a hug,” he said. “Does this rail thing go down?”

Nicole dropped the side railing, and my father extended his arms toward her. She put her head on his chest and he put his arms around her, consoling her. She broke down crying. After a while she leaned back and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Everything will be okay.”

“I know,” she said. “I know you will.”

“So what’s on the agenda today?” I asked.

“I have no agenda,” he said.

“How about some chess?” I said.

“Chess will do.” He looked at Nicole. “Do you want to play?”

“I’ll watch,” she said.

The hospital had a chess set, and my father and I played just one game before he stopped to take a nap. He won, of course. I had never beaten him at chess. Even when I was young and he was teaching me he showed no mercy.

I stayed with him for the rest of the day, except when I went down to the cafeteria for lunch and Nicole spelled me.

He woke around two and ate lunch. We talked for several more hours, mostly about the last leg of my walk, though several times while we were talking he dozed off, once in the middle of a sentence. A nurse came in to check his vitals, and I asked her if sleeping this much was normal. She assured me that it was.

My father fell asleep around four and didn’t wake again until after six. He looked surprised to see us.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked. “Afraid you’re going to miss something?”

“We didn’t want to leave you alone,” Nicole said.

“I’ve spent most of my life alone,” he replied. “Why change things now? Besides, you’ve seen how often these nurses come banging in here. I couldn’t be alone if I wanted to.”

“Maybe we don’t want to go,” Nicole said. “You think it’s always about you?”

My father smiled. Nicole knew how to talk to him. While he ate his dinner, I helped him search the television for a channel with boxing. After he had settled in, Nicole and I said good night. Nicole kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Don’t come too early,” he said. “It’s a waste of your time. And you need your rest. You look more tired than I do.”

“Don’t be so bossy,” she said. He smiled at her. She squeezed his hand, then left the room.

My father said to me, “Good night, Son.”

“Night, Dad. See you in the morning.”

As I started to walk out he said, “Al.”

I turned back.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

Nicole was waiting for me in the hallway. “Want to get some dinner?” I asked.

“I’m glad you asked,” she said. “I’m starving.”

“Good,” I said. “I know a place.”

DiSera’s is an authentic little Italian restaurant with a wood-fired pizza oven, red checked tablecloths, paper menus, and centerpieces made from candles melted over empty wine bottles. There were black-and-white, framed photographs of pretty Italian girls on vintage Vespa scooters and a series of pictures of a young Sophia Loren.

The food was cheap and good, and even though my father and I didn’t eat out much, we had eaten here more times than I could remember. I had taken McKale here at least a dozen times on dates.

After the waitress had left with our order, Nicole asked, “Are you okay?”

“I’m all right.”

“It must be hard seeing your father like that.”

I nodded. “When you’re young you think of your parents as omnipotent—like Oz the Great and Powerful. Seeing him like this is like seeing the little man behind the curtain.”

“I know what you mean. I think every son or daughter eventually experiences that.”

“He’s been writing his family history.”

Nicole nodded. “I know. He told me a few weeks ago.”

I thought it peculiar that he’d tell her but not me. “I asked him why he was doing it. He said something was just drawing him to it. Mortality.”

Nicole shook her head. “He has plenty of life left in him.”

“I hope you’re right.” I took a drink of ice water. “How long are you going to stay?”

“As long as he needs me.”

“That could be a while,” I said.

“I know. I have the time.”

A few minutes later our waitress brought out our food, and we ate awhile in silence.

Nicole suddenly asked, “Did you find Falene?”

I looked up at her. “Just a few days ago.”

“How is she?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her yet. I’ve been too worried about my father.”

Nicole didn’t say anything, and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Fortunately, she didn’t say anything more about Falene. After dinner I drove Nicole back to her car in the hospital parking lot.

“Thank you for dinner,” she said.

“My pleasure.”

She looked sad as she lifted her purse. “Where did I put my key?”

“Why don’t you just stay at the house?” I said again. “It will get expensive staying at a hotel.”

“You sound like your father.”

“Is that bad?”

“No,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”

From the way she said it I was pretty sure she had already made up her mind not to. She rooted through her purse until she found her car key. “Found it. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night,” I replied.

She waved as she drove off to her hotel.

I suppose it was no mystery why she didn’t want to stay at the house. I couldn’t give her what she wanted. I loved her, but I wasn’t
in
love with her. I don’t know why. She was beautiful, kind, loving, and fun to be with. In spite of Falene, part of me wished I were in love with Nicole. It would certainly have made things easier. Unfortunately, the heart rarely takes requests.

It was a little after ten when I pulled into the driveway. There was a package on the porch about the size of a shoe box. It was from someone named Pam. As I unlocked the door, I noticed another package lying sideways in the bushes. I practically had to climb over a bush to lift it out. There was a card on top. It was from another woman. Margie. I grinned. Pam was ruthless.

I walked into the kitchen and set both of the women’s packages on the counter, then went to the laundry room. I moved my underwear, socks, and T-shirts to the dryer and put in another load to wash. Then I walked to my father’s room and retrieved his family history, carrying it back to my own room. I lay on my bed and began to read.

INTRODUCTION

The history of a family begins with a name. Throughout history the name Christoffersen has been recorded in more than seventy different derivations, including Cristofori, Kristofer, and Christof. One might easily conclude that the Christoffersen name is of Christian origins, but that is incorrect. Christoffersen is of pre-Christian origin, derived from the Greek word
kristos,
which literally means “leader.” The Roman
Christopherus
is also from Greek with
the added
pher,
which means “to follow.” So Christoffersen literally means “leader to follow.”

While the name did not originate with Christianity, it was adopted by the Crusaders, who gave their children biblical names. Our surname, Christoffersen, is a variation of the Danish Kristoffersen.

I

Jon Kristoffersen/Finn Christoffersen

My great-grandfather, Jon Kristoffersen, was born in rural Denmark in 1882. He was the fourth of seven children and (as far as available records show) the only one in his family to emigrate.

Jon was born into a time of economic turmoil. Throughout the mid-1800s the Danish population had grown dramatically due to what some historians referred to as “the danger of peace, prosperity, and population.” Peacetime, combined with the introduction of vaccinations and the abundance of potato crops, drastically decreased mortality rates, creating a population surge that the country’s economy could not support. While these advances had many positive effects on the Danish people, they also created economic hardship for families like the Kristoffersens, who supported themselves through farming. Family farms could only be passed on to one child (typically the oldest son), which created a predicament, as most Danish farming families had many children.

Children from families like the Kristoffersens knew there was little hope that they would ever gain the capital needed to buy their own farms, and jobs outside of the family farm became scarce as more and more children of
farmers became adults and sought to make their own way in the world. When Jon came of age, he found work as a farmhand for a very low wage and kept his eye open for something better.

Around this time a wave of Danes began immigrating to the United States. Their letters home described a land of opportunity where the government sold large tracts of land and a man could become successful so long as he worked hard. Danish newspapers began publishing the letters, and although many of their claims were exaggerated, they were effective in catching the attention of young men like my great-grandfather, who decided to immigrate to the United States.