Walking on Water: A Novel (15 page)

“Thank you. He was a good man.”

“Nicole said that all the time. She’s going to miss him.”

“We all will,” Nicole said.

“So how’s school?” I asked.

“It’s going really well,” Kailamai said.

“Straight As,” Nicole said.

“And I met someone.”

Nicole’s eyes widened.

“Someone?” I asked.

“His name is Matt. He’s also prelaw. He’s pretty special.”

“This is news,” Nicole said.

“Well, you’ve been gone like two weeks. Things happen fast with me.”

“Apparently,” Nicole replied.

“You’ll meet him when we get back. If you ever come back.”

“I’m coming back,” Nicole said.

Kailamai turned to me. “How far have you gotten on your walk? The last I heard you were in Alabama.”

“I made it to the northern border of Florida—a little town called Folkston.”

“Are you still going to finish?”

“I’m planning to.”

“And we’re planning on being there when you arrive in Key West,” she said. “So just make sure you don’t do it around any of my finals.”

Nicole rolled her eyes.

After we had started eating, Kailamai said, “So a woman is sitting in a bar when someone says, ‘Hey, you’re really hot.’ She looks around but can’t see anyone looking at her. Then she hears, ‘Is that a new blouse? You’re lookin’ good, girl.’ She suddenly realizes that it’s the bowl of pretzels in front of her that’s talking. She tries to ignore it and orders a Chardonnay. The pretzels say, ‘Hmm, Chardonnay. You’re one classy babe.’ The woman says to the bartender, ‘Hey, your pretzels keep saying nice things to me.’ The bartender replies, ‘They do that. They’re complimentary.’ ”

“You live with this?” I asked Nicole.

“Daily,” she said.

“She loves me,” Kailamai said.

Nicole lifted a piece of sushi with her chopstick. “I do,” she replied. “But I also love raw tuna.”

I went to bed around ten while Kailamai and Nicole stayed in the kitchen and talked. As I plugged in my cell phone to recharge it, I received a text from Falene. All it said was that she would be in LA around noon. I texted back to see if she needed a ride or a place to stay, but she didn’t respond.

I woke the next morning to Nicole’s and Kailamai’s voices in the kitchen. I pulled on a robe and walked out. The kitchen was a mess.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Nicole said.

“What are you concocting in here?” I asked.

“Eggs Benedict,” Nicole replied. “It will be a few more minutes.”

I sat down at the table. Kailamai sat down next to me. “Do you want to hear a joke?”

I rubbed a hand across my face. “Sure.”

“A new preacher was asked to speak at a country funeral. He had never been to the area where the funeral was and he got lost in the woods. After wandering around for nearly an hour he came upon some men gathered around an open grave. The preacher apologized for being late and started in. Feeling bad that the deceased man only had the diggers around his grave, the preacher tried to make up for it by giving the best eulogy he could. He preached with such passion that even the workers were shouting, ‘Praise God’ and ‘Glory be!’

“After the eulogy one of the diggers said to the preacher, ‘Preacher, that was inspirin’. I ain’t never seen anything like that before, and I’ve been puttin’ in septic tanks for twenty years!’ ”

“Kailamai,” Nicole said indignantly. “Really?”

She flushed. “I asked if he wanted to hear it.”

“About a funeral?” Nicole said.

“I’m sorry,” Kailamai said.

“It’s okay,” I said. I whispered to her, “It was pretty funny.”

Kailamai grinned furtively. “I thought so.”

A few minutes later Nicole brought over our breakfasts.

“You really don’t need to go to all this trouble,” I said. “I’m used to eating light.”

“Who said I’m doing it for you?” she said, grinning.

After Kailamai went upstairs to get ready, Nicole said, “I’m sorry about that joke. Kailamai doesn’t know how to deal with death.”

“That makes two of us,” I said. “After all she’s been through, it’s amazing the changes she’s made. You’ve done a remarkable job with her.”

“Thank you,” Nicole said. “Sometimes I feel like I’m her mother.”

“You are,” I said.

She smiled. A moment later she asked, “Have you heard from Falene?”

“Just a text. She said her flight will be in around noon.”

“That’s good.” She breathed out. “Are you picking her up?”

“I offered, but she never responded.”

“Give her some time,” Nicole said. “Things will work out.”

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Unlike Nicole, I hadn’t really thought about what I would wear to the viewing, and I ended up running out at the last moment to buy some loafers, a dress shirt, and a two-piece suit. I got home just in time to shower and get dressed. I borrowed one of my father’s ties.

Before leaving I went to my room and got the letter that Falene had written. I folded it in half and put it in my coat pocket.

Nicole suggested that we drive separately to the funeral home, so I would be free to stay out late with Falene. I wondered why I still hadn’t heard from her.

The viewing was scheduled to start at six, and at the funeral director’s request we arrived an hour early. I had taken just a few steps into the chapel when I froze. Seeing the casket at the front of the room brought forth a rush of such painful memories that I had to sit down. Nicole stood next to me, rubbing my back. It took me several minutes before I could look at my father’s body.

He was dressed in his navy blue suit with a solid, light blue tie and a matching handkerchief. After I had walked away from the casket Nicole and Kailamai approached. Nicole said softly, “He looks good.”

“For being dead,” Kailamai replied.

“Stop it,” Nicole said.

“I’m sorry,” Kailamai said.

The chapel wasn’t large, but it was more than sufficient for the modest attendance we expected. In one corner of the room there was a Steinway grand piano. Near the entryway there was a round burled walnut table with an easel
holding a gold-framed picture of my father in his military dress uniform and a wedding picture of my parents. There was also a felt-lined case of his war medals, something my mother had put together for him before I was born. I hadn’t provided the memorabilia, so I assumed my father had left it with them years before.

A few minutes before six o’clock a woman sat down at the piano and began playing “The Impossible Dream” from
Man of La Mancha
. If lives had theme songs, “The Impossible Dream” would have been my father’s.

Guests began arriving a few minutes before the hour. There was a sizable crowd, much larger than I’d expected. It was a testament to the man my father was. I believe every client he’d ever had was there.

I stood next to the casket and thanked people for coming. Some of them were grieving heavily, and I heard story after story about how good my father had been to people. I felt sad that I hadn’t known all this about him, but my father wasn’t one to talk about the good that he’d done.

There were many women, some whose names I recognized from the packages that had been left on the doorstep over the last few weeks. An attractive, middle-aged woman with short, dark hair introduced herself as Gretchen O’Connor. I remembered the name from the family history. She was the woman my father almost married. I noticed that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

There were many of my father’s buddies from Vietnam. They approached the casket as a group. They spoke of my father’s courage and leadership. One told me that a common occurrence in Vietnam was fragging, where platoon leaders were so disliked by their soldiers that they were killed by grenades thrown by their own men. He
said, “That never would have happened with your father. Every one of us would have taken a bullet for him.” As he said this all the men nodded in agreement.

An hour into the viewing Nicole brought me a glass of water. “Are you doing okay?”

“Yes.”

“Has she come?”

“Not yet,” I said.

“She’ll come,” she said.

It was a little past eight thirty when I saw Falene standing at the end of the line, near the chapel entrance. As always she looked strikingly gorgeous. Still, she looked different. Though she always dressed nicely, tonight her clothes looked
expensive
. It might sound strange to say it, but
she
looked expensive—her makeup and jewelry and shoes, even the way she carried herself. Her new world had changed her appearance. I wondered if the change was more than skin deep.

Our glances met, and I motioned for her to come up. Her beautiful brown eyes were filled with tears as she put her arms around me. “I’m so sorry, Alan. You don’t deserve this.”

I just held her. After we separated she said, “I’m sorry I’m so late.”

“I was wondering if you were going to make it.”

“Me too,” she said. “The taxi driver took me to the wrong place. Twice. He barely spoke English.”

“I’m glad you made it,” I said. “You look beautiful.”

She smiled sadly. “So do you.” She glanced back at the line of mourners. “You have a lot of people here. We
can talk after you’re done.” We embraced once more, then she walked to the back of the room.