Walking on Water: A Novel (7 page)

“What did she say to that?”

“Nothing. She just grunted. Her selfishness carried its own punishment. She died alone. They found her body by the smell. They guessed she had already been dead for at least five days.” He moved his queen. “Check.”

I shook my head again.

“You’re too impatient,” he said again.

“It’s my curse,” I said. “Always has been.”

“It’s not a curse, it’s a habit.”

“Same thing,” I said.

“Sometimes,” he replied.

My father took a nap around ten thirty. Nicole arrived a little before noon. My father was still sleeping, so we went down to the cafeteria for coffee. She asked how my father was, but for the most part she was quiet. She looked as if something was bothering her. I finally asked her what was wrong.

“Nothing.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“If you change your mind, I’m here.”

“I know.”

An hour later, we returned to my father’s room to find him awake. He looked especially happy to see Nicole.

“Hi, handsome,” Nicole said. She leaned over his bed and they embraced. “How are you feeling today?”

“Like a million bucks,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. But a million bucks ain’t what it used to be.”

Nicole laughed. They talked for a long while. Twice I walked around the unit to stretch my legs. About six o’clock my father was getting sleepy again.

“You two run along,” he said. “I’m going to rest a little. Or maybe a lot. Go to a movie or something.”

“We’re not going to a movie,” Nicole said. “There’s nothing I want to see.”

“It doesn’t matter what you watch, as long as it’s more interesting than me.”

“What could be more interesting than you?” She kissed him on the cheek. “Good night, Bob.”

As we walked out of the hospital I asked Nicole if she’d like to get some dinner.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll just go back to the hotel.”

I looked at her quizzically. “Are you sure? You’ve got to eat.”

“I’m sure. Good night.”

“Good night,” I said. As I watched her walk to her car, I wondered what I had done.

I stopped at Vons grocery store on the way home and picked up a stack of TV dinners, some fruit and nuts, and a case of bottled water, something I never would have done had my father been home. (He couldn’t understand why someone would pay for water when you could get it for free.)

When I got home there was a plate of sugar cookies on the doorstep. I heated up one of the dinners in the microwave, ate, then went to my room and continued reading from the family history.

II

Peter Christoffersen

My father, Peter, was a lanky, quiet child. Some called him withdrawn. He was known for having a fierce temper and was in more than a few fights with boys often much older and bigger than him. Considering the circumstances in which he was born, it’s no surprise that he was of such a temperament. He was ten years old at the time of his father’s death—old enough to recognize
his mother’s hand in it. To his dying day he never forgave her.

Nine weeks after Finn’s death, Genevieve sold the store in Butte and, with the five thousand dollars she received from her husband’s insurance, moved the family to Denver, Colorado. For a while, they lived a life of relative ease and prosperity. Peter took an apprenticeship with a local print shop setting type, but soon found he didn’t have the patience for the work. For a time he also sold newspapers.

In 1941, when Peter was fifteen, Genevieve married a man named Winton Clark, a worker at the local Eaton Metal Products Company. Winton was a violent man who drank too much. He frequently beat Genevieve and the boys. One November night Winton came home late from work, drunk and belligerent. Finding his dinner cold, he began beating Genevieve. When Peter tried to intervene, Winton beat him so severely that his life was only spared by his mother’s pleading.

Several hours later, after Winton had fallen asleep, Peter washed the blood from his face, packed a knapsack, said goodbye to his brother and sister, then struck Winton over the head with a heavy cast-iron skillet, emptied his pockets of $1.43, and left home for good.

Peter took a bus to a Denver army enlistment center, where he lied about his age and signed up to fight. The tide of the war was already turning as the Axis powers were stopped in Stalingrad and Midway. Peter was enrolled in the infantry and was eventually sent with the Allied troops to Utah Beach, where he saw the sand run red with blood and foam. His battalion pushed on to liberate France, then saw action in the Battle of the Bulge. He
marched with the 99th Division in Moosburg as they freed the POWs. In his own words:

It was war, and I saw and did things that must change a man for the rest of his days.

Peter was honorably discharged thirty-six days after V-E Day (1945). He returned to Denver to see his brother and sister. His mother was still married to Winton, who had boasted that he’d beaten Peter “within an inch of his life” and vowed to “take him the final inch” should he ever “show his sorry face” in the home again. Unfortunately for Winton, Peter was now not only larger and stronger than him but battle hardened and trained in combat. He had killed men in war whom he had far less reason to dislike than Winton.

After taking a sound beating from Peter, Winton, who ironically was saved when Genevieve intervened, locked himself in his room and threated to call the police if Peter ever returned. The last thing Peter said to Genevieve was “Congratulations, Mother. You have found a man of your own quality.”

Peter learned that his sister had married and moved to Pueblo, Colorado. His brother, Thomas, had also attempted to enlist in the army but, looking much younger than Peter, was rejected. Instead, he followed his grandfather’s trade and went to work in the Kennecott Copper Mine in Bingham, Utah. In a cruel twist of irony, Thomas had been killed in a mining accident, thousands of miles away from the war.

Postwar America was a place of unbridled consumerism, and Peter got a good-paying job managing a downtown Denver appliance store, where he worked for several years. On October 17, 1947, at the age of twenty-one, he
married Sara Krys White, a pretty waitress at the Rise’n Shine Diner, where he stopped every morning for coffee and pie. Sara baked her own wedding cake, and their wedding consisted of a brief ceremony held at the diner. That same day, Peter learned that his stepfather, Winton, had been killed in an automobile accident. Peter said it was the best wedding present he got.

He didn’t attend his stepfather’s funeral, though he later said he regretted not being there. “Not that I wished to pay my respects to the louse; rather, I wished to see the man in a state he most decidedly deserved.”

I put the book down. I never knew my grandfather, but I could see how his temperament had influenced my father. Still, in many ways, my father was nothing like him. My dad had always been strict and serious of nature, but he wasn’t violent. He had never spanked me and he rarely raised his voice. My father had done a lot to cultivate our family tree.

The next morning my father was in the best mood he’d been in since I’d returned. I again cleared off his breakfast tray and set up the chess set.

“You got more cookies last night.”

“From who?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“I suppose not,” he said.

“I also read more in the history.”

“How far did you get?”

“To just before you’re born.”

“You’re just getting to the good part,” he said, smiling.

We started playing. A few moves in I asked, “Remember that time we went to that dude ranch in Wyoming?”

“Juanita Hot Springs. I mention it in the book.”

“Was that your idea or Mom’s?”

“Your mother’s,” he said. “I remember a horse almost ran away with you. You never liked horses after that.”

“I didn’t like them before,” I said. “I like them less now.”

He frowned. “Of course. McKale . . .”

“Did Mom know she had cancer then? During that trip?”

He nodded. “That’s why we went on the trip. She wanted to create as many memories for you as she could.” His voice became thoughtful. “You were the sun, moon, and stars to her. The last thing she said to me was ‘Take
care of our boy.’ ” He paused for a moment, then looked me in the eyes. “Did I?”

“Did you what?”

“Take care of you.”

“Of course you did.”

“I wonder sometimes. I didn’t do the job that she would have. That wasn’t going to happen. When we got married I warned her that I wasn’t good with children.”

“What did Mom say to that?”

“You know her, hope springs eternal . . .”

“No, I didn’t know that about her.”

“No, I guess you wouldn’t. But she was the most hopeful person I have ever known. She said we’d just learn together. She told me that the most important things a parent could give a child were roots and wings. She said she’d provide the roots and I could teach you how to fly. I figured I could handle that part. I just didn’t expect that she wouldn’t be around.” He frowned. “You spent most of your time with McKale anyway.”

“Did that bother you?”

“No. I figured you needed the feminine interaction, and she filled the void.”

“Did you ever think we would end up together?”

“No. Those things don’t usually work out. But I thought it was good for you in the meantime.” He went back to examining the board. “So what are you going to do with the rest of your life after your walk?”

“That’s a good question,” I said.

“Does it have a good answer?”

I looked up at him. “Lately I’ve been reconsidering things. I’m thinking that maybe I’ll go to work in-house for an advertising agency. It doesn’t have the growth potential of opening my own company, but it would be
okay. I’d get the satisfaction of creativity without the pain of bill collecting or hassling with clients . . .”

“Or having someone steal your clients?” my father said. His gaze leveled on mine. “You’re too talented to limit yourself, Al.” He lifted one of the bishops he’d taken from me. “The past makes a good bishop but a poor king.”

“What does that mean?” I said.

“It means that it’s good to take counsel from the past but not to be ruled by it. Otherwise we end up using today to fight yesterday’s battles and miss tomorrow’s promise.”

“That’s pretty profound,” I said.

“So what are you going to do with the rest of your life?”

“Stick around and find out.”

“I’m planning on it.”

Hearing him say that made me feel good.

“Is Nicole coming by today?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I think being around me is hard on her.”

“Maybe.” He frowned. “Be good to her.”

“Of course I will.”

“Did you call Falene?”

“No.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’d better figure it out.”

My father was asleep when Nicole arrived at the hospital that afternoon. She looked as upset as she had the day before. “How is he?” she asked.

“Good,” I said. Then I added, “He looks better than you do.” She just kind of shrugged. “Do you want to talk?”

She slowly breathed out. “Okay.”

We walked out of his room. The ICU waiting room wasn’t crowded and we sat in a vacant corner.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

She looked down for a moment, then slowly shook her head. “This is hard.”

“I know how much he means—”

She looked up. “I don’t mean your father, I mean us. Do you have any idea how hard it is to love someone who doesn’t love you back?”

“I do love you.”

“I don’t mean like that,” she said. “I don’t know what I was thinking, coming here. I thought I could ignore my feelings, or that maybe they would just go away. But they’re not.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “They just get stronger. I love you too much to just be friends.”