“Okay.” She looked at me. “Do you mind if I ask you something about your wife?”
“No.”
“If you don’t want to talk about her, I understand.”
“It’s okay.”
“How did you lose her?”
“We lived in a suburb with a horse trail. She was riding one day and the horse got spooked and threw her. She broke her back.”
Her expression showed her distress. “I’m so sorry. Was she killed instantly?”
“No. She got an infection. She died a month later.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said again. She looked down for a moment. “I’ve wondered if it’s better to watch a loved one die over time, or to just lose them—never saying what you would have liked to say.”
“Watching her die wasn’t easy. But we said everything we needed to say. I guess if I had to do it again, I would choose to have that extra time together. But she was the one in pain, so I guess I’m selfish.”
“I don’t think that’s selfish. I think it’s beautiful.” She looked down at her plate. “I think I would choose the time too.”
The conversation stopped, swallowed into a cloud of sadness. After a moment Analise said, “That kind of killed the mood. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“No, it’s good to talk about it sometimes. I carry a lot of emotions and I never have a chance to let them out. Sometimes I think I’m going to explode.”
“How long was it after she passed away that you decided to walk?”
“Two days after her funeral. While I was taking care of her, I lost my business and our home was foreclosed on. The day after her funeral the bank gave me notice that they were taking my home.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Yeah, it was. I had nothing holding me there anymore so I just packed up and started to walk.”
“I know I asked you before, but really, why Key West?”
“It was the farthest place on the map.”
She let my words settle. Then she said softly, “I understand better than you know.” She forced a smile. “So before you started your walk, what did you do?”
“I owned an advertising agency.”
“That’s the business you lost?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
She suddenly smiled. “Did you wear your hair that long when you were a businessman?”
“No, believe it or not, I used to look respectable. Short hair, clean-shaven, Armani suits, and Brooks Brothers button-downs, heavy on the starch. You kind of let things go when you’re on the road.”
“It works, though. I think it’s rather rugged-looking. You look like one of those guys on the covers of the paperback romances we sell at the store.”
“You’re saying I look like Fabio?”
She cocked her head with a wide grin. “Maybe a little. You’re not Italian. And you’re not as buff.”
“I’m not as buff as Fabio?”
“Don’t get me wrong, you’re in good shape, but just not …”
“I know. Fabio buff.”
She smiled wryly. “Sorry.”
“So I’m not Fabio,” I said. “But I can do two things he can’t.”
She leaned forward. “Do tell.”
“First, I can use words with more than one syllable. And second,” I said, pausing for dramatic impact, “I do dishes.”
She gasped. “Wow. That is hot. I think you just edged out Fabio.”
“I thought so,” I said.
“Really? You do dishes?”
“Yes, I do. Come on,” I said, standing. “Let’s get them done.”
She stood. “You really don’t have to help.”
“Oh, good, because for a second there I thought you had a gun to my head and were making me do the dishes. Since you don’t, I’ll just go read or something while the exhausted, full-time working mother of two children who made the incredible dinner and invited me to stay in her home cleans up after me. Yes, I’ll feel really good about that.”
Analise laughed. “All right, you made your point. You wash, I’ll dry and put away.”
We carried our dishes to the kitchen, then, as she filled the sink with hot water, I cleared the rest of the table.
“What do you want to do with this?” I said, carrying in the half-full bowl of pasta.
“We’ll just put Saran over it and put it in the fridge. The wrap’s in that drawer right there, third down.”
I squatted down to the drawer. “Did you want to make a plate for your husband first?”
She looked at me quizzically. “What?”
“I thought maybe you would want to …” As I looked at her, I suddenly understood. I stood up, setting the bowl aside. “There is no husband …”
She didn’t answer at first. Then she said, “Of course I have a husband. There’s a picture of us in your room.”
“It’s an old picture.”
She didn’t say anything.
“What happened to him?”
She just stood there, looking at me anxiously. Neither of us spoke for what felt like minutes. Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I …” She took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. “I couldn’t really invite some strange man into my home.”
“The picture in my room …”
“That was taken three weeks before he was killed. Three years ago.”
“How was he killed?”
“Working. He was in a combine accident. He went to work one day and never came back.”
Suddenly everything made sense. Her interest in McKale. Our discussion about losing a loved one suddenly or over time. Her son’s behavior.
“How is your son dealing with it?”
“He’s very angry. I think he blames me sometimes. I know it’s not rational, but he’s a kid.”
“How are you taking it?”
She shook her head. “Not well. You know what it’s like. I can see why you would want to walk away. It’s been hard living here in this little town.”
“Why don’t you move?”
“I have no place to go. My friends are all here or in Tabor, and my siblings are all in the same financial boat that I’m in. My parents can’t help. They lost their farm a few years ago and are now living on welfare in Omaha. I would be too if it wasn’t for Matt’s parents. We didn’t have any life insurance. Matt said it was just a waste of money, since his parents have so much money and if anything happened, they’d take care of us.”
“And they do?”
“Yes. But it comes at a price. They won’t let me leave.”
“How can they stop you?”
“How can they not? If I leave, they’ll cut me off.”
“They told you that?”
“Directly,” she said.
“Could you sell your house?”
She shook her head. “Not in this market. Believe me, there’s not a lot of people moving into Sidney. Besides, my in-laws own the house. We borrowed the money from them.” She sighed. “I’m stuck. I have no skills, so I’d be working full-time just to survive in some dingy apartment while someone else raised my kids.”
“I don’t mean to be crass, but you could remarry.”
“Not in Sidney. The men are either married, twice my age, or there’s a clear reason why they’re not married. I’d just be trading one problem for another.”
“So you’re stuck.”
She nodded. “My in-laws want me to be stuck. A friend told me that my mother-in-law told her mother that they didn’t want me to remarry. They thought it would be too confusing for the kids and she was afraid I might take their grandchildren away. But I think there might be even more to it than that. My in-laws were really broken by Matt’s death. My father-in-law, Hank, was driving the combine when Matt was killed. I think he blames himself.
“What makes it even more complex is Hank’s own father died young and his mother never remarried. From things he’s said, I think he believes that remarrying would be dishonoring Matt. So, they financially force me
into doing what they want.”
“That’s not right,” I said.
“No, it’s passive-aggressive. It’s how Hank and Nancy get their way and still sing in the choir every Sunday with a clear conscience.” She sighed. “I’m sorry to unload this on you. It’s just so good to have someone I can talk to. There’s no one here I could say that to without it getting back to them. I’m sorry that I lied to you.”
“No, you’re in a tough spot. I understand.”
We both stood there a moment in silence. Finally, Analise looked around the kitchen and untied her apron. “It’s late. I’ll finish the dishes in the morning. I take the kids to school early then go to work, so if you decide to sleep in, just help yourself to breakfast. There’s fruit and yogurt in the fridge and cereal in the cupboard.”
“All right,” I said. “Thank you.”
She gazed at me for a moment, then smiled sadly. “Good night, Alan. It was nice visiting with you.”
“Good night, Analise. Thank you for everything.”
She laid her apron on the table, then with a last, furtive glance at me, went upstairs to her bedroom. I walked to my room and went to bed.
C H A P T E R
Eighteen
The trapped are less concerned
with rules than escape.
Alan Christoffersen’s diary
I don’t know what time it was when I woke. I’m not usually a light sleeper, but I woke to a dim light coming from outside my room. I looked over. Analise stood in the doorway, her petite figure silhouetted by the light from the foyer. She quietly shut the door, then walked over to the side of the bed. I lay there looking up at her. She was breathing heavily, but said nothing.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
For a moment she just looked at me. Then she knelt by the side of the bed. My room was bathed in the moon’s blue glow and I could see her eyes, dark and lonely and filled with hurt. “No. I’m not.” She took a deep breath. Then staring intently into my eyes, said, “Will you make love to me?”
For a moment I just stared at her. She looked vulnerable—beautiful, lonely, and vulnerable. My body screamed for her, but I slowly shook my head. “No.”
She lowered her head. After a moment she asked, “Aren’t I pretty enough?”
“It’s not that,” I said.
“Then what is it?”
“You’re not mine.”
She touched my arm. A tear rolled down her cheek. “I’ll be yours tonight,” she whispered. “I won’t ask anything of you. I won’t hold you to anything. I promise.”
I propped myself up on my elbow. “Analise …”
“I just want someone to love me.”
I looked into her eyes. “I understand. But I can’t.”
After a moment she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Do you want me to go?” I asked.
She was looking down, but shook her head. “No.” She rubbed her eyes. “You must think I’m horrible.”
“No. I don’t.”
She knelt there for another moment, then sighed and stood. “Good night.” She started to the door.
“Analise,” I said.
She stopped, slowly turning back. Her face was wet with tears.
“Come back.”
She just looked at me.
“Come here. Please.”
She walked slowly over to the side of my bed. I moved over, making a space for her. “Let me hold you.”
“But …”
I pulled down the sheets then took her hand. “Lay down. I just want to hold you.” She sat on the side of my bed then lifted her legs onto the bed next to me. I put my arms around her, pulling her tightly in, our faces next to each other. I whispered into her ear, “I know what it’s like to feel so lonely that you just don’t care anymore. You’re a good girl, you just hurt. I understand. I hurt too. I want you too. But I’m not ready to share what belonged only to McKale and me.”
She was staring into my eyes. Then it was as if some great emotional dam burst, because she began sobbing so hard that the bed shook. I held her tightly until her sobbing slowed to a whimper. Finally she stilled and fell asleep.
I leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You are so beautiful,” I said. I lay back and fell asleep too.
C H A P T E R
Nineteen
She is a rose, blooming amidst cornfields.
Alan Christoffersen’s diary
I woke the next morning to the first rays of dawn stealing through the room’s window. Analise was facing me, her eyes open. She looked soft and peaceful.
“Thank you,” she said, in a voice only slightly above a whisper, her breath warm on my face.
“For what?” I asked.
“For saying no and for holding me.”
“You’re beautiful,” I said.
“So are you.” She paused. “Do you think I’ll ever see you again?”
“I don’t know.”
“I hope so. I hope someday you come back on a white horse and save me.”
“Analise …”
She put her fingers on my lips to still them. “A girl needs her fantasies.” She laid her head against my chest, and I pulled her tight against me. Her warmth and softness were exquisite. She wasn’t McKale, but she was lovely.
After a few minutes Analise groaned slightly as she pulled away. “I better get up before the kids wake.”
“Wait,” I said. “What are you going to do now?”
“Get the kids ready for the day.”
I laughed. “I was thinking a little broader.”
“Like with my life?”
I nodded.
“I don’t know. But I feel so much better. I haven’t felt this peaceful since the day before Matt died.”
“You loved him,” I said.
“With all my heart.” She touched my face. “I’m glad your walk brought you through Sidney, Mr. Christoffersen.”
“So am I.”
She leaned forward and kissed my cheek, then climbed out of bed. She looked back from the door. “Bye.”
“Bye.”
She walked out, pulling the door shut behind her. I sighed, then lay back and looked at the ceiling. Then I got up and showered.
When I walked out of the room the two children were eating bowls of cereal, staring at the backs of the cereal boxes in front of them. Casey turned around and looked at me. “Hello, Mr. Christoffersen.”
“Hi, sweetie.”
“Are you going to be here tonight?”
“No. I’m going back out walking.”
She frowned.
Christian wouldn’t look at me.
“Hey, Christian,” I said.
“What?”
“I have something for you.”
He turned and looked at me. “What?”
I took my Swiss Army knife out of my pocket. “I thought you could use this.”
He sat there staring. I could tell he wanted it, but wasn’t sure how to accept the gift. I walked to the table and set it down next to his bowl. “It will come in handy with your Scouting.”
He nodded.
“Better not take it to school, though. I’m sure they frown on students bringing knives to school.”
He nodded again.
“Okay, you take care.”
He still didn’t say anything.
A few minutes later Analise walked into the dining room. She grabbed the milk carton. “Okay, kids. Run out to the car. I’ll be right out. Christian, don’t forget your pack.”
“Okay,” he said. Then he looked at me. “Thanks, Alan.” He grabbed the knife then walked over and picked up his pack.
Casey ran over and hugged me. “Good-bye, Mr. Christoffersen. Thanks for visiting.”
I smiled. “It was my pleasure.”
She went back and got her pack, then both kids walked out the front door.
Analise looked at me curiously. “What was that about?”
“Casey’s a sweet little girl.”
“No, with Christian.”
“I gave him a present. I hope it’s okay. It’s a Swiss Army knife.”
She shook her head. “He’s been asking for one for almost a year. I keep telling him no.”
“Sorry,” I said.
She grinned. “It’s okay. I’m just overprotective. Thank you for doing that for him.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Just a minute.” She left with the carton of milk, then returned. She walked up to me. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe I feel like I’m going to cry. I don’t even really know you.”
“You know me better than you think. We belong to the same club.”
She nodded. “I wish I could revoke my membership.”
“We all do.”
She stared into my eyes. “Thank you for giving me hope.” She took something out of her pocket. “Will you take this to Key West with you?”
“What is it?”
“It’s the bracelet I was making when I learned of Matt’s death.” It was a simple black cord with a small pewter oval that said, Believe.
I closed my hand around it. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. If you think of it, look me up sometime. You know where to find me.” We embraced. Then she looked into my face, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Bye.”
“Bye, Analise.”
She walked to the door, then turned around. “Just lock the door behind you.”
I nodded and she walked out. I went out to the porch and watched her climb into the truck. She glanced at me as she backed out. Casey waved. So did Christian. Then she drove away.
I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. I wondered if I would ever see her again. I examined the bracelet she’d given me and put it on my wrist. Then I went back inside. I grabbed a banana from the counter, then lifted my pack up over my shoulders, and stepped back out onto the porch. I checked the door to make sure it was locked and pulled it shut.
At the edge of the yard I stopped and looked back at the house. Just another story under the sun, I thought. Then I turned back to the street. It took me less than twenty minutes to cross out of Sidney.
The Road to Grace Page 13