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funeral when I was in emotional shambles. She had personally overseen the selling of all of my things and put the money in an account to fund my walk. She had always been there, asking for nothing in return. Besides my father, she was the only person I knew I could trust my life to. And when you find someone in your life like that, you’re a fool to let them go.
    Apparently, I was a fool.

CHAPTER
Six
I’ve returned to my childhood home. Little has changed, including my father. I don’t mean this derogatively. In a tumultuous sea a small anchor goes a long way.
Alan Christoffersen’s diary

Our flight to LAX was broken up by a layover in Cincinnati. The moment my father and I exited the jetway, I took out my phone and dialed Falene’s number. It rang once, followed by a phone service message.
We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service .
    After we’d sat down, my father said, “Falene?”
    “She’s disconnected her phone. I have no idea where to find her.” I looked at my father. “She didn’t leave you any contact information?”
    “No. Don’t you know where she lives?”
    “Not anymore. She moved to New York City.”
    “How hard could it be to find her there?”
    I looked at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
    He nodded. “Yeah.” After a moment he said, “I’m surprised that you didn’t see it.”
    I glanced up at him. “See what?”
    “That she loves you.”
    “I wasn’t looking,” I said.
    My father looked at me thoughtfully. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. I don’t know if you remember, but forGrandpa’s seventieth birthday he went back to Utah Beach to see where he had fought on D-Day. Do you know what struck him as most peculiar about the experience? He said, ‘I never noticed how beautiful the beach was. I guess a million bullets will change your perspective.’ ”
    “No one’s firing bullets at me,” I said.
    “Don’t kid yourself, you’ve had your own war. With casualties.”
    I shook my head. “I just can’t even think about replacing McKale.”
    “No, no one can replace McKale. And trying to do so would only bring misery. There’s only one reason for remarrying.” He held up his index finger. “Just one.”
    “Love?” I said.
    “Joy. You marry because it enhances joy.”
    I thought over his words. “I just feel so selfish. I’ve been so consumed with my pain that I . . .”
    My father put his hand on my knee. “Cut yourself some slack, son. You’re entitled.”
    “To what? Self-pity?”
    “No,” he said firmly. “To your grief. Grief isn’t a luxury, it’s an appropriate response to loss. You don’t just will it away. If you allow it to run its course, it will fade with time, but if you ignore it or pretend it doesn’t exist, it only gets worse.”
    I breathed out slowly. “I guess so.”
    “May I give you some advice?”
    “Sure.”
    “Let it settle. You don’t know if Falene will change her mind and come back. And we still don’t know how bad this tumor is. Let’s focus on one problem at a time.”
    “All right,” I said. “That’s good advice.”
    My father looked content. Few things pleased him more than people liking his advice.

    I started feeling dizzy again, so I took a Dramamine and slept through the entire next leg of our flight, which touched down in LAX around six o’clock. We picked up our luggage, then I waited with it at the curb while my father brought his car around. We stopped on the way home at a Jack in the Box. I wasn’t hungry, so my father ordered his meal to go. Then we continued on to the house of my youth.
Even without her, McKale’s home is still a memorial to my first and only love.
    Alan Christoffersen’s diary
    I hadn’t been back to Pasadena for more than four years. I was surprised by the depth of emotion I felt at seeing McKale’s childhood home next door. The house looked serene and unchanged, as if no one had informed it that its former occupant had passed away.
    My father