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my arm. “I know this is a dumb question, but is there anything I can do?”
    “I wish there were.” After a moment I asked, “Have you ever been married?”
    She hesitated. “No.”
    “Are you from Spokane?”
    “I was born here. But my family moved to Minnesota when I was eight. I got a job offer a few months ago and decided to move back.”
    “So what’s it like being a police dispatcher?”
    She shrugged. “It’s not dull, but it’s depressing. Seems all day long I witness the worst of mankind.”
    “I never thought of that. Where in Minnesota are you from?”
    “Near Lake Minnetonka in Wayzata.”
    “I’ve never been to Minnesota. I hear it’s beautiful.”
    “It’s cold,” she said shortly. “Very cold.”
    From her expression I guessed that she wasn’t just talking about the weather.

CHAPTER

Six
    In college I took a social psychology course, something I thought useful for a career in advertising. Psychologists tested the story of the Good Samaritan. What they learned gives us reason to pause. The greatest determinant of who stopped to help the stranger in need was not compassion, morality, or religious creed. It was those who had the time. Makes me wonder if I have time to do good. Apparently, Angel does.
    Alan Christoffersen’s diary
    Early the next morning I was reading the newspaper when Norma walked into my room with her chart. I was testing my legs as I read, lifting one at a time and holding it for as long as I could, which, pitifully, could be measured in microseconds.
    “Hi,” she said. She looked a little stressed.
    I set down the paper. “How are you today?” I asked.
    “Fine. The $100,000 question is, how are you?”
    “Still here.”
    “Did you hear …?” she hesitated. “The boy died.”
    “Who?”
    “The boy who stabbed you.”
    I shook my head. “No.” I wasn’t sure how to respond. I wasn’t even sure what to feel. Revenge, justice, pity, sadness? The truth is, I didn’t feel anything.
    After a moment she said, “The doctor will be in to see you this afternoon.”
    “Will she tell me when I can go?”
    “I think so.” She checked one of my monitors, then asked, “Are you ready to try to walk again?”
    “Sure,” I said.
    “I’ve got a few other patients I need to see, then I’ll be back.” She walked out.
    I lay back and sighed. I wasn’t feeling any better than I was before.
    A half hour after breakfast Norma walked back into my room holding the gait belt. “Let’s do this.”
    She clamped off my catheter, then I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed a little too quickly. I clenched my teeth with pain.
    “Just a moment,” Norma said. “Before you try again, I want to ask you something.”
    I looked at her expectantly. “Yes?”
    “Why do you want to walk? What’s your number-one reason?”
    “So I can take out this”—I restrained from swearing—“catheter.”
    She looked at me thoughtfully. “Angel told me that you’re walking to Key West. Is that true?”
    “I was trying.”
    “There’s got to be a story there.”
    I looked down for a moment. Then I said, “In the last month I’ve lost my wife, my home, and my business.”
    Her expression changed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” She gently touched my arm. “So that’s why you’re walking.”
    “Walking is what’s been keeping me going. Without Key West, I have nothing.”
    She nodded slowly. “Don’t forget that. Now let’s walk.”
    I again set my feet on the floor and began to shift my weight. Actually, the pain wasn’t as severe as it had been the day before. “I’m ready,” I said.
    Norma grabbed my arm as I forced myself to my feet, bracing against the pain. I took a step forward. Pain again seared through my body, but somehow it lacked the severity of before.
I can handle that
, I thought. I took another step, paused, then took another. “I can do this,” I said.
    “I know you can,” Norma said.
    I took six more steps, then stopped.