Walking on Water: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

I was.
    “Hi,” I said softly.
    He swallowed, then pursed his lips, wetting them with his tongue. “What are you doing here?”
    “Nicole called.”
    “Did you finish your walk?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because Nicole called.”
    “You came all the way back because I was in here?”
    “Of course I did.”
    He closed his eyes again and slowly breathed out. “You should have finished your walk. Let the dead bury the dead.”
    “You’re not dead,” I said.
    “Not yet,” he replied.
    I raked my hair back with my fingers. “What does that mean anyway? The dead don’t do burials. The dead don’t do anything but rot.”
    “No one knows,” he said. “It’s in the Bible.”
    “Since when do you read the Bible?”
    “I read a lot of things,” he said. “Fiction and nonfiction.”
    I almost asked him which one he considered the Bible to be, but I held back. “Your neighbor came by. She brought some muffins.”
    “Diane?”
    “No.”
    “Who?”
    With so much on my mind, I had already forgotten her name. “I don’t remember. She was blond. Pretty.”
    “Susie?”
    “That’s the one,” I said. “How many girlfriends do you have?”
    “None that I know of. They just come over sometimes. Susie’s a divorcée. I help her with stuff around the house sometimes and we play tennis every now and then. Tell her thank you if you see her again.”
    “She’s a beautiful woman.”
    “How far did you get?”
    I grinned. “With Susie?”
    He didn’t smile. “On your walk .”
    “Florida.”
    “Did you walk through the Okefenokee Swamp?”
    “Not through it. Around it.”
    “On Highway One?”
    “Yes. You’ve been there?”
    “No. Almost.”
    More silence. He reached up and adjusted the oxygen tube that ran to his nose.
    “Do you need any help?” I asked.
    “No.” He put his hand back down. “They’ve got me strung up like a marionette. Has the doctor talked to you?”
    “Yes.”
    “What did he tell you?”
    “He said you’re going to be okay.”
    “You don’t need to lie. I know what happened. Damage to the LAD. They call it the widow maker.”
    “He didn’t say you were going to die.”
    “They never tell you you’re going to die.”
    “They tell people they’re going to die all the time,” I said. “ If they’re going to die.”
    He didn’t reply.
    “I’m not lying,” I said. “I’m just more positive than you are.”
    “I’m positive,” he said. “That I’m probably going to die.”
    “That’s not helpful,” I said.
    “I’m not trying to be helpful. I’m being honest.”
    “Being negative is no more honest than being positive. You should be more positive. Attitude is everything. You always used to tell me that. How would you have felt if I had talked that way when I was in the hospital?”
    “Which time? You spend so much time in hospitals these days I’m thinking of buying you your own gown and having it monogrammed.”
    I shook my head. “You’re cranky.”
    He was quiet a moment, then said, “You’re right, I wouldn’t have liked it. Sorry.”
    “It’s okay,” I said.
    “Where are you staying?” he asked.
    “At the house.”
    “Smart. Did you turn the lights out?”
    “Of course.” I took a deep breath. “I noticed that you’re working on your family history.”
    “You went into my room?”
    “I’m sorry. I just . . .” I stopped. I wasn’t sure why I had gone into his room. “What brought this on? The family history . . .”
    “I don’t know,” he said. His voice softened. “There’s just something about getting older. You feel yourself drawn back.”
    “Back where?”
    “Back to your roots. When you get older something makes you want to know where you came from. Who knows? Maybe it’s a way to compensate for not knowing where you’re going.” He rubbed his chin. “These days they have all these online genealogy sites. I’ve met some relatives I didn’t even know I had. It’s been nice catching up.”
    “Why