Free Miles to Go by Richard Paul Evans

blower. He was huffing from exertion and his glasses were frosted with snow. He wiped them with the back of his mitten. “What can I do for you?”
    “I’m Alan Christoffersen. We met a few days ago.”
    He gazed intently at me, as if trying to remember.
    “I’m Angel’s friend. Did Angel ever get back to you on the lease?”
    I could tell that he still wasn’t sure who I was. “No. Not yet.”
    “She says that she plans to.”
    “Well, tell her not to wait too long. I’ve got a bird in the hand.”
    “I’ll do that.” He started to bend over to restart his blower when I asked, “May I ask you something?”
    “You just did.”
    I ignored the comment. “A few days ago when you came by the apartment you asked for Nicole. Who is Nicole?”
    A grim look crossed his face. “I think that if Angel wanted you to know, she’d tell you herself.”
    “I’m trying to help Angel. I may be her closest friend.”
    He frowned. “If you were a close friend, you’d already know.” He reached down and pulled on the rope to start the blower. The machine roared to life on the first pull. I stepped out of the way as the old man stormed by in a cascade of snow.
    That evening Angel arrived home from work a little later than usual, and it was already completely dark out. It was obvious that she’d had another bad day, as she barely spoke to me.
Moody again
, I thought. Sitting down to dinner, I asked, “Are you okay?”
    She nodded but didn’t speak.
    “We’re on movie number sixty-eight,
An American in Paris.”
    She didn’t respond. The only sounds from our meal were the clinking of fork and knife. Once again the silence became painful.
    The fact that she was avoiding eye contact with me made me wonder if the problem had something to do with me.
    Finally, I broke the silence. “Thanksgiving is only a week away. Do you have any plans?”
    “No.”
    “Do you want to go out?”
    “I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving,” she said. Back to silence. Halfway through the meal I gave up. “Okay, did I do something to offend you?”
    She slowly looked up, as if deciding whether or not to answer. Finally, she said, “I talked to my landlord this afternoon. He said that you talked to him.”
    “He was out clearing the walk.”
    “I would appreciate it if you would stay out of my personalaffairs.” She stood up and walked to her bedroom. I sat there in a stupor. After a few more minutes I put our plates in the sink and went to my room. We both went to bed without another word.
    That night I woke again to her crying.

CHAPTER

Fifteen
    I can see clearly now. How could I have been so obtuse?
    Alan Christoffersen’s diary
    The next morning, for the first time since I’d arrived, I considered leaving. I wouldn’t be able to continue my walk, I wasn’t ready and neither was the weather, but I could always find someplace else in Spokane to stay.
    I looked through the phone book and found an extended-stay hotel just 2 miles from the house. Angel didn’t have a phone other than her cell phone, so I couldn’t call to check on vacancies, but at just 2 miles I thought I could make the walk.
    As I began to mentally plan my departure, I stopped myself.
After all Angel had done for me, could I really just walk out on her?
I knew I couldn’t. I was worried about her.
    I also still believed in the vision, that I was meant to meet Angel. Selfishly, I had assumed that meeting her was for my benefit, just like the other “angels” I had met so far on my walk, but now I realized that maybe I was sent here for her.
    It seemed to me that Angel was on a slope of sorts, and I didn’t know where or how far it fell. What I did know was that I, being the only one in her life, was probably her only hope. I decided to stay as long as there was a chance of helping.

    There hadn’t been any new snow for two days and the streets and walks were reasonably clear, so I decided to try my first long-distance excursion and walk with my empty pack 2½