Walking on Water: A Novel (18 page)

The two women I had met the night before were sitting at the main table, joined by a man I hadn’t met. He was wearing a short-sleeved Harley-Davidson shirt.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Morning,” they returned in a chorus. The man stood and extended his hand. “I’m William. Kelly’s husband.”

“I’m Kelly,” the blond-haired woman said. “We didn’t share names last night.”

“And I’m Naomi,” the redhead said.

“It’s a pleasure,” I said. “My name is Alan.”

At the sound of my entrance, Ted emerged from the kitchen, smiling. “Good morning, Mr. Christoffersen.”

“Alan,” I said.

“I just like saying your last name,” he replied. “Must be the pastor in me. Please, Alan, take a seat.”

“May I join you?” I asked the others.

“Of course,” Naomi said.

I pulled out a chair and sat down at the long table.

Ted stood at the end of the room, clasping his hands in front of him as if he were about to address a congregation. “This morning we have eggs and bacon, fruit, and homemade biscuits from scratch.” He winked. “Maybe not from scratch. A pastor shouldn’t lie.” He looked at me. “Now, Alan, you’re not from the South. Have you had grits?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve walked through Tennessee, Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia, so I’ve eaten a bucket of them. Maybe a wheelbarrow.”

Ted laughed. “Glad to hear it. I’m especially partial to ours.”

“Then I look forward to trying them.”

He walked back to the kitchen.

“Did you say you walked through all those states?” William asked.

“Yes. And many more. I’m walking across America. I started in Seattle, Washington.”

“Oh my,” Naomi said.

“What’s your profession?” William asked.

“Right now it’s walking,” I said.

“How does it pay?”

“It doesn’t,” I said. “In my former life I owned an advertising agency in Seattle.”

“That explains it,” William said. “Lots of money in advertising.”

“There can be,” I replied.

“How many miles are we from Seattle?” Naomi asked.

“Nearly three thousand,” I replied.

She shook her head. “The stories you must have to tell.”

“I have a few.”

“Where are you headed?” William asked.

“Key West,” I said.

“Key West’s a little more than five hundred miles from here,” William said. “You taking the Ninety-Five?”

“You can’t walk the Ninety-Five,” Kelly said. “It’s an expressway.” She turned to me. “And they’ve always got it tore up. Take the One—the Old Dixie Highway. It ends in Key West.”

“No, he should take the A1A,” Naomi said. “That’ll give you the prettiest view of the ocean.”

“The A1A doesn’t go all the way through,” William said. “He’d have to backtrack.”

“I’ll probably do a little of each,” I said. “I’ve looked through my maps, but I’m sure things will change. I’ve learned that the maps aren’t the road.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Kelly said.

Ted and Alease’s teenage daughter, Mariah, came out of the kitchen carrying a glass of orange juice. She was a pretty, tall girl wearing a yellow apron and a bright crimson blouse that seemed to glow against her smooth ebony skin. She seemed a little shy as she set the glass in front of me.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome,” she said, walking back to the kitchen. A moment later she returned with a bowl of fruit topped with yogurt and granola.

“Thank you,” I said again.

She smiled. “You’re still welcome.”

I was hungry and the fruit tasted good. My table companions let me eat a moment in silence. Then William said, “Did you come down from Waycross?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you visit the swamp?”

“I took the tour.”

“The tour’s better down here,” Kelly said. “It’s federal run. You should take it.”

“I don’t think I’ll have the chance,” I said. “I’ve got to get on my way.”

“How far do you walk each day?” Naomi asked.

“It depends. I’ve gone as far as thirty miles.”

“Lord, almighty,” she said.

“But I usually walk around twenty to twenty-four.”

“Is it dangerous?” Kelly asked.

“Of course it’s dangerous,” William said. “There’s a lot of crazies out there.” He turned to me. “I’d be carrying if I were you.”

“Sometimes it’s dangerous,” I said. “I walked over those tracks last night. That seemed a little dangerous.”

Naomi nodded. “With this many trains you’ve got to keep both eyes open. We’ve had our losses. Like Uncle George and Beth.” She looked at Kelly.

Kelly frowned. “Yes, George and Beth.”

“They were killed by a train?” I asked.

“About four years ago,” Kelly replied.

“Darndest thing,” William said, shaking his head.

“What happened?”

“They were coming back from Chucky’s baptism—”

“Chucky’s their grandson,” Naomi said.

“It was late,” Kelly said. “Their car stalled on the
tracks and George couldn’t get it going again. Then he heard a train coming. He got out and went to help Beth out of the car, but she panicked and locked the door.”

“They were older,” Naomi said. “In their eighties.”

“Beth wasn’t all there,” William said. “Hadn’t been for years.”

Naomi added, “George’s friend, Marshall, was in a wheelchair across the street. He saw it all.”

Kelly looked annoyed. “Will you please just let me tell the story?”

“Sorry,” William said.

“I was saying, Beth locked the car door. George pled with her to open the door, but she wouldn’t. Then he looked down the track at the coming train, walked back to the driver’s seat, and got in.”

“The train took both of them,” Naomi said.

“He didn’t want to go on living without her,” William said. “It was tragic.”

“It’s tragic and beautiful at the same time,” Kelly said, surrendering the story. “They got to go together.”

After a moment I said, “I can understand why he would do that.”

Mariah came out carrying a plate with three strips of bacon, two biscuits, and scrambled eggs with cheese melted on top. Ted followed her out but stopped near the doorway, as if supervising her.

“There’s blackberry jelly right there,” Mariah said. “For your biscuit.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Ted smiled proudly. “Does everything look satisfactory?”

“Yes. Thank you. It looks delicious.”

Mariah walked back into the kitchen.

“The eggs are real fresh,” Ted said. “In fact, you just missed Chicken George.”

“Chicken George?”

“He lives just down the street. He brings us fresh eggs every morning. Would you like some coffee?”

“Please,” I said. “Thank you.”

He walked back to the kitchen. I broke open a biscuit, forked some eggs inside, then folded a piece of bacon and put it inside, making a breakfast sandwich. My companions watched in silence.

I asked Kelly, “You said you’re here for a funeral?”

“My brother’s,” Kelly said.

Sometimes, in the pain and loneliness of my losses, I forgot that I was only one of hundreds of thousands bidding their loved ones goodbye. It’s like standing at the airport and not seeing anyone around you.

“Your brother lived in Folkston?” I asked.

“Just a half mile north of here,” William said.

“Are you also from Folkston?” I asked.

“We live in Macon now,” Kelly said.

“I’ve got a machine shop in Macon,” William added. “Naomi lives in Jacksonville.”

“How far will you walk today?” Kelly asked.

“Hopefully twenty miles. I’m breaking myself back in to walking. I went home for a few weeks, so I’ve gotten a little out of shape.”

“I bet your family was glad to see you,” Kelly said.

“There’s only my father,” I said. “But he passed away.”

“I’m sorry,” Naomi said.

“We all have our losses, don’t we,” Kelly said.

Ted returned with my coffee. A few minutes later
Kelly, Naomi, and William excused themselves to get ready for the funeral. I finished eating, then looked in the kitchen to thank Ted and Mariah, but they were gone. I left a five-dollar bill on the table for Mariah, then went to my room and packed.

As I was about to leave the inn, Alease and Ted walked into the foyer. Alease handed me a brown paper sack. “I put some of the banana nut bread in there,” she said. “Just in case you need a snack on the way.”

“You be sure to come back,” Ted said. “We’ll leave the light on.”

“You’re very kind,” I said. “Thank you for everything.” I stepped outside. It was time to continue my walk.

The day was overcast and the road was wet, spotted with occasional puddles. Soon a comfortable mist filled the air—much like what I was used to in Seattle.

Walking east, I crossed the railroad tracks again. There were even more people gathered to watch the trains. After the tracks, I continued along Main Street to Second until I reached the edge of town.

Less than five miles from the inn I reached the Florida state line and the border town of Boulogne. Across the border it was easy walking along smooth, flat stretches with grassy shoulders hemmed in by a corridor of tall trees.

After two hours I reached the town of Hilliard. My legs were already sore. I walked another mile and a half, then stopped for lunch at the R&R Wings Café. I had a bowl of the Underground Chili and a half-dozen garlic honey wings, then hurried back out before my legs cramped up.

I had walked another mile when I came to a Winn-Dixie supermarket. I stopped inside for supplies, which included bottled water, canned fruit, pork and beans, protein bars, jerky, and raw almonds. I also purchased some Epsom salts to soak in later. I shopped for just half an hour, eager to keep moving.

A block from the store was a sign for the next town:

CALLAHAN 11 MILES

Callahan would put me at around twenty-two miles for the day. I thought it was a respectable goal for the first day back. I just hoped my legs had it in them to walk the whole way. As I left Hilliard the speed of the traffic increased, while mine steadily declined. I reached Callahan at around six p.m. The city sign boasted:

Home of the

FLORIDA CHEERLEADING

STATE CHAMPIONS

The first motel I came to was called the Ship Inn—a long, narrow row of rooms. The rental office was situated apart from the hotel in its own building near the road. I went in to reserve a room.

An Indian man was sitting on a mat on the floor playing a card game with a woman who was dressed in a saffron-colored sari. The office smelled of incense and curry. The man seemed annoyed that I had interrupted his game.

I got a room for just forty-five dollars. Once inside, I fell back on the bed, exhausted, my legs cramping. I lifted my legs and pulled them toward me until my hamstrings stretched. As hungry as I was, I was too tired to walk to a restaurant, so I ate Alease’s banana nut bread and cold beans and fruit. Then I filled the tub with hot water and the Epsom salts and soaked until the water started to cool. That night I slept much better than I had in Folkston.

The next morning as I lay in bed, I saw where someone had written on the wall: