“Part of my healing, I guess. Can you help me find his number?”

“It might take me a while.”

“That’s okay. You can reach me here.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll call you back.”

“Thank you, Falene. Now what can I do for you?”

She sighed. “I wish there were something. But thank you anyway.” We were both silent for a moment. Then she said, “It’s so good hearing your voice.”

“Yours too,” I said.

“I’ll call when I find Kyle’s number.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I’ll talk to you soon.”

We hung up. Then I lay back in my bed and looked up at the ceiling.

I missed Falene. After all she’d done for me I wished I could somehow comfort her. She was my truest friend, and without her I doubted that I would still be alive.

Chapter Fifteen

C H A P T E R

Fifteen

I once heard a preacher say,

“The reason we sometimes connect so

quickly with a complete stranger is

because the friendship is not of this

life, but is the resumption of a friendship

from another.” I do not know if this is

true, but sometimes it feels true.

Alan Christoffersen’s diary

I lay in bed for a few more minutes, then stood without any difficulty. I was no longer dizzy. Time to leave, I thought. I put on some sweatpants and walked out to the kitchen. Leszek was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, a newspaper spread out in front of him. He looked up as I entered.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning.”

“I am doing a crossword puzzle,” he said. “I am not much good at these puzzles. Do you know a five-letter word for worship?”

I walked over and looked at the paper.

“The second letter is a d,” he said.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I was never very good at those things either.”

“Maybe if it was in Polish,” he said, smiling. “But in English, too many words I do not know.”

“Adore,” I said.

He looked at the word. “Yes. Adore. That is very good.” He penciled in the word. “How do you feel today, Alan?”

“Good. I feel good.”

“Good is good,” he said standing. “I will make you some breakfast.”

“No hurry,” I said. “Finish your puzzle.”

“You will starve first,” he said. “I will never finish this puzzle.” He walked over to the kitchen. “I never finish the puzzles.” He turned on the electric stove beneath a frying pan. “I went to the market this morning. I bought some delicious syrup to go with our pancakes. I like the American pancakes. You say pancakes or hotcakes?”

“Both,” I said. “Usually pancakes. But a flapjack by any other name is just as satisfying.”

“Ah yes, Shakespeare,” Leszek said as he dropped batter onto a skillet. “You are clever.” He ran a spatula under the cake, then flipped it over.