her food, as if she needed time to process what I told her. Finally, she said, “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“Neither do I.”
We finished eating in silence. I got up to do the dishes but she again stopped me. “Please,” she said. “Let me do them.”
I went to my room and read. When I came out to say goodnight, the kitchen and hall lights were out. She had already gone to bed.
CHAPTER
Ten
Experience has taught me that the stronger the denial the less the reason to believe it.
Alan Christoffersen’s diary
As I lay in bed, I thought over our conversation. What struck me as peculiar was not so much her opinion, but her anger and disapproval of mine. I have found that the people who shout their opinion the loudest are usually the ones most insecure in their position. I had never seen the dark side of her personality until that night.
Again, Angel was gone when I woke. I ate a breakfast of oatmeal with brown sugar and walnuts, then, focusing on my convalescence, walked out of the house with a new level of confidence knowing that I had already conquered the stairs.
I walked to the sidewalk, then to the end of the property line. I thought that I could have walked further, but being alone, I decided to err on the side of caution and not overdo it. Still, I was pleased. I had made definite progress. If it wasn’t for the weather, I figured I could be on my way as early as January.
I shuffled back to the house and climbed the stairs, this time not feeling like I would pass out.
I had just finished getting dressed and was wondering what to do for the day when the doorbell rang. I walked out of my room to answer it.
In the doorway was a woman. She was nicely dressed and had dark red hair that fell to her shoulders. She looked a little older than me, though not by much, and she held a piece of paper in her hand.
“May I help you?” I asked.
She looked surprised. She glanced furtively down at her paper, then back at me. “I’m sorry, does Nicole Mitchell live here?”
“Nicole?” I shook my head. “There’s no one here by that name.”
She glanced back down the hall at the other doors. “I’msorry, I must have the wrong apartment. Would you know if she lives in this building?”
I shrugged. “Sorry, I’m new here. I don’t know the other tenants.”
For a moment she just stood there looking confused about what to do.
“You could knock on the other doors,” I suggested.
“Thanks. I’ll do that. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“No worries.” I shut the door.
Angel arrived home shortly after five. “How was work?” I asked, hoping for better than the day before.
“It was okay,” she said softly, then asked, “How was yours?”
“Good,” I said.
She nodded. “I picked up a rotisserie chicken on the way home. Do you like stuffing? I have Stove Top.”
“I love stuffing,” I said, happy that she was in a better mood than she was the last time I’d seen her.
While she cooked the stuffing, I set the table and filled our glasses with water. A few minutes later we sat down to eat.
“I’m sorry I was so moody last night,” she said. “I sometimes get that way when my sugars are off.”
“No problem,” I said.
“I just didn’t want you to think I was trying to push you out. I’m really glad you’re here.”
“I didn’t take it that way,” I said. “And I’m glad I’m here too.”
She looked relieved. “So, what did you do today?”
“I got caught up in my journal,” I said. “And I watched Judge Judy. That woman is hardcore.”
Angel grinned. “That’s probably why she’s so popular. Did you walk?”
“I made it to the edge of the yard and back.”
“Congratulations. You’re making real progress.”
“I’ve come a long way since that first walk to the bathroom.” I pulled some chicken from the breast with my fork. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, when does Spokane get its first snow?”
“I haven’t been through a winter here
“Neither do I.”
We finished eating in silence. I got up to do the dishes but she again stopped me. “Please,” she said. “Let me do them.”
I went to my room and read. When I came out to say goodnight, the kitchen and hall lights were out. She had already gone to bed.
CHAPTER
Ten
Experience has taught me that the stronger the denial the less the reason to believe it.
Alan Christoffersen’s diary
As I lay in bed, I thought over our conversation. What struck me as peculiar was not so much her opinion, but her anger and disapproval of mine. I have found that the people who shout their opinion the loudest are usually the ones most insecure in their position. I had never seen the dark side of her personality until that night.
Again, Angel was gone when I woke. I ate a breakfast of oatmeal with brown sugar and walnuts, then, focusing on my convalescence, walked out of the house with a new level of confidence knowing that I had already conquered the stairs.
I walked to the sidewalk, then to the end of the property line. I thought that I could have walked further, but being alone, I decided to err on the side of caution and not overdo it. Still, I was pleased. I had made definite progress. If it wasn’t for the weather, I figured I could be on my way as early as January.
I shuffled back to the house and climbed the stairs, this time not feeling like I would pass out.
I had just finished getting dressed and was wondering what to do for the day when the doorbell rang. I walked out of my room to answer it.
In the doorway was a woman. She was nicely dressed and had dark red hair that fell to her shoulders. She looked a little older than me, though not by much, and she held a piece of paper in her hand.
“May I help you?” I asked.
She looked surprised. She glanced furtively down at her paper, then back at me. “I’m sorry, does Nicole Mitchell live here?”
“Nicole?” I shook my head. “There’s no one here by that name.”
She glanced back down the hall at the other doors. “I’msorry, I must have the wrong apartment. Would you know if she lives in this building?”
I shrugged. “Sorry, I’m new here. I don’t know the other tenants.”
For a moment she just stood there looking confused about what to do.
“You could knock on the other doors,” I suggested.
“Thanks. I’ll do that. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“No worries.” I shut the door.
Angel arrived home shortly after five. “How was work?” I asked, hoping for better than the day before.
“It was okay,” she said softly, then asked, “How was yours?”
“Good,” I said.
She nodded. “I picked up a rotisserie chicken on the way home. Do you like stuffing? I have Stove Top.”
“I love stuffing,” I said, happy that she was in a better mood than she was the last time I’d seen her.
While she cooked the stuffing, I set the table and filled our glasses with water. A few minutes later we sat down to eat.
“I’m sorry I was so moody last night,” she said. “I sometimes get that way when my sugars are off.”
“No problem,” I said.
“I just didn’t want you to think I was trying to push you out. I’m really glad you’re here.”
“I didn’t take it that way,” I said. “And I’m glad I’m here too.”
She looked relieved. “So, what did you do today?”
“I got caught up in my journal,” I said. “And I watched Judge Judy. That woman is hardcore.”
Angel grinned. “That’s probably why she’s so popular. Did you walk?”
“I made it to the edge of the yard and back.”
“Congratulations. You’re making real progress.”
“I’ve come a long way since that first walk to the bathroom.” I pulled some chicken from the breast with my fork. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, when does Spokane get its first snow?”
“I haven’t been through a winter here
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