Miles to Go by Richard Paul Evans Page A

since I was a kid, but I think that they usually have snow by the middle of November.”
    “My goal is to make it around the block before the snow flies.”
    Angel was cutting meat from the chicken’s breast and said without looking up, “You’ll make it. You’re doing great.”
    I took another bite. “Do you have a neighbor named Nicole?”
    Angel abruptly looked up. “Why?”
    “A woman came by this afternoon looking for someone named Nicole.”
    “What woman?”
    “Just some woman.”
    “What did she look like?”
    “She was probably just a little older than us. She was nicely dressed and had long red hair.”
    “What did you tell her?”
    “I told her that Nicole didn’t live here.”
    Angel looked at me for a moment, then went back to her meal nearly as abruptly as she had stopped eating. “No, there’s no one here with that name. Would you like some more stuffing?”
    I looked at her quizzically, then handed her my plate. “Sure.”
    After dinner I convinced Angel to let me help her with the dishes after which she made popcorn and we went out to watch our movie.
City Lights
hadn’t arrived yet, so we jumped up to number seventy-five,
Dances with Wolves
, directed by and starring Kevin Costner.
    I had seen the movie before—twice, I think—but it had been more than a decade.
    McKale and I had watched it together. I remember that she cried at the end, which wasn’t all that surprising since she cried at Hallmark card commercials.
    Later that year the movie won seven Academy Awards, including Best Picture. Much of the film was shot in South Dakota and Wyoming, two of the states I would pass through when I was walking again.
    Dances with Wolves
is one of the longer movies on the top hundred list, nearly four hours in length, and Angel fell asleep long before it ended. As the credits rolled up the screen, I leaned forward and gently shook her. “Hey, it’s over.”
    Her eyelids fluttered, then she looked up at me as if unsure of who I was. Then she blinked a few times and her eyes widened. “Oh. Is the movie over?”
    “Yes.”
    She rubbed her eyes. “How did it end?”
    “The Indians lost.”
    “Thought so,” she said, standing.
    I took a deep breath, then without help lifted myself up from the couch. I still had to take a moment to catch my breath.
    “I could have helped you,” Angel said sleepily, barely stable on her own legs.
    “I know.” I started walking toward my room. “Good night,” I said.
    “Good night, Kevin.”
    I looked at her. “Kevin?”
    “Alan,” she said quickly.
    I grinned. “Sorry, I’m not Costner.”
    “Costner?” she asked, then nodded. “Oh right. Good night.”

    I woke in the middle of the night. My room was dark, and I rolled over to look at the radio-alarm clock on the nightstand next to my bed. 3:07. I groaned, then lay back, wondering why I had woken so early. Then I heard it, a soft, muffled groan. My first thought was that it was a tomcat outside my window, until I realized it was coming from inside the apartment.
    For several minutes, I lay still and listened. The noise sounded like crying. I pushed myself up and climbed out of bed, quietly opening my door. The sound was coming from Angel’s room. I walked over to her door and put my ear against it.
    Angel was sobbing, though the noise was muffled, as if she were holding a pillow against her face. The sound of her in pain was heart-wrenching. I stood there for a moment, wanting to comfort her but unsure of what to do. Maybe she didn’t want my help.
    After several minutes her sobbing decreased to a whimper, then faded altogether. I hobbled back to my bed, my mind filled with questions. The longer I was with her, the more I realized how little I knew her. The truth is, I didn’t know her at all.

CHAPTER

Eleven
    We’re all moons. Sometimes our dark sides overshadow our light.
    Alan Christoffersen’s diary
    The next week passed quietly as I settled into my new routine. I noticed something