A Step of Faith by Richard Paul Evans Read Free Book Online

something on her clipboard, then left. After she was gone, I turned to my dad. “Do we know the verdict?”
    “It’s benign,” he said.
    “Benign. That’s the good one, right?”
    Nicole laughed. “Yes, it’s good.”
    “Good.” I groaned out slowly. “I’m tired.”
    “The doctor said you’d be out of it most of the day,” my father said.
    “I think he was right,” I said. I fell back asleep.

    Dr. Schlozman came in to check on me an hour later. My father stood as he entered.
    “It went well,” he said to me. “I’m sure they told you the tumor was benign, so we can all high-five, or chest bump, however you want to celebrate.”
    “Why do I feel so crummy?” I asked.
    “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe it’s because you just had brain surgery .” He grinned. “You’ll feel a little better tomorrow.”
    “What’s next?” my father asked.
    “He’ll have an MRI in the morning to make sure we got it all, then, if all’s well, he heads home on Thursday.”
    “That soon?” Nicole asked.
    “If the MRI checks out, so does he.” He smiled at me. “Thanks for staying alive, Alan. It looks good on my résumé.”

    The rest of the evening I drifted in and out of sleep. When I woke the next morning, I had been given a catheter, something I was always very afraid of. It was an infection caused by her catheter that had killed McKale.
    A little before noon, I was taken by wheelchair for an MRI. On my way down the hall I saw myself in the reflection of a window. In addition to being bald, my head was swollen and I had a long row of staples in my scalp, with a deep indentation along the line of the incision. I looked like a monster.
    Later in the afternoon I was moved into a private room. Dr. Schlozman came in to see me shortly after lunch.
    “I’ve got great news,” he said.
    “You got the tumor?” my father asked.
    “That too,” Dr. Schlozman said. “But my good news is that my new book came out today and it’s a bestseller on Amazon.com.”
    I was still a little foggy and wasn’t sure I was hearing him right. “You wrote a book?”
    “It’s called The Zombie Autopsies . It’s a medical journal about the origin of the zombie virus.”
    “You wrote a book about zombies?” Nicole asked.
    “Yes, and it’s currently number fifty-seven on Amazon. Right between David Baldacci and Nicholas Sparks.”
    My father looked annoyed. “But my son’s okay, right?”
    Dr. Schlozman waved him off. “He’s fine, we got it all. Every crumb of it.”
    “Thank goodness,” Nicole said.
    “I still feel crummy,” I said.
    Dr. Schlozman smiled. “I guess we can’t have everything, can we?”

    The next morning the nurses prepared for my discharge. They gave my father prescriptions for pain medications and a sheet of instructions for caring for my incision. I justwanted to lie quietly without distractions—no talk, television or reading. It was as if words and sounds pricked my brain.
    Around noon an orderly wheeled me out of the hospital and helped me into my father’s car. Frankly, I didn’t feel a whole lot better and I felt more tired than I had the day before. I felt overstimulated by everything around me. More than anything, I wanted to be left alone.
    Through it all Nicole was helpful and kind, but she also seemed sad. It was nearly a week before I found out why.

    Six days after my surgery I was lying in bed when Nicole came into my room. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying.
    I sat up. “What’s wrong?”
    She hesitated a moment, then said, “I’m going back to Spokane.”
    “I thought you were staying longer.”
    She avoided eye contact. “I was going to, but I think I should be going.”
    “Did I do something wrong?”
    “It’s not your fault.” She took another deep breath. “When you were in recovery, you kept asking for Falene. At the time I told myself it was the anesthesia . . .” She looked me in the eyes. “You love her, don’t you?”
    I looked down for