A Perfect Day by Richard Paul Evans Page A

today?”
    “I talk to her almost every day.”
    “About what?”
    “Mostly you.”
    “Great. I’ll call her right now and share the good news.”
    “Talk to you later.”
    Camille hung up and I dialed home. “Hey, Al.”
    “Hi, honey.”
    “I have some good news. We just hit the New York Times bestseller list. Number fifteen.”
    She squealed. “Congratulations. Does that mean you can come home now?”
    I laughed. “It doesn’t quite work that way.”
    “I can hope. Here, someone wants to talk to you.”
    I could hear the phone being fumbled, dropped, then breathed into.
    “Daddy?”
    “Hi, sister.”
    “Where are you?”
    “I’m in Kansas.”
    “Where’s Kansas?”
    “Far away.”
    “Are you coming home?”
    “Soon, honey.”
    “It’s my violin show tomorrow. I wish you were here to take me.”
    Her words lodged in my chest.
    “So do I, honey. With all my heart.”
    “Do you want to talk to Mommy?”
    “Yes.” When Allyson was back on the phone, I said, “That hurt.”
    “I know. She’s very sad that you’re missing her recital. She’s been missing you a lot lately. A few days ago she asked me if book tour was like heaven.”
    “Not hardly. Why would she ask that?”
    “She said because my daddy was in heaven and I never get to see him either.”
    I groaned. “That really hurts.”
    “I told her that you’d be home soon. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. She’s not the only girl who’s missing you. So by the way, when are you coming home?”
    Allyson knew perfectly well, as she had it marked in big letters on our refrigerator. She was just twisting the blade. “You’re not making this easier.”
    “You’re onto me.”
    “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Let me know how the recital goes.”
    “I will. I’ll e-mail you some pictures. And congratulations on the list. I’m proud of you. Have a good night.”
    “Good night, Al.”

Chapter 24
    O ver the next week I could feel the change in the seasons. I bought a light jacket and wore it every night. Allyson said that the leaves in the Wasatch Mountains had all changed. It made me homesick. Autumn is my favorite time of the year in Salt Lake, when the nights turn chill and there’s a bite in the morning air. I never feel so alive as I do in autumn.
    I could also feel changes in myself. Already I felt like a veteran of the road. I was no longer nervous doing radio and television interviews, and I was no longer surprised to find people at my book signings; rather I expected them. Air travel had lost its mystique, and the hub terminals had become all too familiar. But the biggest change I experienced was the deepest and most complex. Instead of missing my family more with time, as I’d expected, I found that I missed them less as I grew accustomed to a different world. I realized that going home would require its own adjustment.

    Momentum for my book was growing. While the most obvious signs of progress were the increasing numbers of people at my book signings, there were more subtle indications as well. After I hit the bestseller lists, the bookstore managers and employees began asking to have books signed for them. My biggest signing of the week was in Oregon when I signed at Powell’s, an enormous independent in downtown Portland.
    There were nearly fifty people waiting for me when I arrived. And there was family. Allyson had made a call to her aunt Denise, and she and a handful of her friends had driven more than four hours from Medford. While Allyson visited her aunt at least once a year, it had been a few years since I had seen her, and I was surprised at how much she had aged. She didn’t look like she felt too good, and she was unable to stand in line. Of course she didn’t have to. I went to her and we embraced. Her friends, two gray-haired ladies probably a few years younger than her, stood to each side staring at me in awe like I was Cary Grant.
    “Thanks for coming, Denise. That’s a long drive to