Stanford, Connecticut Christopher Gilbert pulled his car into the driveway of his old house, shut off the engine, and sat there. Suddenly, his body did not want to work. He could not make himself get out of the car, walk up to the door, and ring the bell. The simple task was now an impossible mountain to climb. The split-level used to be his home. The sidewalk and doorbell once belonged to him. Now, he was a stranger, looking in on a life that used to be his.
He had been struggling with the thought all day. His daughter was going to grow up without him in her life, and the idea bothered him more than he could say. It was starting to make him crazy; he was trapped in circumstances he could not escape. His only hope was the strange game he had fallen into. Hopefully the end result would restore some appearance of normalcy to his life. In short, maybe it would reunite him with his wife and daughter.
Finally, Christopher snatched up the plastic bag that lay on the seat, got out of the car, and walked up to the front door. The fresh, clean scent of suburban Stanford in the late evening assailed his nostrils. The sheer peacefulness of the neighborhood wrapped him in its embrace and sent his mind into the past. He remembered the morning he called Jenny to tell her that they had been approved for the loan to buy the house. Her rotten week disappeared in an instant, and she screamed her excitement into the phone, heedless of those around her. Later, she confessed to being called in to the boss's office, but she did not mind. "It was worth it to get the house," she had told him sincerely, and it was worth it to him to be in debt for the rest of his life to see his wife so full of joy.
Christopher grasped the wooden railing that he built with his own hands, stepped up onto the brick porch, and pressed the doorbell. The sound of quick little steps met his ears a moment later, and he could almost see Kristy running down the hallway from the den. She struggled with the doorknob and finally pulled the heavy portal open. Her eyes widened with honest surprise when she saw her father, and she released an ear-piercing scream that Christopher swore would break glass.
"Hi, sweetheart." He opened his arms wide. "Come here."
"Daddy!"
He picked her up and held her tightly against his chest as he stepped inside the house. Jenny entered the hall from the kitchen, a dishtowel over her shoulder.
"Kristy," she admonished in an even tone, "what did I say about opening the door without asking who it is?"
The little girl buried her face in her father's neck and shrugged.
