He sat outside smoking his pipe and watched the tendrils of smoke rise into the night sky. He sat and pondered and reflected and otherwise contemplated his life to date. After several hours of reflection and finding no real solution, he sighed heavily, tapped out his pipe, and turned in for the night.The scene repeated itself every day for five days. Get up, sword forms, work around the cottage, chop wood, make dinner, watch the stars, and go to sleep. He had no worries, no one trying to kill him, no one pressuring him, no one requiring more than he could give, and ultimately, no one to share his life with.On the sixth day, just like the previous five, Tristan was in the middle of the forms when a beam of white light streamed down from the heavens. The outline of a man shone at the base of the light."Tristan, what are you doing?" a voice, much like Brother Michael's, asked.Tristan stopped his practice in mid form and just stared at the apparition. He shook his head several times and. He hung up the phone after talking to his ex-wife, Amanda. Her testimony at histrial had helped convict him and he knew he had deserved it. He didn't bear herany grudges, though; nine years in prison and three as a parolee outpatient inthe State Sexual Offender Treatment Program had convinced him that he had no oneto blame for his problems but himself.He hadn't called her when he got out of prison on an early release three yearsago; he'd assumed that she knew. From her surprise on the phone, he guessed thatshe hadn't been told. Either that or she'd lost that memory in one of heralcoholic binges. Phil hadn't had a drink in more than eight years, raisin jackfrom an illegal prison still. Prison had taught him another thing, he actuallypreferred being sober. He hoped one day Amanda would learn that lesson.He could have ridden the train on into Fullerton or Santa Ana but making thecall to Amanda had caused him to miss the best connection. Greyhound would gethim to Orange County faster now,.
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