Rick’s pot customers weren’t always comfortable with David sitting in the house all day, as a possible witness to their drug deals, so after making breakfast each morning for a few months, David headed downtown to Pioneer Square. He found he liked the noise of downtown Seattle, the constant distraction it provided. Especially since he had stopped taking his medication and the fiends had taken up residence in his head again. He found himself muttering as he sat in Pioneer Park, pacing back and forth on the small patch of grass where other men often sat and wasted the day away.

  “You got a home, man?” one of them asked David one late fall day. The man was tall and thin like David, but with shaggy blond hair and sunken blue eyes. He wore a black trench coat and ratty cargo-style jeans.

  David shook his head briskly and continued to pace. A voice in his head spoke to him. Don’t talk to him. He’ll try to kill you.

  “You can crash with me,” the man said. “If you’ll give me your shoes.”

  David walked away. He saw a little girl with long, black hair standing on the corner and he took off after her. “Eden!” he cried. “It’s Daddy!” The little girl didn’t turn her head. Eden was ignoring him, just like she had with the letters he’d sent. He needed to talk to her. To tell her the reason he stayed away. That he was only protecting her. She didn’t answer his letters, but now she was here, looking for him.

  The man with the little girl whipped around when David’s hand landed on the little girl’s shoulders. There was fury in the man’s dark eyes, and he grabbed David’s hand and pulled it away from where it lay.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the man said through gritted teeth. “Get your hands off my daughter!”

  David shook his head. This man was obviously confused. “She’s mine. My daughter. You took her from me.” The little girl cowered, curling into the man’s side. “Eden? Bug?” The little girl began to cry, and David backed away. Now he was hurting her again. He couldn’t keep doing this. Oh god. What is wrong with me?

  His blood began to race in his veins, pumping hot and furious. He grabbed his long, dark hair, pulling at his scalp until he felt tufts beginning to yank free. The pain didn’t work anymore. It didn’t soothe the screaming in his head; it didn’t snap him back to reality. I can’t do this. I can’t. I need to get well again so Eden will want me back. David took off running again down the street, across three lanes of traffic, all cars blaring their horns at him as they were forced to slam on their brakes to keep from smashing into him. He thought maybe he should let them.

  David ran. He ran toward the waterfront, beneath the viaduct. Night began to fall, the air a fluttery purple around him. He ran until his lungs burned like fire in his chest, until his leg muscles were rubbery and loose. He didn’t know what he was running from. Himself, maybe? The wildness starting to ache in his flesh again?

  Turning into an alleyway, David slowed down enough to see a cardboard box the size of a washing machine next to a dirty green Dumpster. It was cold and starting to rain. All David wanted was to feel warmth. To sleep, to escape the churning thoughts that blared in his head. He crawled inside the box and curled up fetal, tucking his hands beneath his cheek as a pillow. He closed his eyes and rocked back and forth, back and forth, until sleep came and rescued him from the cold, dark night.

  A week later, David went back to Rick’s to grab the letters he’d written to Eden. He tucked them, along with a change of clothes and the five hundred dollars Rick gave him when David told his friend he was leaving, into a green backpack he’d found in a downtown alley. The last letter that had come back to David informed Eden he was thinking of leaving Seattle, and maybe he would. He was finally in charge of what he would do.

  It was terrifying at first, not having a house to return to each night. But during the days, on the streets, he talked to people who didn’t seem to care about his rambling speeches or his dark, villainous moods. He found out about the soup kitchens where he could get a hot meal and the shelters where if he got there early enough, he could have a bed for the night. He learned where he could take a shower and where it wasn’t safe to hang out. He watched the way other men and women panhandled on the street corners but couldn’t bring himself to do the same. Instead, he used some of the cash Rick had given him and purchased a used easel and a sketch pad. Going back to his roots, he charged to sketch portraits, and some days he even made enough to pay for a cheap hotel room. He always made enough for a bottle of booze, which, for the most part, kept the fiends in his head at bay.

  The lack of rules and boundaries appealed to David. No one to tell him what medicines to take or ways he shouldn’t behave. He danced if he felt like it or climbed beneath a blanket for days. David got the idea in his head he should head to California, where it was always sunny. He didn’t have to ask permission. He didn’t have to do anything other than bag up his things and stand by the side of the road with a sign that said san francisco. Eventually, a car came along that gave him a ride to Portland, then one to Ashland, and finally, he arrived in the City by the Bay.

  Day by day, gradually, he kept himself busy enough doing nothing that he didn’t feel the gaping hole in his chest that missed his daughter. He filled it with vodka or cheap wine, with meaningless banter with other men who knew what it was to have their minds betray them. He ran his fingers over the angry red raised scars on his wrists, the left one much worse than the right, and forced himself to blank out the memories of the daughter he left behind.

  He stopped resisting the twisted thoughts that rose inside him, allowing them to come and go as they pleased. He felt no pressure to be someone other than exactly who he was in each moment. For the first time in his life, David felt free.

  November 2010

  Eden

  “You can’t miss Thanksgiving, sis,” Bryce said two weeks after my fight with my mother. My brother and I were standing in my living room; he had come over to pick up another dinner for a date, though I doubted it was for the same girl. I’d made up this meal in advance and put it in a picnic basket complete with a bottle of sparkling cider and wineglasses. Though Bryce looked at least twenty-one, and I’m sure could have gotten a bottle of wine if he wanted it, I wasn’t going to encourage the behavior.

  “I won’t miss it,” I said. “I’ll be spending it at Hope House, serving turkey dinner to people who really appreciate it.”

  He sighed. “Mom’s real upset, Ed.”

  “She should be.” I dug around in the basket to make sure I’d remembered to put in the dulce de leche brownies for the dessert. “I’m upset, too.”

  Bryce grabbed my hand. “Will you look at me, please?” he asked.

  I lifted my eyes and saw the pain in his. My heart ached. “I’m sorry, Bryce. I’m just having a really hard time with all of this. She lied to me.” I’d already filled him in on the details of the letters I’d found in my father’s things.

  “For all the right reasons, yes, she did lie. C’mon. You know that, right?”

  I hesitated. Of course I knew she meant well. Intellectually, I knew she was human, that as a parent she was bound to make a few mistakes. But emotionally, I still felt like a ten-year-old child crying in my bed, wishing with all my might my daddy wanted to see me. I didn’t know how to make those feelings go away. Especially not in time for Thanksgiving, which was only six days away.

  “I understand why she thinks she did the right thing. I’m just so hurt by it I can’t see straight. And until I can, I don’t feel like I can be around her. It’s not the end of the world if I don’t show up for the holiday, Bryce. I’ve worked them before and it’s never bothered her.”

  He took the picnic basket from me and frowned. “It’s not the same and you know it.” He gave me a kiss on my cheek. “But I love you anyway. Thanks for the eats.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, and shut the door behind him. He was right. I was overreacting. But I couldn’t figure out a way to stop. I called Jack and asked him for the umpteenth time for his thoughts about what I should do.

  “I’m not the person to ask,” he said. “I’m not exactly the poster child for healthy family relationships.”

  “But I care about what you think,” I said. “Am I being totally unreasonable?”

  “I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that it might prevent me from getting naked with you.”

  I laughed. “Okay, okay. I get it. You’re not going to give me any answers.”

  “Right. Unless the question is if I’ll come take advantage of you later; then my answer is yes.”

  “I’ve got a late shift tonight. Big corporate event at work.”

  “I don’t care how late it is. Rita’s staying overnight with the troops, so I’m free. Call me when you’re on your way home and I’ll meet you there.”

  I told him I would, then hung up to promptly dial a person less willing to enable my bad behavior.

  “Georgia Mills’s office,” Georgia said when she answered her cell.

  “You’re not at the office yet?” Georgia only answered her cell phone that way when she was in her car.

  “Nope. I’m stuck on freaking 405. Traffic sucks.”

  “Yes, it does.” I gave her a quick recap of my brother’s scolding words. “Do you think he’s right?”

  “God, Eden. You know he’s right. I’ve already told you I think you should make peace with your mom. Life is too short for this kind of bullshit. Isn’t that why you started looking for your dad, because life was too short to not have at least tried to find him? So she fucked up. So what? We all do. Put your big-girl panties on and deal with it.”

  I was quiet. Maybe I shouldn’t have called her.

  “I don’t mean to be harsh,” she said in more gentle tones. “But you did ask.”

  “Yes, I did. I’ll work on figuring out what I should do.” After we hung up, I looked at Jasper. “So do you think I need to put on my big-girl panties?” I asked. He whimpered and began to pant. “Oh, you think I should wait a while, too, huh? That’s my boy.” I scratched his chest and his back leg went haywire in response. “Maybe I’ll call her after Thanksgiving, what do you think?” He barked and wagged his tail. There was affirmation if I’d ever seen it. I’d take it even if it did come from a dog. Jasper hadn’t failed me yet.

  The week before the holiday flew by in a flurry of shopping for Hope House and prep for the two hundred private turkey dinners Emerald City was catering. Things like pies could be done well in advance, and the turkeys were prepped and sitting in the walk-in, waiting patiently for Juan’s capable hands to roast them. I’d talked Doug in the corporate office into donating twenty-five turkeys and fifty hams to the shelter, promising him the PR would not go unnoticed. Jack and Rita set up a food drive in front of the Safeway near his apartment and managed to procure enough instant mashed potatoes, canned yams, and green beans to feed an army.

  In order to be sure we could fulfill all of our catering orders and cook the turkeys for Hope House, Juan and I stumbled into the Emerald City kitchen at three o’clock in the morning on Thanksgiving Day. We fortified ourselves with caffeine, and as soon as Juan pulled the last turkey out of the ovens to wrap up for our catering orders, I had the shelter’s turkeys ready to put in. The plan was to have Rita warm up the ham in the shelter’s kitchen, and thankfully, Jack had secured Tom to help me transport the turkeys. He showed up around eleven to load up his delivery van and I followed him in my car, which was loaded down with pies and an arsenal of canned whipped cream. Juan had offered to run the kitchen for the double-time holiday pay it would bring, so I happily handed over the responsibility of making sure all the parties received their custom orders. It was a crazy dance of timing and coordination and somehow, we managed to pull it off.

  I had gotten to the point where I almost preferred working in the shelter’s kitchen than the one at Emerald City Events. There was something more homey about the smaller space and rickety stove, something that brought more satisfaction to me than whipping up seared foie gras and pancetta-wrapped figs for a cocktail party of Seattle’s social mavens. I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant—whether I was so enthralled with Jack that I wanted to be near him or whether something deeper was going on with me related to my career. But the holiday was not the day to figure it out. I pulled up to the back door by the kitchen and helped Rita and Jack unload my car.

  “The turkeys look amazing,” Jack said. “Tom brought them and the hams about an hour ago.”

  “They smell amazing, too,” Rita added. She wore capri jeans and a snug, chocolate-brown T-shirt that had a picture of a cartoon turkey above the words get stuffed. “Were those sage leaves pushed under the skin?”

  I nodded, setting my tenth apple pie onto the tiny amount of counter space that was left. “Herbs and melted butter rubbed under the skin makes all the difference in the flavor of the meat. I hope they stay moist enough.”

  “I’ve kept them in the cooking bags like you said,” Jack said as he shoved the last can of whipped cream in the refrigerator. “But the mashed potatoes still need to get done. And the green beans. And the rolls.”

  “Slow down, cowboy,” I said, laughing. “We’ve got plenty of time. I’ll take care of the potatoes if you’ll go park my car.” I dangled the keys at him. “Please?” He kissed me as he took the keys from my fingers.

  “Get a room,” Rita commented with a smile. “Dinner’s served at three. We need to get a move on.”

  Jack left and Rita and I set to getting huge stockpots of water, milk, and butter boiling for the mashed potatoes. “Are Starr and Paul coming to help?”

  “Nope, they took the day off to spend with their families.”

  “What about you?”

  “This is my family,” she said simply. “Since I came out a few years ago, my parents don’t want anything to do with me.”

  I stopped stirring. “I’m so sorry, Rita. That’s awful. Are you dating anyone?”

  “Not currently,” she said with a grin. “But I’m working on it. You’re out of the running since Jack nabbed you.”

  I laughed. “I never knew I was in the running!”

  “Oh yeah. Absolutely. I’m tired of all those scary old butch women hitting on me. I need to find myself a nice lipstick lesbian.”

  “But you knew I was straight, right?”

  “Of course. The way you drooled over my boss sort of gave it away.”

  “I didn’t drool!”

  “Uh-huh.” She laughed. “Did you know I was gay?”

  “I had no idea until you just said it.”

  She rolled her eyes and gave a weary sigh. “I need to work on sending out a stronger vibe.”

  Jack bounded back into the kitchen, his eyes glittery with energy. “What can I do to help?” he asked, rubbing his hands together.

  “Cut down on the caffeine, I’m thinking?” Rita suggested.

  He jumped over to her and pretended to strangle her from behind. She laughed. “You can start slicing up the hams and turkeys. We need them in the foil casserole dishes and set up out on the tables. Think you can manage that?”

  He performed a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am!”

  The three of us handling the entire Thanksgiving meal on our own was a little daunting, but I figured I’d dealt with wedding receptions and a few dinner parties without any help, so we could find a way to make it work. Jack spent about an hour cutting up the meat and taking it out to the dining room. When Rita went out to check on the setup, Jack came over and hugged me.

  “I’m so happy you’re here,” he whispered in my ear. He smelled like turkey and sage. It made me want to lick him.

  “I’m happy I’m here, too,” I said, putting the finishing touch of roasted garlic into the pots of potatoes.

  “No regrets about not being with your family?”

  “None.” This wasn’t entirely true. My mother had left me another long, apologetic message earlier in the week, asking me to please come to her house for the holiday dinner. We’d always cooked it together—well, truth be told I cooked while she set the table—even if I had to work and we had to have dinner on another day. I called her back and told her I was committed to working at the shelter.

  “The whole day? You couldn’t stop by later for dessert?” she asked. Her voice was both hopeful and sad.

  “No,” I said. “I can’t. I’ll call you this weekend, okay? We can talk then.” I didn’t want to hold a grudge against my mom, but I truly didn’t feel like I was at a point where I could forgive her completely.

  Now Jack pressed his forehead against mine. “I don’t believe you.”

  I smiled. He already knew me too well. It was a little bit scary. “What about you? When was the last time you spent a holiday with your family?”

  He sighed. “It’s been a while.”

  “How long is a while?”

  “Three years.”

  “Well, how about I make you a deal?”

  “Oh man,” Jack said, stepping back from me. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

  “How about if I make up with my mother, you at least have to try to talk with your dad?”

  He stared at me long enough to make me avert my eyes. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. West.”

  I looked back at him and smiled sweetly. “Yes, I do.”

  “I’ll think about it, okay? For you.”

  “Oh no,” I protested. “You’re not doing it for anyone but yourself. I’m just giving you a push in the right direction.”

  “I’ll show you a push,” Jack growled, and he grabbed for me. I jumped out of the way and took off toward the other end of the kitchen. “Mmm,” he said. “You want me to chase you around the campfire, like a caveman?”