Outside the Lines (17 page)

“I remember. So what’s changed?”

I shrugged. “Nothing, really. I just . . .”

“Just what?” Georgia asked, urging me on, when I didn’t finish my thought.

“I just hate
feeling
all of this old crap. I saw that painting and everything I’ve felt about him—all the anger and sadness and fear I haven’t really thought about for twenty years—just took me over. It completely sucked and I don’t know if I want to keep doing it.”

Georgia set her food down and reached over to place her hands on my knees. She looked at me intently. “Eden, I’m going to say something that I’d say to a client if she came to me with this same issue, okay?”

“Oh, boy.” I set my food down too. “Look out.”

“That’s right. Free life coaching brought to you by your loving friend Georgia who knows you better than anyone. So listen up.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Have you considered the possibility that you are too filled with all those crappy emotions you just mentioned to have a healthy relationship? It’s like you’ve pushed down the pain you felt over your dad disappearing, shoving it into the nooks and crannies of your heart, and now there’s no room for anybody else.” She gave me a small smile and pulled her hands back to her own lap. “Honey, if you were a client, I would tell you to keep doing what you’re doing. Keep looking for your dad. What you went through today is like picking at the edge of a scab or pushing at an old sore to get the gunk out. It ain’t pretty and it hurts like a bitch, but you’re not going to heal until you do.”

“Um, first of all, ew. Thanks for the visual.” She laughed. “And second, I have thought about all of that. Part of me thinks you’re right, but another part thinks it’s all going to be pointless if I don’t find him.” Maybe I could figure out my issues with men and relationships without finding my father. Maybe I just hadn’t found the right guy yet.

“I don’t think it’s about whether or not you find him,” Georgia said. “I think it’s about what you manage to work through while you look. Life’s supposed to be about the journey, right? So this should be part of yours. Maybe you’ll learn something about yourself.”

“Maybe. And hey”—I playfully punched her in the arm—“I have plenty of room in my heart for you.
And
Jasper
and
my family
and
my job. I have successful relationships. You make me sound like an unfeeling bitch. ‘Sorry, my heart’s all filled with pain and anger. No room at the inn!’”

She frowned. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I know you have healthy relationships. And you’re not anti-male or anything like that. I’m talking about falling in love. Letting a man in close enough to build something with him that might last. You’re terrified if you do, he’ll leave you and tear you to shreds.”

“Like my dad.” My lower lip trembled. It was the thing I loved most about Georgia. She was unflinchingly honest but somehow managed to keep you from feeling you’d been socked in the jaw with the truth. Instead, she sidled it up behind you and had it tap you gently on the shoulder. It was probably what made her so good at her job. Those CEOs never knew what hit them.

“Yes. Like your dad.” She reached for her wine and leaned back into the couch. “Not that I’m one to talk, of course. You know I have my own variety of emotional barriers against falling in love. Mine just take the form of my busy career. Perhaps having to do with emulating my work-addict father?”

“It’s such a relief to know I’m not the only one in the room with father issues.” I gave her a grateful smile. Georgia and I had discussed our fathers on more than one occasion.

“Hell no. Are you kidding me? Deep down I believe if I prove to be as dedicated and successful as dear Daddy is, perhaps he’ll love me the way I need him to and I can finally allow myself to be loved by someone else.” She sighed. “I’m a total cliché.”

I applauded. “Nicely done. Where’d you figure that out? Therapy?”

“Nah. It’s my job to analyze the internal blocks that keep my clients from getting what they want, personally and professionally. Turning that skill inward was bound to happen. Not that I’m ready to
do
anything about it, you understand. I’m much too immature. Plus I adore the guilt gifts Daddy sends for my birthday. In June.”

“But your birthday is in August.”

“Try to tell him that.” She glanced up at the clock on the DVD player. “Hey, isn’t
The Bachelor
on tonight?”

“I think so.” I reached for the remote. “Shall we lose ourselves in the magic of reality TV?”

“I’m in,” Georgia said, reaching up to twist her hair into a messy bun. She secured it with a chopstick. “What did you make us for dessert?”

“I didn’t feel much like baking. You’ll have to suffer through with ice cream.”

“The things I put up with as your friend,” she said. “It’s a good thing I love you.”

“Somebody has to,” I said. “And I’m pretty lucky it’s you.”

The next day, just as I was getting ready to head into work, Jasper barked and I opened the front door to discover a burly but friendly-looking bearded man standing on my porch. His hand was raised, ready to knock. “Eden West?” he asked. I noticed his name, Tom, sewn in swirly red letters on his blue work shirt.

“Yes,” I said, peeking over his shoulder at the white van parked in my driveway. “Can I help you?”

“I have a delivery for you from Jack Baker. Where would you like it?”

I lost my breath for a moment, realizing that Jack had done what he promised once again by having my father’s things delivered to my house.
How did he get my address? Did I give it to him?

“Ms. West?” Tom said, prodding me.

“Oh,” I said, startled. “I guess you can just bring it inside. I’ll go make sure there’s enough space in my spare room. Unless you need some help?”

He shook his head and smiled. “Nope, that’s why I get paid the big bucks. Can I leave the door open or will your dog get out?”

Jasper sat next to me, eyeing this stranger on my porch. “He’s not an escape artist, are you, Jasper?” I said. “Come on, get out of the nice man’s way.” I directed Jasper to the floor in front of the couch and told him to lie down and stay.

It only took a few minutes for the paintings and box to be transferred. I thanked Tom and tried to give him a tip, but he wouldn’t hear of it. “Mr. Baker takes good care of me. But I appreciate the gesture. Have a nice day, miss.” He tipped the ball cap he wore and left.

I looked at Jasper. “What do you think, buddy? Should I go take another look at Dad’s stuff?”

He wagged his tail and panted. He was so agreeable—why couldn’t more men be like Jasper? I’d feed them and scratch their asses and in turn, they’d curl up in my bed and keep me warm at night. Seemed like a reasonable deal to me.

“Okay, I guess I should. C’mon.” I patted my hip and Jasper trotted behind me to the spare room, where Tom had set the box and paintings on the bed. There weren’t as many of Dad’s paintings as I had initially thought. I ran my finger along the stacked edges and counted six in total. His depiction of the Garden of Eden lay on top. My stomach churned a bit looking at it, but the initial shock at seeing my dad’s familiar style and brushstrokes had worn off. In its place was a sense of longing for the man who had planted that garden with me. The man who got down on his knees and dug in the dirt, carefully showing me how to set the fat end of the bulb in its hole, how to press the soil down with the palm of my hand.

“Should I put the daffodils all in the same spot, Daddy?” I had asked him. It was my first garden; I wanted to be sure I did everything right.

“You can put them wherever you want, Bug,” he responded. “Mix them up or put them all together. It’s your garden. You get to decide.”

I was overwhelmed with pleasure at the prospect of being in charge and proceeded to lump a few yellow daffodils next to a couple of bloodred tulips. Next, I threw in a single pink hyacinth for good measure. I continued this random mix over and over until all the bulbs were planted. What resulted the next spring was a colorful but unorganized wild mess and my father had captured it perfectly in his work. Whatever imbalance his brain endured did not seem to have affected his memory.

I wanted to spend more time looking through his things, but a glance at my watch told me I needed to get to work. It was probably better to go through the box slowly. No need to rip the scab off all at once.

I called Jack on the way, happy when he picked up on the third ring. He sounded pleased to hear from me. “How’re you doing?” he asked.

“I’m okay, thanks. I received an unexpected delivery.”

“Oh, it got there? Great. I wasn’t sure if it was too soon to send it over, but I figured you could just put it all in a closet and look at it or not look at it at your leisure.”

“I appreciate that. How did you arrange it so quickly?”

Jack paused. “My friend owed me a favor, remember?”

“I remember, but the guy said something about Mr. Baker ‘taking good care’ of him. I was curious what he meant.”

Jack laughed. “Oh, that’s just Tommy being an idiot. He’s my friend. End of story. Are you on your way to work?” I wondered why he seemed a little weird around this issue again but decided not to push it.

“Yeah, I have a huge menu to get organized for a wedding this weekend.”

“So you’re really feeling okay? I was a little worried.”

A pleasant sensation burned in my belly, knowing he had been thinking of me. “Thank you, but I’m fine. My best friend came over and talked me down off the emotional ledge. I promise I’m not a girl who typically cries all the time. I’m actually sort of a badass.”

Jack chuckled. “Oh, yeah?”

“Definitely. If anyone at work found out their chef was such a crybaby, there’d be immediate anarchy. You do realize I’m going to have to swear you to secrecy.”

“And what do I get for my cooperation in this little pact?”

“Wow, we’ve known each other less than a month and you’re already blackmailing me?”

“I feel your constant waterworks have brought us close enough together for that kind of intimacy.”

I smiled. “Hmm. I don’t know. You might be moving a little too fast for me, Mr. Baker.”

“I’ll go at whatever speed you’re comfortable with, Ms. West.”

I laughed, enjoying our banter. Was it just banter? Did he talk with all women like this? “So, Jack,” I said. “How did you get my address?”

“Rita had it in the family contact paperwork you gave her for if your dad shows up. I hope it was okay I asked her for it.”

“Of course. I was just curious.” I pulled into the parking garage beneath the Emerald City Events building. I turned off my car and thought about how much I’d rather sit and keep talking to Jack instead of going inside to work. I hung up with a huge smile on my face, one that Juan noticed immediately when I walked into the kitchen.

“Hey there, boss lady! You look like you won the lottery or something.”

I laughed as I pulled on my apron and sat down at my desk. “You think I’d be here if I’d won the lottery?”

“Sure you would. If only to bring me a bonus check. For being the best guy in the world.”

I shook my head, still smiling. “What have we got on the books?” I asked.

“The Chandler wedding this weekend is pretty much it, besides a couple of small dinner parties tonight and tomorrow. I’ve already got the ball rolling on those, but we await your spreadsheet before we can get started on the wedding.” He slumped down into the chair across from me and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“You’re not working too much, are you?” Since Juan was an hourly employee and qualified for overtime, I typically gave him free rein to work past forty hours as often as he liked. Especially considering his family situation. “Everything okay at home?”

Juan dropped his hands to his lap and sighed. “Pop’s having a rough time of it lately. The doctors don’t know what to do other than give him more pain meds, you know? I’m trying to give my mom a break at night so she can get some sleep.”

“You need to take care of yourself, too, Juan.”

He gave me a wry smile. “Coming from the boss lady, who works on high speed and then spends all her spare time combing the streets of Seattle for her father?”

I laughed. “Touché. Just don’t overdo it, my friend. Let me know if you need to back off on your hours some.”

“Can’t afford it!” He popped up and clapped his hands. “Oh, hey. Doug from corporate stopped by with a huge new set of pots and pans yesterday.”

“Oh yeah? How are they?”

“They’re sweet. All shiny stainless steel with aluminum centers. I had Maria run them through the washer a few times to make sure they were free of all factory chemicals and are good to go.”

“Thank you. That’s great.” I turned on my laptop and got ready to work, but Juan didn’t leave. I gave him a questioning glance. “Is there something else?”

“What should I do with the old and busted ones?”

“Oh, right. Not a lot of room around here for both sets, huh?”

“No, ma’am.”

I sat back in my chair, considering the possibilities. An idea struck me. “How about we donate them to a worthy cause? That shelter I volunteered at the other night could use a better class of kitchen tools. Anything left over employees can divvy up and take home.”

“Great idea, boss.”

“Let me shoot an e-mail off to corporate and make sure it’s okay before you tell anyone. I’ll let you know.”

Juan headed out to the kitchen and I quickly sent an e-mail to Doug, Emerald City Events’ VP. After receiving the okay from him to dispose of the used kitchenware however I pleased, I picked up my cell and called Jack, who once again answered before the third ring.

“You again?” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m trying to get some work done around here.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s me. I was wondering, does your friend with the moving business have anything else on the books today, or would he be available to help me with something?”

“I don’t know. Is there a catering emergency? If there was food involved, I could probably convince him to help you out.”