Outside the Lines (20 page)

I nodded, my stomach turning a bit at what I was afraid Jack might tell me next.

“The guy kept grabbing for the money and Dennis was laughing—we were all laughing until Dennis looked away for a minute and the guy actually nabbed Dennis’s wallet and started running. We chased him and finally cornered him in an alley about two blocks away.” Jack looked up at me, the pain he felt over this memory evident in his eyes. “A couple of the other guys pinned him down and took all the money he had in his pockets, which was only like fifteen bucks or something like that, and then they took turns punching and kicking him. I screamed at them to knock it off, but they wouldn’t listen. When I tried to pull them off of him, they started to come at me, too.” He looked up at me, his green eyes clouded with regret. “Watching it happen and not being able to stop them was pretty much the most horrible moment of my life.”

“I can imagine,” I said, picturing the scene and feeling my stomach twist even further at the images flashing through my mind. Had something like this happened to my father? If it had, did anyone try to help him?

Jack blew a long breath out and sat back in his chair. “I had nightmares about the guy dying in an alley. The guilt was pretty overwhelming.”

“Did you ever talk to anyone about it?”

“A few people. I tried to talk to a couple of the guys who were there, too, but they laughed at me, you know? Like it was just a stupid prank and I should just forget about it.” His eyes held mine. “But I couldn’t. I pushed it down and tried not to let it bother me most of the time, but it always worked its way back up. The look on the guy’s face, pleading for me to help him, kept me up at night. It’s definitely part of why I couldn’t stay working for my dad. I knew I needed to do something to balance out what I’d done.”

“Most people would just write a check to the United Way and call it good,” I said. “You’ve gone a little above and beyond, starting a shelter.”

He smiled. “I’m an overachiever, I guess. I tried doing volunteer work with the homeless during college and it only fueled the idea of the shelter. I thought about waiting until after I retired or something like that, but I didn’t want to put it off. It was just something I knew I needed to do.” He leaned forward and reached across the table to take my hand in his. “Have you thought about what you want to do once you find your dad?”

I gave him a half smile. “Not really, to tell you the truth. I’ve been so focused on the search.”

“What made you decide to start looking for him?”

“I’ve always worried about what happened to him to some extent, but I was pretty angry with him too, for leaving and never coming back to see me.”

“But what about the letters he sent when he was living in the apartment? He at least tried to reach out, right?”

I sighed. “Yes. But by that time I was pretty bitter about not hearing from him for so long. All my adolescent angst went in one direction—toward him. I still worried about him, especially after I realized he’d ended up on the streets, but the real catalyst to start looking for him came about a year ago when my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had a double mastectomy and went through chemo. The thought of losing her brought it home pretty hard that if she died, I’d be an orphan.”

“That must have been really rough. How is she now?” Jack picked up a shrimp with his free hand and popped it in his mouth. I liked that he didn’t let go of mine.

“She’s doing well. I still worry, of course. And she wants grandchildren something fierce.”

“Did she remarry?”

“She did, but I don’t really think of John as my father. I mean, I like him, and he’s been great for my mother, but I was so close to my dad before his illness started to get the better of him. Not having him around was a pretty big hole in my life. And then my mom got sick and I just felt this overwhelming need to make sure he’s okay, you know? And also apologize for not answering him when he tried to contact me. I know it’s a cliché, but life really is so short. I didn’t want to look back and regret not at least trying to mend what was broken between us.”

“I can understand that,” Jack said. “And I’d like to say I’m ready to follow in your footsteps with my dad, but I just don’t think I’m there yet.”

I understood what he meant. It took me a long time to work up the courage to start looking for my father; I was sure Jack would reach out to his when the time was right. We ate a little more, and our conversation shifted to our siblings—Jack had a younger sister who worked in residency as a plastic surgeon in Los Angeles, so I joked about setting her up with my bodybuilding brother and the two of them raising a brood of physically perfect children. He told me stories about trying to build up enough capital to open Hope House and we discussed the idea of putting on a fund-raiser. I discovered he loved movies but hated TV. He promised he could tolerate my addiction to reality television if I could tolerate his to playing Xbox games online. Before I knew it, we had sipped our way through a bottle of wine and the lights flashed for last call.

“I probably shouldn’t drive yet,” Jack said. “Want to take a walk? I don’t think it’s raining.” There was no way he was drunk; we’d both only had two glasses of wine. I suspected his offer of a walk was made so we could spend more time together. I wasn’t about to argue with that.

“Sure,” I said, happy I’d insisted on the boots instead of the towering stiletto sandals Georgia would have had me wear.

Jack paid the bill and we set out on our stroll along the fairly deserted downtown streets. I had a happy, skipping feeling in my belly that only intensified when Jack stopped walking and reached over to lace his fingers through mine. We made eye contact as we touched and I gave him a big smile. I stood very still, my heart thwapping like a helicopter in my chest as he turned toward me.

“I like you, Eden. Very much.” His shorter stature suddenly seemed like an enormous advantage with his face at the exact level of mine. If he kissed me, there would be no craning of my neck or standing on tippytoes.

“I like you too,” I said a little breathlessly.

He leaned in slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. I closed my eyes as he drew in closer. His lips were soft and the kiss was gentle but insistent. When he reached his free hand up to brush my cheek with the tips of his fingers, it sent sparks off throughout my body. It had been a long while since someone touched me with such tenderness. I couldn’t help but emit a low groan.

His eyes snapped open at the sound and he pulled back, though still less than two inches from my face. Illuminated by the streetlight, I saw that he had slivers of gold sewn through the green of his irises.

“That good, huh?” he asked with a small grin.

I gave his arm a playful squeeze and smiled. “No, it was horrible, actually. I think you’d better do it again immediately to make up for that pitiful excuse for a kiss.”

He gave a low chuckle and unwound his fingers from mine, bringing both his hands to my face, cupping it before he kissed me again. This time he didn’t hold back. I felt his tongue flick against mine, just the tip, questioning. I opened and pressed my body against him. His arms encircled me and as his hands roamed lightly over my back, an unfamiliar sensation rose up in me. Right there, in the middle of the night on a downtown street corner, Jack held me in his arms and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt safe.

I didn’t sleep much the month my father was in jail. Worry kept me awake—I worried he wasn’t getting enough to eat or taking the kind of medicine he needed to get well. I worried the anger in his eyes when the officer took him away would be the last expression I ever saw on his face. I worried there was nothing I could do to make him forgive me.

My mother didn’t want to talk about him. If she was worried, it didn’t show. She went to work and I went to school and when we were at home, we both pretended it had always been this way. Just she and I, sitting at the dinner table. She and I, watching
Mork and Mindy
reruns. My mother and I, just trying to get by on our own. The problem was I didn’t want her to be okay with just getting by. I didn’t want her to get comfortable with my father being gone. I also didn’t want her to get upset, as she always did, when my father came home. I felt protective of and angry at them both, but mostly, I felt scared.

At night, after my mom had gone to bed, I allowed thoughts of my father to come to me. I remembered the time I was seven years old and my mom was gone for the week at an accounting conference. My dad kept me out of school and drove us four hours to Ocean Shores just so he could teach me to find the Big Dipper in the night sky.

“The stars are clearer at the ocean,” he said. “You can’t see them as well in the city because of all the lights.” We were huddled on the sand beneath a thin blanket he had stuffed beneath the backseat of his car. I was still in my pajamas—he hadn’t thought about dressing me in something warmer.

“What’s that one, Daddy?” I asked him, pointing up at the biggest, brightest star I saw. It flashed and I imagined it was winking at me.

He peered up, leaning over to see where I was pointing. “Ah, the North Star. Sailors used it to guide them on their voyages, honey. It was the map they used to find their way home.”

“Oh.” I believed my father, not having any reason to doubt he knew the name of every star in the sky. I couldn’t fathom his not having the answer to any question I had.

Could he see the stars in jail? I wondered. Did they have a place outside where my father could stand and breathe fresh air and look up at the night sky? Or was he always trapped in a cell, caged in like the animals at the zoo? I imagined him pacing like a tiger, tight and lean, his blue eyes like lasers, targeting his prey. Were there doctors in jail? I wondered. I had no way to find out. If only he would come home, Mom would forgive him like she always forgave him and I would find a way to make him understand why I’d done what I did.

As the days passed, I fed the idea that when he got out, my father just needed to find the right doctor. Someone who would help him figure out how he could get well. He’d always complained the doctors in the hospital didn’t listen to him, so after school one afternoon I walked to the public clinic my mother sometimes took me to when I was sick. The doctors there were nice, so I figured if I just got in to see one, I could find out if they’d be able to help my dad get better.

Having something to do after school was better than going home and spending the afternoon alone, as I had been doing while my father was gone. My mother couldn’t afford a sitter and old Mrs. Worthington across the street said she’d keep an eye out for intruders but she didn’t have the energy to watch me. The silence in the house was paralyzing; every creak of the floor or bird flapping against the window shot anxiety through my bones. There weren’t enough locks in the world to make me feel safe.

“Hi,” I said to the receptionist when I arrived at the clinic. “I need to see a doctor. A nice one.”

The receptionist, a skinny girl with carrot-colored curls and a turned-up freckled nose, looked up from her computer and snapped her gum. “All our doctors are nice. Have you been here before?”

“Yes. With my mom. My name is Eden West.”

“Where’s your mom now, sweetie?” She peeked over my shoulder and scanned the waiting area, which only had a couple of other people in it.

“She’s still at work.” It suddenly hit me that they might not let me talk to a doctor without my mother there. “She’s on her way, though. She told me to go ahead and get in for the appointment and she would meet me here.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

I could tell she was suspicious and I wasn’t used to handling all these questions from grown-ups. Usually my mom took care of this kind of thing. “I’ve been having stomachaches. Bad ones.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Lots of diarrhea. And gas.” It was a little alarming how easily the lies slid off my tongue.

The receptionist managed to keep her composure, but I saw her nose twitch with distaste. She looked back at her computer screen, typed a little, and then smiled at me with closed lips before speaking. “Dr. Adams isn’t in today, but Dr. Vick can see you in a few minutes. I assume you have the same insurance company?”

“Yes.” I had no idea if this was true, but I figured I’d find a way to sort it out later if it became an issue.

“Go ahead and have a seat and I’ll call your name when it’s time.”

“Thank you,” I said primly. “And where’s the bathroom?” I dropped my chin to my chest. “You know. Just in case?”

“Through the door on your right.” She turned back to her work, happy to be rid of me, I supposed.

I sat in a peach-colored plastic chair and set my backpack on the linoleum floor. The old man sitting across from me had his arm bent at the elbow and held his head in one hand. His eyes were closed. A chubby blond woman was curled up on the only couch in the room. She was pale and breathing fast. I wondered if I might catch something while I sat there. Maybe if I got sick, they’d let my dad out of jail early and he’d come home. If I was sick, he couldn’t be mad at me. He would sit at my bedside and read to me, like he’d done when I was seven and had strep throat. He made me homemade Popsicles out of a mixture of orange juice and 7-UP and fed me chocolate milkshakes for breakfast. Getting sick was a brilliant idea. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? And where better to pick up germs than at the doctor’s?

I glanced around the room, careful that no one was watching me as I rubbed my hands on the seat next to me. Someone sick had to have sat there today. Maybe they sneezed and left me their germs. I licked my fingers.

“Eden West?” A door had opened and a nurse called out my name. The receptionist stood up and whispered something in the nurse’s ear. The nurse nodded slowly, both of them looking at me with a concerned expression. Good. She thought I was really sick.

“Right here,” I said, and I stood up, grabbed my backpack, and followed her through the doorway and down the hall into an examination room.