Outside the Lines (31 page)

Jack led them out of the kitchen and I was left with Rita, Georgia, and Bryce. “Thanks a lot, you two,” I said to my best friend and brother. “Way to ambush me.”

“Well,” Bryce said, “we got talking and decided you were being way too stubborn for your own good.”

“That’s right,” Georgia said in agreement. “So we intervened. Anyway, you’ve been talking about this place for almost two months. I wanted to see it.”

I pulled out the stuffing from the oven and set it on the counter, then turned with my hands on my hips to face my best friend.

“Here,” Bryce said. “I’ll take that out to the dining room and see if I can help. Don’t want Pops to pull a muscle.” He and Georgia held each other’s gaze a little longer than was comfortable, but I waited for him to leave before saying anything.

“What was
that
about?”

She gave me wide, innocent eyes. “What was what about?”

“That look between you and my brother.”

“Oh, that.” She averted her eyes from me and moved them to Rita. “What can I do to help?”

“Georgia Leighton Mills!” I exclaimed.

Both she and Rita looked surprised but then laughed.

“They walked in together, if that tells you anything,” Rita said as she grabbed a huge basket of rolls and escaped to the dining room, leaving me alone with my best friend.

“Traitor!” Georgia called out after her, but Rita only laughed, apparently enjoying the role of instigator.

I grabbed Georgia’s arm. “Are you sleeping with my brother?”

“Not currently, no.” She yanked her arm away and took a deep breath, tiny lines of worry stitched across her forehead. “Look. I meant to tell you, but the fight with your mom blew up at, like, the
exact same time
. I didn’t want to upset you even more when it happened.”

I dropped onto a stool by the counter with my shoulders slumped. “When
what
happened, exactly?”

“Well . . .” Georgia said, shifting her gaze away from mine, then back again. “You know he and I have been talking and flirting at the gym. It was totally innocent until he asked if he could make me dinner.”

“And you said
yes
?”

Her chin fell toward her chest as she nervously ran her fingers through her loose amber curls, shaking them out. “I did.” She threw her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “It was a total moment of weakness. I’ve been dating all these jerks and I’m starting to wonder what’s wrong with me. I’m so tired of being single.” She took a deep breath. “Then suddenly, a sweet, gorgeous young man wanted to spend time with me? I think my ego said yes more than me.”

I nodded slowly. Georgia talked a tough game about being fine on her own, but I knew she ached to be appreciated—to fall in love. And as much as I hated to admit it, I could see being flattered the same way if a younger man asked me out. Before meeting Jack, I might have even said yes. But still, it was my
brother.
The idea made me queasy.

“So, we ate and talked and it just sort of . . . happened.” She shrugged. “Listen. He and I both agree it was a mistake. A one-night kind of thing. We talked about it the next morning and he was remarkably mature about just staying friends.” She paused and looked up at me with her huge, round hazel eyes, about ready to cry. “Are you going to be mad at me now, too? I’m really sorry I didn’t say something sooner, but it’s not exactly an easy subject to bring up, and with everything else you have going on . . .”

I sighed. “I don’t think I’m mad, exactly. More like a little creeped out. It’s so Mrs. Robinson.” A thought struck me. “Wait. Were you the picnic dinner?”

She nodded, her lips in a tight smile. “Those caramel brownies were amazing.”

“Oh god.” I shook my head. “This is crazy.”

She laughed, throwing her head back. “It
was
crazy. It’s fine, we’re friends. No hard feelings.”

“Okay,” I said, smiling weakly. “But please don’t tell anyone else.”

“Deal,” she said solemnly. “Now, let’s talk turkey!”

With four extra sets of hands to help serve the meal and make runs to the kitchen for refills, Thanksgiving dinner went off as planned. Georgia and Bryce took the meat station, and John and Mom took care of mashed potatoes, stuffing, and yams, while Jack and I made sure people got some green beans and fresh, hot yeast rolls slathered in butter. The clients helped themselves to dessert.

“This gravy is awesome, Eden!” Jade said when she came back for a second helping. “Thank you so much.”

I smiled. “You’re very welcome, Jade. Make sure you save some room for dessert!”

She groaned. “I have to work later. I don’t want to hurl all over a customer.”

I laughed and went around to give her a hug. “Where’s Cheyenne?”

A sad look passed over Jade’s face. “She’s in jail. Sixty days. I’m not sure she’s gonna make it.”

“Why not?”

“She gets dope-sick pretty bad. Not a lot of sympathy for us junkies in there.”

I hugged her again. “I’m sorry. Maybe I can go see her next week. Take her some brownies.”

“Only if you can fit a file in them,” Jade said with a wink. Then she went over to sit down at the table with her other friends.

“Your mom has been watching you,” Jack said when I got back behind the table.

I looked over to my mom, who was smiling at a short man in a dirty black trench coat as she filled his plate with ham. “Huh,” I said.

“It’s pretty great they all came down here.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?” he said. “My family wouldn’t be caught dead near this place. You have one fight with your mother and she’s here to volunteer. Maybe you should give her a little credit.”

I scooped out a serving of green beans to the next person in line. “I do. I still just have a hard time with the lying thing. I’ve always been able to trust what she says.”

“The world doesn’t judge us by what we say, Eden. It judges us by what we do. And I think what your mom is doing by being here is pretty fucking cool.”

I looked at him sideways, cautious of his tone. “Are you mad at me?”

He shook his head. “I’m not mad. I just don’t want you to throw away a relationship because of one mistake. That doesn’t bode well for our future.”

My stomach churned at his words, at the thought of losing him over something as stupid as my pride. I set down my spoon. “Okay,” I said.

“Okay, what?” he said.

“Okay, I’m going to talk to her. Really work things out. I don’t want to throw anything away. Not with my mother and not with you.”

Jack smiled and his eyes lit up. He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I’ve got a handle on things here. Go.”

I squeezed his hand before I walked over to the table where she and John stood. “How’s it going, Mom?” I asked. “Do you need a break?”

She smiled at me with tired eyes. “I am getting a little wiped out.”

“Come on. We’ll go sit in Jack’s office for a bit and let you put your feet up.” I looked at John. “Is that okay?”

“Of course it is,” John said. “I’ll just keep feeding the masses.” He gave me a hearty grin and I spontaneously reached out and hugged him, hard.

“Oomph!” he said. “What was that for?”

“For being a great stepfather,” I said.

His chin lifted and he smiled with his bottom lip trembling. “Only because I have a great stepdaughter. She brings it out in me.”

My mom followed me through the bunk room and into Jack’s office, where I let her sit on the chair and pulled the other one around for her to put her feet up. I rested against the door I had closed behind us. “So, what do you think of all this?” I asked her.

“It’s smaller than I pictured,” she said. “I guess I imagined a warehouse of sorts. This is more like a remodeled office building.”

I nodded. “I think Jack chose it for the location. It’s in pretty close proximity to the hospital and the viaduct, where a lot of the clients hang out.”

“He’s doing a good thing here. You too, honey. It’s nice to see you put your cooking skills to such good use. I’m glad I came.” She sat very still.

“I’m glad, too.” I took a deep breath. “I need to apologize for getting so angry, Mom.”

“You had every right to be angry. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“Well, maybe so, but I still shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I could have listened to your reasoning a little bit more. Or tried to understand it better. I hurt you, and I’m sorry for it.”

She gave me a tender look and I suddenly felt four years old. I wanted to climb into her lap and let her hold me. “I’m sorry, too,” she said. She reached into the front pockets of her jeans and pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it, spreading it flat across her lap. “So I’ve done a little digging.”

I tilted my head toward my shoulder. “Digging?”

“Yes. About your father. I remembered you told me the last place he was hospitalized for sure was out in Monroe. They wouldn’t give you any details because you weren’t the emergency contact.”

I nodded, the muscles in my throat convulsing. I was a little terrified to hear what she might have to tell me.

“Well, I am.” She looked up at me. “He always listed my name, I guess even after I married John. The nurse I spoke to told me your dad was there because of a psychotic episode. He committed himself about three years ago. They took as much of a history as they could get out of him.”

“Oh, Mom.” I couldn’t believe she had done this. Not after how much she fought against my looking for him. Not after all the dead ends I’d faced.

“Now, don’t get too excited.” She held up her hand, palm facing me, then dropped it back to her lap. “All I found out is that he did live in California for several years. San Francisco, to be exact. He came back up here and lived in that apartment building you found. That’s when he tried to get in touch with you again. He told them he tried to stay on his meds and get a job so he could get his life together for his daughter. He was very proud that you had become a chef.”

“How did he know?” I whispered, still in shock.

“They weren’t sure about that. I asked them the same question. But he went off his meds again and went back to the streets. It sounds like he stayed in Seattle for the most part. He did visit a shelter down in Portland, though. A sort of halfway house that runs a special program for artists with mental illness. He told them he’d go back there after he got out of the locked ward.” She looked up at me and held out the piece of paper. “That’s all I could find out. I haven’t called the place in Portland. I thought you might want to do that.”

I stumbled over to her and fell to my knees, wrapping my arms around her waist. I rested my head on the soft flesh of her belly and let the tears come.

“Shh,” she said, trying to soothe me. “Don’t cry. I’m sorry I didn’t do this sooner. I should have.”

“You’re doing it now,” I said, looking up to her through blurry eyes. “That’s the only thing that counts.”

I still had dreams about that night. I still saw my father bleeding out in the bathroom, but in my dreams, instead of being unconscious, he reached out while his wounds dripped onto the floor. I could not hear his voice but saw him mouth the words “Save me” time and time again. I willed myself to go to him, but I could not. I was immobile, paralyzed by fear. I couldn’t save him. There was nothing I could do to help. I woke with a start each time the dream visited me, my breath caught in my throat, my cheeks wet with tears. At fifteen, I’d given up hope my father would return, but a part of me just couldn’t let him go.

Most of the time I was a well-adjusted teenager. I fought with my mom and John about how late I could stay out on Friday nights and when I could go on a date alone with a boy who drove. I babysat Bryce, who at four years old had finally become something more than just annoying. He liked me to read to him and dig with him in his sandbox; I liked him to ask me in his cute toddler voice for “avamacados” or tell me a farm smelled like “cow madure.” I spent time with my friends and still hated anything to do with math. I was an average student in my other classes, determined to follow my dreams of becoming a chef. At sixteen, I pestered the owner of the café near our house for a job in the kitchen until he finally gave in and let me wash dishes a few nights a week. I was promoted to prep cook in less than a year. I learned to julienne and chiffonade, and how to debone a trout without tearing up its delicate flesh. John gave me his old Ford Explorer so neither he nor my mom would have to cart me around. For all intents and purposes, my life was full.

Since we had moved in with John five years before, my mother had made it clear my father was not to be discussed. She didn’t tell me this outright, but I learned it soon enough from how she carefully avoided any reference to him when she talked about our past.

“Eden’s a wonderful cook,” John said one night when I made spaghetti for dinner. “She must have had a wonderful teacher.”

“She certainly is,” my mom said, acknowledging John’s first statement but not the latter.

I sat at the table, spinning the noodles around and around on my fork. I could feel her eyes on me, knowing she didn’t want me to bring my father up. It was as though she thought my memory of him would fade away if we didn’t say his name out loud. And to some extent, I suppose she was right. He wasn’t in my thoughts as often as he was after he first disappeared. My longing for him had aged into something less tangible—an occasional craving instead of a constant sense of starvation.

There were moments when I missed him profoundly—I was a junior when my high school sponsored a father-daughter breakfast.

“You could take John,” my mother suggested when she read about the event in the quarterly newsletter the school sent out to parents. We were sitting in the living room, where I was trying to watch TV while my mother pretended to be cleaning. “Dusting with an agenda,” I liked to call it.

“He’s not my father,” I said, leaning to peek around her so I wouldn’t miss a moment of MTV’s
Real World
. Despite my issues with John, the change in my mother since my dad left our lives was for the better, I knew. After he was gone, she rarely got stressed out or angry, and even when she did—if I refused to pick up my clothes or Bryce accidentally broke her favorite coffee mug—her response was stern but never enraged. It was as though all her fury was used up on my father and what was left in its place was tolerance and a newfound sense of peace. I felt a little guilty for liking my mother more the way she was with John, as though I were somehow betraying my dad.