Outside the Lines: A Novel

The rest of our first day in Portland Jack, Georgia, Bryce, and I spent searching the places Matt told us to look. Portland seemed like such a clean, lovely city, it was difficult to believe there were any areas where we might not feel safe. But when we arrived downtown, both Georgia and I were happy we had Bryce and Jack with us. Loud groups of young men stared at us as we walked past, eyeing us with an energy that made me feel like we could very well become their prey. It was no worse than anything we saw in Seattle, but somehow with the streets being so unfamiliar, it felt more threatening. There were plenty of retail stores in the area, but we went directly to the art store where Matt suggested my father might be hanging out. When he wasn’t there or anywhere nearby, we walked a twelve-block grid with no luck.

Ever determined, we headed to the next area on Matt’s list, a neighborhood just north of downtown Matt had noted was somewhat known for its homeless population. We showed copies of my dad’s picture to as many people as would stop to talk with us, but after six hours of driving around and combing the foreign streets, we were all exhausted and decided it was time to check into our hotel. The optimism I had felt at the beginning of the day in Matt’s office slowly faded into discouragement.

“Thanks for booking each of us a room, too,” Georgia said to Jack after we grabbed a quick bite to eat in the hotel restaurant. We stood in the lobby next to a fountain where I threw in a few pennies and made a wish, just in case.

“Yeah, man,” Bryce said. “That was very cool of you.”

Jack shrugged and raked his fingers through his dark hair. “Not a big deal. I’m glad you guys could come with.” He put his arm around me and hugged me to him. “Aren’t you glad, Eden?”

I nodded, surprised to realize that despite my initial reservations, I was happy my brother and best friend were with us. Any tension I had sensed between them had dissipated completely as we went about our day, so I decided if they could be adult about the situation, so could I. Jack and I both waved at them as they walked away, toward the elevators. I leaned into Jack, resting my head against his shoulder. He kissed my forehead. “Ready for sleep, baby?” he asked.

I nodded again but found the opposite word of what I was feeling pop out of my mouth. “No.”

He laughed. I pulled back and smiled at him sweetly. “Can we go look at the train station?” Union Station was the last place Matt had on his list of my father’s possible haunts.

Jack looked confused. “I thought we were going to do that tomorrow.”

“We were, but I was just thinking, it’ll be full of commuters and tourists in the morning. If we go now, he might be easier to spot.” I didn’t know if this was true. I only knew that despite the aching fatigue in my bones, I wouldn’t be able to sleep until we’d checked this final place. My motivation was winding down; I needed to take advantage of the little I had left.

Jack smiled and shook his head. “I’m up for it if you are.”

“I am.” We walked back out to the garage and as we reached his car, he opened the door for me. I climbed inside and sighed. I was tired. Exhausted, really, but I couldn’t help but feel compelled to finish out this search tonight. I told myself if he wasn’t at Union Station, we’d get up in the morning and head home. I voiced this to Jack as he looked up the train station on his GPS and punched it in as our destination.

“You’re sure you want to leave? You don’t want to check out other shelters while we’re here?”

“I’m sure,” I said, staring out the window at the city’s glittering Christmas lights. “I’ve been thinking a lot about how I need to start focusing more on what I have in my life instead of what I don’t. And I have a lot.” I reached across the console and stroked the soft, dark hair on his arm. “I’ll still keep feelers out in the hospitals and shelters for his name, but I think I might be done focusing so much on so actively trying to find him.”

“There weren’t any other clues to where he might be in the box we found at his apartment?”

“Nope. Other than the letters, it was mostly clothes and books. And I think the letters pretty much told me all that I needed to know to begin with.”

“And what was that?” Jack pulled into the fairly deserted Union Station parking lot and turned the car into a space. He turned off the engine and looked at me. Even with his messy hair and sleepy eyes, my heart swelled just seeing his face.

“That he tried to see me. That he didn’t leave and never looked back. He missed me. He loved me. Everything I thought about the way things happened was wrong. And I feel at peace about it somehow.”

Much like the parking lot, the inside of Union Station was pretty empty. A few travelers lugged their large suitcases behind them; others strolled slowly to their gate. A loud voice came over the speaker, announcing that the 9:10 to Seattle was departing in five minutes. Jack and I walked around slowly, taking everything in. There were many obviously homeless people scattered across various benches, some stretched out in sleep and some sitting at attention, looking as though they were waiting for an arrival that might never come.

We walked the length of the station back and forth two times, Jack checking all the men’s restrooms and every other corner inside the building. After about an hour, we dropped onto a bench near the doors where we’d come inside.

“It’s no use,” I said. “This is pointless.”

Jack patted my leg. “You want some coffee?” he asked.

I smiled at him gratefully. “That would be wonderful.”

“Black, right?” He popped up from the bench.

I nodded, loving that he paid attention to how I took my coffee. It made me feel like part of a settled-in couple, one who knew each other’s habits and tastes. According to Jack, he liked his coffee sweet and creamy, “like I like my women,” he said.

“You got it,” he said. He approached the dreadlocked young man working behind a coffee cart about twenty feet away from the bench where I still sat. I watched him order our coffees, then pull out the picture of my father from his pocket. I stood up and walked over to the cart myself to better hear their conversation.

The man peered at the photo over the counter. “Is he in trouble?”

Jack shook his head. “Not at all. This is his daughter. She’s trying to find him.”

The man looked me up and down and grinned. “You look like David. He never said he had a daughter. And a pretty one, to boot.”

“When did you last see him?” My heart sped up in my chest. He knows my father’s name.

“Last night, I think. Around closing. He hangs out down at the other exit, the small one by the lockers, trying to catch the tourists. He’s really talented.”

“Which way?” I asked excitedly, throwing my gaze around the immediate area. We hadn’t gone outside to look, thinking he’d be inside for the warmth. But maybe Matt had been right. My father was still in Portland. There was a chance I’d find him here.

“There,” the man said, pointing us down the long corridor to the large glass doors. “Beneath the clock outside.”

“Thank you!” I said, and grabbed Jack’s hand. Forgetting our coffees, we strode quickly in the direction the man had pointed, away from where we had entered the station.

“Slow down, Eden,” Jack said, half laughing. “If he’s there, he’ll just be sitting there, not running away from you.”

“I know, I know,” I said. “I can’t help it. He could be here!”

I pushed past several people standing in line at the ticket booth. “Excuse me, excuse me,” I said as they grumbled at us. “Sorry, sorry.”

Finally, we reached the doors and stepped outside. It was dark outside, but the area was well lit enough for it to appear like daytime. I glanced wildly around, not seeing him and not seeing him. My heart dropped. “Where is he?” I asked. “Do you see him?”

Jack, not being much taller than I, strained to see over the heads of a group of tourists standing next to us. He jumped up once, letting go of my hand in the process. “There!” he said loudly. “Over there!”

“Where?” I asked frantically. My pulse raced through my veins; my entire body shook, saturated with adrenaline.

“Come on,” Jack said, pulling me through the crowd. He elbowed his way past, not stopping to apologize as we stepped on a few toes. When we got to the other side of the group, he pointed toward the corner of the entryway, next to a wall. “There.”

My pulse pounded in my ears as I followed his finger with my eyes. I saw an easel with a sketch pad set upon it. On the stool behind it sat a tall, thin man with straggly black hair shot through with gray, which hung to the middle of his back. He had a heavy beard and wore faded jeans and a thick brown jacket with worn-out hiking boots. I could only see his profile, but the aquiline nose was unmistakably my father’s. He was there. He was less than ten feet away from me.

My breath left me and I swayed where I stood. If not for Jack grabbing me, I may have fallen over.

I couldn’t speak. All this time and there he was. What if I hadn’t wanted to come to the station tonight? What if I’d given in and gone to bed? I might never have found him. And yet, there he was. My father. The man I loved first and who first loved me.

Jack urged me toward him, giving me a little push. He stood back, letting me take this first moment alone with my father. The tears rose in my throat as I approached him.

“Daddy?” I managed to choke out, and he turned to look for the voice that had spoken the word. His face was so pale and tired. His expression was bruised and battle scarred—he was a mere shadow of the man I used to know. Was he the shadow I’d chased in my dream so many years ago? Did I have some kind of premonition of this pursuit? I couldn’t be sure. But then it didn’t matter, because his face blossomed into that smile I knew so well, less a few teeth. He knew me. He saw my face and he knew me right away.

“Bug,” he said simply. “What’re you doing here?”

A sound that was half laugh, half sob strangled in my throat. “Looking for you,” I said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“You have?” He looked surprised. He set down his pencil and stood up, outstretching his skinny arms to hold me. “Well, I’m right here.”

I rushed toward him and threw myself into his embrace. He was skin and bones; I could feel the xylophone of his rib cage against my cheek. I sobbed and sobbed and my father soothed me, kissing the top of my head, his familiar touch and murmured words filling a space long empty in my heart.

“Eden, my love, don’t cry,” he whispered. “It’s okay, honey. Daddy’s here. Everything’s going to be all right.”