Saturday morning, the third day my father was in my house, I woke to the sound of Jasper growling. “What is it?” I asked sleepily, reaching over to pat his warm head. Jack had worked the night shift at the shelter, so it was just my father and me. Jasper growled again, despite my touch. It was early, still dark outside, so I propped myself up and flipped on the lamp by my bed.
“Sorry,” my father’s voice said, to my surprise, and my hand flew to my chest. I looked up and saw him standing in the doorway, staring at me.
“Holy shit, Dad,” I said, breathing fast. “You scared me.” I patted Jasper, who apparently still wasn’t used to my father’s presence. Jasper finally quieted. “What’re you doing? Is everything okay?” It struck me just how much I felt like a parent in that moment, how my mother used to grill my dad with the exact same questions.
He nodded. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay.” I sat up and smiled. “Come on in. What time is it?”
“I don’t know. Early, I guess.” He paused before taking a few steps over and sitting on the edge of my bed. “I was watching you sleep.”
I cocked my head and pulled up a corner of my mouth. “You were? Why?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I used to do it all the time when you were little. It calmed me when I got wound the wrong way.” His face was still so gaunt. Dark circles bruised the spaces beneath his eyes. I wondered if he was getting any sleep at all.
I reached over and put my hand on his arm. “Are you feeling like that now? Hasn’t the medicine kicked in yet?”
He shook his head. “I don’t feel it. I’ve been on it so many times, I think I’ve built up a resistance. It takes time to start working, anyway.”
“You’ve been taking it, though, right?” I hated to ask the question, but I had to. Even after twenty years, I feared his patterns hadn’t changed. The fact that I had slipped into my mother’s old role of policing his behaviors felt wrong somehow, knowing how much he hated it. He shot me a glowering look, one I recalled well from my childhood. It was the exact same look he used to give to my mother. Back off, it said. Stop treating me like a child.
This was not how I had envisioned our reunion would go. We’d spent the last two days in my house together edging around each other carefully. He was in his room a lot and not eating much. I was cooking like crazy to keep myself busy. Was I wrong about all of this? Had he even wanted to be found?
“Well,” I said pointedly, ignoring my discomfort and unwilling to give up on him, “then maybe we need to ask the doctor for something stronger.”
“I hate taking anything stronger. You remember that, right? You remember how miserable the medication makes me?” He gritted his teeth; I saw the muscle along his jaw twitch.
“I do,” I said, a tight feeling in my chest making it difficult to breathe. “But it’s the only thing that works, Dad. At least, that we know of.”
“I’ve managed pretty well on my own.” He spoke quietly, in almost a whisper.
“You drink. That’s not an effective way to manage a mood disorder.” Dr. Shaw had advised me to be direct with my father and not enable his rationalizations about his condition, the same advice other doctors had given my mother for years.
“It’s the way I’ve managed mine.” He stared at the floor. His hands were folded in his lap, clasped together so tight his knuckles turned white. “It keeps the voices quiet.”
Voices? The doctor hadn’t mentioned anything in his file about my father hearing voices. Wasn’t that a sign of schizophrenia? I decided it was better to not ask for clarification on this point. “You’ve managed it so well you ended up in the psych ward again three years ago,” I said instead. “It’ll get better soon, Dad. I promise. We’ll get your meds sorted out and get you a job—”
“A job?” he said, interrupting. “I have a job.”
I must have looked confused because he went on to explain without my asking for clarification.
“I sketch people. It’s a good job.”
“Of course it is, Dad, but you can’t really make a living at it.”
“I’ve made a living at it for twenty years. It’s kept me alive, hasn’t it?”
I nodded. “Yes, but I was thinking you could maybe wash dishes at my work. You could work the same hours I do so we’d get to spend a lot of time together. Eventually, you could even get your own place again. Maybe Wanda would have an open apartment. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”
He didn’t respond. His right foot tapped a staccato rhythm on the floor, causing my bed to shake.
“Dad?” I said. “Are you okay?” I had asked him this so many times in the past three days, I was tired of saying the words. I knew he must be tired of hearing them, too.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I think I’ll go take a walk.”
I swung my legs off the side of the bed. “I’ll go with you. Just give me a minute to get dressed.”
“I’d like to be alone, Eden.” He looked at me with a blank expression. I couldn’t tell what was going on inside his head. The little girl in me cried out, Daddy, don’t leave.
“Oh.” I paused, not wanting to tell him I didn’t trust him. I wanted to trust him. I had to. I couldn’t keep him locked up in my house. “Are you sure? I need to take Jasper, anyway.”
“Let me take him,” said my father. “He needs to get to know me better so he won’t growl so much.”
I hesitated, and my dad saw it.
“I can take the dog for a walk, Eden. I’ve managed to survive twenty years on my own. I think I can handle thirty minutes with your pet.”
My stomach knotted at the anger in his words. I suddenly felt ten years old again, afraid of what might happen if I told my father no. “His leash is by the back door,” I said, my voice subdued. My father stood up and snapped his fingers, and surprisingly, Jasper followed him out of the room, his ears perked after hearing my father say the magic word, “walk.”
I curled back up in my bed, trying to wish away the sinking feeling in my stomach. Would he come back? Would I see him again? Maybe he’d take off and I’d never see my father or my dog again. Then what would I do?
I glanced at the clock. My father had been gone about twenty minutes. I wondered if he’d gotten lost. I leapt out of bed, trying not to worry. I’d shower, make some coffee and breakfast for us when he got back. And he would come back. I couldn’t let myself believe anything else.
From the moment Dad returned with Jasper from their walk, I took care not to bring up the issue of his getting a job. Over the next couple of days, we continued to spend most of our time in the house, me cooking and him either sleeping or watching TV. I offered to go buy him some art supplies so he could have something to work on, but he refused.
“I’m not feeling very inspired right now,” he said. “It’s the meds.” He was slouched on the couch, staring out the window into the wet, dark night while I stood in the kitchen, stirring a pot of chicken paprikash. Jack was due to come over for dinner with us any minute.
“Oh,” I said. “Well, hopefully that will get better as your body adjusts. You did some amazing work at Common Ground. I saw the painting of me they keep above the fireplace. I loved it.”
“I did that one when I went off my meds,” he said flatly, turning to look at me. “That’s the reason I can’t stay there, Eden. I can’t be creative when I’m weighed down like this. I lose my muse completely.”
That’s not all you lose, I wanted to say. “Maybe you just haven’t found the right combination yet,” I suggested instead. “Or the right dosage. Mom always said the problem was you didn’t stay on anything long enough to figure what would work.” I wanted to remain positive, to focus on the solutions rather than the problem.
He didn’t want to let me. “That’s right,” he spat angrily. “That was the problem. Not that she tried to shove the pills down my throat when I didn’t want to take them.”
My eyes filled at his outburst. I spun around toward the stove, busying myself by stirring the homemade dumplings I’d just coated in butter a few moments before. Why was this happening? We were right back where we were twenty years ago, only now I was a grown woman who could stand up to him. And here I was, playing my mother’s part, watching him like a hawk, trying to force him into doing the right things. And it wasn’t making any difference. He was still fighting against taking his meds. He still didn’t love me enough to want to stay well.
There was a quick knock at the door and Jack appeared. “Hey there,” he said, shutting the door behind him. “It’s raining like crazy out there. I wouldn’t be surprised if we see an ark floating across Green Lake in the morning.” He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the coat tree by the door. “Hi, David. How’re you doing tonight?”
My father stood erect and stared at Jack. His blue eyes were lit with anger. “Trying to convince my daughter I’m not a problem that needs to be solved. Or medicated.”
Jack swung his gaze over to me and I shook my head slightly, to say, Don’t push the issue. He seemed to sense the tension in the air between us. “Of course you’re not,” Jack said. “This is a difficult situation for both of you. But the good news is, the both of you want the same thing.”
“And what is that?” my father demanded. I’d forgotten how imposing he could look when he was angry. I felt about three feet tall. I was glad Jack was there.
“You each want to make the other person happy. It’s a place to start, right? Having the same goal? You just need to figure out the best way to make that happen without stepping on each other’s toes. Which could take some time.” He took a step toward my dad and offered his hand. “It’s good to see you, David. Will you sit down and eat dinner with us?”
My father threw his eyes to me, then to Jack, then back to me.
“Yes, Dad,” I said. “Please. I’m sorry if it seems like I’m pushing you. I don’t mean to. I’m really just trying to figure this out as I go.”
“There’s nothing to figure out!” he bellowed. “I’m not a puzzle. I’m not something that’s broken you need to patch back together! I’m just me, Eden. I’m who I was twenty years ago. I figured myself out back then. I figured out I was happier not being married to your mother, not trying to fit myself into the mold of what she needed me to be.”
“Did it make you happy to not be my father anymore, either?” I asked, chucking the spoon I held into the sink, where it clattered against a water glass. I looked at him defiantly. “Is that why you didn’t try harder to find me?”
My father looked at me like I’d stabbed him. “I’m going to lie down.” He pushed past Jack and strode toward the bedroom where he’d been staying.
Jack looked at me helplessly, as if he were saying, I did what I could. I sighed.
“Daddy, I’m sorry!” I called out as he moved down the hall. “Please. Will you come eat with us?”
The bedroom door slamming was his answer. I turned back toward the stove and grabbed the edge of the counter to hold myself up. I was shaking. This is not how this evening was supposed to go.
“Let him calm down,” Jack said. “He’ll be okay. He just needs a minute to himself.” He came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed the side of my neck.
I started crying when his lips touched me. I tried to wipe away the tears as fast as they fell. “Did I make a mistake, Jack? Maybe I shouldn’t have brought him here?”
“I don’t know, Eden. I really don’t.”
“He’s not doing well,” I said, sniffing. “I thought he’d do better than this. I thought he’d be happy to get to stay with me.” I turned around inside Jack’s embrace and looked at him. “Tell me the truth. I want to know what you really think. Don’t give me the bullshit boyfriend answer. I want to know what you, Jack Baker, think of my decision to bring him home with me.”
Jack sighed and leaned forward to rest his forehead against mine. “Are you sure? You might not like it.”
“I’m sure.” With that intro, I could pretty much guarantee I wouldn’t like whatever he wanted to say. But I’d already asked.
He pulled his head back from mine and stared at me. “I think you meant well, Eden. I really do. I just don’t think you thought it all through hard enough. Neither of us really expected to find him when we went to Portland. I certainly didn’t. I was actually pretty happy when I heard you say you’d be done with any kind of aggressive search for him if he wasn’t at the train station. I thought we had a chance of being something pretty amazing together.”
I swallowed and pushed him off me, looking at him in disbelief. “And suddenly we don’t?”
“I didn’t say that. But I do see you getting sucked into this thing with your dad and I can’t compete with that. You can’t save him, Eden. He doesn’t want to be saved.”
“So you’re telling me to give up? You think I should just say, ‘Good luck on the streets, Dad. Drop by and see me sometime’?” I didn’t want to hear this. I wanted him to believe I could make a difference in my father’s life.
Jack threw his hands up in the air in a frustrated, helpless gesture. “I’m not saying give up, I’m just saying you could change how you’re looking at this. Open your mind to the possibility that your father’s choice to live outside the lines of society is fine for him. It might not suit you or me or the majority of other people, but it suits him. And at the end of the day, that’s what matters. He’s not a thief. He’s not dealing drugs or hurting anyone. He’s a mentally unstable man who has found a way to cope with his condition.”
“But it’s not coping if it’s harmful to him. The doctor said his liver is practically shot from all the alcohol.”
“It’s his liver, Eden. His body, his choice, and his life. You asked me what I think, and that’s it. I think you need to back off. Stop shoving your idea of who he should be down his throat. Get to know him for who he actually is. You don’t ask our Hope House clients to be anyone other than exactly who they are. You bear witness to their lives and validate their existence without telling them they’re toxic and broken the way the rest of society does. Why can’t you do that for your own father?”
I shook my head. He didn’t understand. “He’s too sick to be able to make rational choices. I think the only thing I can do now is have him committed.” I whispered these words to make sure my father didn’t hear them. “He needs time to get his meds straight. Maybe a year or more. He’s never been institutionalized long enough to get on the right track. They always let him go too early. I’ve been doing some reading online and I could have him put on a twelve-month mental health hold. His history of hospitalization is more than enough to make it happen.”
“That’s a stupid idea, Eden.”
“Stupid?” I fumed. “Are you kidding me? Did you just tell me I’m stupid?”
“No, I said the idea was stupid. You’re fooling yourself if you think locking him up is going to be some kind of magical fix. It’ll make him worse. And on top of that, he’ll hate you for it.”
“I didn’t say it’d be a magical fix. I just think it’s the only way. I can’t quit my job to be with him 24/7 and he needs to be supervised to make sure he does what he’s supposed to.”
“And who made you God to decide what he’s supposed to do?” Jack raked both sets of fingers through his dark hair. “Jesus, you sound like my father.”
I staggered back a step. I knew how much Jack despised his father’s attempts to control his life, but that he would lump me in the same category for only trying to help my father was unfathomable.
“I think you should leave,” I said coldly. “Now.” My chest ached with the thought of never seeing him again. But if he wasn’t supportive of me, what was the point of being with him? He was just like the rest of the men I’d dated. And now I was through.
Jack stared at me without speaking for a minute, pushing breath after breath out of his nose. “Are you sure about that? You’re going to throw away what we have over this?”
“You’re the one throwing it away, Jack. Not me.”
“You asked for my opinion. You said you could handle it. So I tell you and you lose it.” He shook his head. “You need to grow up, Eden.” He turned around, strode toward the door, and grabbed his coat off the rack. “Give me a call when you do.”
I jumped when the door slammed behind him. Jasper, who was sleeping by the fireplace during our entire exchange, barked at the noise. I slumped into a dining room chair, my forehead pressed against the palms of my hands. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I felt numb. I wanted to take it back. I wanted to run after him and tell him he was right and I was wrong and ask him if he’d ever be able to forgive me. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.
I heard the door to my father’s bedroom open; he crept down the hall. “Where’s Jack?” he asked, standing in the entryway to the living room.
I rolled my head to look at him. “He’s gone,” I said, unable to find the courage to speak the reason why.
I didn’t sleep that night. I tossed and turned in my bed, plagued by the image of the disappointment on Jack’s face before he walked out the door. There was no doubt now that I was the reason for all my relationships ending. I’d lost the man who so obviously loved me, who loved me enough to be honest with me when I asked him to be. Was I testing him by pushing him away? I didn’t know. I did know I was wrong, but I didn’t know how to admit it.
Jasper whimpered at my side, his own slumber interrupted by my constant movements. It was early still, four a.m., but I heard my father’s door open and his footsteps move into the bathroom. We hadn’t talked much the night before; I was too upset after Jack left. We ate in silence and then both went to our separate rooms. I thought about calling Georgia and telling her what happened with Jack, but the ache in my chest was too big to find words to describe it. Instead, I climbed beneath the covers and held Jasper to me, crying as softly as I could. I cried because my father didn’t love me enough to get well. I cried because I seemed fundamentally incapable of letting a man love me without inevitably pushing him away. I cried because I didn’t know how to fix all that was wrong. I thought finding my father would solve all the problems in my life. But as it turned out I was still left with the biggest problem of all. I was still left with me.
The toilet flushed and I turned on my light and got out of bed. Dad stopped when he saw me stick my head out of my doorway.
“You’re up?” he asked.
I nodded. “Couldn’t sleep.”
He gave me a half smile. “Me either.”
I grabbed a thick sweatshirt and pulled it over my head. “Want some coffee?”
“I think I’ll try to sleep a bit more, if you don’t mind.”
I stopped in my tracks. “Oh. Okay.” Once again, he didn’t do as I expected. Why didn’t he want to be with me as much as I wanted to be with him? I shut my bedroom door behind me and leaned up against it, trying to hold back the tears.
I suddenly felt a longing for my mother so deep it sank me to the floor. We’d only spoken briefly since I brought my dad to Seattle. After Jack told her we’d found him, she’d called to make sure I was doing all right. I’d told her I was, but that was four days ago, before the doctor appointment and my father’s anger and Jack walking out the door. I felt as though I was falling apart. Would she be awake this early? Probably not, but I needed to talk to her. Despite how well I knew the emptiness of the words, I needed my mother to tell me everything was going to be okay. I got back up and grabbed my cell phone, using the voice-activated system to dial her home number. I hoped John didn’t answer the phone.
It rang six times before she answered. “Hello?” she said groggily. “John?” She must have thought it was her husband calling from the station. I couldn’t help but be glad he wasn’t lying next to her to hear our conversation.
“Momma, it’s me,” I said, my voice breaking on the words. “I’m sorry I’m calling so early.”
“Eden, honey.” Her words were slow and heavy with sleep. “What’s wrong?”
“Jack left me,” I said, letting the tears flow. “And Dad’s so angry. I’m screwing everything up, Mom, and I don’t know how to fix it.” I dropped to sit on the floor next to my bed and Jasper settled in next to me. “I thought he’d be so happy to see me he’d do everything he needed to stay well. But he doesn’t care. He hasn’t changed. He’s exactly the way he used to be. He doesn’t love me.”
My mother sighed. “He loves you as best he can, Eden. I know how you feel, baby. I always thought if I just loved him enough, he would want to get well. I thought if I did all the right things, gave him the space he needed to be an artist, then he would take his meds and become the man he was when I met him. But we can’t control what another person does, sweetie. Ultimately what kind of life they lead is their choice.”
“But Dad’s not capable of making those kinds of choices for himself. I think I need to commit him to an institution.” Jasper raised his head and gave a low growl; I patted his belly to calm him.
“And when he gets out of the hospital,” said my mother, “he’ll most likely go back to doing exactly what it is he wants to do.” She was quiet for a minute. I heard her breathing low and slow into the receiver before she spoke again. “Eden, I’ve been down this road with your father a million times. It wasn’t until he tried to kill himself that I figured out it wasn’t my place to try to turn him into a person he just didn’t have the ability to be. It was the most painful realization in my life that he couldn’t be my husband or your father. His illness wouldn’t let him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. He couldn’t. As soon as I was able to accept that, I finally gave up the fight. I let him go.”
“But I don’t want to let him go.”
“I meant that I had to let go of who I wanted him to be.”
I sniffled and wiped at my eyes. “That’s what Jack said.”
“And it wasn’t what you wanted to hear, so you attacked him for it?”
I was silent. That’s exactly what I’d done. I released a huge sigh. “I did attack him.”
“Do you love him?”
I nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see me. “Yes,” I said quietly.
“Is this it? Do you think he’s the one?” She could hardly keep the excitement out of her voice. Leave it to my mother to be curious about Jack’s possibility as marriage material when I was in the middle of an emotional crisis.
“I’m pretty sure he is, yes, Mom.” I realized how deeply I meant this and I suddenly felt an urgent need to see him. I didn’t want to wait a minute longer.
Realizing what I had to do, I hung up and sighed. Jasper whined and I realized he’d been awake for almost an hour and hadn’t been outside to pee. “Sorry, monster dog,” I said, and got up to let him out. He trotted down the hall toward the back door, which I suddenly realized was flung wide open, swinging in the wind. The hallway was freezing.
“What the hell?” I said aloud. I glanced down the hall to my father’s bedroom. That door was open, too.
“Shit,” I said. “Oh, shit.” I raced down to his room and looked inside. His backpack wasn’t by the bed. The two drawers I’d filled with jeans and sweatshirts for him were empty; the prescription bottles on the dresser were full. He’d taken his sketch pad and his jacket and just like that—just like all the times before—he was gone.
