Outside the Lines (38 page)

“I’m going to give you a prescription for an anti-seizure med called Neurontin. It was originally used for epileptic patients, but it works well for alcoholics as they detox, too. Don’t drink. Have your daughter get you to AA if you have to. I’m putting you on ten milligrams of lithium, twice a day to start. Okay?”

“Okay.” David knew it was pointless to discuss anything further. The doctor had already decided how she was going to treat him after reading his chart. She hadn’t even waited to meet him. That’s what they all did. Not one of them said, “David, do you
want
to be on lithium? Do you
want
to stop drinking?” They all assumed that he would. His daughter assumed the same thing. She was like Lydia that way. Determined to rescue him when he wasn’t sure if he didn’t just prefer to drown.

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.”