by Kim Fielding
Table of Contents
Blurb
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
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Copyright
Love Has No Direction
By Kim Fielding
A Love Can’t Novel
Yet another series of poor decisions lands Parker Levin back in his mother’s house, working at her coffee shop, and feeling like a failure. Then he learns his ex-boyfriend has died by suicide and things go from bad to worse. When he meets a handsome stranger, he doesn’t have much left to lose.
Ten years ago Wesley Anker made a grave mistake. Since then he’s lived in near isolation, supporting himself by making custom furniture and only rarely connecting with other people. When he attempts to make amends, he encounters Parker, a beautiful and colorful young man, and he agrees to Parker’s impulsive request to join him.
Together, Parker and Wes find quick friendship and fierce attraction. But Wes’s past demons haunt his footsteps, and Parker’s struggle to plan a future has him stumbling through life. Then they uncover evidence that suggests Parker’s ex’s death might not have been a straightforward suicide, and every path seems to lead to dead ends and destruction. Can Parker and Wes find their way to lasting love when the route is hidden?
Prologue
Portland, Oregon
November 2006
“PARKER HERSHEL Levin, stop messing with your gadget and get your homework done.”
“I am, Mom.” Parker set the iPod on the desk. “I was just listening to music. It helps me with my essay.”
“Then how come you’ve written only seven words? ‘When I grow up, I want to.’ Want to what? Waste your time fidgeting with gizmos? Live in your parents’ basement because you couldn’t pass ninth grade?”
“Mo-om,” Parker grumbled as he bent over and rested his forehead on the desk. It smelled of pencil eraser and the Coke he’d spilled the previous week. At least he hadn’t ruined the computer when he spilled—although on second thought, maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad. Then he’d be handwriting his essay right now, meaning he could have more easily hidden the nearly blank page from his mother.
She mussed the hair on the back of his head. “C’mon, kiddo. Aside from teenagehood and homework in general, what’s the cause of today’s angst?”
Parker groaned. He wanted her to go away and leave him to wallow, but she wouldn’t. Once Rhoda Levin decided to tackle an issue, she never let it go. She would have had this stupid essay written in five minutes flat.
“I’m supposed to talk about my career goals,” he whined.
“And?”
“I don’t have any.” Ever since he was little, adults had asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. Apart from a brief period when he was four and toyed with the idea of being a garbage man, he’d never had an answer.
His mother stared at him thoughtfully for a moment before nodding in agreement with whatever decision she’d reached. “Come for a drive.”
“But my homework—”
“Isn’t getting done anyway. C’mon.”
His mother didn’t often encourage him to neglect his duties, so Parker jumped at the rare opportunity. Abandoning the computer and iPod, he jammed his feet into tennis shoes, smoothed his hair in front of the bedroom mirror, and zipped up his hoodie. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Eastbound traffic was light on Sunset Highway. Rush hour was over, and they were heading into downtown Portland rather than away. Parker looked through the window longingly as they traversed the city streets. He hated living in the burbs. Beaverton was so… boring. Mundane. Downtown was way more interesting. But although he was fully capable of getting there by bus, his parents didn’t let him go very often. You can hang out with your friends at home, they said. Or go to the movies. Or the mall. Ugh. The mall. There weren’t any vintage clothing stores there, or funky antique shops full of cool stuff he could imagine owning someday, when he had a house of his own.
This evening he didn’t get to stay downtown either. His mom drove over the river to the east side of town, which was mildly interesting since he rarely visited there. The houses were way older than in his neighborhood, and they didn’t all look the same. He imagined they might have hidden stairways, secret rooms, mysterious boxes tucked into the attic rafters. His parents’ house didn’t have an attic. Or a basement—thereby negating his mom’s fear of him living underground should he fail ninth grade.
After a couple of miles, his mother pulled to the curb and turned off the engine. “Let’s take a look,” she said, opening her door.
Confused but curious, Parker left the car, pulled up his hood against the rain, and followed his mom along the sidewalk to a long two-story commercial building. A tattered awning protected them from the worst of the wet when his mom stopped in front of a big window.
“What do you think?” She gestured at the window.
He peered inside. It was hard to see much because there were no lights on, but he could make out a few old tables and chairs and a reception desk. “It’s a dump.”
“It’s a dump now. But use your imagination. Gut the insides. Refinish that cool old wooden floor, paint the walls nice colors, hang some art. Along that far wall, put in a long counter with a glass display case for pastry. Have a shelf full of bright dishes and mugs. Add comfy chairs everywhere, cozy little tables. A sound system. Hmm, maybe even a little stage for live music? Yeah, I like that.” Her eyes had gone all big and glittery, and she was smiling widely.
Parker put an arm around her shoulders. He was taller than her now, which was weird. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Mom.”
“A coffeehouse. That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Starbucks?”
She snorted. “Not corporate. Quirky. Where people love to hang out. Where they can connect. It would be warm and welcoming, a peaceful haven for good people. And there would be really great coffee.”
Parker squinted through the window. If he tried, he could almost picture the scene his mother was describing. It would be a pretty great place, actually. The kind of place where he’d hang out if he could. “Why are we doing pretend coffeehouses?”
“Because maybe someday it won’t be pretend.” She tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “I’m going to show your dad this store when he gets home from Boise. If he likes it as much as I do, we’re going to rent it.”
“You’re… what?” Parker often found adults hard to comprehend, but this was extra mystifying.
“Rent it. Then we’ll fix it up—you’ll be helping, kiddo—and open a coffeehouse here.”
He removed his arm from her shoulders, took a step aside, and turned to stare. Nope, she didn’t seem to be kidding. “Why?”
“You’re shivering. Why do you insist on wearing that ratty old sweatshirt instead of the perfectly nice winter coat I bought you?” She sighed loudly. “Let’s go ba
ck to the car.”
No way he’d admit he was cold, but he followed her and got back into the passenger seat without complaint. She started the engine and cranked the heater, but she didn’t shift out of Park. Instead she searched through her enormous purse until she found a couple of Werther’s; she handed him one before unwrapping the other and popping it into her mouth. She always had hard candy. And Kleenex and pens and Tylenol and Chapstick and Band-Aids and hand sanitizer and Wet Wipes and rubber bands and paper clips and saltines or oyster crackers. Parker was fairly certain her purse was magic.
“When I was in tenth grade, they didn’t make us write an essay about our career plans,” she said. “Instead we had to take a test on a computer, which was a big deal because nobody had computers at home back then. The computer told us what we were supposed to be.”
It would be nice if a computer made decisions on Parker’s behalf so he didn’t have to. “What did the computer tell you?”
“That I should be a lumber salesperson.”
Parker almost coughed out the candy. “Lumber?”
“The software was sponsored by a wood products company, so everyone got something related to that. Forest ranger. Mill operator. Log truck driver.”
Okay, maybe it was just as well the computers weren’t in charge. “You didn’t take their advice, huh?”
She didn’t answer right away, seemingly focusing her interest on some dust on the dashboard. She wiped it away with a Kleenex. Parker picked at a loose thread on his hoodie hem.
“You know what I wanted to be?” Her voice sounded dreamy, almost as if she were talking to herself.
He shook his head. No idea.
“A talk show host. Like Johnny Carson. I don’t think there were many women talk show hosts back then—no Ellen or Oprah yet—but that was my goal. Except instead of interviewing celebrities, I was going to have ordinary guests. You know—teachers, landscapers, grocery store clerks. And I was going to ask exactly the right questions to draw out fascinating stories from every one of them. I figured everyone has those stories, but hardly anyone gets to hear them.” A heavy sigh. “Everyone told me my dream was ridiculous, so I got a business degree instead. Which is how I ended up in HR for an insurance company instead of making everyday people look remarkable on TV.”
It had never occurred to Parker that his mom might hold any particular aspirations. She was simply his mom. She went to work, came home, and made sure he got to his orthodontist appointments and did his homework. She read the newspaper, complained about local politics, and snuck chocolate bars when she thought he wasn’t looking. She volunteered at an animal shelter because she loved animals but Parker was allergic to everything. She insisted on family game nights, where she whooped Parker’s and his dad’s asses at Trivial Pursuit but always lost at Clue and Monopoly. She was a really great mother even though she sometimes embarrassed him, but Parker had never imagined she harbored unfulfilled hopes and dreams.
“Your job pays pretty well, though, right?”
She shrugged. “Sure. But it’s soulless. I like some of the people I work with, but I hate the forms and the cubicles and the stupid beige walls. I hate wearing sensible professional clothes. And you know what else? Your dad isn’t thrilled with his job either, dragged away constantly on business trips to Boise and Louisville and… where was the one before that?”
“Ohio somewhere.”
“Right.” She patted his knee. “He and I have been talking about this for a long time, actually. And now with that money Grandma left us last year, we can finally do it. We’re going to quit our jobs and run a coffeehouse. I can wear whatever I want and paint the walls however I like, your dad gets to stay in town, and I think we’ll both be a whole lot happier.”
Parker rubbed his chin. He didn’t have to shave yet, but he was hoping that would happen soon. And maybe he’d put on some muscle and add some breadth to his shoulders. He was tired of looking like a kid.
“That sounds great, Mom. Really cool. Do I get free drinks and stuff?”
She laughed. “Of course. And a paid job on weekends if you want it. You can save up for college. And buy yourself a new sweatshirt.”
A job. He liked the idea of earning his own money, and working for his parents would maybe be better than fast food. “Okay.”
“It’s a plan, then, Gonzo?”
He tried not to wince at the nickname, a holdover from years ago when he’d had a thing for the Muppets. “It’s a plan, Stan.”
“Good. Also, there’s a moral here. I’m a whole lot older than you, Parker, and I’m only now finding a career I really want to do—and one that’s practical. So you shouldn’t feel bad about not making up your mind at fourteen. But when you do get inspiration? Don’t let anyone dismiss it. Don’t wait until you’re decrepit like me to do what gives you joy.”
“You’re not decrepit, Mom.” Forty-five was pretty old, but he didn’t say so.
She chuckled, put the car into Drive, and pulled into the street.
As they headed west, he waited until they’d almost reached the river before he cleared his throat. “Hey, Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
It was easier to do this now, when she had to look at the road instead of him, when the pattering raindrops and swooshing windshield wipers made the car feel like a comfy little shelter. “Um… I need to tell you something.”
She didn’t push him to spit it out as they crossed the bridge or as they headed through downtown. She waited patiently; he loved that about her. She could hold on to ideas like a bulldog, but she didn’t poke and pry when he didn’t want her to. And she always let him get his thoughts in order before he spoke.
They merged onto the highway and went through the tunnel. When Parker was little, he’d sometimes ask his dad to honk the horn in there, and his dad would often do it. Tonight Parker didn’t mention it to his mother, didn’t say anything at all until they were passing the exit ramp for the zoo.
“Mom, I’m gay.”
The world didn’t end. A bolt of lightning didn’t come from the sky and strike the car, a chasm didn’t open before them on Sunset Highway, and he didn’t drop dead. His mom didn’t even crash the car, although she stole a quick glance his way and then took her hand off the wheel long enough to pat his knee. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”
“You’re not freaked out?”
“Not freaked out.” Another quick glance. “I’ve had my suspicions for a while, actually. And if you think I’d love you any less over this, you don’t know me very well, kiddo. Ditto with Dad, by the way.”
His heart was still battering his chest, but at least he could breathe freely. It wasn’t that he thought he’d be disowned or anything. His parents weren’t bigots. But it still felt like a pretty big truth to drop on her. It had been weighing on him for a long time.
“Okay,” he said.
“Gonzo, you’re an amazing kid. You’re smart and kind, and you always see the best in people. If I could wave a magic wand and change anything about you, I wouldn’t change a single thing. I love you—we love you—exactly as you are.”
“I’m practically perfect in every way?” he asked, trying out a small smile. He was fond of Mary Poppins when he was little, as well as all of the other old-school musical films for kids. No wonder his mother wasn’t shocked at his announcement.
“Practically. Now if you’d only finish your homework….”
“Mom!”
Laughing, she took the exit for Highway 217. It was a long, tight curve, and when he’d been little and sitting in the back seat, he used to put out his arms and pretend he was an airplane banking. Too bad he was too old for that now.
Back on the straightaway, she made a tiny humming noise. “Is there anyone in particular? A certain boy?”
“Mo-om!” he exclaimed, louder this time, his cheeks flaming. In truth, he had a major crush on his friend Troy, and Troy had kinda sorta been hinting lately that he might have similar feelings abou
t Parker. Parker had been too chicken to do anything about it, though. What if he was wrong and Troy was straight or not into him? Oh God.
“All right, all right. Just… it’s not the easiest path, kiddo. Let me know if anyone flips you any shit.”
He smiled; the cussing signaled she meant it. She hardly ever swore, and when she did, she was dead serious. Now that they were almost home, he changed the subject. “I still don’t know what to write in that stupid essay.”
“Make something up. It’s not like twenty years from now your teacher’s going to retroactively erase your grade if you’re doing something else with your life.”
That? That was brilliant. He had a great mom.
She got off the freeway and stopped at a red light. When she turned her head and smiled at him, she meant it. He could tell. She wasn’t disappointed in him. Not at all. He felt warm and full inside, as if he’d been drinking hot chocolate. And even though he still had no clue what he wanted to be when he grew up, that was okay for now. He was only fourteen. And he was loved.
“What are you going to call the coffee shop?” he asked. “Rhoda’s?”
“Boring.”
“Levin’s Café?”
“Yawn. Your father and I are currently in negotiations over the matter, but neither of us is really satisfied with the options.”
“How about… P-Town? You know, like the nickname for Portland? Plus it sounds kinda hip. And, well, pee—’cause everyone’s gonna be drinking a lot. Only you don’t have to tell customers that part.”
Ignoring the light, which had turned green, she threw back her head and laughed. “I love it! Thanks, Gonzo. P-Town it is!” And she hit the gas in a credible mom version of a burnout, leaving Parker shouting with delight.
Chapter One
Seattle, Washington
November 2018
PARKER SAT on the curb, leaning back against his suitcase and staring morosely at his phone’s blank screen. At least it wasn’t raining; he tried to be thankful for that rarity. He was cold, though, his fuchsia hoodie too light for the season. He could feel the stares of passing motorists as they wondered about the skinny guy with the bright orange hair, the red jeans, the suitcase, the trio of bulging cardboard boxes. He wanted to glare at them but didn’t have the energy. Or maybe he was just too chicken.
