Be that as it may, the other thing that summer did for me was turn me into a Space Needle junkie. My kids and grandkids have loved having dinners in the revolving restaurant at the top. It used to be that whenever the Space Needle came into sight in the Seattle skyline, either driving or flying, I always felt a profound sense of homecoming, but now everything has changed.
That appalling traffic accident, the one that cost Ross Connors his life and Harry I. Ball his legs, has colored my thinking about the Space Needle. At the time it happened, Seattle Center had been full of merrymakers celebrating the season and the Needle itself had been decked out like a Christmas tree. Having lives snuffed out or permanently changed against that backdrop of seasonal celebration had infused a dose of melancholy to my attitude toward the Space Needle. That afternoon driving home from West Seattle, rather than seeing it as welcoming, I felt something close to despair.
The parking garage was still open, so I left the bags of food from Pecos Pit with the parking attendant and took Lucy to the dog-walking area just across from the garage entrance.
Through the years what was once routinely referred to as the Denny Regrade has morphed into being called Belltown. When I first moved into my condo, the building across the street was a union hall. Over time, the union sold out and the building was occupied by one of those megachurches. The Congregation remodeled the interior but left behind a small patch of grass—the only one for blocks, as it turns out. As a public service, the church maintains that as a dog-walking area. Until Lucy came into my life, that part of the church’s good-neighbor policy was entirely invisible to me.
Originally this was just a harmless piece of grassy lawn, but now, like the Space Needle, the churchyard, too, had taken on a darker meaning. This was the place where Ken Purcell had come looking for Mel, with the deadliest of intentions in his heart and a knife in hand. It’s the place where I came close to losing both Mel and Lucy. The dog had deflected Purcell’s attack on Mel, and he had stabbed Lucy instead. With Lucy out of commission, the only thing that had turned the tide of battle in our favor had been the timely intervention of a homeless guy named Sam Shelton and his trusty pit bull, Billy Bob. With Lucy down for the count, Sam and Billy Bob had sprung into action. Not only had Sam’s dog disarmed the asshole, he’d done a credible job of mangling the guy’s hand before Sam saw fit to call him off.
I had subsequently learned that Sam, an imposingly large and scary-looking black man, is also a Vietnam vet suffering from PTSD. Because he can’t tolerate being in crowds or enclosed spaces, he remains unwaveringly homeless. A fire-escape alcove from the church basement is his residence of choice, and he and Billy Bob spend their nights there, summer and winter, sleeping under the collection of tarps and blankets that Sam rolls around in an overburdened grocery cart.
After that almost-fatal encounter, I’d gone looking for Mel’s saviors. I had wanted to help them and even went so far as to locate a shelter where both man and beast would have been welcome. Sam’s response had been, “Thanks, but no thanks. Let us be.” So I’d backed off and minded my own business, but these days whenever I walked Lucy, I was sure to have a spare bag of kibble or a Milk Bone in my pocket for Billy Bob. This time was no exception, but since it was too early and they had not yet arrived on the scene, the kibble remained in my pocket.
Once Lucy finished up, we headed back inside. On the way through P-1, I noticed that Marge’s Kia Sportage was still parked in one of the public parking stalls, but once we arrived upstairs, she was nowhere in sight and neither was anyone else. I put the food bags on the counter and was feeding Lucy when Alan Dale finally made his appearance. He came into the kitchen carrying a basket of freshly laundered baby clothes and set about folding them.
“Hey,” I said, “how are things going?”
All afternoon I’d been wondering and worrying about how Alan and Marge would get along. His response surprised me.