Six months had passed since I left the coast. The map on the passenger seat of my car was marked with red ink, tracing a path from the cliffs of Oregon to the rain-slicked streets of Seattle. I had driven north until the road ended, or until I felt ready to stop. Today, I knew I was ready.
I parked the car on a quiet street in the Capitol Hill neighborhood. The engine ticked as it cooled. Rain tapped against the windshield, a steady rhythm that matched the beat of my heart. I turned off the engine. I did not start it again.
I stepped out into the drizzle. The air smelled of wet pavement and evergreen needles. I walked to the corner building. It was an old brick structure, three stories high, with large windows on the ground floor. A sign hung above the door: The Valerio Community Center.
