How his father would have hated the way Eric had spent his inheritance. That broken-down hotel? What the hell are you thinking? No goddamn common sense, boy, that’s what’s the matter with you. “I can’t hear you,” Eric sang as he crossed the parking ...
I ask. It’s 8:30 p.m., and we’re seated at a tiny table inside an equally minute Thai restaurant in Seattle, across the Sound from Vashon Island. The restaurant’s narrow facade is deceiving. Inside, the ceiling opens to a second-floor dining room wi...