“Good thing it’s all so simple. We can just ignore the culture of poverty. We can just pretend that poor people are just rich people without money. We can tell ourselves that educational, social, and cultural opportunities are the same for everyone. We can ignore the statistics on domestic violence and teen pregnancy and rate of exposure to crime and disease and family stability. Cut off welfare and put ’em to work. I don’t know why anyone didn’t think of it before. We can have everyone off the street and working by the end of the month, I bet.”

“Yep. Then we can tackle a cure for cancer and get that out of the way, too.” She snuggled her face into his shoulder, her dark hair spilling over him like silk.

“I liked our dinner,” he ventured, trying to take the edge off his frustration.

She nodded into his coat. “Good. I liked it, too.”

They rounded the corner of Main at Elliott Bay Book Company and started for home. Occidental Park sprawled ahead of them, empty of life, watched over by the wooden totems, spectral sentinels in the gloom. The homeless had moved on to warmer spots for the night, abandoning their daytime haunt. Some would find a bed in one of the shelters. Some would make their bed on the streets. Some would wake up in the morning. Some would not.

“There are just not enough of us,” Ross said quietly.

She lifted her head to look at him. “Not enough of who?”

“Not of who. Of what. I misspoke. Not enough shelters for the homeless. Not enough schools for displaced children. Not enough food banks. Not enough care facilities. Not enough churches working with the needy. Not enough charities. Not enough programs or funding or answers. Not enough of anything.”

She nodded. “There’s a lot of competition for people’s money and time, John. The choices aren’t always easy.”

“Maybe it would be easier if people remembered there’s a lot of competition for their souls, as well.”

She stared hard at him for a moment. “Then everyone should be able to figure out what to do, shouldn’t they?”

They crossed Main to Waterfall Park, peering into the blackness where the sound of rushing water welled up and reverberated off the brick walls. Amid the cluster of rocks and trees and garden tables, shadows shifted with barely perceptible movements. Ross thought he caught a glimpse of lantern eyes peering out at him. He didn’t see the feeders much anymore—only brief glimpses. It bothered him sometimes that he couldn’t see them better. He had wanted to remove himself from their world, and it didn’t help knowing they were there and not being able to see them.

It reminded him of something Owain Glyndwr had asked of him.

Do you think you can ever be as you were?

He found himself thinking of the dream again, of the way he had appeared in it, of the way it made him feel. He might not ever be as he was, but at least he could keep himself from being like that He could manage that much, couldn’t he?