The Edge Of The Sky

by Drusilla Campbell

  Lana poured two glasses of orange juice and set them on the table. Kimmie thanked her.

  “I’m making that special lasagna for dinner,” Lana told Beth. “What shall I get for dessert? One of those cakes from Costco?”

  Beth looked at Kimmie and rolled her eyes. To keep her irritation down, Lana pressed the balls of her feet into the floor. Her right foot cramped.

  “Damn!” She sat down, took off her shoe, and massaged her foot.

  “What’s wrong?” Kimmie asked.

  “Cramp,” said Lana, gritting her teeth against the pain.

  “Maybe you need calcium. My mom used to be a dancer and when she got cramps the doctor gave her injections. Calcium, I think.”

  “I’m going to need your help today,” she told Beth as she retied her shoe and gingerly put some weight on it.

  “We were going to the mall, Mrs. Porter.”

  “I’m sorry, Kimmie. You’ll have to go alone.”

  “But I really need Beth to help me pick out a dress. See, I’ve got this big thing coming up with my dad and he’s given me a ton of money for a new outfit but I don’t want to waste it, see, so I thought if Beth—”

  “No,” Lana said, not caring if the story was true or a lie. “I’ll drop you off at your place and then Beth and I have some errands to run.”

  “Ma-a. Can’t you leave me at Kimmie’s and pick me up after?”

  “No.”

  For a second she thought Beth would resist, but a night sleeping half in a beanbag and half on the floor had taken some of the spunk out of her. She muttered something about what she would do when she graduated and slunk out of the room under a hot, black cloud.

  “We’re leaving in ten minutes,” Lana called after her. “I don’t want to wait for you.”

  “Omigod, she is so scary!” Kimmie closed Beth’s bedroom door and leaned against it, crossing her arms over her stomach, bending over as if she were in pain. She lowered her voice. “That was so incredibly bizarre.”

  “What?” Beth wished everyone would just disappear and leave her alone.

  “Why does she want to drive me home?”

  “So you don’t have to take the bus, I guess. Or walk.”

  “You believe that?”

  Beth said she did but in fact she thought the offer of a ride was a little peculiar. The Gaslamp District was way downtown, nowhere near her mom’s usual haunts. And she had seemed a little too cheerful at breakfast—smiley-smiley, like a doll with happy lips painted on.

  Beth walked into the bathroom she and Micki shared and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was almost dry but it hung limp and weedy—and where had the shine gone to? She opened the shower and looked at the shampoo and saw the word Conditioner on the bottle. Now she remembered Micki saying they were out of shampoo. She had washed her hair in conditioner and been too crapped-out to notice.

  “Shit,” she muttered, turned her back on her image, and rested her butt on the vanity.

  Kimmie came into the bathroom.

  “We washed our hair in conditioner,” Beth said. The look on Kimmie’s face made her laugh. “At least it’s soft.”

  They burst out laughing, as if this were the funniest thing they had ever heard and Beth remembered the night before, how they had laughed at everything they saw on television. A little grass out in the backyard by the shade house and then watching movies, eating the good stuff from the run-and-read club. Kimmie had explained how there were different kinds of marijuana. There was happy grass—like last night—and munchie grass, and talky and philosophical, and so on. Whatever kind it was, Beth liked it because when she was stoned, she forgot about her father and she didn’t care about her mother or Micki or anything.

  They were in the Toyota by ten-fifteen, Kimmie in the front seat so she could direct Lana to her condo. They took the freeway south from Washington Street, through the “S” curve to Tenth Avenue. From her seat in the back, Beth glimpsed the fortress facade of Balboa High School one block up.

  They caught every red light. South of Broadway, the traffic hardly moved.

  “Is it always this busy on Saturday mornings?” Lana asked as if she had never been out of Tinytown. “It must be noisy at night.”

  “Oh, there’s always lots going on. You get used to it.” Kimmie pointed to a parking place in front of the lobby of her condo. “This is me here.”

  “I’d like to meet your mother. I could park—”

  Beth sat back, braiding strands of sticky hair.

  “She went to L.A. this morning.” Kimmie said with a poor-me whine. “It is so hard to get makeup work in a place like San Diego so she’s gone most Saturdays and Sundays.”

  Lana tilted her head slightly, looked at Beth and then at Kimmie. “You stay alone?”

  “Oh, no. God, no. My sister Jules is here. She’s in college.”

  “I see,” Lana said.

  “Can Beth walk me to the elevator? Just take a minute?”

  “Make it snappy.”

  Beth followed Kimmie into the stark white lobby and stood beside her as she pressed floor three on the elevator.

  Kimmie made a face. “So listen, can you do it? Will you come?”

  The night before, Kimmie had told Beth that Strider’s old friend, Tex, was coming in from Tucson the next week and there would be a party.

  “He’s bringing some great stuff.”

  “I don’t know.”

  The truth was that Beth was almost glad Lana had forbidden her to spend time at Kimmie’s. If she and Kimmie were alone like last night they had a good time, but at the condo there were always people hanging out and not just kids. Sometimes even Kimmie did not know who walked in the door. These parties were kind of pitiful. No one ever said anything interesting or really funny, the food was packaged cookies and crackers and day-old pastries.

  “Your mom isn’t going to let you out of her sight, Beth, so you’re gonna have to figure something out if you want to have a life.”

  “Maybe I ought to back off a little. She seems like she’s getting suspicious.”

  “Why would she be suspicious when you’re so perfect?”

  If she were perfect she would not be with Kimmie right now. She would be playing basketball or washing her hair with honest-to-god shampoo.

  Kimmie tugged on the sleeve of Beth’s sweatshirt to get her attention. “Here’s what you do. Just tell her you’re back with your old friends. She thinks they’re like saints, right? She wants to believe you so she will and then if you say you want to stay overnight with one of them . . .”

  Beth thought about how easy it had become to lie, the ease with which the stories came into her mind and flowed out as convincing words.

  “I don’t know, Kimmie . . .” It was not that she wanted to stay home, just the opposite; but even when she and Kimmie were alone with Damian and Strider, the atmosphere in the condo freaked her. What if something happened? One of them could pass out and die and there could be a fire or a robbery or a broken leg.... “Who is this Tex guy, anyway?”

  “Strider’s known him since they were like babies, toddlers.” The elevator opened and Kimmie stepped across the opening to block it. “I think their moms hung out. Plus he’s got friends, too, and they’re all coming and bringing great shit.”

  “Great how?”

  The elevator groaned and Kimmie mouthed one word, “Crystal.”

  “Jesus, no, Kimmie, that’s bad stuff. You don’t want to mess with that.”

  “I’m not saying make it your life’s work, for crissakes. Just for a treat.” She stepped into the elevator and as the door began to close, she punched the open button. “It’s my birthday.”

  “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “I’m telling you now.” Kimmie’s large eyes filled with tears. “You’re my best friend. I can’t have a party without my best friend.” She grabbed both of Beth’s hands. “Say you’ll come. Promise you will.”

  “I don’t know. . . .”

  “You rea
lly are my best friend. I never had someone I could depend on like you before.”

  “I thought you said your birthday was in May.”

  “Beth-y.”

  The look on Kimmie’s face reminded Beth of an illustration in a book at home, one of the fairy tale books she had loved so much and her father had read aloud to her in his big chair. Myths and enchantment tales, he called them. She recalled the pen-and-ink illustration of the poor little match girl staring in at the happy family celebrating Christmas together while the snow piled up around her bare feet.

  They left Kimmie’s and drove to the big Ralph’s in Uptown where Beth trailed after her mother as she filled a shopping cart.

  “I thought you said you were just getting stuff for tonight.”

  “Be stoic. I’ll take you to Fresh Mex for lunch.”

  The bill for the groceries came to almost two hundred dollars. Beth watched her mother give her charge card to the checker and thought about how she had been coming to the market since she was a baby and loved to ride around in the cart singing out the names of food items she saw and recognized, like Jell-O and soup and eggs. Now it was a drag and she hoped she wouldn’t see anyone she knew.

  At Fresh Mex they ordered tostadas and diet soda and sat at a table in the back. Good, thought Beth, less chance of being seen. She felt her mother’s eyes on her. Shit, what now?

  “I need to talk to you about last night.”

  “What’d I do?”

  “You tell me.”

  “What?”

  “I think,” her mother rolled her lips together and Beth saw how nervous she was. She felt a little rush of pleasure in the midst of her wariness. “I think you’re smoking grass.”

  “Me?” How to handle this? What would Kimmie say? “You think I’d do that?”

  “Tell me the truth.”

  “I am telling you the truth.”

  “No. No, you’re not.”

  “Jesus.” She tossed down her plastic fork. It bounced on its tines and fell to the floor. Good, a distraction. Beth started to get up but her mother put her hand on her wrist.

  “Leave it for now. You can use mine.”

  Beth leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. She would not look at her mother, would not give her the respect of eye contact.

  “Just tell me.”

  I’ll wait her out. But as the minutes ticked by, she grew restless. In silent combat her mother usually gave in first but this time she was sticking with it. Every now and then she looked at Beth and raised her eyebrows.

  “Everyone smokes,” Beth said. “It’s no biggy.”

  “You’re the only one who matters to me.”

  “It’s recreational, Ma. Like Dad’s martinis.”

  Her mother smiled. “Exactly. And if I heard you were drinking martinis I would be upset.”

  She seemed calm, which was strange.

  “You did it. Plenty.”

  “I was an adult.”

  “It’s still against the law,” Beth said.

  “Well, that’s another point—we’ll get to that.”

  Her mother walked to the condiment bar for another fork, handed it to Beth.

  “Marijuana impairs your judgment. Like martinis. It’s not healthy for a developing brain.”

  “Ma, that’s all propaganda. Aunty Mars told me she smoked, like, a bushel of dope. And look at her. She’s got her Ph.D.” Beth thought she saw a pinch of irritation around her mother’s mouth. Gotcha. “Besides, I only do it once in a while.”

  “I don’t want you to do it at all.”

  Beth picked up her tostada and took a bite. It broke in half, spilling lettuce and cheese onto her tray.

  “Shit.” She looked at her mother, daring her to object to the word.

  “You may not smoke marijuana, Beth. You can argue all you like and some of what you say I might even agree with, but I still won’t permit it. When you’re living away from home you can make up your own mind—you’ll be responsible for yourself then. But now—”

  “You haven’t given me one good reason why.”

  Her mother laughed.

  “You haven’t.”

  Beth watched as her mother used her fingers to count off the reasons pot was bad, all the stuff about her brain and her concentration and her short-term memory. None of it mattered. None of it was true one hundred percent of the time. Besides, Beth wanted to get stoned.

  “It helps me.” She picked at the bits of crisp tortilla.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know.”

  “You tell me.”

  “I don’t think. About him.”

  She heard her mother sigh. “Why don’t you want to think about him?”

  “You don’t.” It came out an accusation and angrier than Beth expected.

  Her mother looked at her, her mouth slightly open so Beth could see a little bit of cheese on the inside of her lower lip. “I think about him all the time. He’s in my mind constantly.”

  “You sure don’t act like it.”

  “What are you talking about, Beth? Do you expect me to walk around the house in tears and sobs? Have you any idea how many days a week I’d just as soon not get out of bed?”

  “You don’t have to yell.”

  “I’m not yelling. I’m making a point.”

  “Yeah, well, I get it.”

  “No, you don’t.” Her mother spoke in a soft, harsh voice Beth had never heard before, stretched out and thin. “You think you’re the only one who’s sad about Daddy? I keep my feelings to myself. If I didn’t, this family would disintegrate.”

  “It’s doing that already.”

  Her mother said nothing.

  “You went out and got drunk. And you lie.”

  “I don’t.”

  “What about Micki and her birth dad?”

  “That was different.”

  “I was hanging with Kimmie for weeks before you even noticed.”

  Her mother’s jaw moved from side to side in a strange way. She covered her mouth and coughed.

  “We didn’t even have a funeral for him. You couldn’t wait to throw his ashes out.”

  “Beth, that’s enough. And it’s not true. We’d talked about it, he and I, and I knew his wishes. He wanted to be spread up at Garnet Peak. That’s why I went there.”

  “Yeah. By yourself.”

  “I should have included you. Yes, I admit that was a mistake but oh, Beth, I could barely do it alone. If you and Micki’d been there, I couldn’t have managed—”

  “So what?” A man at a nearby table turned around and stared at Beth. She lowered her voice. “This is all bullshit, Ma. You closed us out. You wanted him to yourself, only you never could say it. That was like acting out a lie, Ma.”

  Beth watched the words sink in. Her mother pressed her thumb and index finger against her nose. For a long time she seemed to stare at the speckled, plastic-covered tabletop. Then she puffed her cheeks and blew out a long, sustained breath. “Well,” she said, “I guess this has been a long time coming.”

  Cautious, Beth said, “What do you mean?”

  “This conversation. It’s a little hard to swallow but at least I know how you feel about me.” She stood up, brushing taco crumbs off the front of her sweater. It was an old one, Beth noticed, with a darn near one of the cuffs. She suddenly felt sorry for her mother and wanted to put her arms around her there in public and tell her that she loved her and she was the best mother ever. But it was a passing thought. Mostly she was glad they weren’t talking about marijuana anymore.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Beth was fifteen years old and at that age it was easy to be honest and straightforward. Simple questions with absolute answers was one of the gifts of youth. But with the years Lana had found there were fewer questions to which she could respond affirmatively; she always wanted to add a little caveat.

  Yes, the world is round but there are times when it appears flat. Yes, murder is wrong but I think I’d kill to p
rotect my children. No, I don’t believe in spirits from the afterlife, but there are times when I almost feel Jack near me, almost.

  Clear, pure truth—she was no longer sure she believed in its existence which did not mean she’d given up on honesty, but Beth did not understand that if Lana had been honest after Jack died, her vital systems would have shut down one by one, leaving her in a coma of grief for which there was no doctor. At that time, to be honest was to open herself to a suffering so huge she could not bear to look at it. So that, in a very real way, Wendy had saved her life with her words. If Lana had not gotten out of bed and pretended to be all right, she would have been sucked down into her pain. And then what would become of Micki and Beth?

  Had Beth forgotten the mornings when the milk was sour? When no one did the laundry and she and Micki lived half the time at Wendy’s? Did she really want that time back again?

  Lana’s palms left damp smudges on the steering wheel. She braked too fast and sent a bag of groceries onto its side. She heard the navel oranges rolling back and forth in the way-back. She looked over at Beth. Her face had set like plaster into stubborn anger.

  Self-centered brat.

  Lana was sick of her life being ruled by the wishes and demands of adolescent girls who could not trouble their airy heads to consider what it was like for her. They had lost their father. Yes, she knew this was bad, but she had lived her whole life without Norman Coates. Lana had lost her friend and her lover and her guide and helper and playmate when Jack died.

  You closed us out, Ma.

  She pulled the Toyota into the driveway and the brakes squealed when she slammed her foot down on them.

  “Get out of the car,” Lana said. “Go up to your room and stay there.”

  Beth slammed the door behind her.

  Lana watched Beth walk between the car and the garage door and she hated her; she wished she had never been born and then she hated herself for thinking such a terrible thought.