“Don’t mind Elisa. She can be totally pushy, but she means well. Would you like to go out back on the deck where we can take advantage of the view?”
“Sounds fine.” Sharon stopped for a glass of merlot at a long table that held several bottles of wine, juices and soft drinks in a large tub—then followed me through the double doors out to the deck. We sat on a short redwood bench near the railing where we could look out over the lights of the city of Boulder below.
“Actually, Elisa called me today to let me know she’d been pushing you to talk to me,” I said. “She told me your husband died recently and that’s why she wanted us to talk. I’m so sorry for your loss. How are you doing?”
“It’s been three months, and I miss Adam terribly. Worse than that, sometimes I sort of forget that he’s dead. I find myself thinking ‘I have to tell Adam about this’ and then I remember he’s gone,” Sharon said, leaning toward me with tears in her eyes.
I sat quietly with her for a few seconds, giving her time to collect herself. Then I spoke softly, acknowledging her feelings. “It’s hard to accept that someone is gone,” I said. “Especially when the death is sudden.”
Sharon took a sip of her wine and sat up straighter. “Elisa says you’re a grief therapist with an unusual project that can help me. What is it, and how does it work?”
“Yes, I’m a grief counselor. And everyone who is part of the project also does a lot of grief work. So, the project…the Contact Project…It’s different and it’s absolutely not for everyone. What it is…well it’s a way of helping people make contact with loved ones who have died, which is why I call it the Contact Project.”
I wasn’t sure how much Elisa had told her about Contact so I decided to tread carefully. I spoke calmly, providing the information matter-of-factly with no indication that what I described was any more out of the ordinary than a new long-distance phone service.
Sharon choked up. “I feel like I’d try just about anything to be able to talk to him again,” she said. “But—not to be rude or anything, I’ve always heard that these processes turn out to be fakes that get people’s hopes up for nothing. Or, even worse, trick people out of a lot of money telling them they can reach someone they love, and then all they get is some taps on a table in a dark room. Adam was always so down-to-earth and sensible, it’s hard to imagine him or his spirit or whatever hiding under a table in a séance room waiting to contact me.”
I was used to this reaction and worse whenever I described the project, so I wasn’t ruffled by Sharon’s skeptical response. She didn’t know my credentials, and I figured she thought I was one more New-Age flaky Boulderite, and maybe she felt irritated at Elisa for arranging this introduction without warning her about what the project really was.
“I understand why you say that,” I said. “But this process isn’t what you’re expecting. There’s no séance, no medium, no table tapping. You do it all yourself, and you do it alone. All I do is provide the setting and teach you how to make contact. And I can help you if you have problems.”
“I don’t know. How much would it cost to try this?’
“If you fit the project criteria, it won’t cost you anything. But look—I don’t want to even begin to push you into getting involved in the Contact Project. I just can’t get Elisa to understand that it’s not for everyone.”
“I would so, so like to reach Adam. But I guess I’m sort of afraid to get my hopes up.”
“It takes a lot of energy to make contact with someone who has died, and you have to be clear and focused to do it, and there are no guarantees,” I said. “But some of the people in the project have had remarkable…”
“Hogwash! Total hogwash!” boomed a loud voice directly next to us. “Sharon, I know you’ve been in a bad state lately, but I didn’t think you’d fall for this nonsense.”
Sharon jumped up right in front of a broad-shouldered, stocky, balding older man whose jaw was tightly clenched. His red face and grim expression signaled a major temper tantrum on the way.
“Dad, this is none of your business—not as if that ever stops you from butting in,” Sharon said. “Cleo, this is my father, Donald Waycroft. That’s Dr. Donald Waycroft, the very important psychology professor from the university who always knows what’s best for everyone—especially me.”
“Dr. Waycroft. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve read some of your work.” I stood, and extended my hand.
“And I’ve heard about your work—if that’s what you call it.” Waycroft responded gruffly. “Stay away from my daughter. She has enough problems as it is.”
Ignoring my outstretched hand, he grabbed Sharon’s arm, spilling her wine down the front of her silk shirt. “I need to take you home,” he said. “Elisa said Maria just called to say Nathan has an emergency with his plants and needs you right away. My car’s right in front. I’ll drive you down, and we can get your car later.”
Sharon yanked her arm back from her father’s grasp, mopping her shirt with a napkin. “Dad, stop! You’ve ruined my shirt, and you’re being rude and overbearing.”
Sharon turned away from Waycroft toward me. “My dad’s right about the plants. My son, Nathan—he’s only eight. Those herb plants are everything to him right now.”
“Sharon. We need to go NOW,” Waycroft moved to face her again.
Ignoring her father, Sharon continued talking to me. “I’d better go. Maria, is babysitting tonight, but she’s not at her best in a crisis. I’ll talk to you soon.”
I knew Sharon was right about Elisa’s daughter Maria not being good at handling a crisis. I had been Maria’s part-time nanny years ago, and we have stayed close. She’s now a dreamy 16-year-old, who plays the violin exceptionally well but often isn’t aware of much else.
Remembering Tyler’s instructions to watch over Sharon, I decided I should stay in the picture. “I’ve known Maria since she was a baby,” I said. “We’re still close. Why don’t I follow you down and give her a ride back here. That way Elisa and Jack can stay here with their guests, and you won’t have to leave Nathan to drive her home.”
“Thanks. That would be great,” Sharon said as she brushed past her father and headed toward the living-room door with him close on her heels. “Dad, I can drive myself. There’s no reason for you to come.”
“I’ll follow you home. Just to make sure everything is okay,” Waycroft gritted his teeth and grabbed Sharon’s arm again. I guessed Sharon was in no mood for the angry lecture she was likely to hear from him as soon as they got home.
I knew about those lectures. Listening to Waycroft’s bluster, I flashed back to a time when I was 14 in Topeka and my father yelled at me for having gone with some friends to visit a psychic. My stomach twisted as I heard my father’s words from long ago ringing in my ears. “Cleo, what did you think you were doing going into that part of town late at night? To see a psychic? They’re all fakes—just after your money. You need to learn to think before you act!”
I returned to the present when Elisa popped up in front of us as we headed toward the door. She said she was sorry Sharon had to leave, but she appreciated my offer to pick up Maria.
Waycroft pushed her out of the way as he continued to propel Sharon toward the door. “Elisa, you are even flakier than I thought you were,” he said. “You’re certainly no credit to the Psychology Department, inviting guests like Miss Spirit Contact to your parties. Just who my daughter needs to meet! If you want to get tenure in the department, you’re going to have to be a lot more careful who you hang around with.”
Sharon ignored her father’s ravings. “Thanks for inviting me and thanks for getting me hooked up with Cleo,” she said.
“Donald, stop being a bully and let Sharon handle this herself,” Elisa said, moving to step between Sharon and Waycroft.
She had time for no more as Waycroft hustled Sharon out the front door and toward his red Jeep Cherokee. But Sharon pulled away, striding toward her white Saturn parked nearby. “I’m in Martin Ac
res, 31st and Ash, just off Broadway” she yelled back at me. “It’s 3122 Ash. See you in a few minutes.”
She turned toward Waycroft. “Dad, I am driving my own car home, and I don’t want to see you showing up there tonight. Why don’t you just stay here and find someone else to annoy?” Sharon fished out her keys, unlocked her door, hopped in and drove off down the steep gravel driveway in a cloud of dust.
Waycroft stomped off to his own car muttering, “Stupid, stubborn girl.” He got in, turned his Jeep around with a spray of gravel and headed off after Sharon.
I jumped into my Toyota and sped behind them down Old Stage Road to town.
Chapter 4
Amazingly, I was able to follow right behind them down the winding road to flat but crowded Broadway. We all arrived at Sharon’s house at almost the same time. Sharon made a sharp turn into her driveway and leaped out of the Saturn just as Waycroft pulled in behind her. They argued briefly in the driveway. Then Sharon dashed up the two wide wooden steps, crossed the covered porch and turned her key in the lock of the front door. Whatever she had said to her father made an impact. Instead of following her, he stood next to his car.
I parked on the street, got out of my car and walked cautiously toward the front porch. Waycroft glared at me. But I figured his anger was his problem.
The house was a remodel of a modest 1950-style brick ranch, with the living room right off the front door, which Sharon had left open. I could hear Nathan crying, “Mom! Mom! My plants are dead! That dog killed my plants, and now they’re all dead.”
I stood on the front porch looking in. The room was a mess. Dirty glasses and plates perched precariously on top of stacks of mail and newspapers that covered a table in front of a beige couch. A laundry basket piled with tee shirts and socks sat in one corner. And next to it near a large bay window, a sturdy brown-haired boy sprawled on the floor surrounded by dirt and broken flowerpots. His face was smeared with grime and tears.
Poor kid. Only eight years old, grieving for his stepfather, and now his plants were smashed. I felt a strong desire to run over and give him a big hug, which of course I couldn’t do since he had never met me. So I stood quietly watching.
I noticed Maria standing on the other side of the room holding a wiggly black puppy, trying to keep him away from the plants. Her head was bent toward the puppy, and as usual her long brown hair covered most of her face.
“I’m so, so sorry,” Maria said, turning her scrunched-up face toward Sharon. “I only brought Gustav with me to keep him away from Mom’s party. He is a little frisky, but I thought I could keep him out of trouble here. Usually he’s fine as long as I’m with him. But he ran after Nathan’s ball under the table by the window and somehow he knocked over the table and the plants fell on the floor. I told Nathan we could repot the plants but …”
“No, they’re dead, dead, dead now and there’s nothing we can do,” Nathan sobbed. “I hate your stupid dog.”
He had quite a bit of emotional energy invested in those plants. I figured they meant more to him than a potential source of cash.
“Nathan, it’s not as bad as you think,” Sharon said as she knelt in front of the crying boy and reached out to hold him in her arms. I felt relieved to see he would get that hug I knew he needed. But he rejected Sharon’s comfort.
“No,” he cried and jerked away. “If Dad were still here this never would have happened.”
“Let me take a look,” Waycroft spoke from the open front door right behind me, apparently having decided he had waited long enough. I was surprised at the warmth and concern in his voice. But his positive feelings didn’t extend to me. He pushed past me into the room, without so much as an “excuse me.”
“Hey, Dr. Waycroft!” Maria said, smiling at him. “Do you think we can save those plants?.”
“Dad, I told you I can handle this,” Sharon broke in. “Please give us a few minutes of privacy here.”
Ignoring both Sharon and Maria, Waycroft squatted on the floor in front of Nathan. “Here’s the thing, Nathan,” he said calmly. “Plants are different than people. Plants have roots. See these roots,” he said, cautiously fishing around in the dirt to show Nathan the spindly roots. “The roots are what keep the plant alive, not the dirt. As long as the plant is still connected to its roots, it can live in another pot. All we need to do is get more pots and dirt and put these plants in them and they’ll be fine.”
Nathan stopped crying and looked his grandfather straight in the eye. “Are you sure, Grandpa?” he asked. “Are you really, really sure?”
“I promise,” said Waycroft. If your Mom can find some pots and dirt in this messy house, we can get your plants fixed up right now.”
Seeing her dad with her son, Sharon put aside her impatience with Waycroft. “Okay, I’ll get some pots from the carport,” she said walking off down the hall. I decided to lay low and see how things went from there. Waycroft pulled Nathan onto his lap and talked quietly to him. Clearly a man who could control his mood when he chose to.
“Nathan, these pots are almost exactly the same as the ones that broke,” Sharon said as she came back into the living room carrying a stack of clay pots and a bag of potting soil. “Do you want me to help you repot the plants, or do you want to do it yourself?”
“Grandpa’s going to help,” said Nathan, who looked much happier now. “Grandpa says he knows what plants like, and how to make them feel better. Did you know that one time Grandpa won a prize for a special flower he grew?”
I rolled my eyes. Waycroft, the gardener? I flashed on an image of him yanking out any plants that didn’t meet his standards.
“Ok, here’s the stuff. You go ahead,” Sharon said putting the pots and the dirt right on the living room floor in front of Nathan and Waycroft. “But let’s be sure to keep Gustav away from this dirt.”
I stepped into the living room. “I’m going to take Maria and Gustav home as soon as she’s done here,” I said.
Maria looked startled. “Cleo, hi,” she said. “I didn’t know you were here. Isn’t this a mess?” She leaned toward Nathan while keeping a firm grip on the wiggly Gustav. “Nathan, I’m really, really sorry about your plants,” she said. “I’d help you clean up, but I think I’d better get Gustav out of here before he causes any more trouble.”
“That’s OK. We can clean it up. You go ahead,” Sharon said. “And tell your mom I really appreciate her introducing me to Cleo. I think her project sounds really interesting.”
“Sharon, did you hear anything I said?” Waycroft said frostily. “I told you to forget about that. If you get involved with this Cleo woman and her crazy project, there will be unpleasant consequences for you and Elisa and Cleo. I promise you that. ”I felt my body tighten as I absorbed the tension in the room, but Sharon didn’t react at all.
“Mom, why can’t you be nice to Grandpa? I need him to help me now that Dad is gone,” Nathan cried.
I didn’t want to give Waycroft the satisfaction of thinking he’d chased me off, but I was more than ready to get out of there. “It’s time for us to go,” I said, turning to Maria. “Do you have all your stuff?”
“Can you get my backpack in the corner?” she said.
I grabbed it and we were on our way. Maria took a few minutes to get Gustav settled, but he quieted down quickly once the car got going. “I probably shouldn’t have brought the puppy,” she said. “I thought Nathan might enjoy playing with Gustav, but he’s totally obsessed with those plants. He talks to them every day. He thinks he can get rich from them if they grow. He totally worships that soccer player David Beckham, and he wants to get enough money to go to England to see him play. I’m a little worried that it won’t work out and he’ll be majorly disappointed.”
I figured Nathan felt like his life was out of control, and the plants could be good therapy. But I didn’t want to analyze Nathan’s behavior for Maria, so I said, “I expect Sharon is watching out for him.”
Then, curious about the enthusiastic we
lcome she had given Waycroft, I asked, “How do you know Dr. Waycroft?”
“We both play in the Boulder Symphony,” she said. “He’s an awesome trumpet player. I don’t know him that well. I’ve seen him a few times at Sharon’s when I was babysitting, and he came to pick up Nathan to take him somewhere. Nathan relies on him a lot since his dad died, so I was glad to see him there tonight.”
For the rest of the ride, Maria filled me in on her progress with the Boulder Symphony. I listened with half an ear, while I thought about the two faces of Waycroft. His threats had me nervous about what sort of trouble he might stir up. I’d heard horror stories about the difficulty of getting tenure at the university. Could Waycroft find a way to keep Elisa from getting tenure just because he disapproved of her introducing Sharon to me? And what about Sharon? Would he be able to keep her from even trying to contact Adam?
I wasn’t inclined to worry too much about what Waycroft might have in mind for me. After a lifetime of arguments with my own father, I’ve learned not to be intimidated by bluster and demands. If anything, Waycroft’s pompous assumptions that I was a flake or a fraud made me more interested in helping Sharon, just to show him how wrong he was.
Chapter 5
On Monday morning, I thought about Sharon as I stepped out of my dusty green Toyota into the sweltering parking lot of Shady Terrace Care Center. Belying its name, the ranch-style nursing home was bathed in fiery Colorado morning sunlight, even though it was only 9:00 a.m. No wonder the residents keep their blinds closed, I thought. The drought had reduced Shady Terrace’s attempts at landscaping to toast, so there wasn’t much to look out at anyway.
As I walked into the main lobby, the air-conditioning hit me with a cold blast. I’ve never liked air conditioning, which is another big reason I’ve always favored Colorado over Kansas in the summer. Like the temperature, everything in the Shady Terrace lobby is artificial—plants, flowers, fake store fronts that have the look of an old-fashioned barber shop or ice cream parlor. The theory is that the old people will feel more comfortable in the cozy environment of their past, but to me it has always felt like a stage set without a play.
Too Near the Edge Page 3