The Edge of Grace

by Christa Allan

  What a shame.

  On Sunday, Julie invited Ben and me over for a late lunch and so Ben could watch the Saints game with Nick and Trey." Plus," she said, "I'm craving your potato salad."

  While Trey grilled chicken and hamburgers, and the boys disappeared into Nick's room, Julie and I caught up.

  I told her about the Junior League meeting and asked if she'd go with me. "I could use the moral support." I tossed the last of the chopped egg whites into the bowl. "Where's your olive oil?"

  She handed me the bottle and laughed. "Come on. You know you want me there because if they try to charm you, I'll open my big mouth."

  "I don't expect them to do that. They're the ones with no caterer and a splashy event about to happen," I said. Not that Julie was wrong. I don't handle negotiations well. But it did bruise me a bit to know that she thought I couldn't take up for myself. I certainly couldn't the way she did.

  "Of course I'll go. And I promise not to blow it for you." She peered into the bowl filled with potatoes, shallots, eggs, olives and a shower of Tony's Seasoning. "Do you need a taste test?"

  "No. I need the mayo. And I'm waiting for you to tell me about your lovely vacation."

  Julie walked out of the pantry with a new jar of Blue Plate." Did I hear you say vacation? Did someone go on a vacation?"

  While I stirred, Julie reeled off tales of the terrible. Minor mother-in-law mishaps like forgetting she drank only decaf." The woman did not go to bed until two o' clock in the morning. And guess whose fault that was?" She pointed to herself." Yep. Heard about that one for the rest of the day. Fortunately, she woke up late because she went to bed so late."

  Trey walked in and the charcoal grill scent traveled right on in with him. "Julie, the pit's hot. Got that meat ready?" He pulled out a bottle of water from the refrigerator. "Hey, Caryn. Glad you're here."

  The smoke wasn't the only fog in the room. Julie and Trey were like two magnets with their poles reversed. Not that they never fought, but I hadn't seen this level of tension between them since—well, never.

  "The chicken was right there under the water bottles. How could you miss it?" This time, Julie opened the refrigerator, slid the tray out and handed it to Trey.

  He shrugged. "I didn't see it. Just proves even when things are right in front of you, you can miss them." He gulped down half the water, closed the top, and shoved the bottle in his front pocket. "I'll let you know when I need the barbecue sauce."

  "Please do," she answered, but he was already out the door. Probably fortunate for both of them.

  "Whoa. What's going on? Brought home the evil twin and left the nice one at the beach?"

  She answered me with a chorus of slamming cabinet doors." I know I bought a new bottle of that sauce he uses . . ."

  "Are you ignoring me?" I twisted fresh cilantro and parsley and clipped them with her kitchen shears. Little green leaves rained on top of the salad.

  "Found it," she said with relief rather than triumph. "And, no, I'm not ignoring you." She nodded toward the backyard where Trey stood in a cloud of smoke. "He thinks I'm ignoring him."

  "Are you?" I pulled on disposable gloves and dove in to mix the salad. Besides the fact that mixing with my hands was so much easier, I liked that mushy feeling as I rolled the potatoes and eggs over one another. It made me think of playing in mud pies. Not that I ever did, but it must have been a lot like this. But cleaner. And this was edible.

  "The first night in Florida, he had this delusion we were going to make love. Right. With his awake parents in the next room. The next day, we made an excuse to stay in the condo while everyone else walked over to the beach. I thought it would be the perfect opportunity." She poured the sauce into a bowl and added a glop of honey.

  "You might want to squeeze half a lemon in that," I tossed the gloves in the garbage.

  "Are you sure you're not related to my husband? He never stops giving me tips either."

  "Hey. Lighten up. I'm not used to you being hypersensitive. So, go on, but I don't need all the details."

  She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. "Anyway . . . mission accomplished. I'm thinking we're good. We met the crowd at the beach, did the play in the sand thing with the kids. I laughed at his dad's feeble jokes. I didn't even go off on his brother when he started bashing my politics."

  "I'm already impressed. So, what went wrong?"

  "Victoria's Secret and Anthropologie and Pottery Barn. He found the credit card receipts in the car console when he drove the kids to the Marble Slab for ice cream that night. When he gets home, he tells me he wants to talk. I could tell by the tone of his voice he meant talk and not 'let's pretend we're talking,' you know?"

  I nodded, but I really didn't know. Harrison and I never used code words. When his father died, Ben could barely speak himself. There you go, Harrison. You didn't live long enough for us to have experienced a new way to signal an impending fight or an impending frolic.

  The backdoor swung open and the smell of slightly burning chicken skin filtered through.

  "Hey. Ready for the sauce." The door closed. The smell stayed.

  The promise of food must have enticed the boys to abandon their latest session of Madden football. They dashed into the kitchen, both of their faces expecting what wasn't there. Nick looked at the empty table. "Mom, when's lunch gonna be ready?"

  "As soon as you and Ben go outside and give this sauce to your dad." She handed the bowl to Nick and a long barbecue sauce brush to Ben. "Get going, guys. The chef's waiting."

  After the door closed, Julie continued. "Here's the microwave version. Trey asked me about the charges and accused me of trying to hide them from him. As if I could hide the monthly Visa bill. We pay everything online." She grabbed placemats out of a drawer and handed them to me. "You ever try to have a fight when you can't scream? I think it makes everything seem worse."

  That I knew. I remembered those kinds of fun times in front of my own father when Harrison and I would be engaged in verbal warfare through clenched teeth and smiles.

  "So, after the 'haven't we talked about trying to cut back on the credit cards' talk and the lecture on the state of the economy as it pertains to the Pierce household, we get ready to go to bed. He thinks," she looked through the kitchen window as if to remind me who the guilty party is, "we're going to have a repeat performance of our earlier sheet music."

  I didn't need to hear the rest of the story. I could fill in the blanks just by the expression on Julie's face.

  "No way was that going to happen. Not that night or the next or the next." Every "next" was punctuated by the thud of a plate hitting the table as Julie made her way around. "And that's the problem. Well, more like that's his problem because I'm sure I can hold out a lot longer."

  I followed behind her with the silverware. She didn't ask for my opinion, so I didn't offer it. Besides, what did I know? My books kept me company at night; they didn't talk back or worry about credit card bills either.

  The first day the boys returned to school, Julie and I met with Kirby about the Junior League event. Julie suggested I not bring an a la carte menu. "Narrow their choices. It'll make things easier on you. Plus, the pricing when you present a package doesn't seem as negotiable."

  I'd worked out three plans for the committee to consider. We met the four committee members for a sushi lunch. Their choice. I ordered shrimp tempura. Years earlier, I tried to join the trendy crowd of raw fish consumers, but I never made it past the first bite.

  After spicy tuna rolls, sashimi, and pieces of salmon, they selected the priciest package. I'd not left myself too much wiggle room in any of the pricings because the League considered this a charity event, and I considered it an opportunity to get my foot in their door. Even if I was the only one whose foot wasn't in a Jimmy Choo shoe.

  I spent the next few days making lists of food orders, pulling together recipes, and working out a schedule for the Junior League event. As grateful as I was to get the contract, the job was going
to be worth more for the referrals than for the spike in my bank account.

  A week later the owner of Suzie's, a local café, called and asked if I'd consider supplying a few of their desserts. Susan Weigand happened to be one of Zoe Arnold's friends. "After you delivered those desserts, Zoe called and raved about your cheesecake. I asked her to save me a bite. That's all I needed." She referred to the "delish" praline cheesecake and wondered if I could make a coffee flavored one and a peanut butter and chocolate version. She wanted me to deliver them in a week.

  School meals, Junior League, Suzie. Tight schedule, but I'd rather be stressed doing catering jobs than stressed because I couldn't pay the mortgage.

  As I reviewed the plan with Julie the afternoon of Susan's call, she pulled up her phone calendar, made a few swipes across the screen. "Did you forget about Ben's class party? Didn't you promise you'd make those fancy cookies you dip in chocolate for his class?"

  I didn't remember, but since Julie carried half my brain in that calendar of hers, I figured she had to be right. I just had to push myself through the next few weeks, and I could rest after Christmas.

  "Here." I handed her my planner. "Can you write those dates in here for me while I look up a few more killer cheesecake recipes?"

  "It's a primitive system, but sure." Julie poured herself another cup of coffee, then stretched out on the sofa in my office. "Brilliant idea moving this coffeepot in here. Surprised I didn't think of it first."

  "You would be. But this is a new coffeemaker. The other one's still in the kitchen."

  "Oooh. Living on the edge, are you?"

  "Only if joining an online coffee club to get the free coffeemaker, then canceling the membership is considered edgy." I clicked to the Southern Living website to check out their new recipes.

  "Edgy? No. Borderline dishonest, maybe." She eyed me as she sipped her Pecan Torte flavored coffee that came with the maker.

  "The agreement says 'no obligation.' " Okay, so maybe I'll order one more month of coffee. I scrolled through dessert options. "If we're going to talk edgy, you're the one sleeping on the edge of the bed."

  She laughed. "I'm back in the middle. Trey sent me a dozen roses. Hand signed the card, which meant he actually made the effort to walk into a florist shop." She set her mug on the lamp table and picked up my planner. "Of course. I ended the cold war in our bedroom, and I rewarded him for good behavior."

  "Sounds like Trey's catching on to you."

  Silence. Uh-oh. That meant Julie was processing, and I wasn't going to back out of this one without explaining myself.

  "Since your face was hiding behind that monitor, I couldn't tell if you were joking." She tilted her head to make eye contact.

  The tie-dyed cheesecake recipe would have to wait because Julie's stare said she wasn't about to. In our color-coded trauma advisory, this qualified as a flashing yellow proceed with caution." Maybe Trey's beginning to get, you know, what he needs to do." Real brave, Caryn.

  She propped her feet on my desk, settled back on the sofa." You're right. He needs to give, and then he'll get."

  I opened my mouth to explain myself, but Julie had already moved on to checking her email. Maybe I wasn't giving Trey enough credit. Maybe he understood the rules more than I understood the game.

  Seafood cheesecake. Julie should have kicked me under the table when I suggested that as a substitute for shrimp mold for the Junior League event. My first attempt that day resulted in a puddle of cream cheese in the middle of my springform pan. I'd started my second try after dinner, which meant hitting the sheets before midnight would be a miracle.

  Standing at the stove pouring crab boil into a pot of water before I added shrimp, I heard the soft splat, splat of Ben's feet as he crossed the kitchen. "Finished your bath already?"

  "Yep." His arms wrapped around my waist before I turned around, but they felt strangely cold. The front of my T-shirt where his hands met was damp, and I felt water soak through the back where his head must have landed.

  As I turned around, he unclasped his hands, and what I saw—on any other day—might have been funny. Water dripped from his hair and his pajamas stuck to his body as if they'd been taped on. "Did you wear your pajamas to take your bath? Why are you so wet?"

  His eyes opened wider as my impatience turned up the volume of my voice. He tugged on his ears and then pulled his shirt away from his body.

  "Ben, I don't have time for this right now. What happened? If I walk in your bathroom and find a mess, I'm going to be very upset."

  Behind me, the pot of water started to rumble and the pungent, peppery, nose-burning smell of the liquid seasoning stung my eyes. I blinked several times to dilute the pain.

  "Mom, don't cry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry . . ." He shifted from one foot to another. "I couldn't find a towel when I got out the bathtub, so I just put my pajamas on." He bit his lower lip and stared at me as though waiting to hear his sentence.

  I wanted to pull him toward me, laugh and plant a kiss on his head and send him to bed. But the pressure of the upcoming weeks steamrolled the kindness and cleared the path for the irate mother to take center stage.

  "You're supposed to get your towel before your bath, Ben. If you'd do what you're supposed to do, you wouldn't have this problem. I don't have time to clean up the messes we already have, and you're going to make new ones?"

  He dragged a hand across each eye. "I won't do it again," he whispered. "I'm going to bed now. G'night, Mom." He reached his arms around me, like I would break if he hugged too hard.

  "Goodnight, Ben. I love you." But the words escaped like a sigh, and I turned around to the angry boil that demanded my attention.

  A trip to Ben's bathroom while I waited for what I hoped would be a real cheesecake this time, solved the mystery of the disappearing towels. The laundry basket in his closet was filled with dirty towels. We obviously needed to have the "what happens when wet towels live together too long" talk or next time I'd be fighting stinky mildew.

  I stopped on the way out, and set the laundry basket on the floor. I knelt near Ben's bed and laid my head on the mattress, to feel the soft rhythm of his breathing. To stroke his hair, and to ask myself why I allowed him to be the brunt of my frustration. He clutched a Wii controller, so I knew he'd gone to his room and played a game before he slept. I imagined him alone after I'd sent him away, and my heart ached. I thought about times when all I wanted was a few seconds more with Harrison to ask forgiveness for all the stupid things I did or said. Things that, after he died, I realized didn't matter. They didn't matter in life either, but I didn't have the perspective of time. With Ben, I had no excuse.

  Sometime later between the seafood cheesecake success and matching socks, David sent me a text message. Technology today made not contacting someone impossible. Call. Text. Instant message. Email. Twitter. Facebook. He asked me to call him. Wanted Ben and me over for the holidays.

  He wasn't going to give up, that much was obvious. At least this time, I had a legitimate excuse. I replied, by text of course, that I had more jobs than I could handle, and I couldn't take time away. He called two minutes later. Twice. If I didn't relent, the ringing might not either. I picked up the phone.

  "Caryn, you must have picked up a lot of holiday business. Do you need some help?'

  "No. I'm fine," I said and hoped I sounded as if I truly was." Julie's been giving me a hand." Well, that much was true.

  "I really miss you and Ben. Is there anyway we can get together?"

  Ben's face from the other night flashed before me. Those sad, pleading eyes. And I heard that in David's voice. "I don't know, David. I just don't know." I waved my hand around the kitchen as if it was a video camera that could send a feed of the clutter. Maybe next time I would Skype him. Then I could walk around with my laptop and prove I was overwhelmed." There's just so much going on right now . . ."

  "Okay, I understand. If you change your mind let me know. We're going to Christmas Eve service, so we'll be home all Christm
as Day."

  Maybe because I was already tired or annoyed or overwhelmed, but when I heard David mention going to a service, I felt a burr in my brain. "David, I don't get how you can go to church. I mean, it's not like your lifestyle is, well, church approved."

  "Max and I go to a service every Sunday, but my relationship with Jesus isn't on trial here. And, even if it was, Jesus would be my judge."

  He responded without a hint of anger or irritation or defensiveness. And, as I said good-bye I realized the person questioning his church attendance was the very person who didn't attend church herself.

  16

  I managed to finish Suzie's orders, but only because I slept less than ever before. The preparation for the Junior League charity event involved more than I anticipated. Days passed, and I couldn't remember if I'd eaten. At least Ben was eating because he stayed at Julie's almost every school night. When the guilt monster started chomping at my insecurities, I fed it with the thought I was investing in our financial security.

  "It's not like you're abandoning your son because you're whooping it up on Bourbon Street," Julie said when she'd called to tell me Ben would be spending the night.

  "I don't know if that's the good news or the bad news," I said. The wildest side of my life took place between the pages of books, reading about somebody else's lovemaking life. But I wouldn't have told Julie that.

  "Nick has a dentist appointment Saturday morning, so I doubt if Ben wants to hang out with us. I'll send him home before we leave," she said. "Now, go cook or bake or broil, or whatever it is you're doing."

  "Thanks, Julie. I don't know what I'd do without you."

  "Come to think of it, I don't either," she laughed.