"You must be Julie," he said. "Thanks for making sure she got here safely."
"Of course."
At that moment, I wished I had a freeze-frame button. I couldn't process everything that bombarded my head and my heart. Sensory overload. This man, this stranger, took Lori's place in my brother's life. I don't even know how they met. I don't even know his last name. All I knew was he lived with and loved David. And because of that, I distanced myself from my brother. And now, this tall, brown-eyed, black-haired man who I only knew by his first name, knew more about David than I did.
"Let's sit down. I'll fill you in," Max said, and as he moved to sit on the sofa, I noticed dark blotchy stains covered the bottom of his sweater. Stains too dry to have happened at lunch.
"What happened to your clothes?" I regretted the question as soon as it left my mouth.
Julie looked at Max's sweater. She gasped. "Oh, dear God, no," she said and blinked as tears filled her eyes.
Max inhaled deeply, and when he exhaled I heard David's name.
I let my purse drop to the floor as I sunk into the chair next to Julie's and covered my face with both hands.
"I found him on the porch. He must have pulled himself there. So much blood. I thought he might be dead. I called 911 and waited . . ."
Max didn't need to finish the story for me to know what happened to his sweater. The movie unfolded in my mind's eye. Max sitting on the porch. Cradling my brother's head in his arms until the ambulance arrived.
Max told us a friend of theirs, an orthopedic surgeon, met him in the emergency room. "I called Walter right away. It was obvious that David would need him."
He didn't go into detail, and I didn't ask him to. I just wanted to know that he would survive, regardless of the injuries.
"I thought you said he was in an accident?" Julie looked as confused as I felt.
"I did. It was just too much to explain on the phone. But, no. His car was at the house. The keys still in his pocket. His credit cards and cash were in his wallet. The Tag Heuer was still on his wrist. They didn't take his iPhone or his Macbook." He counted off, on one hand, each piece of evidence he presented." Hey," he added with a hint of a smile, "he's going to be so excited when I tell him that his Apple toys are safe."
That Max already understood David's obsession with all things techie surprised me, yet made me uncomfortable. If someone had written Max's words, and handed them to me without my knowing the source, I would have been pleased that someone not only knew what my brother enjoyed, but who delighted in making that happiness possible. Had Lori just spoken those words, I would have been glad that she connected to David this way. But, of course, it wasn't Lori. Was the burr in my sensibilities that I couldn't deny my own hypocrisy?
The sound of Mrs. Samuels' voice accompanied by a murmur of unfamiliar ones caught our attention. I was certain the see-saw of expectancy followed by a thud of disappointment reflected in Julie's and Max's faces was mirrored in my own. No white coats with news from surgery. A family, or maybe two, with toddlers and parents and grandparents staked out a spot at one of the plasma televisions. The low rumbling voices hummed behind us. I welcomed the noise. Anything to crack the overwhelming stillness.
I waited for Max to continue, to answer the question that tugged at me like an impatient child who needed attention. But he didn't, and I needed to understand. "I don't get it. If the intention wasn't to steal from David, then what was it?" I couldn't sit one more minute. Maybe I could pace to soothe the two-headed beast of frustration and anxiety that now roamed my world. I walked the length of the sofa and back again. Seven steps. Seven small steps. Seven small quiet steps. The rug underneath my feet felt as hard as the floor. I paused in front of Max. "Why would anyone want to hurt him? He's one of the kindest, most laid-back people I know."
"Caryn, here's the thing," Max said as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped between his legs.
I stopped pacing, perched on the edge of the chair, and drummed my fingers softly on the armrests.
Max bent his head, cleared his throat, and then looked up at me. "I can't prove it. Yet. But based on what we—Walter and I—can tell, this wasn't random. Whoever attacked David, and it's likely that it wasn't just one person, targeted him."
"Wait, wait." I held my hands up in front of my face as if my palms could have trapped the words in the space between us. Each sentence Max spoke became a wire that wound itself around my heart. The harder it pounded, the deeper the words sliced into it. "You're telling me," my voice shoved its way past the tightness in my throat, "somebody . . . some people . . . meant to hurt David because . . ."
When Max looked at me, the sadness in his eyes belied the anger that hardened his face. "Because he's gay."
In college, when I arrived home "over-served" and topped off with a Waffle House breakfast, I'd go to the bathroom and force myself to vomit. At least it was pre-Facebook, which saved me the indignity of being tagged in photos that could brand me for life. Shoving your finger down your throat is nothing to be proud of and clearly not a pretty sight. But I learned that unless I purged all the wretched and toxic substances out of my body myself, I would be forced to suffer hours of torture as my stomach orchestrated its revenge.
College ended and, with it, my episodes of post-partying, self-prescribed wellness. The last time I experienced that sour milk, smelly feet taste that coated the inside of my mouth, the culprit wasn't Jack Daniels. It was Ben. And that was it.
Until today. Except the hatred that sickened me belonged to someone else. People capable of this level of violence thrived on the toxin of prejudice in their bellies. And even if a quick fix existed, this group wasn't looking for it. History proved that.
"I'm going to find some tissues and a bathroom." Julie unwedged her phone from between two sofa cushions and left.
The initial wave of nausea had subsided, and even if it returned, my rumbling stomach had nothing to offer. At some point, soon, I needed real food, but so did Julie. I decided that while I waited for her, I'd look for something to drink that contained caffeine, then grab a few cookies. I stood at the other end of the sofa and debated if I should ask Max if he wanted anything from the kitchen.
Max leaned into the sofa, his hands rested above the dark red and rust brown stain on his sweater, and his head propped on the low back of the sofa so that he could have counted the ceiling tiles if he wanted to. Which I'm sure he didn't because his eyes were closed.
He looked younger when he slept. But that rule applied to everyone, at least everyone I ever saw both asleep and awake. My dad called it our "heaven face" because when we're sleeping we're letting God take over. At bedtime, he'd ask David and me, "Who's ready for 'peaceful and fancy free'?" We jumped up and down in our pajamas, one or both hands raised straight up in the air, and screeched, "Me! Me! I am, Daddy! Pick me! Pick me!" Some nights my toes felt sticky from the kitchen floor. Even when Dad picked David first, David always told him to let me go first instead. I'd try to reward him with a kiss, but he'd back up and cover his cheeks with both hands and he'd say, "No, thanks."
Dad would hoist me up on his shoulders, and I'd tell him, "I have the best big brother ever!" It took awhile, but eventually I realized that David let me go first every time Dad picked him because that meant he stayed up later. And, of course, he was also a co-conspirator at one point because he knew the game was designed to get me in bed whine-free. Now I'm older, still not whine-free, but I'd volunteer to be first if we still played "peaceful and fancy free."
I decided to let Max sleep, and as I walked away, the family in the waiting room with us gathered in a tight circle and held hands. When I heard, "Dear Heavenly Jesus," I stopped. I didn't know if moving around would be a sign of disrespect, as it was during the Pledge of Allegiance. They bowed their heads, so I did too, even though I didn't want to eavesdrop on their prayers. Since they already brought up the subject of Jesus, I figured I'd open the door a bit for my own talk.
Je
sus, it's been a very long time . . . I was on my way back to you, and then this happened to David . . . on your watch, by the way. I don't get it. But don't blink and lose my brother. And this Max and David thing. I don't get that either. Some people think men like Max and David won't get the secret password and won't ever have "heaven faces." I think your Father is a lot like mine. I'll bet he plays "peaceful and fancy free" with his children too. And what daddy, when he asks his kids, "Who's ready?" when he sees them dressed up and laughing with their arms high, shouting, "Pick me! I am! Pick me!" . . . what daddy wouldn't scoop them up and take them with him?
I lifted my head.
The family was gone.
22
Julie sent me a text that she'd been outside talking to Trey, her parents, and her pastor. She said the boys were fine, and Ben was going to send me a photo of the tree he picked out.
I asked her if she'd pick up a pizza or hamburgers on her way back because I was so hungry even cafeteria food sounded good.
"Lucky you," she sent back, "I found cash in these jeans. On it."
"Get lg. piza or 3 brgrs in case Max hungry." My texting skills qualified me for a remedial learners class. I had to shorten where I could or Julie would have already been out the cafeteria door before I finished.
I found a Diet Coke and a bottle of water in the mini refrigerator. I must not have set off any alarms because Mrs. Samuels flipped through the pages of a magazine and didn't even glance in my direction.
I walked over to let Max know I was back. "You're awake." Brilliant assessment, Caryn. He's checking his messages. Impressive.
"Yeah, I guess you could call it that," he said, and put his phone on the table. He massaged the back of his neck, stretched his head back, side, front, side. "Leaning my head back on that couch to rest seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, not so much."
"I brought water. Wasn't sure which one you wanted, but I can grab another Diet Coke if you'd rather have that."
"Thanks, water's great," he said. He did waist turns, then stopped and surveyed the room. "That's what this place is missing. A weight room." He pointed to the other wall. "If they dumped that television and seating area, there'd be room. Maybe not weights. Maybe an elliptical and a treadmill."
"Or a yoga studio," I said, "with a massage therapist." I played along to be polite because I still spied a perfectly fine television and a not too ugly, not too grand sofa grouping.
He tipped his water bottle toward me. "Hey, I like how you think."
My cell phone vibrated. A message from Julie: "Got food. Found cool patio. 5th fl. Meet me."
"That was Julie. I asked her to pick up food for the three of us. She planned to bring it here, but she just said she found an outdoor spot."
Max twisted the cap on the half-full bottle and glanced at his watch. "I think I'll just hang out here. He's been in surgery a long time. We should be hearing something soon."
"We'd probably be back in thirty minutes." I might as well have said, "If you're good, we'll buy you a toy." The two sentences would have sounded alike. This time, I made a conscious effort to shut down the "Ben take your medicine, it's good for you" Mom talk. "Max. Seriously. We have a pager. It's not like we're leaving the hospital. You need fresh air. Sun. Vitamin D."
He took a deep breath. "Yeah. I guess you're right. I can make a few phone calls while we're there," he said. "Plus, we have this." He picked up the digital pager and waved it in the direction of Mrs. Samuels.
I nodded, then grabbed my purse and Julie's. "Let's go tell our house mother our plans."
"You have David's sense of humor." He smiled. "You're exactly the way I imagined."
So, we're one out of two.
Hospitals should post signs that read "Reality Optional" so those who aren't patients can dispense with the confusion that comes from attempting to apply outside the hospital rules, inside the hospital. The disconnect reminded me of that joke David told ADD does it take to change a light bulb? Answer: Want to go ride bikes?"
For everyone in hospital universe, we were two women and a man who shared a cheese pizza on a December day the week before Christmas in which we could sit outside and roll up our long sleeves. Growing up in Louisiana, I spent most holidays singing "dashing through the snow" while I played outside wearing shorts and polo shirt. Today was one of those almost sticky days and we're listening to "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" playing on the patio. The ebb and flow of conversations around us made talking difficult at times. At the table next to us, a dozen or so white lab coats and scrubs played "musical present exchange," switching gifts every few minutes in the songs. In the center of the outdoor dining area, a Christmas tree looked as if it sprouted from the dozens of red and white poinsettias that surrounded it.
And there we were. My best friend Julie and I, sharing a pizza with a man whose last name we still didn't know, whom we just met that morning, and who had been living and sleeping with my brother for months. And while the three of us debated the pros and cons of Mellow Mushroom Kosmic Karma pizza, a team of doctors worked over that same brother in a surgical room two floors above.
Between text messages to and from friends and family, Max related the timeline of events from breakfast that morning to his knowing where to find David.
"David and I planned to Christmas shop this afternoon. His office called early, eight o'clock, to ask if he could show a house . . ." Max shook his head, swept his hands down the sides of his face as if he could drag away the regret written there. "I couldn't believe somebody would be house-hunting this close to Christmas. But the office told him it was a relocation, that the guy passed the house the day before and really wanted to see it before he left today to go home for Christmas. I should have gone with him . . . I had already scheduled someone to help at my store." Max pushed his plate with two uneaten pizza crusts to the side. "You know that feeling you get when one plus one is not equaling two?"
Julie and I nodded. "We both know that one well," she said.
"I didn't listen. It's like you get a dog for protection, then when it barks, you tell it to shut up. What's the point of the dog, right?"
His cell phone rang for what seemed like the fiftieth time since we started eating. This one, he let go to voice mail. Did they have that many friends or were the same friends constantly calling? Either way, there were people in their lives who cared about them and let them know. And before today, not one of those people included his sister.
"I think those feelings we get in our guts are the barking dogs God gives us. I need to learn to pay attention, and to honor whatever it is He's trying to tell me," Max said. The words settled on the table between us. I looked at Julie, but she was nodding in Max's direction. He drummed his fingers on the table, then checked his watch, and gave in to his obvious anxiety. "I'm going to head back." He slid his chair away from the table. "Thanks for lunch. I'll see you later, okay?"
Even though David told me he and Max attended church, Max's honesty and conviction proved my well of expectations was far too shallow. His sincerity and passion weren't performances, weren't practiced Christianese. His faith ran deep and felt real.
Gay Christians? Those words, from just a few weeks ago ran through my head. When Julie told me about the hundreds of online resources she found, I scoffed. Called it a contradiction of terms. Repeated, "It's impossible to be gay and a Christian."
Christmas seemed equally as impossible. Surrounded by silk magnolia garlands and pinecone wreaths, I wondered how the joy of the season would make its way to our house.
We finished eating and headed back to the waiting room.
Julie slipped her arm around my waist.
"You okay?"
"Not really. Am I supposed to be?"
When we reached Mrs. Samuels' desk, Julie hugged me." Just know, we're praying for you. All of us. For all of you."
"Ladies," she cleared her throat. "Mr. Trahan is in the first consultation room on the right. Your brother's doctor should be there in just
a few minutes."
"So, that's his last name." Julie said to me and flashed a confused Mrs. Samuels her cell phone again to prove her compliance."
Max leaned against the door of the room, his arms folded over his chest, his right leg bent at the knee over his left. Seeing him framed there, calmer than when we met, it was as if I saw him for the first time. Even with my limited fashion sense, I smelled expensive. If the clothes wore you, generally not expensive. If you wear the clothes, generally yes. From the jeans with the horseshoe embroidered flapped back pockets to the charcoal leather moccasins with contrast stitching, the stainless steel Tag Heuer, to hair meant to look like it naturally grew that way and stayed that length, Max invested considerable money to appear as if he didn't. He resembled Ben Affleck, the later years, and the bags under his eyes notwithstanding. And though I considered myself so far out of his league I didn't even play on a team, I'd not only accept a date with him, but I'd take pictures as proof it actually happened.
Whumpf. There it was. That huge elephant in the room I didn't want to or need to discuss refused to stay invisible. It was now entirely possible, because I just proved it to myself, that my brother and I would find the same man attractive. One of us would lose, of course. But is it really competition when you're playing the same game on different fields?
I valued my relationship with my brother because I trusted him. But, when he said that he was gay, our relationship became awkward for me. Just the fact that I felt this uneasiness introduced something I never experienced with David. And, when I considered what that attraction meant, in real-life situations, I felt uncomfortable. Like the story Angie, in our book club, told about the times she, her ex-husband and his new wife attended the same function for the kids. At the volunteer luncheon, when the speaker wanted to recognize Mrs. Jordan, both women stood.
The Edge of Grace Page 14