I gave Trey a thumbs-up, then sat on one of the barstools. As if it realized the immediate threat of collapse had passed, my body finally paid the emotional toll of the day. My arms and legs ached, my back tight. I propped my head, my hands on either side of my face and tried to figure out what Julie was up to.
Julie's face looked pleased, but her eyes swept the room as if she searched for the slip-up piece of evidence of a wild party in our absence. She peered in the empty sink, "You fed the kids?"
"Of course not," Trey said as he put the coffee beans into the cabinet above the coffeemaker. "They asked for bread, and I gave them stones." He kissed her forehead. "We ate and cleaned the kitchen." He turned to me. "See what I have to put up with?"
Julie hugged him. "Sorry. Long day. Thanks for entertaining the boys."
"You can reward me later."
"Am I invisible here?" I waved my hand across my face." Don't think so. Save that talk for later." Based on Julie's past conversations, I didn't have to guess what the payoff would be for good behavior. "Or, better yet. Work it out while I go see Ben."
I wanted to see my son. I needed to see him. As if lost in the tangle of sleep and dreams, he could provide an antidote to my sadness. Like Ben's room, Nick's held the familiar lingering smell of wet puppy that not even the hardy Colorado blue spruce Christmas tree could penetrate. With the help of the night light in the hall, I made out Ben and Nick squeezed into the bottom bunk together, more like two pretzels than two peas.
I knelt on the rug in front of Ben, sat back on my heels, and willed myself—for the first time that day—to be still. To allow today's drama to just settle in peace without an autopsy. To just be here with Ben, grateful for the undeserving gift he was, and to ask God to protect Ben and to help us find a way back to Him.
Ben's mouth formed an "o," a slightly larger version of the one from his crib years, and he clutched his pillow as if he just tackled it on a football field. When he breathed, his body melted into the mattress and floated back up again. I didn't want to risk waking him, so instead of kissing him goodnight, I placed my hand on his cheek. How many mothers of how many young sons felt the warm silk softness of their cheeks, watched their fluttery breaths at night and, years later, placed that same hand against that same cheek—battered, bruised and broken?
I couldn't stop the tears.
"We were about to send out a search party," Julie said as she handed me a white mug. "Be careful. I just zapped it in the microwave to reheat it."
"Santa Claws? These must be from your mother," I smiled at the sight of the Santa-hatted crawfish.
"Oh, you mean the Queen of Kitsch? Of course. But she's carving out new territory for herself. Now she's into 'Southern Kitsch.' "
"Maybe that won't be so terrible. At least you might avoid another lava lamp, or Elvis toilet paper holder singing 'Love Me Tender.' Or wait, I'm forgetting one of my all time favorites . . ." I followed her into the family room, "How could I have forgotten the bacon scented room freshener?"
I shifted my attention to Trey. "Trey, I really appreciate your taking over today."
"Once Julie told me what happened, I figured the two of you would be there for a while. I promised Ben we'd shop for a tree for your house too. Since we had so much time, I got this wild idea to go to the Folsom Christmas Tree Farm. Now, that's an experience. Next time, I'll be sure to pack a lunch. If you think picking out a tree on a lot is a pain, try walking through a forest of them."
"And, let me guess. Ben still picked out the shortest, scrawniest tree there." I smiled thinking of my son's compassion for Christmas trees.
"Yep. He sure did. Even Nick tried to talk him out of it." Trey shook his head. "You know that old show about kids saying, what was it? The darndest thing? Your son looked at me and I gotta tell you, Harrison was written all over the kid's face. He said, 'Mr. Trey, maybe this is the tree we're supposed to have because nobody else took it. It's been waiting here for us this whole time.' "
Julie chimed in. "Ben will never grow up to be a Christmas tree farmer. If he does, you'll need to support him."
"Caryn, I wasn't sure what to tell Ben, but I needed to say something because he was getting upset. So, I just told him his uncle was in a bad accident, and I didn't know the details."
"That's probably the best thing you could have said. How do I tell him his uncle was brutalized because he's gay?"
"I don't know. I really don't know about that one," Trey said.
26
Ben and I walked home the next morning after breakfast with the Pierces. I promised him we'd visit David that afternoon.
"I need to make a few phone calls, check up on some of my appointments after Christmas, then I'll shower and we'll go."
"Remember how we brought food to those old people places on Thanksgiving? Can we make something for Uncle David and bring it to him?"
I hadn't factored in food prep time, but I couldn't tell Ben that, especially after he made the connection that what we did made a difference in somebody else's life.
"What if it's something we already made? Would that work?" I always had something extra stashed away. When my customers learned that, they called when they had dessert emergencies. Then I started keeping extras of the extras. Trey said I should be charging more for the last minute dessert deliveries." Doctors charge extra for after hours calls. Heck, even our plumber's walk-in-the-door charge is higher on weekends." At first, I thought the idea crazy. But in the past six months, my emergencies already jumped from monthly to almost weekly. I told Trey the next time I printed brochures, I'd include an upcharge for orders under 24-hour delivery time.
Ben stood before me and scratched his head. "Well, I guess so. What do you have?"
Since he heard about David, serious was a new look for Ben. Not that eight-year-olds had reasons to be somber beyond what might be taken away from them when they were punished. Since he'd woken up that morning, he looked as if he exchanged bodies with a bank president whose tie was already knotted too tight.
"I don't know. I'd have to look at my inventory to be sure. We'll have time to do that later. In fact, I'll let you pick whatever you want."
"What if I call him and ask him what he wants?"
"That's a great idea for later," I said and unlocked the front door. I followed Ben in and added, "but he's not supposed to be getting phone calls right now."
We walked into our house, and a hill of unfolded clean towels greeted us from the den sofa. The sun plowed through the windows and spotlighted the dust dancing in the air and the layers already gathered on the furniture. Julie and Trey's house may have bordered on Chevy Chase's Christmas Vacation minus a few lights and roof decorations, but our house certainly balanced the neighborhood. There was no evidence of Christmas in the house. I hadn't even hung Ben's stocking. Tonight maybe we could at least set up the scrawny tree. I had to figure out a way to not let my catering business totally control our lives.
I didn't even bother changing my clothes. If I stepped away from this mess, I'd end up in my room, curled on my bed in the fetal position. For a while after Harrison died, folding in on myself provided me a reprieve from reality. But now there would be no David to yank me back into the world. I needed to call my father and Lori, but that could wait. Dad was still on his cruise, and Lori, well, I wasn't sure I had the emotional energy yet for that call.
I closed the blinds, cleared a spot on the sofa, and started folding. Ben disappeared into his bedroom and returned with his Game Boy. He plopped in one of the side chairs and within seconds his thumbs were mashing buttons.
"Ben, if you help, this could go faster," I said.
"Folding clothes is for girls," he said without even pausing to make eye contact.
Serious was one thing. Attitude was something else. Very something else. "Okay, sweetie. Put the Game Boy down and look at me. Now."
He stopped his game, his eyes narrowed, and he said, "Mom, please don't call me 'sweetie' anymore. Especially in front of my friends
."
The words pelted me like pieces of ice. The "please" didn't translate to "appreciate." And his tone didn't suggest a request. My son, the little dictator, was about to be told he could rule the country of his bedroom for an undetermined period of time. I let the unfolded towel fall across my lap and looked at Ben, who now stared out the backdoor. And from where I sat, I saw that his demanding pinched-face had morphed into round-eyed confusion. I think he realized he didn't just step across the line; he pole-vaulted across it.
I knew that feeling of going too far, so far that familiar faces and landmarks disappeared. All I wanted then was to be guided back to myself by someone trustworthy and kind. I suspected that was all Ben wanted too, but like me, he didn't know how to ask.
Something wasn't right. I needed to figure out what forest he'd landed in. I knew Julie and Trey hadn't said anything to Ben about David coming out. Even if they had, I didn't think he had a clear definition of that. So this wasn't a reaction related to David. Then, what was it?
Choose the hill you want to die on, Caryn. Okay, Harrison, I've got this one.
"Thanks for telling me you don't want me to call you 'sweetie' anymore. I didn't know that bothered you and I won't use it again. I might forget, at first, but just remind me, okay?"
He squirmed in the chair, but I didn't think it was the chair that was uncomfortable. "Okay. I mean it hasn't been bothering me a long time. It's just, well, you know, I'm getting older . . ."
"Sure. I get it." I got it, but I still didn't understand what drove him there. I understood his labeling clothes folding as a girl thing even less. "But, I'm going to need you to explain something to me that I don't get."
He kicked his bare feet against the chair and nodded.
"What did you mean when you say folding laundry is girls' work? I don't remember the two of us ever talking about boy jobs and girl jobs. At least not around our house."
He bit his lower lip, and I wondered if he'd draw blood soon.
"Ben, why don't you want to explain this to me? Are you afraid I'll be angry?"
He shrugged. "Sort of," he whispered.
I pulled a footstool over to the chair and sat on it facing him." Ben, I'm glad we're having this talk. I hope we can always talk to each other if we feel confused or worried or angry. I can't read your mind." I tapped his forehead. "I'm just trying to understand."
"Yesterday, Mr. Trey told me I needed to, you know, 'man up.' I kind of started crying when he told me Uncle David had been in an accident." He took a deep shuddering breath as he flipped the Game Boy over and over in his hands. "And he said I needed to get tough, so I don't grow up to be a sissy."
"A sissy? That's what he said?"
He nodded. "Uh huh."
"And did Mr. Trey explain what that meant? To be a sissy, I mean."
"He said a sissy is a boy who acts like a girl."
After talking to Ben, I was tempted to call Trey and tell him to "man up" and come to my house and watch me "woman up." But I knew children had a way of putting things in absolute terms—like "we always go to McDonalds" or "my mom never spends any time with me"—so I had to give Trey the benefit of the doubt. And if what he told Ben was his bottom line, then I hoped Julie and Nick rose above it.
I explained to Ben that our physical bodies (Mr. Rogers used to say, "Girls are fancy on the inside, and boys are fancy on the outside.") were what made us boys or girls. What we did in those bodies didn't change who we were. "Babies have to crawl on their hands and knees before they walk. So, does that make them puppies?"
"That's silly," he said and allowed himself a partial smile.
"At one time, almost all doctors were men, and all nurses were women. But not anymore. Do you think Dr. Liz is a man because she's doing something only men used to do?"
"No, Dr. Liz is cool. Plus, we saw her at the pool, remember? She's definitely not a man."
"Well, because she works so many hours during the week, her husband Jeffrey helps her cook and clean. He even helps with the laundry, which means," I handed him a towel from the stack, "he probably folds clothes."
"Do you think he cries?"
"Yes, I'm sure he does."
"Did my dad cry?"
"Yes. But, did that make them sissies? No. No. No." I reached over and held his chin in my hand. "You heard that, right?"
He nodded.
"One day you'll learn in biology that our bodies were made to cry. Not just girl bodies. Boy bodies too. And why would God give boys a body that can make tears and cry, then tell them they weren't allowed to do that?" I handed him a few washcloths.
"Well, we learned in Sunday School that God doesn't make mistakes. So, if God made us that way, why does Nick's dad say not to do it?"
I had a few ideas, but I didn't think Ben needed to hear them." You know, Ben, I'm not sure. What I do know, though, is Mr. Trey loves you. He'd never hurt you on purpose. Sometimes people grow up thinking things that aren't true. Or maybe they just don't understand the things that are true."
"Maybe Mr. Trey would feel better if I told him God said it was okay for him to cry," Ben said.
Oh, and how I hope I'll be there when you do. "He just might. But, here's the most important thing I want you to always remember: Inside, then out. It's who people are on the inside that matters, not what they are on the outside."
Well, Caryn, hope you were listening.
I sent Ben to bathe while I called my dad and Lori. Since Dad and Loretta were on a cruise ship in the middle of some ocean somewhere, I reduced the story to its simplest terms, sanitizing the reason for David's attack and minimizing details about the extent of his injuries. Even with that version, Dad wanted to end their trip at the next port and fly home. Once they arrived home, they'd understand why I didn't disclose the full story. We didn't even have all the details anyway.
"You'll be home in a week. David will be fine, and by that time, I'm sure he'll be ready to ditch me for you if he still needs help," I said, omitting the part that David may be still in the hospital. I knew I needed to seal the deal, so I played the guilt card. "You know David would be incredibly upset if he thought you cut your trip short because of him. Especially one you've waited a lifetime to enjoy."
"That's true. That's true. We'll call David and tell him we decided not to leave the cruise. And first thing after we park this boat, we'll head over to his house."
Sometimes living in a world of instant communication could be exasperating. Now I had to call David, or call Max to tell David the story as Dad knew it, before he called. Or . . .
"Dad, why don't you just let David call you? He could be sleeping or eating and you don't want to disturb him."
Dad agreed that made sense, too.
"Ben and I are going to visit David today. I'll tell him we talked, and I'm sure he'll be excited to talk to you soon."
After the compulsory repeated good-byes, followed by the "I love yous" and "we'll see you soons," I called Lori.
While I waited for her to answer, I checked my email. A few new teacher orders for when the school year started again in January, one from the Junior League saying the check was in the mail, and not surprisingly, yet another email from Mr. Washington. Best to wait on that one, even if I wouldn't be trying to talk to Lori, who seemed to not be answering her phone. It should have gone to voice mail after this many rings.
She answered two rings into my "I'll let it ring three more times" limit.
"Sorry. I expected the call to go to voice mail," Lori explained." And, anyway, I planned to call you as soon as I hung up."
She sounded out of breath. Maybe I caught her at the gym, though she rarely answered her phone during her workouts." Hey, if you're at the gym, I can call you later."
"No, I'm home."
Her voice alerted my crisis radar, and my legs started to feel hollow. Please, not something wrong with Lori, too. "Are you okay? You don't sound okay."
"I heard about David." She started crying before she finished the sentence.
"Max called our friend Beth who works in David's office and asked her to tell me. That's who I was talking to when you called."
Was my crisis radar set on self-destruct? "Back up. You know about Max." I stood up and paced in front of my desk." I'm confused. How did that happen?"
"We met for dinner a few weeks ago. It was my idea. I just needed to see David and to meet this man. You probably think it sounds ridiculous, but it was closure. David was very happy, and that was obvious. And, honestly, I needed to do it for me too. To know that there was nothing I could do. But, I called yesterday strictly for bank business. I needed some information from clients of his who are financing a house through our bank. Max checked David's messages, so when he heard mine, he had Beth call." She paused. "She thought I already knew." Another pause.
I kicked off my flats, stretched out on the sofa, and saw I desperately needed a pedicure. "At first, all I knew was that he was in the ER, then surgery, then recovery, then post-recovery. Julie and I got back late . . . I wanted to be able to give you as much information as possible when I called . . . so you wouldn't have to wait and wonder like I did." I expected an invitation for my pity party to arrive in my gut anytime now. I should have added that calling her trumped taking off these cruddy clothes and a shower.
"If I'd known sooner, I could've at least had the choice of whether I wanted to go to the hospital. Not having someone make it for me."
"If I'd known sooner that the three of you shared dinner and were BFFs now, I would've called you. And that dinner happened weeks ago, not yesterday."
"I'm sorry I sounded so harsh." A space of quiet, and then she said, "You've had twenty-four hours to think about this. I've had about twenty-four minutes. I know you thought you were doing the right thing."
I picked up my shoes and headed to my bedroom and a shower. It was time to end this conversation. "Yep. I did think I was acting in your best interest, not mine. Listen, I promised Ben we'd visit David, and I still need to shower . . ."
The Edge of Grace Page 16