The Edge of Grace

by Christa Allan

  "I hear you convincing yourself there's a problem."

  "I could send an email that said my gay brother was attacked by homophobes, I'm taking care of him because his partner needed help, that's why the menu was late, and don't ask me any questions."

  "Now I'm relieved you don't have the cell phone to send it. You have the ride home to decide. Just send something. I think most of these people care more about their own stomachs than the drama in your life. Or mine. Or almost anyone not them."

  "Guess I never thought about it that way."

  "I need to pay the pizza guy. He's walking up to the door now. Don't worry about Ben. If you're not back by the time it's official lights out, Ben can just sleep here. Why don't you just stop here anyway? I'm sure you'll be hungry, and since Trey ordered three different kinds of pizza, I'm sure we'll have leftovers."

  "I'll call when I'm closer. We might actually be moving." I hung up, and when I saw the lights of the 18-wheelers, I felt encouraged. Those truckers knew what was going on and, if they didn't they could find out. They social networked on their CB radios long before the internet.

  Even five miles an hour was progress after thirty minutes of no movement, but still slow enough for me to return Zoe's call. She wanted to know if Ben and I would be interested in coming back to the center with desserts, and maybe staying for a while to play games or just chat with some of the residents." My brothers think Ben is a cool kid, so they plan to be there whatever weekend works in your schedule."

  "Thanks for the invitation. I'm in my car, so can I check my catering schedule and let you tomorrow? Would you want to ask your residents if there are any certain desserts or cookies they want?"

  "Sure, and I'll explain you're not making everything they request," she said with amusement. "I appreciate your getting back in touch with me so quickly."

  "You've been on my list of people to call, but for a reason entirely unrelated to my catering business." I waited a moment to continue for the howling of the ambulance to fade as it passed on the other side of the interstate, "And I realize we don't know each other well, so please understand I won't be offended if you say 'no.' "

  "Okay." A matter-of-fact okay, not a hesitant, questioning one.

  "A few months ago, my brother told me he was gay. I haven't handled it well. I don't have anyone to talk to, except for my friend, Julie. And even though I love Julie, and she's been a tremendous support person, I don't think she fully understands how challenging this is for me because her brother's not the one who came out . . ."

  "Like yours and mine, right? I'll be happy to talk to you, especially if it means helping you not make the mistakes I made when my brother came out."

  Closer to the accident, the police funneled three lanes into one. Less than a mile later, the traffic slowed again. But this time, it was because the wreckage captured attention. One car crumpled like a sheet of paper, another seemingly cracked in half by the light pole it hit head-on. I tried to look without gawking.

  "Caryn? Hello? Are you there?"

  "Yes. I'm sorry. I've been stuck in traffic forever, and just drove past the accident."

  "That's always a heart-wrenching time, isn't it? It reminds me how temporary we all are."

  I thought about Harrison, about almost losing David. "You're right, which makes me want to work out this relationship with my brother even more."

  "Let me see, I could meet you sometime Saturday or . . . I'm scheduled to work Sunday . . . we could meet around one o' clock. You can bring Ben. He can help the boys at the Bingo game while we talk. Oh, and don't worry about bringing anything then. We can set up desserts for another day. How does that sound?"

  "Perfect. That way I won't have to leave Ben." I turned into the Walgreen's parking lot. A few minutes picking up poster board wouldn't make that much difference considering how late I already was.

  "Unless one of us has a change of plans, I'll see you Sunday afternoon."

  "Thanks. See you then."

  I checked my face in the rearview mirror, dug through my purse for lip gloss, pulled out a pen instead, and gave up. A trip into a drugstore shouldn't require that much attention. I tossed my keys in my purse and headed in, hoping everyone I knew was somewhere else.

  Two poster boards, a jar of unsalted peanuts for David, who wanted more one-handed snacks, and a 2-for-1 on my favorite Maybelline mascara later, I called Julie. She informed me Nick and Ben had just gone to sleep, and asked if I wanted him to spend the night or go home with me. "We walked over to your place earlier and picked up clothes for school tomorrow, so he can just leave with us in the morning if that works for you."

  "Maybe I need to give him my picture to put in his binder so he'll remember what I look like."

  "I'll look for one. In the meantime, what kind of pizza do you want? Pepperoni and sausage, ham and pineapple, or veggie?"

  "Veggie. And what—wait, that's a call coming in—let me make sure it's not David or Max."

  "You'll be here in five minutes. Talk to you then."

  The incoming call was the number I didn't recognize. I let it go to voice mail.

  35

  I can't believe I just ate three pieces of pizza." I handed my plate to Julie.

  "That's because you didn't. You ate one piece and the tops of two," Julie said as she loaded it in the dishwasher. "I can't believe you talked me into brewing a pot of coffee this late. Who eats pizza and drinks coffee?" She said the word "coffee" as if it was synonymous with "sludge."

  "You're drinking a Diet Coke."

  "Still only half the caffeine. Already had this discussion with my mother last week." She pushed the dishwasher door.

  "Are you spending the night here, too?"

  The thought of not having to put shoes back on my happy toe-wiggling feet almost tempted me. But I wanted to be able to relax at the computer wearing my pjs and not worry if the pizza gave me gas. Even after only two days, I realized that alone time wasn't entirely awful after being around people constantly. "Tempting as the slumber party sounds, I need to download some information for Vince. He called today, and I need to set up an appointment with him." And probably for more than just information about catering choices, but feeding my soul hadn't been in my top ten list of urgent things to do. Maybe I wasn't hungry enough yet.

  "Trey's going to slumber, but the 'party' is questionable. Probably a good thing for both of us he's at the gym tonight. All I wanted him to do today was pick up a gift card from Talbot's for his mother's birthday. His mother. He forgot. We're supposed to meet them on the other side of the universe tomorrow night for dinner. He claims he'll remember tomorrow. When he taps my shoulder tonight after we're in bed, I might try that 'I'll remember tomorrow line'."

  "If that was supposed to be a sell job for staying, you're fired. Sounds like I'm the one who needs to host the slumber party." If Julie continued with her reward and punishment game with sex as the prize, would Trey ever have an incentive for doing the right thing all the time? Was there a prize for that?

  I topped off my coffee and noticed a page torn from a Williams-Sonoma catalog hanging from a magnet on the refrigerator. The baked ziti recipe called for fresh eggplant and Kalamata olives.

  Recipe. The email Julie reminded me about earlier. I already missed one week of orders. Now, I risked another week. Dependability mattered as much as the menu.

  "I have to get home."

  Julie stopped wiping the countertop and looked at me." You're as white as my sheets used to be."

  I poured my coffee in the sink, meant to set the cup on the counter, but missed. When it hit the floor, the handle broke off in one direction, the cup in puzzle-sized fragments in the other. "Can it get any worse?" I bent to pick up pieces, but they might as well have been underwater for the tears that blocked my vision.

  Julie bent next to me and tugged me to standing. "Hey, it's not a big deal. The mug came with a flower arrangement Trey sent me last year. I've already forgotten what it was he forgot to do that made him send
it."

  She walked me to the sofa and handed me a box of tissues she'd picked up along the way. "You're scaring me. What just happened?"

  I blew my nose. The cup must not have been as empty as I thought. Coffee spatters the size of raindrops were splayed on the front of my khaki pants. "I'm an idiot." I pounded my forehead with my fist as if to prove it. "That email you reminded me about? It just hit me that my customers haven't heard from me in weeks, and everything I've worked so hard to build, and what if they won't order because they don't think I'm dependable, or what if they don't want to recommend me . . ." I ran out of breath, but not words. They pushed against my brain like impatient prisoners. "And when they do start ordering again, how am I going to manage? Some of them already want two meals a week, and I can't figure out how to do one a week, and help David at the same time, and between cooking and David, Ben hardly sees me, and—"

  "Let's stop there for now. And stop wringing your hands like they're wet towels. You're about to lose a layer of skin." Breaking one of her own rules, Julie sat on her coffee table across from me. "You're exhausted. You're not eating well. Probably not sleeping well."

  The front door opened, and Trey's "Just me, ladies" voice echoed from the foyer. "Guess how many . . ." he walked in, spotted us, and mumbled ". . . miles I ran?" Every part of him leaked sweat. Even his clothes. He wore the smell of outside, grass and dirt, and night. "Everything okay?" Man-talk for "Do I have permission to leave because I'm out of my element here."

  I nodded.

  "We're good. We're good," Julie said.

  Trey probably translated that as, "permission to escape granted" because he turned to head down the hall.

  "There is one thing you could help with." Julie patted my hands and spoke toward me, but Trey knew the directive was meant for him because he stopped before she finished the sentence.

  "What's that?"

  Julie told him a cup fell in the kitchen and asked if he would clean it up, "especially those tiny slivers that go everywhere," and if he could mop it "just a bit to make sure the sticky is gone" and ended it all with, "if you wouldn't mind."

  "Not at all," he answered and looked like he meant it.

  Julie watched her husband as he walked toward the kitchen. I watched them both, and I wanted another life. No, not another one. I still wanted my family and friends. A "light" life. That's what I wanted. Like light margarine, light pudding, light ice cream, light cream cheese. I wanted a life with all the heavy taken out.

  I jammed the used tissues in my pants pocket. "I have to go," I told Julie. Every stress in my life pressed down on me, like someone revving an engine. All that noise and energy, but I stayed in the same place, and the rut became deeper and wider. I didn't even care about the email right now. I wanted my life from underneath everyone else's foot.

  "You don't have to go home to send an email. You can do that here. I'll even write it. All you need to do is send a menu out. You don't have to say anything else, at least not tonight. We can come up with a plan tomorrow after you leave David's. Most of your customers won't even read it for a day or two. Not everyone checks email as compulsively as you." She handed me a wad of fresh tissue. "Deal?"

  The racing in my stomach slowed a bit. Tomorrow. We could fix it tomorrow. I trusted Julie with Ben, surely I could trust her on this.

  "Deal."

  Before I left, I tiptoed into Nick's room to kiss Ben goodnight. He was on his stomach, his arms stretched over his head, and right leg bent at the knee. He looked like an h in his purple and gold pajamas against the white sheets. I kissed him on his forehead and whispered, "I love you," and closed the door behind me.

  Julie sat on the sofa, folding towels while she watched the news.

  "Would you like some help?" It sounded more like a token offer than I meant it to. But then if I hadn't meant it that way, I would have just sat on the sofa next to her and started folding without asking.

  She looked at the basket at her feet. "Not many more. But thanks for offering. Besides," she picked up a stack of folded kitchen towels, "you need to get some sleep."

  I drove home, walked straight to my bedroom, showered, and without even bothering to blow dry my hair, went straight to bed. I had a new voicemail, but it wasn't from Vince. The one person I probably should have called first, I didn't call at all. It was the second phone call from the strange number. Maybe someone calling about catering. I pressed play.

  "Hi, Caryn. This is Gavin. I called earlier, but just now figured you didn't recognize the number. I told David I wanted to talk to you about catering menus. Which I partly do, but I'll explain later. I have a deposition in Houston, so I'll call when I'm back in the office. Have a good evening."

  David thought Gavin wanted to talk to me about catering. And he does. Partly. If all gay men were this confusing, I was going to need a beginner's class.

  36

  David and I made a pact to limit deep moral and philosophical discussions to every other day. Fortunately for him, that was before my meltdown at Julie's last night.

  At the moment, our most harrowing conversation required deciding dry cleaners versus washing. Over half of what I thought should go into the wash stack, David vetoed.

  "Now I understand how you get by with that grown-up Fisher-Price washer and dryer stacked on each other," I said as I jammed button-downs, polos, jeans, khakis, and assorted pants into a canvas duffle bag. "Next month your dry cleaning bill should be light. I doubt you'll have to send one-legged sweats and jeans."

  "I have an appointment with Dr. Armstrong next week. Not quite sure what's going to happen with the knee. But I'll get my arm back. By the way," he added sheepishly, "I'm supposed to be doing these. Max reminded me yesterday."

  I looked at the handout. Three of the seven exercises he couldn't do yet because they required lying flat on the floor. Between the two of us, we might be able to get there, but he'd have to stay there until Max came home. "This paper said these should start after surgery. Are you telling me you haven't done any of these?"

  "No. I've been doing them. So much going on yesterday, I really did forget."

  By the time Max arrived home, David had finished two of the three daily range of motion exercises, the turkey chili had been divided into containers and frozen, and David asked the four people who wanted to visit if they could come another day.

  Max landed in the chair as if a giant hand had pushed him in it.

  "Do you want something to drink before I leave? I made a pitcher of sweet tea and one of unsweet," I shoved my feet into my sandals before I tripped on them on the way to the kitchen.

  He locked his fingers, put his hands behind his head, and closed and opened his eyes in one long blink. "You know you're in the South when you get two options for tea."

  "Where are you from then?"

  "Originally, here. Lived in Texas, California, New York for a long while, then moved back." He closed his eyes again for a few seconds, and when he opened them looked as if he hadn't quite made it back from wherever he'd gone. "Sometimes the smallest of things make the biggest difference." Max took a deep breath. "Yes. I'd love a glass of sweet tea," he said and sat straight in the chair, slapped his hands lightly on the armrests, and leaned forward to talk to David. "So . . . let me tell you about these nutcase clients of yours . . ."

  I poured the tea and added a sprig of mint from stems I cut that grew out of the neighbor's yard and into David's. Hearing the laughter between him and my brother, I considered that I didn't know much about him. But, I hadn't asked. I still felt uncomfortable when they were together, so I was glad Max had somewhere to go everyday. It wasn't that I didn't like him. I did. But I knew when I shut the door behind me, they'd be Max and David, the couple in love. And I didn't know what to do with that.

  As I backed out the driveway, I glimpsed Max.

  "Caryn! Caryn, don't leave yet." he trotted down the steps." Glad your window was open and you heard me."

  He crossed his arms on the window opening so
we were face-to-face. "David and I talked about the schedule for this week. If you can make it work, being here everyday would help tremendously. We don't want to interfere with your time with Ben, so I'll do my best to get back by late afternoon."

  "I'll ask Julie if she can still help out. Ben's already trying to work me over to get him out of school a day so he can come with me. As long as I'm home in time for supper with Ben, it should be good." I'd not been this close to Max's face or had reason to, and I saw the faintest hint of a scar right above his left brow.

  "We appreciate everything you're doing. Plus I know you're still not sure about . . . things . . . but you show up anyway."

  I wondered if David had the same insight about my being there as Max and just didn't say anything. In one way, it was a relief to know Max sensed my discomfort. I didn't want my standoffishness to be interpreted by David or Max or their friends, like Gavin, as my being the Ice Princess.

  He patted the roof of the car. "You be careful going home. And tell Ben that was a great card he made for his uncle."

  "Thanks, Max. I'll see you tomorrow."

  The entire time I spent with my brother. I didn't allow myself to think about last night's email fiasco. But the angst hovered in the car waiting for me. I hoped Julie worked out a plan because I had nothing.

  37

  Remember last night when we talked about a plan for your email, and options for what you could say?" All Julie needed to match her tone was a whiteboard and a marker, and we'd be both transported to middle school.

  I looked at her as I dumped on the floor the pile of clothes I'd gathered in Ben's room and my bedroom. "You mean, my option as in telling everyone my gay brother was attacked or as in owning my stupidity?" She trailed behind me to the laundry room where I threw a load of towels in the washing machine and tossed Ben's uniforms in the dryer.