The Edge of Grace

by Christa Allan

  "Can you work with me here?" She tightened her ponytail." I'm going somewhere with this. Really. I am."

  "Follow me into the kitchen first." The papers in Ben's homework folder were scattered all over the table. His math assignment for tomorrow involved solving word problems. We were about to tackle: "There are 10 spoons and 9 forks in the silverware drawer. How many pieces of silverware are there in all?" when Nick called to ask Ben if he wanted to go to Dairy Queen. A no-brainer. Unlike the math question Ben would have probably had to answer with, "I don't see my silverware drawer because we always eat at the Pierce's house."

  Julie grabbed a Diet Coke out of the refrigerator. "Last night I had to walk you off the ledge, and tonight trying to save your business isn't important? Or am I the only one who remembers that?"

  I stacked my son's papers near his backpack. Ran my fingers over his name, his letters like awkward stick figures bumping into one another. "I remember. After spending all day at David's, then finally being able to have a little time with Ben, I guess I'm just not ready . . . I don't know, to have to think that hard? I pulled a tub of cookie dough out of the freezer. Once it defrosted, I could bake a few dozen to bring to Zoe. "I do remember I didn't want my personal life all over the school system."

  "Right. And the reason you didn't write the email was you didn't know what to say."

  "Julie, let's sit down and you can get to the point. It's late. You're stressing my stress."

  "One more thing." She opened a bag of Doritos she found on the island and slid into the chair. "You know that scripture passage from Isaiah, the one about 'a child shall lead them' ?"

  I looked at her. "Seriously?"

  "Guess you don't. He talks about wild and domestic animals being able to live side by side—like a wolf and a lamb, and a leopard and a young goat—how Jesus makes that all possible." Julie paused to finish her chip. "And Isaiah says that little child will lead them. You know how children possess a wisdom and clarity about life that adults don't."

  Her hands were as animated as her face, which made listening to her entertaining, but didn't provide me any more information than I had before. She leaned forward. "Ben was that little child. Everything you worried about. Not sending the emails, what to say in the emails. Ben made a way."

  I felt the egg salad I had for dinner take flight in my stomach." Ben knows David is gay? How would he know that? How would he even know what that meant?"

  "I'm so glad you're my best friend, and I love you, otherwise, I'd be ready to smack you about now." She paused. "Is everything in your universe going to revolve around David's choice of a partner? Is that it? Is that all David is? If you can't see past that, I'm afraid Ben might not either." She stared over my head for a moment, then looked at me, "And that would make me sad. And I apologize if I didn't handle this right."

  "I still don't have the slightest idea what you've been trying to tell me." I stood and tugged my polo shirt down from where it bunched up around my waist. "Can you just say exactly what Ben did? Maybe after I've slept, all this will make more sense to me. " Before I sat again, I grabbed paper towels and handed them to Julie.

  She closed the chip bag, wiped her hands, and took a deep breath. "Ben was upset at school, so his teacher talked to him privately. He told her his uncle had been in a terrible accident and you were taking care of him until he could get better. I think he might have said something about David's face being purple. Ben told them how tired you were, so he's doing his homework before you get home, and he's sad that he doesn't know how to help you. So, using your emails to them, Ben's teacher sent emails to your school customers. They wrote that you'd been helping your brother who was seriously injured. They weren't sure when you'd start delivering again, but asked everyone to give you time to sort things out. They've received so many emails they're having to organize all the people who want to help."

  She pulled a lumpy brown envelope out of her purse and handed it to me.

  "What's this?" Someone had written "To Mrs. Becker and Ben" on the outside.

  "Joanie in the front office gave it to me today. I haven't opened it, but she said it's filled with gift cards to restaurants, pizza places, and a few grocery stores. They're from Ben's school and from teachers at some of the others. She said they're expecting more, and some teachers wanted to cook, so they're in the process of coordinating that."

  "I'm . . . I . . . I'm overwhelmed. And I'm so sorry. So sorry." I wiped my eyes with the hem of my shirt. "And they're doing all this and they don't even know my brother."

  "No, not all of them. But Ben's class does." Julie reached in her purse again. "Remember, David brought them the cupcakes when you forgot." She handed me a framed picture of David and Ben, surrounded by all the kids in the class, each one holding a cupcake."

  If shame could bury us, I'd be in the earth's core.

  "Max, did I give you the grocery list the other day?" I'd stirred the contents of my purse at least five times and still couldn't find it.

  He stopped midway in helping David into the front room." Yes. Yes, you did."

  "Why don't you give it back to me, and I'll go to the store. I didn't realize how busy you'd be, and I think David would welcome a chance to have an hour during the day all to himself."

  "Is he tired of you already?"

  "I'm tired of me already. David's going to go stir crazy. Eventually, somebody needs to figure out how to get him out of the house."

  David plopped on the sofa. "The two of you are talking about me like I'm invisible again. I'll be sure and let both of you know what I need and when." He flipped open his Kindle." Now that I've learned to read a newspaper without it ending up on the floor, maybe I could learn how to make my own breakfast?"

  "Are you talking to me, Oscar the Grouch? Why are you such a grump this morning? And I thought Max already fixed you breakfast. He usually does." I looked around. "Where did he go?"

  "To the bathroom?" David shrugged. "Sorry. I didn't sleep well last night. My arm hurt. Probably too many of those range of motion tortures. I'm also trying to stretch out the pain meds. How am I going to know the pain's going away if I'm on medicine that masks it?'

  "Why don't you stretch out the medicine time during the day when you have more distractions? Then, if you need them at night, you won't feel guilty." I tucked the linen drapes over the front windows behind the tieback. "Look, it's sun. I could get some sand, we could pretend to be on the beach. You could even get a tan if I pulled the chair six inches to the left."

  David looked up from the Kindle, shaded his eyes with his hand and squinted. "You know, you can be funny at times. Is it something on loan or are you trying to develop it?" He shot a grin my way. "I like it." He peered out the front door. "What is he doing?"

  I joined him in spying on Max, attempting to balance what appeared to be a pastry box, two gift wrapped boxes, his briefcase, and a coffee cup from Starbucks.

  "Maybe one of us ought to help him," David laughed.

  "Guess that would be me," I said and met him at the bottom of the steps. "You did all this in the time you were gone?"

  "Glad I could provide entertainment for the two of you." Max handed me the Starbucks cup. "That's for you. Low fat vanilla latte, no foam, Right?"

  "How did you know that?"

  "It's on your Facebook page . . . under Favorites."

  "You read that? I didn't think anybody ever read those." The awe factor just increased.

  "Then why did you write it if you didn't think people were going to read it?" He handed me a set of car keys. "My car is parked across the street. The white BMW. Could you set your cup down, and get the two coffees I couldn't juggle to further amuse you and your brother?"

  A few minutes later, the three of us sipped Starbucks coffee and devoured chocolate croissants from the French bakery around the corner. The gifts made themselves at home on the coffee table. "What's the special occasion?" I asked.

  David shrugged his shoulders. "It's Wednesday?"

  "That
's it exactly!" Max handed one wrapped box to me and the other to David. "Happy Wednesday to both of you." He slid his iPhone out of his suit pocket. "Be prepared for pictures!"

  David, with a little help from Max, opened his box to a find an iPad in a black leather case monogrammed with his initials. Max hugged him in one of those back-slapping man hugs. I didn't flinch like I thought I would, especially when I realized I'd seen more physical contact between football players on national television.

  Max gave me a new iPhone with the promise that he and David could teach me everything I needed to know." We'll have cell phone school starting with setting it up, which David will conduct as soon as I leave. And pay attention because there might be a test," he said, sounding like one of Ben's teachers.

  "I wanted you to help me buy a new phone. I didn't expect you to buy one for me." I appreciated Max's generosity, but I wondered about it as well. He either had an endless stream of cash or endless number of credit cards.

  "If you expected it, then it wouldn't be a gift. The surprise is the fun part. Right?"

  "Right. Absolutely," I agreed. But my cynical self, the one who looked a lot like Betty White, yammered, "He could be trying to buy you. Win you over by spending money. Hope you'll accept him because he's just so gosh darned nice. Pretty soon he'll be buying presents for Ben too."

  "Wait," Max said. "You don't like it, do you? I should have asked first. Did I overstep any boundaries here? If I did, I apologize. It hasn't been activated, so it can be exchanged. What do you think, David?"

  "Hmmm. Not sure." David hooked the iPad to his laptop.

  "Odds are he didn't hear the question," I said to Max. "And, no. It's not that I don't like the phone. I do. Very much. But it's a generous gift, and I just—"

  Max's face dropped a bucket of worry. "If it's the money you're concerned about, please don't be. I'm not about to lose all my worldly possessions nor have I mortgaged them. Does that help?"

  "It does," I said. I opened the box to check out my new phone. It wasn't even on yet, and I already felt intimidated.

  Max gave me the grocery list and said David would help me tour the App Store. "Make sure and download the app that takes pictures of your notes and stores them. And there's a bar scanner too. You can scan items to check prices or, if you just used your last bottle of Tabasco Sauce, you just scan its bar code and—voila—on your list it goes."

  If there was a lifetime quota on using the words "wow" or "cool," I came close to reaching it. When Max mentioned cell phone school earlier, I thought he meant it as a joke. Not anymore. I might even need summer school.

  Less than ten minutes after Max left for work, he called David, who handed me his phone. "Here, Max wants to tell you something."

  "Hey, Caryn. I didn't call your number because I thought you might be trying to set up your new phone. I wanted to tell you I had a present for Ben and totally overlooked it when I was getting things out of my car. Please remind me this afternoon, so I can give it to him."

  By the time Gavin called later that day, I had learned how to answer the phone without hanging up on the caller.

  "What kind of event did you want to talk about having catered?" Something profitable and large, I hoped.

  "Oh," he cleared his throat. "I do want to discuss your catering, and I apologize in advance for not telling David the whole story of why I wanted to talk to you. Your brother values your opinion, and I wanted to have some time to explain why I think it's so important for him to file charges against whoever it is who beat him up."

  I wandered out the front door and sat on the steps so I could talk without David overhearing. I doubt, though, he paid any attention to what I did because that would have meant punching his ticket out of iPad universe. "David and I already agreed that taking legal action would be overwhelming. I don't think he wants to go through that. And I don't know if there's anything you could tell me that would make a difference."

  "I appreciate your honesty, and I promise not to pressure you or David. I thought it might help for us to talk. And, it's a lunch you won't have to cook."

  We planned to meet Monday at Mona Lisa's, an Italian restaurant on Royal Street. I immediately started building a wall of excuses as to why I wouldn't support Gavin's desire to take legal action. I owed it to my brother to make sure Gavin's intentions weren't to further his own career by exploiting David. Protecting David from the public meant protecting my name and my catering business too. But Gavin didn't need to know that.

  "How does it feel to wake up in your own house?" I sat on the edge of Ben's bed after I'd spent a few minutes gently tugging his ear to wake him up.

  He opened one eye and peered at me suspiciously before rolling over on his back. "You pulled my ear."

  "Yep. I sure did." I pushed his hair off his forehead. "If you want, I can bang pots at the door instead."

  "You're weird, Mom." He yawned and rubbed his eyes. "Are you staying home today?"

  It might have been a question, but it sounded more like skepticism. Sadly, it didn't surprise me. I didn't blame him for being doubtful. "Actually, no."

  "Figured," he sat up and shoved the sheets off his legs.

  "Whoa, buddy." I put my hands on his shoulders. "Guess that didn't come out the way I planned. You're not staying home, either. You have a birthday party to go to today."

  "Oh, yeah, I forgot. Justin's party at Putt-Putt," he said, his voice flat with disappointment.

  "But, before you do that," I paused, "the two of us are using one of the gift cards from your school and going to The Broken Egg for breakfast."

  He looked at the ceiling, then back at me. "For real?"

  "For really real." I hugged him, grateful he couldn't see the tears in my eyes. I wanted to share his excitement, but his genuine surprise only reminded me of how little of myself I shared with him.

  "Are you sure that's breakfast and not dessert?" I asked Ben after the waitress served his Belgian waffle covered with Bananas Foster sauce, whipped crème, pecans, and sliced bananas.

  He tasted a spoonful of the topping and, with chef-like seriousness, declared, "Both."

  "Yours," he said and pointed at my plate of Eggs Sardou, an English muffin topped with sautéed spinach, artichokes, two poached eggs, and a dollop of Hollandaise and Florentine sauces, "is breakfast, for sure."

  "Do you want a taste? You might change your mind."

  He wrinkled his nose. "Uh, no. Those eggs look like space ships."

  "You know, that sounds like something your dad would have said. He wasn't so crazy about eggs either," I said, leaving out the part where Harrison explained his aversion by detailing the process of a hen laying an egg.

  Spending time with Ben that morning, I realized I missed just hanging out with him. Hearing his school stories, laughing with him, and seeing him delight in being important. I resolved that I wasn't going to lose Ben. I didn't want to lose one more man in my life.

  After Julie and I dropped Nick and Ben off at Putt-Putt for a classmate's birthday party, we started our mission: finding black boots for Julie.

  "I hate when clichés come to life right in front of me," I whined as I followed Julie around ShoeTu Deux.

  "What about these?" She held up a black leather mid-calf boot with a leopard cuff. "Hmmm. I'm thinking 'no.' Unless you're embracing your funkiness."

  She returned the boot to its match displayed on the center table and patted it. "Good-bye my walk-on-the-wild-side alter ego," she said. "Now what cliché are you talking about?"

  "The one about the good ones are either gay or married. The good news of having a gay brother is you don't have to feel awkward with his friends because they're not looking at you as relationship material. The bad news is that you wish some of them would."

  "Are we talking about this Gavin guy?" She reached for a black patent platform with a gold heel.

  "Yes, and back away from that shoe," I said. "Look, I found these." I held a black suede boot with smocking at the ankle and waved it like a mat
ador waving his red cape in front of a bull.

  Julie showed it to the sales clerk who wore a "Sales Specialist" button and platform sandals with enough straps to entertain Houdini for hours. "Size seven?"

  We sat on a bench between the boots and pumps and waited. Julie for boots, and me to figure out, after years of telling friends the only dates I wanted were the kind used in fruitcakes, why I'm interested in a man disinterested in women.

  "You sure you're not making him gay by association? Are you assuming your brother doesn't have straight friends?"

  Miss Gladiator sandals returned with three sizes for Julie to try. "I'll get these ready for you." She opened the first box, pulling out cardboard and paper.

  Julie turned to me. "Well?"

  "Yes. No. It's stupid, really. I've met the man once and talked to him on the phone once. What am I? Fifteen?" I spied a red satin stiletto shoe with an ankle bow. I wandered over to the display to check the price. It cost more than my mixer, but less than the ravioli maker I wanted. I set it back on the table. "Maybe that 'all gay men are fine dressers' perception's a stereotype. I just don't know any straight men who are that impeccably dressed and well-groomed."

  "Metrosexuals," blurted Gladiator sandals.

  "What?" The question popped out of both of us at the same time.

  "I'm sorry to butt in like that. Sometimes it's hard to pretend you're not hearing a conversation." She busied herself opening another box of boots.

  "Metrosexuals? Sounds like Sex and the City. And we're talking straight men? Maybe I need to start paying more attention to the Urban Dictionary," Julie said.

  "You haven't heard of this either?" I asked Julie.

  Julie smirked. "Sure. The subject comes up all the time in carpool line. And you've seen Trey's clothes . . . when he's home, he's frumped out."

  "So, explain this term to me," I asked Michelle, our sales person.