Sliding On The Edge

by C. Lee McKenzie

  She lied! Damn her. Why?

  I’m not shaking anymore. I place the heels of my hands over my eyes and press hard, until the shadows dance behind my lids. I know why she lied. I wrote two reasons that first day in Mrs. Heady’s English class. There are times when a lie works a lot better than the truth. And like Mark Twain wrote: I would rather tell seven lies than make one explanation.

  Maybe my dad didn’t run off because of me. Maybe he died thinking he’d return, make a family with Jackie and me. Or, here’s an idea, he left her. She wouldn’t want to explain that, would she? So now I have to sort out her fiction from the facts, and piece together what really happened before I was old enough to remember my own history. She couldn’t invent it anymore. I turn back to the picture of my seventeen-year-old father. “Would you have come back to me?”

  I tuck the clipping back into its space, where it’s been pressed all these years. After that, I find only empty pages. Kay’s family ended that April day, someplace in a country I hear about all the time, without ever knowing its significance in my life.

  I go back to the first pages of the photo album. These have the color and the feel of old newspapers left in the sun. When I let them fall page by page, they fan back the stale smell of used clothing stores or Tuan’s back room full of poor people’s discards.

  Staring up at me are the faces of people who didn’t find anything funny at that moment when they were photographed, or maybe never: Great-grandmother Stone, 1920. Grandfather Wescott, 1938.

  My family tree is sprouting relatives faster than Buster sprouts fleas.

  “Wonder what they’d say about old Jackie and me?” I close the book. “Who cares, anyway?”

  “I do.” Kay is at the door. “I’d hope they’d have good things to say.”

  “About Jackie, too?”

  She sighs her way into her same chair. “Yes. Even about Jackie.”

  Kay studies her hands, like they might help her say what she needs to, then she looks at me. It’s hard to read her, to see what’s in her face. There are too many feelings stirred together, and I can tell she’s sorting them out, deciding what and how to say what’s in her head.

  “Your mother was a sad child. Her father abandoned her and her mother when she was only five. Her mother was sick most of her life, so Jackie didn’t have much except welfare checks and pity from people around here. We helped out when we could, but we didn’t have much at that time, either. Her mother died. She went into foster care. She saw her chance to get out of Sweet River when she and Nic started dating at the end of his senior year.”

  So now I know the woman I was inside for nine months and what I was to her—a ticket out of Sweet River. “He knocked her up, right?”

  “Shawna . . .” Kay puts her forearms on the table and leans forward. “Yes. She became pregnant, and Nic wouldn’t abandon her.”

  “So—” I had this great question, and she didn’t give me a chance to ask it.

  “I didn’t handle it right, Shawna. I drove Nic out of this house because I was too stupid to understand what kind of person he was. I helped make your life what it is. I’m responsible for all of it.”

  With lots to say, I opened my mouth.

  Kay puts up a traffic-cop hand. “Wait!”

  Her voice sounds like she’d cry if she could. I can tell she hated Nic’s going into the army, that she blames herself for him going.

  “I go over that last conversation with Nic every night of my life. I would take it all back, everything I said, if only I could.”

  She stops talking for a moment, then goes on.

  “But—and this is the important part— because he was the kind of person he was, he would never abandon you. And that, Shawna, I promise you, is the absolute truth.”

  Chapter 47

  Kay

  Kay shook her head at Shawna’s flip answers. I’m out of pills, she says. Why can’t she drop the hard crust? Just once, I’d like an answer that comes without grit.

  “I’m too sick to kill myself today. Is that good enough?”

  “That’s a dumb answer, Shawna. I want one that sounds intelligent, all right?”

  How can she be so careless about what she’s done? Kay grabbed her hat. I’m not going to hear anything near what I want from this girl. She turned and walked down the steps, punishing the boards under her boots.

  Who was she mad at? Shawna? Herself? Monsters that came when you were about to take away the most precious thing you had? Shawna may not have thought that this grandmother understood the Monster but, one day... she’d tell her granddaughter how much she knew about him. And she knew a great deal.

  Right now she had some other terrible business to finish, and Shawna needed time to get acquainted with her family. Kay’d have to trust that her granddaughter was safe for the moment.

  She made her way to the fence, climbed over, and walked to Floyd’s shack. Victor’s car was parked in back. The horses grazed on the dry pasture, and only the black one stopped to notice her passing.

  Not the one I want, he seemed to say, before lowering his head and nipping again at the stubble.

  Victor came from the house with a small cardboard box in his arms. “Afternoon, Kay. I planned to come over before I left.”

  “I was hoping you could put me in touch with the new owners, Vic. They may not want to sell me the property, but maybe they’ll part with the horses, at least the black one.”

  “They called and said they couldn’t get down for a couple of weeks and asked if I’d get them a caretaker until then. I hired Casey, that boy of yours.” Victor set the box inside his truck and slammed the door.

  Kay nodded. “He’ll do a good job.”

  “Well, I’m done here. There’s not much inside. Dad never did replace anything more than a mattress and stove. Didn’t even have a refrigerator. He used an old camp cooler.” He shook his head. “Can you imagine that?” He took off his hat and wiped the inside of the brim. When he put it on again, tears ran the length of his face.

  The night his family home burned, he’d stood next to her, gripping her hand with both of his. She had pulled him from a sea of flames, and he’d clung to her like a lifeline.

  Kay grabbed him and held him tight. Once again he was the shaking ten-year-old, unable to stop his tears.

  “Some events twist around in us forever. That fire still carves out new edges inside me, and I can only imagine how it must torture you, Vic.”

  He stepped back and took her hands, much as he had that night, twenty-five years before. “Good-bye, Kay.”

  She watched him leave, heavy with the secret that even Floyd never knew. Only she and Nic knew the story of how that fire started.

  She’d already turned to leave when Casey’s truck stopped in almost the same spot that Victor had parked in moments before.

  “Hear you have another job,” Kay said when he climbed out of the cab.

  “Yeah, for a couple of weeks, I guess. I’ll still manage Sundays for you, Mrs. Stone.”

  She smiled. “I know you will.” He was a reliable worker and a good person to have on the ranch. She liked his handling of the horses and she’d miss him when he left for college. “I hear you gave my granddaughter a ride home last night.”

  Casey’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes shifted toward the ground.

  Something happened, Kay thought. And she needed to know what.

  “Guess the sleepover at Marta’s didn’t go so well?” Maybe Casey’d give her something to go on, to help her understand what might have pushed Shawna—to do what she’d almost done.

  “You got it. She stirred things up a lot... at least she did for me.”

  “Hmm. Anything I can do?” She wanted to dig a little deeper.

  “No, Ma’am.” He studied his boots. “I’ve got enough women doing things to and for me that I’m thinking I don’t need any more.” He looked up. “Sorry. I…”

  “No need to say that.” She walked to the fence. “But if you change
your mind and need an older woman’s help, let me know. And, Casey, when those new owners come, call me, okay? I’m thinking of buying those horses Floyd sold them.”

  He smiled. “Thought you’d give in and save those guys.”

  “It’s Shawna who has me thinking that way.”

  “Yeah. I’d like to know what she says to the black one, but he’s not telling me anything.” He waved and went into the barn.

  It was time to go back and check on Shawna. When Kay came up the back steps, Shawna was focused so intently on the photo album that she didn’t look up when Kay opened the door.

  “Wonder what my relatives would say about old Jackie and me?” Shawna closed the book. “Who cares, anyway?”

  “I do. I’d hope they’d have good things to say,” Kay said.

  “About Jackie, too?”

  The way she said her mother’s name reminded Kay of a spike being driven into metal. She sagged into her chair. “Yes. Even about Jackie.”

  Time to tell all, Kay thought. I need to make it short and true, no hedging. Shawna would make a hell of a card player, because she watches people when they say or do anything, and she listens more than she talks. Good thing too. Her language is already spilling over into mine. I’m sprinkling hells and damns everywhere, and pretty soon, if I don’t watch out, I’ll be matching her one for one.

  The story wasn’t as hard to tell as she’d thought. Jackie’s bad childhood. Her bad luck. Her good to excellent survival instincts that included Nic. There it was.

  “He knocked her up, right?”

  “Shawna . . .” What was the use? “Yes. She became pregnant, and Nic wouldn’t abandon her.”

  The hardest part wasn’t over. Kay had to tell the truth about her part if she was going to make Shawna believe the truth about her father.

  She wanted to scream, it was me! I did it. I pay for it every day of my life, and every night I relive that moment, and I can’t ever make it up to you! But she didn’t scream. She didn’t use those words. This wasn’t about her. This was about Shawna and her father, Nic.

  “He went into the service so he’d have a way to go to college when he got out. He wanted more than anything to give you a home and a decent life. I spoke to him just before he shipped out. I... was too late to stop him--he’d already enlisted. But, and this is the important part, because he was the kind of person he was, he would never abandon you. And that, Shawna, I promise you, is the absolute truth.”

  That night, even Kay’s bones felt tired. Her arms and legs lay heavy against the sheets. Her head weighed enough to sink a dinghy. Shawna lay next to her, her breath steady and deep. She had been alone so long in this bed that Kay treasured the sound, and if it was possible, she would seal it inside a bottle to release later and hear again beside her.

  The memories of yesterday perched in the front of her brain, vivid and haunting. But there was more, something at the base of her skull that wouldn’t go away, something that just wouldn’t come forward. She’d sleep and in the morning—No, now!

  She was back in the kitchen, facing Nic and Jackie.

  Where was Peter? At the window, silent.

  He stared out at the barn, like he had nothing to do with the conversation. He really wasn’t there; instead, he was riding on the trail, escaping, and she hadn’t even picked up on it.

  She’d been so angry and scared that her son was about to make the biggest mistake of his life, she didn’t even think about Peter. She didn’t question why he remained silent, then and later.

  Sixteen years to pick up on the fact that Peter was leaving before Nic ever came to you about Jackie, before he died in Iraq. Nicholas’ death was the final blow to an already dead relationship. Finally, Peter couldn’t ignore the corpse of their marriage anymore.

  And I was the smart one in college!

  Chapter 48

  Shawna

  The next morning when I open my eyes, I’m staring up at Kenny Fargo, who’s got one of those doctor things dangling around his neck. “Morning, Missy. Let’s get a listen to that heart of yours.”

  “I’m not a horse, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Sounds like you’re back to normal. We’ll have a listen anyway.” He sticks the plugs into his ears and puts the cold end on my chest. Then he holds my wrist and looks at his watch. “Yep. You’ll live. Guess I won’t have to take my black suit to the cleaners after all.”

  “I’d laugh if you’d say something funny.”

  “I’d laugh if you’d do something besides scare the bejibbers out of your grandmother. You try something like that again, I’ll wallop you back to Vegas myself.”

  I’d like to punch him in the nose. “Don’t I have a right to die if I want to? It’s my life, damn it!”

  “No, you don’t have the right. Fact is, the law says we can put you someplace where you’ll get your own personal shrink and a nice little room where you’ll be safe—even from yourself. Did you know that, Missy?”

  I don’t see Kay until she’s at the foot of the bed. “Actually, Shawna, if we involve the authorities, Dr. Lubell tells me we’ll have tons of legal problems.”

  She sits on the bed. “Your mother is still your legal guardian. She has the final say about where you go or don’t go, unless I try to gain custody. That’s what I meant yesterday, about decisions we both have to make.”

  “You two don’t need old doc anymore.” Kenny snaps his bag shut and picks it up. “I’m going back to the barn where my patients are more congenial.” Then he leaves us alone.

  “I’m calling your mother this morning. What do you want me to say about all this?”

  I shrug.

  “I thought we’d passed the shrugging stage in our communication. Haven’t we?”

  “Don’t tell her anything, okay?”

  “I’m going to ask her to sign over legal guardianship to me. Do you agree on this?”

  I study my lap.

  “If you don’t agree, I won’t ask her. But then, even Dr. Lubell won’t see us again. I... didn’t quite tell her or the school the truth about everything.”

  I look up at Kay. “What truth are you talking about?”

  “I said I was your legal guardian. It was easier to lie than to explain, but that was my mistake.”

  I gasp and she looks at me, confused for a moment.

  “It was you,” I say.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You underlined all that stuff Mark Twain said in that book. ‘I would rather tell seven lies than make one explanation’.” From her expression, I know I’m right. She poured over Pity is for the living, envy for the dead. I study her, and try to see past the creases at her mouth and eyes, past the face I’ve come to know as Kay Stone, my grandmother.

  “That was a long time ago,” Kay says. “And I had very different problems than now.”

  She looks away, like she’s thinking about how to steer the topic back where she wants it—to my mother and the problems I’ve brought down on her head.

  “Now, since all of this suicide business, the therapist has to see documentation, something only your mother can give me. Then the school will be next. So what’s it going to be? Shall I call Jackie and ask her to sign the papers making me your legal guardian?”

  I think about my choices, when that beautiful, horrible word pops up again, di-lem-ma! I can stay here with Kay, curry horses, follow a zillion rules, give Marta hip-hop lessons, and put another bump in Deirdre’s nose when she sticks it into my business.

  Or I can go back to Mommie and another Tuan-apartment life. I hold out my hands like a balancing scale. Sweet River on my left: no freedom, lots of Sundays. Las Vegas on my right: nothing but freedom, nothing but Sweethearts.

  It almost seems like a wash, that is, until I think about Magic, until I remember the last part of my own sleeping beauty funeral—the part I couldn’t remember before. Mom never came to look down at me. She never came to say good-bye. But somebody else did. The woman with a single long red
braid, tied with a velvet ribbon. The woman from when I was five, who floats in and out of memory.

  At my dream funeral, she looked down on me... and she propped me on pillows and fed me ice cream with a small spoon and said she’d miss me.

  I look up at Kay, remembering. “Ask her to sign me over.”

  Kay sighs—that same sigh that comes up from her boots, whenever I say something in a way she doesn’t like to hear it.

  “I’ll ask,” she says. “Now go get showered and dressed. I’ve already called the school and told them you wouldn’t be there today. Once I talk to your mother, we may have a lot of things to do.”

  Chapter 49

  Kay

  In her office, Kay pulled out the wrinkled paper Shawna had left with Jackie’s number written on it. She punched in the numbers and waited. If she asked Jackie like she would an ordinary human being, Jackie would never sign over legal custody. How was she going to get this woman to do what had to be done, what was in Shawna’s best interest? How—

  “Hello.” Jackie’s voice, heavy with sleep, came over the line.

  “It’s Kay. I need you to sign custody papers for Shawna so I can get medical coverage for her. Otherwise, I’ll have to send you the bills. Which way do you want me to handle it?”

  “What papers?” Jackie seemed to be struggling to make sense of Kay’s question.

  “I’m sending some papers for you to sign. If you don’t, you’ll have to pay Shawna’s doctor bills.”

  “Is she sick?”

  “No. But the school says I have to have insurance for her, and since I’m not her legal guardian, I can’t get it.” Kay wondered if that were really true. “Will you sign the papers if I send them to you?”

  “Papers? Sure.”

  “Where do I send them?” Kay asked, picking up her pen. She waited. “Jackie?” Had the woman gone back to sleep? “Hello?”

  “Had to look outside.”

  Kay rolled her eyes and wrote down the address. The phone went dead as soon as she’d gotten everything except the zip code. Was the woman drunk? High?

  Kay looked at her watch. It was only eight fifteen in the morning.