Too Near the Edge (4 page)

“I understand why you say that,” I said. “But
this process isn’t what you’re expecting. There’s no séance, no
medium, no table tapping. You do it all yourself, and you do it
alone. All I do is provide the setting and teach you how to make
contact. And I can help you if you have problems.”

“I don’t know. How much would it cost to try
this?’

“If you fit the project criteria, it won’t
cost you anything. But look—I don’t want to even begin to push you
into getting involved in the Contact Project. I just can’t get
Elisa to understand that it’s not for everyone.”

“I would so, so like to reach Adam. But I
guess I’m sort of afraid to get my hopes up.”

“It takes a lot of energy to make contact
with someone who has died, and you have to be clear and focused to
do it, and there are no guarantees,” I said. “But some of the
people in the project have had remarkable…”

“Hogwash! Total hogwash!” boomed a loud voice
directly next to us. “Sharon, I know you’ve been in a bad state
lately, but I didn’t think you’d fall for this nonsense.”

Sharon jumped up right in front of a
broad-shouldered, stocky, balding older man whose jaw was tightly
clenched. His red face and grim expression signaled a major temper
tantrum on the way.

“Dad, this is none of your business—not as if
that ever stops you from butting in,” Sharon said. “Cleo, this is
my father, Donald Waycroft. That’s Dr. Donald Waycroft, the very
important psychology professor from the university who always knows
what’s best for everyone—especially me.”

“Dr. Waycroft. It’s a pleasure to meet you.
I’ve read some of your work.” I stood, and extended my hand.

“And I’ve heard about your work—if that’s
what you call it.” Waycroft responded gruffly. “Stay away from my
daughter. She has enough problems as it is.”

Ignoring my outstretched hand, he grabbed
Sharon’s arm, spilling her wine down the front of her silk shirt.
“I need to take you home,” he said. “Elisa said Maria just called
to say Nathan has an emergency with his plants and needs you right
away. My car’s right in front. I’ll drive you down, and we can get
your car later.”

Sharon yanked her arm back from her father’s
grasp, mopping her shirt with a napkin. “Dad, stop! You’ve ruined
my shirt, and you’re being rude and overbearing.”

Sharon turned away from Waycroft toward me.
“My dad’s right about the plants. My son, Nathan—he’s only eight.
Those herb plants are everything to him right now.”

“Sharon. We need to go NOW,” Waycroft moved
to face her again.

Ignoring her father, Sharon continued talking
to me. “I’d better go. Maria, is babysitting tonight, but she’s not
at her best in a crisis. I’ll talk to you soon.”

I knew Sharon was right about Elisa’s
daughter Maria not being good at handling a crisis. I had been
Maria’s part-time nanny years ago, and we have stayed close. She’s
now a dreamy 16-year-old, who plays the violin exceptionally well
but often isn’t aware of much else.

Remembering Tyler’s instructions to watch
over Sharon, I decided I should stay in the picture. “I’ve known
Maria since she was a baby,” I said. “We’re still close. Why don’t
I follow you down and give her a ride back here. That way Elisa and
Jack can stay here with their guests, and you won’t have to leave
Nathan to drive her home.”

“Thanks. That would be great,” Sharon said as
she brushed past her father and headed toward the living-room door
with him close on her heels. “Dad, I can drive myself. There’s no
reason for you to come.”

“I’ll follow you home. Just to make sure
everything is okay,” Waycroft gritted his teeth and grabbed
Sharon’s arm again. I guessed Sharon was in no mood for the angry
lecture she was likely to hear from him as soon as they got
home.

I knew about those lectures. Listening to
Waycroft’s bluster, I flashed back to a time when I was 14 in
Topeka and my father yelled at me for having gone with some friends
to visit a psychic. My stomach twisted as I heard my father’s words
from long ago ringing in my ears. “Cleo, what did you think you
were doing going into that part of town late at night? To see a
psychic? They’re all fakes—just after your money. You need to learn
to think before you act!”

I returned to the present when Elisa popped
up in front of us as we headed toward the door. She said she was
sorry Sharon had to leave, but she appreciated my offer to pick up
Maria.

Waycroft pushed her out of the way as he
continued to propel Sharon toward the door. “Elisa, you are even
flakier than I thought you were,” he said. “You’re certainly no
credit to the Psychology Department, inviting guests like Miss
Spirit Contact to your parties. Just who my daughter needs to meet!
If you want to get tenure in the department, you’re going to have
to be a lot more careful who you hang around with.”

Sharon ignored her father’s ravings. “Thanks
for inviting me and thanks for getting me hooked up with Cleo,” she
said.

“Donald, stop being a bully and let Sharon
handle this herself,” Elisa said, moving to step between Sharon and
Waycroft.

She had time for no more as Waycroft hustled
Sharon out the front door and toward his red Jeep Cherokee. But
Sharon pulled away, striding toward her white Saturn parked nearby.
“I’m in Martin Acres, 31st and Ash, just off Broadway” she yelled
back at me. “It’s 3122 Ash. See you in a few minutes.”

She turned toward Waycroft. “Dad, I am
driving my own car home, and I don’t want to see you showing up
there tonight. Why don’t you just stay here and find someone else
to annoy?” Sharon fished out her keys, unlocked her door, hopped in
and drove off down the steep gravel driveway in a cloud of
dust.

Waycroft stomped off to his own car
muttering, “Stupid, stubborn girl.” He got in, turned his Jeep
around with a spray of gravel and headed off after Sharon.

I jumped into my Toyota and sped behind them
down Old Stage Road to town.

Amazingly, I was able to follow right behind
them down the winding road to flat but crowded Broadway. We all
arrived at Sharon’s house at almost the same time. Sharon made a
sharp turn into her driveway and leaped out of the Saturn just as
Waycroft pulled in behind her. They argued briefly in the driveway.
Then Sharon dashed up the two wide wooden steps, crossed the
covered porch and turned her key in the lock of the front door.
Whatever she had said to her father made an impact. Instead of
following her, he stood next to his car.

I parked on the street, got out of my car and
walked cautiously toward the front porch. Waycroft glared at me.
But I figured his anger was his problem.

The house was a remodel of a modest
1950-style brick ranch, with the living room right off the front
door, which Sharon had left open. I could hear Nathan crying, “Mom!
Mom! My plants are dead! That dog killed my plants, and now they’re
all dead.”

I stood on the front porch looking in. The
room was a mess. Dirty glasses and plates perched precariously on
top of stacks of mail and newspapers that covered a table in front
of a beige couch. A laundry basket piled with tee shirts and socks
sat in one corner. And next to it near a large bay window, a sturdy
brown-haired boy sprawled on the floor surrounded by dirt and
broken flowerpots. His face was smeared with grime and tears.

Poor kid. Only eight years old, grieving for
his stepfather, and now his plants were smashed. I felt a strong
desire to run over and give him a big hug, which of course I
couldn’t do since he had never met me. So I stood quietly
watching.

I noticed Maria standing on the other side of
the room holding a wiggly black puppy, trying to keep him away from
the plants. Her head was bent toward the puppy, and as usual her
long brown hair covered most of her face.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Maria said, turning her
scrunched-up face toward Sharon. “I only brought Gustav with me to
keep him away from Mom’s party. He is a little frisky, but I
thought I could keep him out of trouble here. Usually he’s fine as
long as I’m with him. But he ran after Nathan’s ball under the
table by the window and somehow he knocked over the table and the
plants fell on the floor. I told Nathan we could repot the plants
but …”

“No, they’re dead, dead, dead now and there’s
nothing we can do,” Nathan sobbed. “I hate your stupid dog.”

He had quite a bit of emotional energy
invested in those plants. I figured they meant more to him than a
potential source of cash.

“Nathan, it’s not as bad as you think,”
Sharon said as she knelt in front of the crying boy and reached out
to hold him in her arms. I felt relieved to see he would get that
hug I knew he needed. But he rejected Sharon’s comfort.

“No,” he cried and jerked away. “If Dad were
still here this never would have happened.”

“Let me take a look,” Waycroft spoke from the
open front door right behind me, apparently having decided he had
waited long enough. I was surprised at the warmth and concern in
his voice. But his positive feelings didn’t extend to me. He pushed
past me into the room, without so much as an “excuse me.”

“Hey, Dr. Waycroft!” Maria said, smiling at
him. “Do you think we can save those plants?.”

“Dad, I told you I can handle this,” Sharon
broke in. “Please give us a few minutes of privacy here.”

Ignoring both Sharon and Maria, Waycroft
squatted on the floor in front of Nathan. “Here’s the thing,
Nathan,” he said calmly. “Plants are different than people. Plants
have roots. See these roots,” he said, cautiously fishing around in
the dirt to show Nathan the spindly roots. “The roots are what keep
the plant alive, not the dirt. As long as the plant is still
connected to its roots, it can live in another pot. All we need to
do is get more pots and dirt and put these plants in them and
they’ll be fine.”

Nathan stopped crying and looked his
grandfather straight in the eye. “Are you sure, Grandpa?” he asked.
“Are you really, really sure?”

“I promise,” said Waycroft. If your Mom can
find some pots and dirt in this messy house, we can get your plants
fixed up right now.”

Seeing her dad with her son, Sharon put aside
her impatience with Waycroft. “Okay, I’ll get some pots from the
carport,” she said walking off down the hall. I decided to lay low
and see how things went from there. Waycroft pulled Nathan onto his
lap and talked quietly to him. Clearly a man who could control his
mood when he chose to.

“Nathan, these pots are almost exactly the
same as the ones that broke,” Sharon said as she came back into the
living room carrying a stack of clay pots and a bag of potting
soil. “Do you want me to help you repot the plants, or do you want
to do it yourself?”

“Grandpa’s going to help,” said Nathan, who
looked much happier now. “Grandpa says he knows what plants like,
and how to make them feel better. Did you know that one time
Grandpa won a prize for a special flower he grew?”

I rolled my eyes. Waycroft, the gardener? I
flashed on an image of him yanking out any plants that didn’t meet
his standards.

“Ok, here’s the stuff. You go ahead,” Sharon
said putting the pots and the dirt right on the living room floor
in front of Nathan and Waycroft. “But let’s be sure to keep Gustav
away from this dirt.”

I stepped into the living room. “I’m going to
take Maria and Gustav home as soon as she’s done here,” I said.

Maria looked startled. “Cleo, hi,” she said.
“I didn’t know you were here. Isn’t this a mess?” She leaned toward
Nathan while keeping a firm grip on the wiggly Gustav. “Nathan, I’m
really, really sorry about your plants,” she said. “I’d help you
clean up, but I think I’d better get Gustav out of here before he
causes any more trouble.”

“That’s OK. We can clean it up. You go
ahead,” Sharon said. “And tell your mom I really appreciate her
introducing me to Cleo. I think her project sounds really
interesting.”

“Sharon, did you hear anything I said?”
Waycroft said frostily. “I told you to forget about that. If you
get involved with this Cleo woman and her crazy project, there will
be unpleasant consequences for you and Elisa and Cleo. I promise
you that. ”I felt my body tighten as I absorbed the tension in the
room, but Sharon didn’t react at all.

“Mom, why can’t you be nice to Grandpa? I
need him to help me now that Dad is gone,” Nathan cried.

I didn’t want to give Waycroft the
satisfaction of thinking he’d chased me off, but I was more than
ready to get out of there. “It’s time for us to go,” I said,
turning to Maria. “Do you have all your stuff?”

“Can you get my backpack in the corner?” she
said.

I grabbed it and we were on our way. Maria
took a few minutes to get Gustav settled, but he quieted down
quickly once the car got going. “I probably shouldn’t have brought
the puppy,” she said. “I thought Nathan might enjoy playing with
Gustav, but he’s totally obsessed with those plants. He talks to
them every day. He thinks he can get rich from them if they grow.
He totally worships that soccer player David Beckham, and he wants
to get enough money to go to England to see him play. I’m a little
worried that it won’t work out and he’ll be majorly
disappointed.”

I figured Nathan felt like his life was out
of control, and the plants could be good therapy. But I didn’t want
to analyze Nathan’s behavior for Maria, so I said, “I expect Sharon
is watching out for him.”

Then, curious about the enthusiastic welcome
she had given Waycroft, I asked, “How do you know Dr.
Waycroft?”

“We both play in the Boulder Symphony,” she
said. “He’s an awesome trumpet player. I don’t know him that well.
I’ve seen him a few times at Sharon’s when I was babysitting, and
he came to pick up Nathan to take him somewhere. Nathan relies on
him a lot since his dad died, so I was glad to see him there
tonight.”