Too Near the Edge (7 page)

Did Sharon think someone had pushed Adam over
the edge or he had jumped? I didn’t want to be the first one to say
it. So I asked, “Do you have any reason to think Adam was in some
kind of trouble?”

“Lately he had been working long hours,”
Sharon said. “His office was in the remodeled garage next to the
house, and he was out there all the time. When he did come back
into the house, he was so tired he hardly talked to me or Nathan.
Since he died, I’ve found out that his web-design business had
financial problems. I’m sure he didn’t want to tell me about it. My
dad always thought Adam was a goof-off, and Adam desperately wanted
to prove him wrong.”

“Your father and Adam didn’t get along?”

“Well, Nathan’s father, Joel, was one of my
father’s graduate students in behavioral psychology before he
dropped out and left. Dad was furious at Joel for leaving, but
still kept hoping he would come back. Even though we never heard
from him and had no idea where he was. When Adam adopted Nathan,
Dad took it hard. We had to run notices of intent in the paper and
try to find Joel before the adoption, so he had a chance to
respond. Dad thought for sure Joel would show up and stop it. But
he never did, and the court let Adam adopt Nathan.”

“So your dad saw Adam as taking the place
where Joel should be?”

“Yes. But Dad was wrong about Adam. He
thought that because Adam was a high-school dropout who got a GED
and went to community college, he would never amount to anything.
As you can see, Dad doesn’t exactly give anyone a break. But Adam
was smart and worked hard, and his business had been doing well. In
fact, I still don’t understand how he could have been in debt.”

“You say you think the financial problems
were part of what was preoccupying him. Do you think there was
something more bothering Adam lately?”

“I do. He looked worried. And he sort of
seemed to be somewhere else a lot of the time. I’d be talking to
him, and he’d be staring off into space over my head. I don’t know
what was going on with him. He said he had a lot of things to think
about. He’d go out and hike up Mt. Sanitas to clear his mind, but
when he got home he wasn’t any calmer. That wasn’t like him.
Usually getting out into the mountains by himself was all he
needed.”

“Is that why he went to the Grand
Canyon?”

“Yes. Somehow he got it into his head that if
he could go there and hike around the rim, he’d feel much better. I
didn’t really want him to go—it’s so far and it was April when you
can run into some major snow storms in the mountains. But he was
dead set on it. He started telling everyone he knew that he was
going on a ‘midlife crisis trip.’ Which was really dumb because he
was only 37.

“So are you thinking that if you contact Adam
you can find out what really happened?”

“It’s the only thing I can think of to do
now. Nobody believes me that it wasn’t just some stupid accident.
The rangers didn’t exactly say it but I could tell they thought it
might be suicide. But I don’t think Adam would decide to leave me
and Nathan without even saying goodbye. Now no one will do any more
investigating. I can’t afford a private detective. But I have to
find out.”

“I think the Contact Project sounds like a
good possibility for you. But I have to tell you that you may not
reach him. Or you may reach someone else.”

“In a way I feel like I already made
contact,” Sharon said, leaning forward in my direction. “I had this
really vivid dream about Adam just before I woke up this morning.
He seemed so real and he was trying to tell me something—but then
he faded away and I woke up. But it felt like he was still in the
room somehow.”

“What happened in the dream?”

“I was lost in a maze of long halls,” Sharon
said, “and I was feeling really scared because I had no idea how to
get out or to get where I wanted to be. I ran around trying
different paths. Some of the halls were dead ends, others led
further into the maze. There were people around—sort of gliding
by–but they ignored me. Every time I thought I was almost at the
end of a hall, I came to a bend where it stretched out farther in
front of me. Then I saw Adam at the end of a hall. He was on a sort
of spinning platform with two other people.

I ran toward him as fast as I could, but the
air felt thick and it took me a long time to get close.”

Caught up in the telling of the dream, Sharon
got up from her chair and walked around my office.

“I reached out to try to get his attention,”
she continued, extending her arm, as if reliving the dream. “The
floor where he stood was spinning very fast. He stopped and got
off. He was very real and alive to me, and I felt like it had all
been some sort of mistake, that he wasn’t really dead.”

Sharon stopped pacing right in front of me,
but looked past me into the distance. “So I said ‘Adam—they told me
you were dead. Where have you been for the last three months?’ And
then he started to get blurry and fade away, like the Cheshire cat.
I yelled out at him, ‘Adam! Don’t go!’

She sobbed as she resumed her walking and
continued relating the dream. “And then he looked straight at me
and said, ‘There’s danger for you and Nathan. Don’t trust….’ And
then his voice faded away with the rest of him. I ran toward the
spot where he had been and jumped and reached out to grab him, but
I felt myself falling forward into a foggy hall in front of me. And
then my alarm rang and woke me up.”

She blew her nose and went on. “I’m so ready
to try to reach Adam. Especially because of that dream. Adam seemed
so real talking to me and then he faded away before he told me who
not to trust. I know it was a dream, but it feels like more than
that. I feel like I need to find out what he was saying.” She came
back over and sat in her chair.

I sat silently, not wanting to interrupt her
mood. She shook her head, as if to banish the dream, then looked at
me. “His presence was so strong in my mind all day that I kept
looking over my shoulder for him and listening for his voice. Now I
feel like I’d try just about anything to be able to talk to him
again. You said I might be able to do it at no charge? I don’t have
much money right now.”

“Yes, I have funding available, and you‘re a
good candidate.” I thought about Tyler and his message for Sharon,
but decided it was too soon to bring that up. Maybe after she
contacted Adam. I wondered how easy that would be for her. Some
people have more success with the process than others do. It seemed
like a good time to find out.

“The contact process takes a good part of a
day,” I said. “I keep Fridays free for that and the person I had
scheduled for next Friday cancelled yesterday. Could you get the
day off?”

“I have some comp time I need to use this
month. Friday will work,” Sharon said.

“OK. We’ll need to start at your house so we
can look at photos of Adam, and mementos, like a favorite shirt or
jacket of his, tools, stuff in his office, whatever you have that
is closely associated with him. Can you arrange for Nathan to be
somewhere else?”

“He’s leaving at 1:00 for a friend’s birthday
party and won’t be back until about 8:00. Will that work?”

“That’s perfect. After we get done at your
house, we’ll come over here and walk outside a little to
relax—somewhere along the creek path. Then you’ll be ready to try
to contact Adam. And after that, we’ll talk about how it went, and
where you want to go from there.”

“OK, you know where I live,” Sharon said. “So
I’ll see you Friday at 1:00?”

“Sounds good. And try to avoid caffeine or
heavy food that day.”

I went home, made myself a turkey-avocado
wrap with lettuce and leftover curry rice, and headed out to my
studio to paint while there was still some daylight left. I love
the studio. It’s built from rose-colored natural stone like the
main house, and lit by north and south facing windows and a
skylight, enhanced by daylight fluorescent tubes. The floor is
ceramic tile for easy clean-up. I have plenty of room for oils,
watercolors, pastels and gouache, and I have blank stretched
canvases stacked along one wall. It’s a luxury to spend quiet time
there after hours of seeing clients.

My latest project was an abstract series of
Tyler, depicting him in both this world and the afterworld, but
progress had been slow. Gramma taught me a long time ago that when
these lethargic times come, I need to keep working and push through
the fog. Because she shared the ups and downs of that process with
me so openly, I know how important it is to persevere even when I
feel like I am slogging through mud in heavy boots that are sapping
my energy.

She was a marvelous example herself—focused,
creative and productive. She would typically complete about fifty
paintings each year. And they were first-rate. Her work was
selected for nationally and regionally juried exhibitions, where
she won loads of awards. Her paintings were bought by private
collectors nationally and internationally, and by several Fortune
500 companies. In 1960, she was elected to the National Association
of Women Artists. It was a lot to live up to.

Painting is what I do to balance my life, and
to stay connected to my creative inner core. I take my art
seriously, but it’s not how I want to make my living. I don’t share
Gramma’s discipline and love of the artist’s solitary life, but
thanks to her, painting for me is usually an adventure with lots of
excitement. Except when it isn’t.

Like on that Monday evening. I couldn’t stop
thinking about Sharon long enough to focus on painting. As the sun
went down I was at my easel, gazing off at a dark window at the end
of the room, when I saw Tyler walking toward me. Seeing him blew me
away as usual. After all, he is dead!

“Yo, Cleo.”

I grabbed my brush to take advantage of
having the actual—if not in the flesh—model for my painting. But my
questions took priority over painting.

“Tyler! I need some help! What’s going on
with Sharon? Is she right? Did someone push Adam or make him fall?
Do you know who it was?” I waved my brush in the air like a frantic
orchestra conductor.

“Chill, Cleo. Sharon has some issues. I’m not
the one with the answers. I told you, it’s you. You play Nancy
Drew.”

“But I’m a therapist, not a detective,” I
protested—even though I knew from experience that Tyler is always
in charge of the dialogue between us, and never gives me specific
answers to questions like the ones I’d asked.

“That’s all make believe. Just ride the
wave,” Tyler said, and vanished with no warning as usual.

I decided to clean up and go back to the
house, even though it was only about 8:30. Just as I turned off the
studio lights, my cell phone rang.

“Hey, Cleo. This is Erik Vaughn. We met over
at Shady Terrace this morning.”

“Sure. I remember you. You’re the fitness
trainer who grows herbs. How are you?” I cursed myself for
babbling. As Tyler would say, I needed to chill.

“I’m good. I was just wondering if you’d like
to get a drink somewhere and talk more about herbs and spirits and
stuff.”

Hmmm…interesting, I thought. I figured I
might get some useful information—and Erik wasn’t exactly hard to
look at—and I needed a change from Pablo—so why not? “That sounds
great. I was feeling a little restless. How about Rhumba at 9th and
Pearl? It’s not usually too crowded on a Monday night. I could meet
you there about 9:30.”

“See you then.”

It was my favorite kind of Colorado summer
night—warm and pleasantly dry with a light breeze that whispered
over my skin. We got two of the high turquoise seats at the long
stone bar at the edge of Rhumba’s patio, not easy in this popular
spot. The terrace is a combination of bricks and flagstones
carefully arranged around three trees whose leafy branches provide
shade in the daylight and twinkle with strings of lights after
dark.. With its ceiling fans, Latin music and island ambiance, this
place is about as close as you get to the tropics in this mountain
community.

It had been a long day, and I was ready to
play. I had taken time to change into a lavender halter sundress to
match Rhumba’s Caribbean décor. Erik wore khaki shorts with a silky
black tee shirt that fit snuggly over his bulky shoulder muscles,
Yum!

The bar there offers a selection of fifty
rums, but I usually get their most popular drink, the Mojito, made
with silver rum, mint, lime, soda and powdered sugar. Erik had a
Dark and Stormy—dark rum and ginger beer with a lime wedge perched
on the edge of the glass.

As usual the place was packed, and the noise
level was high, which oddly makes it easier to have a private
conversation. Erik’s intense gaze—as if I were the only woman in
the room—was more intoxicating than the drink. But I needed to get
some information before I started having too much fun. So I took a
long sip of my drink, and said, “How long did you know Adam?”

“About two years. We met at the gym, and it
didn’t take us long to see a good opportunity to barter our
services. I provided some personal training for him in exchange for
a website he designed for me.”

“Sharon said you were close friends.” I
decided to probe a little. “If you know what was bothering Adam, it
could help her.”

Erik leaned forward, still looking intently
into my eyes. “Here’s the thing, Cleo. I think Adam jumped. That’s
why I wanted to meet with you.”

Erik’s declaration jarred me out of my
tropical trance. Why hadn’t Sharon mentioned Erik’s theory? “Have
you told Sharon that?”

“No. I don’t think it would be good for
Sharon and Nathan to find out any more about what happened. Let
them think it was an accident. Sharon will be better off if you
just help her with her grieving and forget about this contact
stuff.”