Too Near the Edge (9 page)

“I hope I didn’t get Erik in trouble today,”
I said, as I tried to spear a cherry tomato with my plastic fork.
“At Gramma’s care conference, I asked Dr. Ahmed to consider
valerian to help her sleep at night, but he got kind of huffy about
Erik and the whole herb thing.”

“Ahmed’s a strange one,” Sharon said,
breaking off a piece of her whole-grain roll. “He does a lot of his
work in nursing homes. Some of the residents on other units, who
aren’t confused, have complained about him—don’t want to take the
medications he prescribes.” Sharon absently rolled pieces of bread
into pea-sized balls as she spoke. “When I talked to him last month
about their right to refuse treatment, he told me that grief was
clouding my judgment. Then he offered me drugs. He gives out
samples to the staff whenever they ask—which makes him pretty
popular with some.”

“I don’t like him myself,” I said. “So does
that mean I can ask for him not to see Gramma anymore?”

“You should talk to Betsy about it since
she’s Martha’s social worker. But, if you can find another
physician to see her, you can switch. I shouldn’t really get into
this with you, but confidentially I thought last year that Ahmed
might be ripping off Medicaid.”

“Really? How come?”

“He prescribes so many meds that come from
the pharmacy next to the pain clinic he owns. Would you believe
they call it the We Feel Your Pain Clinic? He prescribes oxycontin
and a bunch of other drugs to everyone who goes there. I know about
that because he hired Adam last year to put up a web site for him,
and Adam spent some time over at the clinic. He thought Ahmed was
kind of a shady character.”

I wanted to get more information from Sharon
about Dr. Ahmed, but before I could come up with an appropriate
question, she choked, spraying iced tea all over the table. Color
drained from her face as she jumped up to face a slim, tan, young
man with dark wavy hair and what looked like a three-day growth of
dark beard. He wore khaki shorts, Teva sandals, and a black tee
shirt with a red and gold elephant on the front. And he grinned
from ear to ear.

“Joel?” Sharon gasped. “What are you doing
here?”

Did she say Joel? As in Nathan’s father,
Joel? The guy she said she hadn’t seen for years?

The smiling guy standing directly in front of
Sharon reached out to hug her, but she backed away. “Sharon! I was
just going in to get some groceries. I wasn’t expecting to run into
you here, but it’s so great to see you.”

“I told you last year that I didn’t want to
see you. How can you just show up like this after all these years?”
Sharon still looked stunned.

Joel’s smile gave way to an intense, brooding
look. “I wanted to see you and our son. I’ve changed, Sharon. I
wanted to tell you that when I called last winter, but you wouldn’t
listen. When you told me you’d gotten married and your husband had
adopted our son, I thought it was too late for me, so I didn’t
come. But then I heard your husband had died in an accident, so I
decided to come back to Boulder after all.” Joel reached out to
touch Sharon’s arm, but she backed off again.

“How did you find out that Adam died?” Sharon
asked. “Did my dad call you?”

“No, I haven’t talked to him in years,” Joel
said.

I stared at Joel’s elephant tee shirt, a clue
that he was into meditation and yoga, and wondered whether he’d
changed much since Sharon saw him last. All at once I realized I
was the third wheel in this reunion. So I collected my trash, stood
up and said, “I need to get to my office.”

“Oh, Cleo. This is Joel. Joel, Cleo.” Sharon
said, too flustered to add any identifying information to the
introductions. “We’re still set for Friday, right?”

“I’ll be there at 1:00,” I said, “unless you
change your mind.” I thought Sharon might not be in the best frame
of mind for the contact project, given the reentry of Joel into her
life, but now certainly wasn’t the time to discuss that.

After a busy afternoon with grief therapy
clients, I went home and worked in Grampa’s garden, untangling and
pulling out bindweed that had twined itself around some rose
bushes. Gardening got me thinking about herbs again, so I went in
to look up possible non-toxic herbal sleep remedies. Poring over
Grampa’s collection of old herb books, I had just found an
intriguing note about rose water and rose vinegar in an old book
called
The English Physitian
, when the doorbell rang.

I was surprised to see Erik standing on my
front porch, looking relaxed in shorts, a tank top and flip-flops,
and holding a large white cardboard box. “Erik! How did you know
where I live?” I blurted out before I thought about what I was
saying.

I’ve kept the phone book listing for my house
phone in my grandparents’ name because I don’t want to be surprised
at home by discontented or needy clients. Most of my friends call
me on my cell phone, which I also use for my business. And I don’t
give out my home address casually.

“I’m good at finding people—nobody can hide
from me,” he said with a laugh. “I wanted to bring you this starter
kit for growing the valerian plants. We usually charge $500 for
them, but I’ll give it to you for $250.” He stood there oozing
boyish charm, waiting to be invited in.

I figured he was the kind of cute, sexy guy
who usually got whatever he wanted from women and I didn’t plan on
falling for that. No way would I be buying any herb kits or
whatever else he might be selling. But his winsome smile melted my
initial resolve to send him away. And I figured I could use his
help with the herb thing for Gramma, so I asked him in.

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think I
have time for another project,” I said. “But I would like to get
your ideas on an old remedy I found. Do you have time for a
beer?”

“Sounds great,” he said, and followed me out
to the kitchen.

I grabbed a Fat Tire for each of us from the
refrigerator. We settled at the old maple kitchen table where I had
been looking through the herb books. “Here, read this,” I stuck
The English Physitian
in front of his face, pointing out the
section that read:

Vinegar of Roses is of much good use, and to
procure rest and sleep, if some thereof and Rosewater together be
used to smel unto, or the Nose and Temples moistned therewith, but
more usually to moisten a piece of Red Rose Cake cut fit for the
purpose, and heated between a double folded Cloth, with a little
beaten Nutmeg and Poppy Seed strewed on the side that must lie next
to the Forehead & Temples, & so bound therto for al
night.

I noticed Erik frowned as he read, so I said,
“Well, okay, the book was written in 1652, but maybe they knew more
about natural remedies than we do now. I have roses, and I’d like
to maybe try that for Gramma, but I need some help knowing how to
make this stuff. What’s red rose cake?”

Erik wasn’t too impressed with my rose water
idea. “Cleo—hello—this is the 21st century not the 17th. You don’t
have to make your own potions anymore.” He closed the book and
pushed it away. “Have you gone on my website? We have concentrated
valerian root available in capsules, or you can get tablets with
valerian and chamomile and passion flower.”

“But Dr. Ahmed won’t let her take those.
Because they’re not FDA approved, and so on. I thought the rose
potion would be acceptable because she wouldn’t be taking it
internally, just breathing it in.”

“Ahmed’s a jerk! That guy always has his head
stuck where the sun doesn’t shine,” Erik exploded, banging his hand
on the table for emphasis. “I can’t help you if you want to listen
to his advice.”

Wow! He didn’t seem so relaxed anymore. But
as a therapist, I see lots of angry outbursts. I know how to meet a
strong emotion with a calm voice and a bland face. So I said
quietly, “It’s not exactly that I want to listen to him. But right
now, he’s her doctor.”

“Well, let me know when he’s out of the
picture, and maybe I can help. Meanwhile, what’s up with Sharon?
Were you able to talk her out of trying to reach Adam?”

“Erik, you’ll have to ask Sharon if you want
to know what she plans to do. I can’t tell you that.”

Erik leaned across the table toward me, and
put his hand over mine. He looked me straight in the eye. “Cleo, we
both want the best for Sharon and Nathan. Do you really think this
is going to help them? I’m afraid your project could destroy
them.”

Angrily, I yanked my hand out from under his
and jumped up. I’d had more than enough of his attempts to
interfere with my work with Sharon. “Erik, I’m not going to talk
about this with you. You need to go now. I have some work to
do.”

Erik laughed, chugged the rest of his beer,
and lazily got up from the table. “Ah, Cleo. You’re even cuter when
you’re mad. I know you’ll eventually see that I’m right about this.
I just hope it’s not too late.”

I ignored his condescending remark. I just
wanted to get him out of my house. I headed straight to the front
door and stood there, holding it open.

“OK, Cleo. See you around.” He flashed me a
smile as if we were saying goodnight after a friendly visit. Then,
finally, he left.

After he was gone, I noticed he had left the
starter kit on a table in the living room. I hadn’t paid him
anything, but I figured he owed me at this point for trying to push
me around, so I opened it up. Inside was a letter that read:

Congratulations! You’re going places. By
taking advantage of this special offer, you’ve shown that you’re
the kind of person who charts your own course. Your decision to
invest in this starter kit says a lot about you. You set high goals
for yourself, and you recognize a genuine opportunity when you see
it.

You already know that your investment will
pay big dividends. You’ll make ten times your original outlay, just
by letting your plants grow while you go on about your life. But
that’s not all!

We’re going to let you share this offer with
special friends, family, and co-workers who would appreciate an
incredible money-making opportunity. And for every potential
investor you suggest who decides to join us, we’ll reward you with
a $50 bonus. You win, your friends win, we all win. You can’t beat
that!

We’ll be calling you in the next few weeks
to see how you’re getting along with growing your herbs. That will
be the perfect time for you to give your friends and family the
chance to benefit from this remarkable opportunity. But make your
list today, so you’ll have it ready. We’d hate to run out of
starter kits before your people get theirs.

The letter was signed by Erik Vaughn for the
Natural Herbal Remedies Company
. I wondered whether this was
a subsidiary of
Vaughn’s Holistic Healing
or a completely
different company. The whole thing began to feel more than a little
shady. Pyramid scheme, anyone? I started thinking Dr. Ahmed might
be right about Erik. But what about Sharon’s questions about Ahmed?
And she thought Erik was great. I wanted to look up Erik’s website,
but my home computer had some new problem connecting to the
internet, and I hadn’t had the patience to sit on hold waiting to
talk to a technician about it. I made a mental note to check Erik’s
site at the office the next day.

I stuck a frozen organic spicy Kung Pao
chicken bowl into the microwave, cut up some fruit, and took it all
out to my studio. I needed a break from the intrigue. While I ate,
I contemplated my Tyler abstracts. Something about them had been
bothering me, but while I ate I got an insight as to how to move
on. I painted, deeply engrossed, for several hours without noticing
the time until I heard a knock on the studio door.

Had Erik returned for his starter kit? The
thought of having to deal with him again left me cold. When I
opened the door to Pablo, I was so relieved I forgot I was mad at
him and jumped into his arms. I guess he forgot too, or else he’d
decided to let it go. So we sort of made up without any discussion.
That’s one of the best things about our relationship. We’ve been
together off and on for so long we know each other like family. A
look, a kiss, or a hug can say it all, when we want it to. Of
course the downside of this familiarity is that we can set each
other off as fast as a spark in dry pine needles, which
unfortunately happens all too often.

I didn’t want to discuss my paintings of
Tyler with him—Tyler being one of those sparky issues between us—so
I sent him over to the house to get himself a beer while I cleaned
up the studio. When I got over there, he was stretched out on the
couch with his beer watching Larry King interview Cameron Diaz.
Pablo looked at least as entranced as Larry did. “Hey, Cleo. Did
you know Cameron Diaz left home at 16 and lived all over the world?
And she hadn’t even had any acting experience when she got that
part in Mask.”

“Hmmm, interesting,” I said, admiring Pablo’s
thick dark hair and fit body. He’s over six feet tall, played
football in high school, and works out to keep himself in shape. I
could imagine even a celebrity like Cameron Diaz finding him as
appealing as he found her. I grabbed myself a beer and joined him
on the couch, snuggling into his solid body. We cuddled on the
couch, watched the rest of the show and finished our beers. I felt
mellow and close to him, so I leaned my head over until our lips
met. We were engrossed in the intense kisses that come with making
up, when Pablo’s cell phone rang. He jumped, grabbed the phone from
his pocket and flipped it open. “Gomez,” he barked. “Yeah. Right.
How long ago? Okay, I’ll be there in about half an hour.”

He untangled himself from my arms and stood
up. “Sorry sweetie, I have to get out to a drug bust in an
apartment in Longmont.” He gave me a goodbye kiss, and turned
toward the door.