Too Near the Edge (11 page)

“Wow, that opens a lot of possibilities. How
will you ever figure it out?” I twirled around in the chair,
checking out the rest of the office.

“I doubt we will. Erik looked into other
solutions, and found out that we can get some kind of emergency
boot disk to boot it up and somehow change the password but he
keeps forgetting to get it. I reminded him again this week, so I’m
hoping he’ll bring it in the next few days.”

Just then the office phone rang. We both
jumped and looked over at it. “I’ll let the machine get it,” Sharon
said. “I’ve kept the phone connected with a new message because I
didn’t know who his customers were, and I need to get word to them
if they haven’t heard.”

The machine picked up and played the message,
in Sharon’s voice. “Adam’s Web Search and Design is permanently
closed. If you have pending business, please leave a message and
someone will call you back.”

We heard the beep, followed by a man’s
slurred voice. “Adam, you son of a bitch! I’m still waiting for the
stuff. You said you’d have it by July. Don’t think you can just
leave town or whatever. You know I’ll find you. So you better call
me back. You know where.” He banged down the phone.

Stunned, Sharon and I looked at each other
and ran for the phone to check the caller ID. “Oops, it says ‘ID
blocked’” I said. “Do you recognize the voice?”

“Nope,” she said. “I have no idea who that
was or what it was about.”

We left and drove separately across town to
my office. As I drove I thought about the phone message and
wondered if it had any connection to the internet gambling debts
Erik had mentioned. I didn’t want to bring that up with Sharon
now—especially since I wasn’t even sure it was true.

I realized I was counting on Sharon
contacting Adam, and possibly me getting new information from Tyler
to find out more about any danger facing Sharon. And then I asked
myself what it said about my faith in the law enforcement system
that I relied on ghosts to tell us what was going on. Hmmm….maybe I
mistrust Pablo’s way of working as much as he mistrusts mine.

Once at my office, Sharon and I shared some
lemonade and then went for a short walk over to the Boulder Creek
Path to relax and clear our minds. The creek flows down the canyon
from Nederland, splashing along a rocky bed that creates a series
of tiny waterfalls enjoyed on hot days by kayakers and kids in
inner tubes and rubber boats. We walked along the adjoining dirt
trail to a shady bench that sits just off the path, on a promontory
jutting out into the rushing water below. It’s one of my favorite
calm places. Four large trees on the outcrop create a sense of
privacy, and the soothing sound of water gurgling over the rocks
masks the traffic sounds from nearby Canyon Boulevard.

We sat there a while and talked more about
Adam—the sort of person he was and the relationship he and Sharon
had. When we both felt relaxed, we ambled back to the office.

The apparition chamber at my office is the
same as the one at home—a four-foot square mirror on the wall,
surrounded by a black velvet curtain that creates a small booth.
Inside the curtain, an easy-chair is inclined backward so the
sitter can gaze into the mirror and see only darkness. I had Sharon
remove her watch so she wouldn’t be focused on the time, then took
her in and got her situated in the chair with Adam’s shirts on her
lap. I told her to relax, clear her mind of everything except
thoughts of Adam, and gaze into the mirror.

“Don’t try to rush it or make something
happen, I cautioned her. “Just be here. You can stay as long as you
want. I’ll be right across the hall in my office if you have any
problems.”

I left her there and went to my desk to catch
up on paperwork. Quite a few of my grief therapy clients are
covered by insurance, which means I have to justify and label
everything we do together so some bureaucrat can decide whether or
not it’s appropriate. It’s a confusing system, but I’ve learned how
to jump through the hoops and code my clients into
insurance-approved categories.

After about an hour had gone by, I felt quite
a sense of satisfaction at my shrinking pile of paper. When I heard
the apparition chamber door open, I got up and walked to the door,
just as Sharon came out slowly, blinking in the sunlight. She
looked dazed. I led her into the counseling room, sat her in a
chair and handed her a big glass of water. I sat in the chair
across from her.

She gulped some water, put down the glass,
looked me straight in the eyes, and said, “Cleo, you’ll never
believe what happened.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I sat there a long time and nothing
happened. I was almost ready to give up and come out, when I
started to notice color patterns and light flickers in the mirror.
Then a big mist, like a fog, filled up the mirror, and I could see
a light off in the distance. I saw a path, and I knew I should
follow it. I don’t think I got out of the chair, but at the same
time I went down the path and at the end of it, I saw a woman. At
first I didn’t recognize her, but then I knew it was my mother! She
didn’t look much like her pictures, but I was sure it was her, and
I felt so happy to see her, and I knew she felt happy, too.” Sharon
stopped for more water. I stayed quiet so as not to disrupt her
recollection.

“She talked to me,” Sharon went on. “She
said, ‘Sweetie’—that’s what she used to call me—I’d forgotten that,
but as soon as she said it, I remembered. I wasn’t touching her,
but I felt like she was hugging me. She said, ‘Sweetie, I came
because Adam couldn’t come yet.’ Then we walked along the path
together and talked about a lot of things. She told me she’s proud
of me and Nathan.”

“Were you able to ask her about what happened
to Adam?”

Sharon pulled out a tissue and wiped some
tears from her eyes. “Well, I know I said we talked, but it wasn’t
exactly like talking. I think I just said things in my mind, and
she did too. But she didn’t talk about Adam after she said he
wasn’t able to come. She did answer a question about Dad, though. I
asked her why she let him raise my brother Will and me in such a
rigid way. She said, ‘Sweetie, I had no choice. You know your
father. When he sets his mind to something, nothing gets in his
way.’ Then she reminded me that I can be a little bit that way
myself—which I guess is true.”

“So how did it all feel to you?”

“Oh, Cleo, it felt wonderful,” Sharon jumped
up and hugged me. “I’ve had dreams about my mom, but this was so
different. She was really there.”

“How do you feel about not reaching
Adam?”

“Well, you did warn me I might reach someone
else. I still want to reach him, but now I know I can’t just order
him up like a television program on Tivo. I’d like to keep trying,
though. When can we do this again?”

We set up an appointment for the next Friday
afternoon—the time I have set aside for the Contact project—and
Sharon left.

It was after 6:00 by then, so I decided to
close the office and walk to the Pearl Street Mall to unwind. Six
blocks of Pearl Street in downtown Boulder have been a pedestrian
mall since 1977. The trees in the middle of the brick mall have
grown taller than the two-story buildings and provide plenty of
shade for the benches that dot the bricks here and there. Large
raised garden areas and planters are filled with colorful impatiens
for the shady areas, plus petunias, snapdragons, marigolds and such
in the sunny parts.

I knew the mall would be crowded with
tourists on a warm Friday evening in July, but I always find it
relaxing to stroll around and people-watch there. Three blond girls
in low-cut jeans and short tops asked me to stop and take their
picture, posing themselves with the foothills as a backdrop. A
street-person, holding out a cup for donations, told me he was
taking up a collection for a down-payment on a cheeseburger. I’d
heard the same line from him all spring and summer, but panhandlers
don’t exactly live high lifestyles, so I gave him a dollar

A few blocks further on, I watched a bunch of
little kids play in the random jets of water shooting from a
pop-jet fountain, made from 28 stone squares. Kids ran in and out
shrieking, dancing between and around the jets—some ran directly
into the water, others jumped to avoid it. In one corner of the
square, two toddlers—a boy and a girl—faced off over one water
spout. She planted her foot over the hole. He pushed her off and
put his foot on—but quickly removed it. She jumped in and put her
foot over the spout again. The boy picked up her leg with his
hands, moved it off the spot, and put his foot there once more. The
girl looked at him, grimaced, and ran off in tears to find her
mother.

I thought about how the male-female patterns
do start early, until a guy next to me said, “Cleo, right? You’re
Sharon’s friend. We met at Wild Oats on Wednesday. I’m Joel.”

“Oh, hi,” I said, trying for a
please-don’t-bother-me sort of voice. I was tired and not in the
mood to make conversation with Sharon’s ex-boyfriend.

I guess my tone was too subtle for him,
because he gave me a big smile and said, “Can I buy you a beer at
Mountain Sun? Their Java Porter is amazing. And maybe a bean burger
or a burrito? I’m guessing you’re a vegetarian because I saw you
eating at Wild Oats”

I was about to brush him off, when I heard
Tyler’s voice in my ear—just as if he were standing next to
me—saying, “You be Nancy Drew.” A quick sideways glance showed me
no Tyler, but I had gotten the message.

So I smiled back and said, “Sure, Joel. But I
can’t stay long.”

The Sun is a hippie, tie-dyed sort of place
decorated with original art and textiles. The laid-back atmosphere,
inexpensive food and great beer attract locals of all ages. After
we got a booth and ordered our beers and bean burgers, Joel said,
“I want to talk to you about Sharon.”

Well, duh, I thought, taking a big gulp of my
beer and trying to keep a poker face.

“Do you know if she’s seeing anyone since her
husband died?”

“You’d have to ask her about that,” I said.
“But I’m wondering how you found out her husband died when you
hadn’t been in touch and weren’t living here?”

“A friend of mine who lives here heard about
it and sent me an email. Actually, it was odd, because I was living
in Flagstaff at the time. In fact, I’ve been a guide for whitewater
rafting trips down the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon for the
last few years. So it was kind of weird that that’s where her
husband had that accident and died.”

Absolutely weird, I thought. You might even
say suspicious. Fortunately, the waiter brought our burgers and
fries just then, so I had a few minutes to think before I blurted
out what I thought. I decided to skip the synchronicity issue for
the time being.

“What do you do during the winter season?” I
asked.

“Teach skiing mostly—at the Arizona Snowbowl
north of Flagstaff.”

“I thought Sharon said you were a behavioral
psychologist.” I took a bite of my bean burger, and noticed I was
hungrier than I had thought. Very tasty.

Joel poured catsup on his fries before he
answered. “I was in the doctoral program here back in the early
90s, but academia was a problem for me. So much of it was bogus. In
many ways, a university is just another corporation out to control
people.” He shrugged and gave me a disgusted look. “Only it’s more
dangerous because it controls people’s minds. I couldn’t be part of
it anymore, so I left.”

A somewhat different story than Sharon told,
and I yearned to argue. But I decided that was not the best way to
detect. “So what did you do besides being a river guide and
teaching skiing?” I asked, watching him struggle to take a huge
bite of burger, as tomato oozed out of its bun.

He chewed slowly and took a gulp of his beer
before he answered. “After I first left, I lived in a behaviorist
community in Mexico for a few years. It’s an amazing place, modeled
on Walden Two. Very egalitarian, non-competitive, non-violent. It’s
a social experiment really, not mechanistic like people think of
behaviorism. It’s humanistic, focused on how people’s environment
can bring out the best in them. For example, people can learn to be
more cooperative if they’re living in a place that promotes
cooperation rather than competition.”

Joel was pretty self-involved for a guy who
had been part of a community that focuses on cooperation. I
wondered whether he had left the place voluntarily or had been
gently informed he wasn’t a good fit.

We finished our burgers, ordered coffee and
talked for another hour. Although Joel had said he wanted to talk
about Sharon, I had no trouble keeping the conversation focused on
him. I found out that after he left the behaviorist
community—according to him it was because he felt he was
stagnating—he backpacked around the country, earning money at
various jobs that were mostly outdoor stuff. He had also studied
Buddhism and gotten into meditation and yoga. The message he wanted
me to give Sharon was that he had become a much different person
than he was when he left her, and he wanted to be a father to his
son.

“I could teach him to ski—if he doesn’t
already know how—or snowboard, if he wants. And we could go
camping, maybe backpack.” Joel’s face lit up as, in his mind’s eye,
he saw himself and Nathan outdoors having fun.

I figured it was up to Sharon whether or not
she wanted Joel in her life and Nathan’s, so I wasn’t making any
promises to try to persuade her. Joel was an engaging guy, but a
bit unreliable and possibly broke, so I could see where she might
not want to have anything to do with him. And, in my new Nancy Drew
role, I thought it was a little creepy that he had been so close to
the Grand Canyon when Adam fell.