The Edge Of The Sky

by Drusilla Campbell

  “Have a wonderful time,” Lana had said, and extended her hand. Beth jerked away. Tears filled Lana’s eyes. She blinked them back but not before Beth had seen them and smiled and seemed to grow an inch as the world tilted beneath Lana’s feet.

  “I wish you’d stay home,” she said. “It’s going to be a wonderful dinner.”

  “Save me some chiles rellenos.” She moved to the door. Her eagerness to be gone stirred the air around her.

  “You remember your promise?”

  “Ma-a.”

  “Just say you do.”

  “I do. Remember.”

  “And I don’t want you to drink, either. No drugs, no alcohol. I mean it, Beth.”

  She was gone in a second, across the backyard and out through the back gate and down the alley. No sooner had she vanished than Lana knew it was a mistake to let her go, and she had been seized by a powerful intuition that she would never see her again. But then she knew she was being paranoid and probably overprotective. A few minutes later, Mars arrived with a triple order of chiles rellenos from Los Indios. Lana did not think of Beth again until the middle of dinner when she watched Eddie French take the last of the chiles and thought, oh, well.

  Oh, well. Beth was at her first dance and wouldn’t care about leftovers. Lana worried she would be a wallflower, though the old-fashioned word probably had no context at a modern dance. These days in movies and on television, girls dance with girls as well as boys. And why would Beth be anything but popular?

  It was a wonderful family party. Lots of laughter and storytelling. Lana was having a great time—and then Dom appeared at the front door.

  Hours before, Lana had asked Kathryn if she invited him and she said she had not. But there he was, expecting to be invited in, and Kathryn made a place for him. Lana resolved to be pleasant if it killed her. Tonight or tomorrow or next week, Kathryn and her daughters would return to Tres Palomas. Kathryn would not have her tubes tied and for a while longer she would try to bear sons, being miserable and telling herself she wasn’t. She might actually have a son; if she kept trying, it was likely she would. And then Dom would want another. Tinera would bury her memory of the night her mother held a gun on her father and go back to adoring him. At dinner she was thrilled to have Dom sit beside her, and for the first several moments her arms could not be pried from around his neck. From time to time, through the remainder of the meal, Lana noticed Mars and Stella watching the pair of them, father and daughter, as she was.

  After flan and fresh Ventura strawberries, the party split up. The younger ones went into the kids’ living room to watch a video while the adults, along with Tinera and Micki, stayed in the kitchen drinking wine and beer and coffee and soda, cleaning up and getting in each other’s way. Gala retreated to the porch, where she could watch the activities without getting stepped on. Buster dozed and kept his watch in the backyard.

  How many such parties had she given in the house on Triesta Way? Lana could not begin to guess, and this one was too much like the others, too achingly familiar. No one noticed when she went outside.

  Buster lay on the cement by the driveway gate, watching for villains through the slats of the fence. She saw his tail move when she crouched beside him, but he did not get up; as she stroked his hind quarters gently, she felt him wince beneath her touch.

  “Not much longer, sweet boy.”

  There was a story Jack had told her, told to him by his grandfather. When people die, the old man said, they are met at the gates of heaven by all their old pets. Restored to health and vigor, the animals wait there, patient and congenial with one another, cats with dogs and horses and hamsters and birds and iguanas, and then they all parade into heaven together. But what of Buster, who had never been a pet?

  “Will you wait for me?” She kissed his muzzle and caught the scent of illness and old age. “I’ll look for you.”

  She walked into the kitchen just as Mars delivered the punch line to a joke and the room exploded with laughter. It must have been slightly risqué because, like a schoolgirl, Stella covered her smile with her hand. At the oak table, Tinera sat on Dom’s lap. From the shadows of the porch, Lana watched him pat and smooth her hair, watched her kiss his cheek, the corner of his eye, fuss with his hair and the collar of his shirt. The sight of them together this way sickened her. Kathryn stood behind him, her hands resting on his shoulders.

  Eddie leaned back against the counter, ankles crossed, his arms folded across his chest, watchfully sociable.

  What does he make of us? Lana wondered. Are we a mystery to him as he is to us? And does he fear us as we fear him? Before that moment, she had not admitted that she feared him. She feared this boy for the space he would take in their lives if she let him. Thank goodness he was going away. Perhaps he would forget all about them.

  Micki stood beside him, their shoulders almost but not quite touching. He certainly had that enticing glow of youthful masculinity Mars rhapsodized about. Looking at him, Lana could believe that sometime in the distant future she might actually desire a man again. Not him, of course. But she had to admit—how much wine had she drunk?—Eddie kindled something in her that, while not appropriate, was very interesting.

  We’re going to be all right, she thought. The worst is over. Except for Beth.

  There it was, the truth, right where she had known it was all along. Lana shoved her hands in the pockets of her wool slacks. There was no dance. There was only Kimmie and whatever happened tonight. A draft rushed in under the back door, up her spine, and settled like an ice pack on her shoulder.

  Mars stepped to her side. “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s so cold suddenly.”

  “God, girl, it’s a Santa Ana.”

  Dom said, “How old are you, Lana? Maybe you’re having cold flashes.”

  The phone screamed across the kitchen.

  “You’re wearing that sweater,” her mother said. “How can you be cold?”

  Dom asked, “You going to let it ring?”

  “I’ll get it, Ma.”

  “Never mind.” Lana reached for the cordless on the wall. “Pipe down, you guys. I can’t hear.”

  Stella asked, “Who’s calling at this hour?”

  Beth said, “Ma? Is that you? Oh god, Ma, you gotta come help me.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Earlier that evening, Beth had felt the caffeine perking through the Saturday night crowd at Bella Luna as she entered, her eyes scanning the noisy crowd for Kimmie. No sign of her and, luckily, no one else Beth recognized. She did not want to be seen dressed like a Goth-wannabe on a Saturday night. Walking to Bella Luna from home, she had decided if anyone asked she would say she was going to a costume party.

  She bought a cup of tea and found a stool in the far corner of the coffee bar, a good spot for people watching. She would spot Kimmie as soon as she showed up. From a basket near the door she dug up an old copy of the Union-Tribune entertainment section and read an article on the music scene written by her mom’s friend, Jilly Pepper. When she finished, she read the movie ads. Half an hour passed.

  The arrangement was that Kimmie and Strider and Damian would meet her at Bella Luna at seven. Beth put her left hand on her lap and looked down at her watch. Casually. She did not want anyone to know that she was waiting and had maybe been stood up. She knew that no one was watching her or talking about her, but she still felt conspicuous. Nowadays everything about her felt wrong and that’s what people noticed: the way she looked and talked, the things she was doing. For the first time she wished she were not so tall. She had begun to hunch her shoulders when she walked with Kimmie, who was so petite.

  It was twenty minutes to eight. At home they were sitting down to eat.

  She took her cell phone out of her bag and keyed in Kimmie’s number.

  “City of Love, Purity is Obscurity.” Kimmie giggled.

  “Where are you?” Beth demanded.

  “What d’you mean? You were supposed to be here at seven.”<
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  Beth held the cell phone away from her for a beat.

  “Beth?”

  “Are you crazy? I can’t walk to the Gaslamp. You guys were gonna pick me up at Bella Luna.”

  “You could—”

  “I’m not taking the bus, Kimmie. I’d rather go home right now.”

  Kimmie squealed, “You can’t go home, it’s my party.”

  “Then you’re going to have to figure out—”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute.”

  Beth heard the sounds of music and muffled conversation.

  If she went home she would have a lot of explaining to do. She would have to lie. She could not just say the dance was called off. She thought of Micki and Eddie French doing their bonding thing and realized she did not want to be at home. The place she longed for did not exist anymore. She was like a refugee from her own life.

  “Just stay where you are,” Kimmie said. “Tex is going to come get you.”

  “Why not Strider? Or Damian?”

  “They’re not here yet.”

  “Who is?”

  “I told you before, Tex and his friends from Tucson.”

  Beth’s stomach sank. “Damian and Strider are coming, aren’t they?”

  Kimmie giggled and Beth could tell she had smoked a lot of grass already. “Right now, its just me and four guys so you better get here quick.”

  “I don’t know, Kimmie. . . .”

  The phone clicked off and Beth sat looking at it. If she went home, Micki would give her that smirky look and Grandma Stella would make a big deal. She thought of Kimmie in her grotty condo with a bunch of strange guys. Music, crummy food, drugs. No matter how irritating and boring she could be, Beth felt loyal to her. For a while it had seemed she led an enviable life without supervision or responsibilities, but the more Beth knew her, the more she felt Kimmie’s desperation and her own powerlessness to do anything about it. Except stick with her. She could do that much.

  She looked at her watch. Five minutes had passed—too soon to be on the lookout for this Tex guy. How was she supposed to identify him? She did not even know what kind of car he drove. Not a Jaguar convertible, she was sure of that.

  She got up and asked for more hot water for her tea bag. The barrista gave Beth a look that said she was too cheap to live. When she went back to her stool, it had been taken over by a man with a laptop wearing a headset. Beth wondered why a man came out at night and shut himself off from the crowd with earphones.

  Beth had never been lonely before she started hanging with Kimmie. Now she felt shut out of her own world. Madison and Linda hardly spoke to her anymore and she had not been invited to a sleepover since before Christmas. There were parties and secrets—a whole fourteen-year-old reality she knew nothing of now. Since New Year’s she had gone from being at the center of things to dwelling on the fringes.

  She leaned against a display of coffee paraphernalia, fancy pots, and espresso machines. Everyone in Bella Luna had a friend except Beth and the dude with the computer.

  She walked out to the side patio and looked up and down the parking lot for someone who fit her image of Tex—tattooed, skinny, and pale as a tapeworm. The warm night air, the tiny sparkle lights festooning the pots of ficus on the patio, and the old-timey dance music from Ham Burger’s across the parking lot reminded her of summer nights when her father hung out in the kitchen and sang dorky love songs to her mother. At Bella Luna, groups and couples occupied every table and a pair of old gays sat on a bench near her, holding hands with a little pug-faced dog squeezed between them. That little animal felt more a part of things than Beth did.

  A horn honked in the parking lot. She looked up. A guy in a huge, black truck waved. Beth looked around her to make sure he was waving at her.

  She walked toward the truck.

  “You Beth?” He was good-looking, like a Ralph Lauren model.

  “Get on in. You’re missing the party.”

  “You’re Tex?”

  He laughed. “No, honey, I’m Santa Claus.”

  Beth remembered back to New Year’s and all the fuss made about Micki talking to the stranger in the Jaguar convertible. She remembered knowing that her sister would never be stupid enough to get in a car with a stranger.

  “You are? Tex?” If she asked to see some ID, would he show it?

  He looked irritated. “I am Tex and Kimmie sent me up here to get you. Satisfied?”

  Beth walked around behind the truck to the other side. Tex reached across the cab and opened the door for her. Without looking at him, she stepped up and in and fastened her seat belt. The truck was perfectly clean inside and a little pine tree air freshener hung from the rearview mirror.

  “You’re a big girl,” Tex said, as he maneuvered the car out onto University Avenue, the traffic heavy at this time of night on a Saturday. “Most girls have a hard time gettin’ in this thing. How old are you?”

  “Fifteen.” In a few months.

  Tex made a sound that was half a laugh and a bit of a groan and hit his palm up the side of his head.

  “How old are you?” Beth asked.

  “Old enough to know better.”

  Beth thought he was in his twenties but the light in the truck wasn’t good. He was big and not skinny at all, more like a football player with broad shoulders and chest, and he wore his hair in a long, thick ponytail that shone in the light of passing cars. His face surprised her with its handsome, softly molded features. If she were older and brought him home to Triesta Way, her mother might like him as much as she did Eddie French. For the first time all night, she relaxed. He pressed a button on the dash and the truck filled with pulsing hip-hop. Beth was grateful the volume was up so high she did not need to talk.

  Tex parked the truck in a lot two blocks away from the condo and as they walked through the crowded streets of the Gaslamp District, Beth imagined people thought she and Tex were on a date.

  As soon as they walked into the condo, Kimmie dragged Beth into her bedroom and closed the door.

  “Omigod, I am so glad you’re here.” She leaned her head against the door and closed her eyes.

  “What?”

  “Him. Tex. Isn’t he awesome?” Kimmie wore a dark red tee shirt made of some slinky fabric that clung to her skinny torso.

  “What about Strider?” Beth asked. “Where’s he?”

  “Oh, he’s not coming.” Kimmie sprawled on her unmade bed. “He got grounded or something. Who knows?”

  “Damian, too?”

  “Jesus, Beth, you know them, they’re like, joined at the hip.” She sat up, hugging a soiled pillow. “We’re going to have a great time tonight. Better’n if they were here.”

  “Uh-huh.” Beth opened her purse. “I brought you something.” She held out a small gift wrapped in blue paper.

  “What’s this?”

  “For your birthday.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” Kimmie’s face opened up and brightened with surprise. Maybe it wasn’t really her birthday. Or maybe Beth’s was her only gift.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  “Sure,” Kimmie said, and tore away the shimmering blue paper. She grinned up at Beth. “Wow, a little cardboard box, thanks a lot.”

  “Open it, dummy.”

  She had bought Kimmie a mirror with glittering green and red and purple faux gems on the back. Kimmie looked up, her eyes sparkling.

  “This is really beautiful.”

  Beth shrugged.

  “No, I mean it. It’s one of the nicest presents anybody ever gave me.”

  Beth hoped she exaggerated. It was nothing, a pretty nothing she had seen in the window of an Indian imports shop for two dollars. Kimmie’s gratitude made Beth uncomfortable. She resisted the urge to tell her how cheap the gift was.

  Kimmie bounced off the bed and hugged her. The smell of stewed chicken and sugary perfume, stale cigarette smoke and hair spray, was overpowering and Beth pulled away first.

  She said, “So now you’re fifteen.�
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  “Yeah. But don’t tell the guys, okay? I said I was eighteen.”

  Kimmie went into her bathroom and fiddled with her hair a moment. She applied another coat of eyeliner to her already darkened eyes, and then, grabbing Beth, she hugged her again.

  “I can’t believe you got me a present. You are the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  Something sank in Beth, and she felt leaden with a premonition that whatever happened that night, it would not be good. She followed Kimmie into the living room, feeling dull-witted.

  In the light of the condo kitchen where he was mixing margaritas, Tex’s skin was smooth and evenly tanned, almost as if he wore makeup. She wondered if he was a model. He held out a salt-crusted glass and grinned. “Chin-chin, little girl.”

  She thought of Eddie French, of her family at the dinner table telling stories and laughing, and she knew she had left them behind and could never go back. Get over it, she thought. She sipped the drink and it was good—a little oily, but sweet and sour and salty at the same time. It went down as easily as peppermint schnapps. She held her glass out for more. So what if she was a refugee—how bad could it be? Tex wasn’t scary, just a little old. His friends looked okay and she had made Kimmie happy. There she was, showing off her mirror and proud as Diana on the day they made her princess.

  A guy who said his name was William came into the kitchen smoking a joint the size of Beth’s index finger. She took it from him and drew the smoke deep into her lungs, held it for a long time, and let it out slowly, admiring the way it curled up toward the kitchen light. If a genie appeared, what would she wish for? Something . . . Nothing important . . .

  Later she was on the couch between two other boys nearer her age than Tex whose names she did not know. The boy on her right had dirt under his fingernails and the other had the worst breath Beth had ever smelled. What germs might be transmitted on a wet joint from a mouth that smelled like rotting teeth? The boy with dirty fingernails kept putting his hand on Beth’s knee and she kept shoving it off until finally she just got too tired to bother anymore so she let him leave it there and wondered what would happen next. She pretended she was a tiny creature living in the corner of the ceiling. She imagined herself stretched out in a hammock-shaped cobweb and watching everything going on in the room.