Too Near the Edge

by Lynn Osterkamp

  I joined her on a blanket, admiring the outstanding long view of the Flatirons you get from south Boulder. No clouds, so it looked like we’d escape the thunderstorms common to summer afternoons.

  “Gorgeous day,” Sharon said with a smile. “I had to do a bunch of laundry and stuff this morning, so it’s good to finally get out.” I think this was the first time I’d seen Sharon looking truly happy. I noticed when she was relaxed she had one of those wide infectious smiles that draws you in to a place where everything is more amusing than you had realized before.

  I hesitated to intrude on her good mood, but I thought I should tell her what Erik had said. I tried to put it gently. “I went hiking at Chautauqua with Erik this morning. He was kind of upset about you contacting Jenny yesterday. Somehow, he had the idea we should have asked his permission.”

  “That’s strange. When I told him about Jenny last night, he said the whole thing was way too new-agey for him, and he didn’t believe I’d actually talked to Jenny.”

  “Did you ask him about Amber and Melissa and his brother Harry?”

  “I did. He said he had no idea what I was talking about, that he doesn’t know anyone named Amber or Melissa and he doesn’t have a brother.”

  I poured myself a glass of lemonade, and took a big gulp to give myself time to decide how to respond. I decided I needed to tell it like I saw it, even though Sharon felt close to Erik. “He told me that, too—but then when I reminded him that he had mentioned visiting his brother, he admitted that he does have a brother. But he said the brother is a jerk, and he never sees him. At this point, I don’t know how much of what Erik says is true and how much he makes up. I can see why Jenny would say he sometimes lies.”

  “It is confusing, I’ll admit.” Sharon hesitated as if pulling the words from under a rock. “But Erik has been so helpful to us, and I don’t have any evidence that he’s lied to me, so I have to give him the benefit of the doubt.” She gave me a questioning look as if asking my approval for this stance.

  I felt conflicted. While I didn’t want to trash Erik, I wanted to warn Sharon to be careful. Before I could frame a reply, the game heated up. A penalty was declared on a player from the opposing team who had pushed Nathan with his hand. Nathan got a direct free kick and scored a goal. The other kid stomped around and had what looked to be an intense talk with a coach. When normal play resumed, we watched without talking for a while. Sharon didn’t bring up Erik’s brother again, so I decided to move on to another topic.

  “I did some web searches on Dr. Ahmed,” I said. “But I didn’t find anything. Did you talk to Erik about what Adam said to him about Ahmed?”

  “I asked him, but he said Adam never talked to him about Ahmed. I’ll do a little nosing around with staff at Shady Terrace to see what I can find out there without being too obvious,” Sharon said. “Oh look, there’s Joel. Nathan asked him to come, but I didn’t think he’d actually show up.”

  Given their history, I could see why Sharon wouldn’t count on Joel for much of anything. But she looked happy to see him, and made room for him on the blanket next to her. He wore a dark green sport shirt and chinos instead of his usual tee shirt and baggy shorts, and he looked like he had shaved that morning. Could all this be for Sharon?

  “I would have been here earlier, but I was talking to some folks about a possible job,” Joel said reaching for a chunk of watermelon. So he hadn’t dressed up for Sharon. But he was looking for a job in Boulder? Interesting.

  Sharon looked a bit taken aback. “You’re looking for a job here? What kind of job?”

  Joel grinned. “Teaching at a new private high school that focuses on giving students real-world responsibilities and opportunities to give back to the community.” His eyes lit up as he continued. “The people who are starting it are committed to the idea that we should teach students that they have a responsibility to use the knowledge they gain for the benefit of others. So citizenship and community building will be a big part of the education.” Joel stopped to wipe at the watermelon juice dripping down the front of his shirt.

  “Here, I brought some towels,” Sharon said handing him a brown striped dish towel. “How did you find out about this job?”

  “A friend of mine told them I had lived in Los Amigos—the humanistic cooperative community in Mexico. That interested them because they want to teach kids to continually ask themselves, ‘How can I help?’ rather than ‘What can I get?’”

  “That sounds like a great idea, Joel,” Sharon said. She looked impressed. “I’d love to have Nathan go to a school like that someday. If I could ever afford a private school. Do you think you have a good chance for the job?”

  “Well they like that I’ve taught skiing and been a river guide because part of the teaching will involve challenging the students to work together in difficult outdoor adventures. And they like that I’m into meditation and yoga, because they also want a contemplative piece. So I think I have a reasonable chance. It doesn’t pay very well, but I’m used to living poor.”

  “So, how do you teach a group of today’s high school students to focus more on giving than getting?” I asked. “It can’t be easy, especially when most of them will come from well-off families if they can afford private school tuition.”

  “At Los Amigos, the idea is that if you change the environment so cooperative behavior is reinforced more than competitive behavior, people will change the way they behave. In other words, if people have learned to compete, they can also learn to cooperate—if we set up an atmosphere where cooperation and teamwork are rewarded most.”

  “That sounds kind of idealistic, don’t you think?” We all looked up to see Erik standing behind us. “Cooperation may sound good, but it doesn’t pay the bills,” he went on.

  “Erik!” Sharon jumped up to face him. “This is Joel, Nathan’s birth father. He was just telling us about a new school in Boulder where he might get a job. Um, Joel, this is our good friend Erik.”

  Joel stood to meet Erik, leaving me alone on the blanket looking up at all of them. They seemed a little tense, so I said, “How about you all join me down here, have some watermelon, and watch Nathan play soccer. I’m thinking that’s why we’re here.”

  They loosened up a little, sat down, and at least pretended to be interested in the soccer game. Erik grabbed a piece of watermelon, but as soon as he finished it, he started up again. “In my nutrition business, I have to stay one step ahead of the competition if I want the big bucks. And by doing that, I can give a lot of other people the chance to make some money too.” He turned toward Joel. “Maybe Nathan has shown you the herb plants I gave him to grow. He’ll be able to sell those back to the company for thousands of dollars once the roots get big enough. I think that will help him more than teaching him some naïve ideas about cooperation.”

  “We can all help Nathan in different ways,” Joel said. “I expect he’ll learn a few things from growing the herbs.”

  “I’ve been here helping Sharon and Nathan ever since Adam died,” Erik said. “What have you ever done for him?”

  Sharon looked stunned and more than a little upset at Erik’s attack. Fortunately, the game ended just then, and we all went out onto the field to meet the kids. Nathan ran straight to Joel yelling, “Did you see me? Did you see me?” Joel gave him a big hug and whispered something in his ear.

  “Hey, Nathan—you’re the champ!” Erik easily lifted him over to where he stood and turned on the charm with his engaging smile. “Guess what? I have a big surprise for you, and we need to go pick it up right away.”

  “Cool!” Nathan said. “What is it?”

  “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise,” Erik said. “Let’s get your mom and go pick it up.”

  “Can we, Mom?” Nathan had lost all interest in Joel who watched silently from the background.

  Sharon agreed she and Nathan would go with Erik and pick up her car later. I felt kind of bad for Joel, but couldn’t really say anything. Maybe to save fac
e, Joel said he had to meet someone. I needed to be somewhere as well. We all went off to our cars a little awkwardly and headed off in different directions.

  I went north on Broadway over to Canyon to stop at Liquor Mart for a bottle of wine. I had arranged to get together with Holly that evening, ostensibly to look at her latest work. She had volunteered to fix a spicy Asian shrimp and noodle salad if I would bring some wine. As I drove, I thought it wasn’t too surprising Erik and Joel did not hit it off, since they both seemed to have designs on Sharon. And I could see Sharon was conflicted about her relationships with these guys. I had concerns about both of them, but I figured after all her years of dealing with her father, Sharon could manage whatever those two came up with.

  Chapter 25

  Holly lives in the foothills off Mountain Pines Road on Sugarloaf, so from Liquor Mart I drove straight west up Boulder Canyon. Her house is only about fifteen miles from town, and she has two acres with groves of evergreens and a great deck with a hot tub. I think the house is the main asset she ended up with after her divorce back in the late 1970s. She was in her thirties then, running a boutique dress shop in Boulder while raising three kids. She didn’t have time to take her artwork seriously until the mid-1980s when she started studying painting with Gramma. That’s when I met her.

  The two-lane road up the narrow mountain canyon was crowded. Gorgeous mountain scenery with fir trees, massive granite outcroppings, and a rushing stream beside the road attracts summer tourists looking for picnic spots, as well as hikers and climbers. Much of the traffic that day was likely headed farther up to Boulder Falls, where melted mountain snow provides icy cold water that drops 66 feet into the creek.

  About five miles up the canyon, I turned off onto Sugarloaf Road and wound my way up to Holly’s place. Her house is one of the older mountain homes, mostly dark wood and stone, with vaulted ceilings in the large main room, which serves as both living and dining room. After her kids were grown, she combined two of the house’s three bedrooms into a large studio, where she spends most of her time. That’s where we went as soon as I got there.

  I’m always taken aback by the size and vivid colors of Holly’s paintings. Most of her works are large, some as big as four feet by six feet—while Holly herself is tiny, barely five feet tall and maybe 90 pounds. She paints in oils with an amazing use of color and shape. Her work is all abstracts, using geometric shapes in various brilliant colors like turquoise, scarlet, ochre, and lime green, offset with basic black, white and dark brown. You’d never match her with her work if you didn’t know it was hers. Looking at her, you’d be more likely to expect small watercolors of English gardens.

  She had some terrific new pieces since I’d last been up to see her, and we spent an hour or so talking about art, problems with local galleries, and exciting news about a new internet site that brought her customers from places she’d never even exhibited. Then she said, “Enough about the art business. Let’s take some of that wine you brought out to the hot tub and relax.”

  Holly’s place is secluded enough to hot tub in the buff, so we shed our clothes, grabbed some towels, the wine bottle and glasses, and headed out to the deck. The sun sank swiftly behind the mountains, and the hot water felt wonderful in the cool conifer-scented evening air. We relaxed in the mountain stillness and sipped our wine.

  “How is Martha doing? Is she still painting?” Holly asked. I ran through the latest on Gramma, trying to put as much of a positive slant on it as possible, but Holly could sense my uneasiness. “It sounds like you’re worried that her doctor isn’t giving her good care.”

  “I guess that’s true,” I said. “But it’s worse than that. I’m afraid he’s doing something illegal there, and I don’t know what to do about it. Maybe I should move Gramma somewhere else. But Grampa picked out Shady Terrace for her because he thought it was the best place. And the staff know her there, and they let her paint. I don’t know where she’d do better.”

  “Ah, Cleo. Martha’s had a good life. It’s too bad she doesn’t know who she is or where she is right now, but you can’t do anything about that. Now this doctor and whatever crooked swindles he’s up to is another matter. Have you considered talking to the police?”

  I told her some about Pablo and our relationship and why I was hesitant to involve the police without more hard evidence. “He already thinks I’m flaky, and I don’t want to make it worse,” I said. “And with my reputation right now, they’d never take me seriously. Did you know Donald Waycroft filed a complaint against me with the Colorado Mental Health Regulatory Board? You know him, don’t you?”

  “Oh yes, I know Donald real well,” she said with a laugh. “He likes to push people around some. I hadn’t heard about the complaint, but I wouldn’t take him too seriously if I were you. Actually I haven’t seen Donald for a while. We’re in one of our standoff phases right now.”

  I wanted to ask why she’d ever actually choose to spend time with him, but that was too pushy even for me. So I said, “His daughter is a client of mine, and he’s taken offense at the work we’re doing, so he filed this complaint saying that I’m mentally ill and delusional, and engaging in fraudulent practice.”

  “Well, that sounds like Donald. He never does anything half way. I’m starving. Let’s dry off and go in and eat, and I’ll tell you all about him.”

  While we were getting dressed and getting out the food, I told her more about the Contact Project and Waycroft’s complaint against me. She was so excited about the project that she kept me talking about it all through dinner. But when we settled in the living room with coffee and a plate of chocolate dipped strawberries, I finally steered the conversation back to Waycroft.

  “The truth of it is, he’s good in bed, but a little hard to take the rest of the time,” she said with a chuckle. “Actually, I’ve learned to ignore a lot of his bluster. He’s all bark, you know. He’s so sure he’s a realist who makes sensible choices and lives his life exactly as he wants to live it—but he has feelings just like everyone else.”

  Holly put her feet up, leaned back, and continued. “Donald’s such an ideologue. He believes that rewarding good behavior and punishing bad is the only way to save the world. He tries out those theories on everyone, but it hasn’t worked too well on me. It came to a head one time when we were fighting about something and he told me he wasn’t going to reward my bad behavior by going along with what I wanted. Well that didn’t sit too well with me, so I kicked his ass out of my bed and my house and told him to find someone else to use his behavior shaping techniques on. He’s so stuck in his reinforcement theories that I figured he’d be punishing me with his absence for a really long time.”

  She sat up, took a gulp of coffee, and gave me a broad grin. “But here’s a surprise. He showed up the next morning with flowers, croissants and coffee, and the sweetest apology I’ve ever gotten from a man. Now I’m no psychologist, but I’d say he was reinforcing my so-called bad behavior big time. We didn’t talk about it and he’s never mentioned the incident since.”

  She shrugged and took on a more thoughtful look. “But sometimes I get tired of his insistence that most people are lazy, sloppy, and illogical. And that everyone needs more structure. Then we take a break until we miss each other.”

  “So, when you miss him, it’s mostly the sex?”

  She picked up a strawberry and bit in “That’s about it. At my age, there aren’t that many good male bodies around to hook up with. And with him, the sex is really good. In the beginning, I thought we could have more of an intimate relationship, but I gave up on that once I really accepted that Donald believes introspection is bogus.”

  My mind wandered briefly to my relationship with Pablo. Was I just using him for sex? And, maybe as a source of police department information? Was he just using me for sex? And maybe as someone to talk about art with? No question we do have sensational sex together. And if we were each getting what we wanted, would that be a bad thing? Maybe I should ask Holly’s opin
ion.

  As if she had read my mind, she said, “I think Donald and I have both accepted that what we have works for us as long as neither of us wants more. And that’s fine with me. He fills a niche in my life, I guess you could say,” she said with a big laugh.

  I got back to the purpose of my visit, nosed around some more, and found out Waycroft’s pet peeve was the university’s institutional review board. The board’s members review research projects involving human subjects to ensure people aren’t placed at undue risk. They also require that people who serve as research subjects give un-coerced, informed consent to their participation. Waycroft saw these requirements as a lot of stupid rules created by bureaucrats to get in the way of his research. Holly said he’d had some proposed projects rejected, and he’d been having more and more trouble getting the go-ahead to continue his ongoing projects when they were reviewed each year. He thought the board members were harassing him out of spite, and he was pretty bitter about it.

  I also learned he was involved in several large research projects, one of which involved travel to Mexico. Holly didn’t know anything about the actual projects, except that Waycroft said there was more freedom in Mexico to do the research he needed to do.

  All in all, I didn’t get anything obvious I could use against Waycroft, but I figured I could get Elisa to explore his problems with getting his research projects approved by the university. Maybe there was a reason the review board members didn’t like his work. And—as always—it was fun catching up with Holly

  On the way home, I got to thinking about whether Waycroft’s Mexico project could have anything to do with Joel. After all, Joel had studied with Waycroft as a graduate student, and after he left Boulder he lived in Mexico for a while. Of course Joel also told Sharon he hadn’t talked to Waycroft in years. But I had no way to know whether or not he was telling the truth about that.