Lori said she planned to see David before he left the hospital, and she hoped she'd see Ben and me there, maybe we could go for an early dinner.
I hung up and played that drama in my head. David, Max, Lori, me. Ben. Awkward. I debated calling her back to ask when she thought for sure she'd be there, so we could be someplace else.
Then again, I might learn more about Max, this stranger in my brother's life.
I decided to take my chances.
27
Ben wanted to surprise David with dessert, but he wanted to choose only from desserts he helped make. We looked in the freezer so long, I feared my nose would crack off my face.
As he told me when we were searching in the arctic zone, "That's what made the dessert gifts special."
I loved that he made the connection between sacrificing and giving. That it's not just the value of the gift, but the time and love you invest in it.
Ben couldn't decide between the chocolate cheesecake and the mini pecan pies, so we brought both. He balanced the cheesecake on his lap, and I reassured him the little pies would be fine on the floorboard in front of him. He was so excited about seeing David that I could have plugged our Christmas tree lights into him and had twinkling for days. Assuming our Christmas tree was ready for lights. Which it wasn't. It wasn't ready at all.
Decorating might be a stretch this year. I couldn't decorate, as my mother used to say, "if my name was decorate." Poor Ben would be stuck with me. Last year Lori and David helped and, even though it held our hodge-podge collection of ornaments, the tree was beautiful. They tied ribbons to pinecones, and laced it with cranberries and strings and strings of lights. At night, it looked like a swarm of fireflies landed on the tree.
I wonder if that's where the decorating gene went. I'd have to file this question away in hopes a time would come when I could ask it and maybe find it funny. We weren't there yet or at least I wasn't. Julie wouldn't be amused. She would accuse me of perpetuating a stereotype.
"Mr. Trey said he'd drop off our tree sometime today. You're ready to start decorating tonight?"
"Yes! That'll be so fun."
He assumed his responsibility of Keeper of the Cake, which I dubbed him as I passed it off to him after he settled in his seat, with great seriousness.
"Can we make one of those popcorn things again?"
"A garland? Sure, as long as the popcorn actually goes on the tree and not in your stomach." We both laughed at that one. Last year, David sent him to the kitchen at least five or six times asking for more popcorn. He dashed in with the empty bowl and said, "We're out again!" He'd run in every two and a half minutes. After the last bag I popped, I told him I couldn't wait to see the garland because it must be the longest one ever. Of course, his wide-eyed face told the story before I opened the book. When I surveyed the tree all I saw was one anorexic garland slumped on the bottom branches. I pretended to be horrified. David and Lori took the fall, and named Ben as an innocent bystander. Ben told that story for weeks after Christmas. Even to those of us who'd been there.
"Mom, you'll have to buy lots of boxes of popcorn because Uncle David . . ." The light went out of his face as if someone blew out a candle. "He won't be able to come this year, will he?" He tapped his fingers on the cake holder.
I reached across the seat and patted his hand. "He'll be fine by next Christmas. And that gives us more time to stock up on popcorn."
"Yeah, I guess." He stared out the window and, in less time than it took to listen to "Jingle Bells" on the radio, he turned around and looked as if he'd just discovered oxygen.
"I have a great idea!"
"We're almost to the hospital, dude, so spill it."
"Remember how we went to those two old people places at Thanksgiving? What if we pick a Christmas place?"
I had to ask the question even though I already suspected the answer. "What Christmas place would you pick?"
"That one!" he pointed to the hospital across the street from us as we waited for the traffic signal light to change. "Uncle David's hospital."
Before we left home, I did my best to prepare Ben for seeing his uncle. Even as I explained the bruises and the broken bones, I wondered if I might be setting him up for long-term emotional scarring. But he seemed more upset about not visiting David than scared by how David would look when he saw him. We agreed on a contingency plan, just in case he changed his mind after seeing David. "If you don't want to stay, just ask me to show you where a bathroom is. That way, you won't have to say anything in front of Uncle David, okay?"
"But what if I really do have to go to the bathroom, and I'm not trying to get away from Uncle David?"
I reassured him that I'd be able to tell the difference.
But in the elevator on the way to David's room, I remembered I hadn't mentioned Max's presence to Ben. I assumed Max would be at the hospital, but I'd never asked him directly in any of the text messages we exchanged. I don't know how to navigate this territory. Once again, I'm a visitor in a foreign country without Rosetta stone to learn the language.
But we were just two floors away, so I tapped Ben on the shoulder, partly to pull his attention away from the man standing next to him holding a pink heart-shaped "It's a Girl" balloon, who had a tattooed spider on his elbow that was in the center of web that branched from his lower to his upper arm.
"I forgot to tell you that Max, a friend of Uncle David's, will probably be visiting too," I said. "Or, he may be there already."
"Okay," said Ben, and inched closer to the doors when he saw David's floor number light up. I wasn't sure why I felt compelled to tell Ben about Max, but as we stepped off the elevator, I wondered if it didn't have more to do with me than my son.
The door to David's room was closed. I looked at Ben, "Ready?"
"I'm fine, Mom," he said with a hint of impatience. "Can we go in now?"
I softly knocked as I opened the door "It's Ben and Caryn. Can we come in?"
"Of course!" David said, his voice weak.
Ben pushed a smile out. "Uncle David, look who's here!"
He walked in, then stopped as if with one more step he risked falling from the ledge of a tall building. Standing behind him, I could imagine Ben's face by the look on David's.
"Creepy, huh?"
"Kind of." My son's voice was as hesitant as David's was puny.
I dropped my purse in the chair by David's bed. Ben still hadn't moved, and I was on the verge of using the code question, when he asked David, just above a whisper, "Does it hurt?"
He nodded. "Not as much as it did yesterday."
Ben sighed. "That's good."
"So," said David, "what do you have there?"
Ben smiled. "It's chocolate cheesecake," he said as he placed it on the bed tray table. "Mom and I made it."
"If you move a little closer, I'll give you a one-arm hug."
Ben's eyebrows seemed to shoot up to his hairline.
"Uncle David has two arms. He just meant he can only use one right now," I reassured him.
"Ben, look," David pointed to his cast, "here it is."
I watched them together, and I hated myself for keeping my son away from my brother. They loved each other, and what did Ben know of anything beyond that?
David gave Ben a tour of his arm and knee, and Ben—to my surprise—didn't make any "ewee" noises or close his eyes. Put a lab coat on him, and with his khakis and polo shirt, he could have passed for Doogie Howser, the early years.
"Did it hurt when it happened? Your accident?" Ben leaned against the bed.
"My accident?" David looked at me. "I don't remember too much about my accident." Even with his sandpaper voice, I couldn't miss the emphasis on accident."
It was high school all over again. I invented a story to pacify my parents, they'd ask David questions, and I'd feed him the lines. Later, I'd explain why I told Ben he'd been in an accident. I couldn't tell him the real story why David had been attacked, not now. And I didn't want to tell him his uncle was ro
bbed and beaten because then Ben might be afraid any time we were in public. Surely he'd understand I told that story to protect Ben. And, actually, I wasn't the one who told Ben that in the first place. Trey told they boys that story when he run out of reasons for why Julie and I weren't home yet. I just kept the story on life support.
I felt like a wilted flower in a greenhouse. I pulled off my sweater, cleared my throat, but pretense didn't swallow easily." I told Ben about being on your way to meet clients. Then you got on the interstate, and the car, coming out of nowhere, running you off the road . . ."
"And that's when you crashed into that cement wall." Ben finished the story as he knew it.
David glanced from me to Ben. "Oh, that wall. Guess my pain medicine makes it hard for me to remember things."
"You have company!"
Words I never expected to say to myself: "Thank goodness Max is here."
Max walked in with a basket of fruit, which he set on the dresser, and what looked like a laptop case, which he set on the corner of David's bed.
He held out his hand to Ben, "Let me guess. I'll bet your name is Ben."
Ben shook his hand. "Yes, and this is my Uncle David. Are you his doctor?"
"No," Max smiled, "I wish I was. Then maybe he could leave here sooner."
"Well, you're not a nurse or else you'd be wearing a uniform," Ben said. "Hey, you must be Uncle David's friend. You're Max."
"Yes. You're right. Pleased to meet you, Ben."
Max opened the portfolio and set the laptop on David's tray table. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this." He shook his head as he plugged the charger in and attached it to the computer." Ben, did you know your Uncle David has a very hard head?"
"Is that why he didn't break it in the accident?"
Max, David, and I exchanged glances like we'd just made a silent "we'll laugh on the inside" pact.
"Absolutely," David held up his good hand, and patted his head.
Max drew several manila folders from the portfolio and set them up by the laptop. "And, your uncle's hard stubborn head is the reason he thinks he can work while he's here."
"I just need you to check on a few closings," David said.
"You also need to rest. I told you I could handle those for you." I heard an edge in Max's voice, like a paper cut, small and quick, but undeniably there.
"Max has a real estate license too," David said, but he stared at the ceiling as he tried to shift his body ever so slightly. He winced and closed his eyes for a moment.
"Oh, so you're both in the real estate business," I said. That made sense; it was probably how they met.
"Technically, I'm not in the business anymore except for a few commercial properties or if a friend needs something." He pulled the card off the basket, read it, and then handed it to David. "I own a clothing store for men called Unique on Magazine Street. I opened it a few years ago. Three to be exact."
A men's clothing store. That explained Max's impeccable and classic look. But I wasn't sure they would have met that away. David's sense of style in clothing . . . He's not awful, just oblivious. But I'd heard of the store. I rifled through files in my brain, but came up empty.
"Whoa. Where did these come from?" Max pointed to the tray of mini pecan pies.
"From me and Mom. And I helped make them." Ben opened the mini-refrigerator. "And this, too. A chocolate cheesecake."
"That was a great idea. Thanks. Your uncle talks a lot about your mom's cooking, especially her desserts. I might have to break my 'no dessert before dinner' rule to taste them."
"Cool. Except . . ." Ben looked around the room, "we forgot forks and plates."
"I think I have a plan," Max said. "Ben, can you help by keeping your uncle company? Make sure he doesn't try to jump out the bed and run down the hall. Or eat all that cheesecake."
"Sure. I can do that," he grinned, and I detected a little swagger in his voice for being asked. David opened his eyes only long enough to smile at Max when he gave Ben his orders.
I couldn't figure out what role I played in this "plan" of Max's that I suspected wasn't as spontaneous as it sounded.
"While you're making sure your Uncle David doesn't cause any trouble, your mom and I are going to get coffee for our dessert party, and find plates and forks."
Ah, that was my cue; Max arranged for us to have alone time. Out of the range of David and Ben. This should be interesting. Awkward, but interesting.
Max and I were almost to the elevator when I heard Ben's, "Wait!" behind us.
Surely a catastrophe didn't happen in the last two minutes. But, then again, I knew lives could change in seconds,
We turned around and Ben trotted to where we stood. "Is something wrong?" I asked.
"I don't drink coffee. Can you get me a chocolate milk?"
28
When Max and I shared mind-numbing angst and uncertainty the day David was attacked, I suspended my hostilities in a self-declared truce. No one and nothing except David and his survival mattered. Senseless tragedy and violence almost always engender this response. For a few days or weeks or even months for others, depending on the enormity of the event, we saw others through the open eyes of our hearts. The country after 9/11, tsunamis, earthquakes, trapped miners—we wore adversity well.
Then the immediacy inevitably settled into complacency, and the eyes of our hearts eventually glazed over. Already my discomfort rode the elevator between Max and me.
In a week or so, David would be discharged from the demilitarized zone of the hospital and likely without a surrender or a peace treaty. Maybe Max hoped negotiations could start now.
"I'm guessing you didn't mean for us to head back upstairs, right?" I asked Max after we paid for our coffees.
"Right. Here's okay?" Max stopped by a table near a window that overlooked a small pond ringed with benches and copper planters stuffed with red and white poinsettias.
"Sure." If the conversation faltered, I had an outdoor view. Although, I had to admit, no place better than a hospital to have a private conversation. Between the constant paging, the clickety-click of carts, and patients and their families and friends were too focused on their own issues to care about anyone else's.
Max sipped his coffee, grimaced, and said, "It's not Starbucks, that's for sure," then proceeded to add five packets of sugar. He must have noticed me trying to look as if I wasn't counting every packet he opened. "I know. Sugar and caffeine are my last hold outs. I stopped smoking, stopped drinking except for a glass of wine sometimes, backed off the carbs . . ." He stirred, sipped, and shrugged. "That'll do. Anyway . . . I'll eventually wean myself off one or the other or both. Just not any time soon."
"David was always so much more disciplined about healthy eating and exercising." Neither one of which would protect him from AIDS, something I added to my list of "Things to Obsess Over When Your Sibling Comes Out."
"He still is." Max glanced out the window. He sighed, then looked at me. "I'm going to just cut to the chase here, okay? I should probably warn you I'm not always diplomatic. I don't mean to be hurtful or sound uncaring. David and I operate under 'full disclosure,' so I hope the two of us can as well."
I had a difficult time being honest with myself, and I've known me decades longer than I've known him. "I'm not sure where this conversation's headed. But I'll be honest about the fact that I'm not sure how honest I can be. At least for right now."
"Okay. I appreciate that. We just met. I probably know more about you because of David. But if this horrible thing hadn't happened, I have no idea when we would have met each other."
"Is this where you don't mean to sound hurtful part happens? This hasn't been easy for me . . ." I couldn't say Max was wrong, though, about when I would have been ready for the wall to come down or at least build a door to walk through." I'm just finding out something about David that he's known about himself, apparently, for a long time."
"The thing is I know I'm not the sister-in-law you had in mind. I hope we sp
end time to get to know each other. Until then, we might have to push some stuff on the side. But the one thing we have in common for now is that we both care about and love David. Fact is, I need your help."
We both love David. I'm not sure I'm ready for this conversation." What kind of help are you talking about?"
"I'm going to do whatever I can to help his clients. It's been tough for him to build his business with the economy the way it's been. He's worked hard, so I want to do whatever I can to make sure his business sustains it. The challenge is that I have a clothing store to manage. And, somehow, I need to be able to take care of David's business and my own, plus make sure he gets to physical therapy, to the doctor. I haven't even mentioned the basics, like eating, cleaning . . ."
The longer Max spoke, the more I heard desperation in his voice. I didn't know how he would be able to do everything he mentioned. None of that included taking care of David himself.
That's where I came in. He wanted me to help with David during the day when he couldn't be there. But how exactly? "So, what you're telling me is that you need someone to help with David. And you want that someone to be me."
"Yes, but I'm not the only one who wants that someone to be you. I told David we could hire someone whether the insurance company paid or not. I asked David how he'd feel about you helping us out. He'd love for you to do it, but he told me he didn't think you would. And he didn't want me to put you in the uncomfortable position of having to say 'no' or say 'yes' because you'd feel guilty not to."
"Why would he think I'd not want to help? My God, he's my brother . . . he could have been killed."
Max looked at me as if I'd announced I signed up to join the circus. "I'm going to ask this in the nicest way possible. You do know that you've avoided his phone calls, and the few times you have talked to him, the conversation clocked in at less than a minute?"
The Edge of Grace Page 17
