The Edge of the Light (13 page)

J
enn decided to take Becca's advice, once she learned that Lexie Ovanov, too, had acquired an athletic scholarship. For her, it was track and field. UCLA was giving her a free ride because of her performance as a distance runner. She did her own training in the early morning out on the track and on weekends with a coach from over town. Jenn hadn't known this. But when she saw Lexie running against the fastest boy on the track team just for fun and leaving him in the dust, she figured she should sign up for what Cynthia and Lexie were offering her. It sure as heck couldn't hurt her, and it sure as heck might help her make the All Island team.

Neither of the girls was put out that she'd turned Cynthia down earlier. It seemed that, for them, it was one for all and all for one and who cared what had been said in the past? Lexie said she'd work with Jenn on her running and her weight training. Cynthia said she'd take on dribbling, passing, and holding on to the ball. “It'll be good for all of us,” Cynthia concluded. “Lexie's been getting lazy anyway.”

“As if,” was Lexie's rejoinder. “I can take you on any day of the week.”

“And so you do,” Cynthia said with a leer. Both of them laughed. Jenn got hot in the face.

The girls both pushed her hard. Jenn found them tough but extremely helpful. Cynthia stayed in Jenn's face whenever she tried to do anything with the ball. Lexie started her on the track, telling her that developing speed on the trails was an interesting way to look at things, but since soccer wasn't exactly played on forest trails, it made a whole lot more sense to be on a level surface where she could build up her speed and then combine it with an ability to scramble when under pressure. Lexie was there to supply the pressure. Out on the lawn, she charged Jenn like a barbarian warrior, coming at her full speed with screams and shouts. This, naturally, attracted the attention of anyone who happened to be in the vicinity. When Jenn saw other kids looking at them, she cringed a bit.

She wanted not to care that Lexie was gay. But Squat's remarks about both of the girls—Cynthia
and
Lexie—kept intruding. She shoved them away as best she could. Still they came back and especially so when Cynthia and Lexie were together.

At least they didn't do anything in the showers while she was around, Jenn told herself reassuringly. She might have accidentally witnessed them messing with each other that one day, but once she joined them in training, they kept a distance from each other. No more soaping each other up, no more shampooing each other's hair, no more kissing while naked with the water streaming around them. They still joked, slapped each other on the butt, and made comments that seemed to be private jokes between them. But that was it.

Jenn discovered almost by accident that Lexie had another girlfriend. This was on a day after training and showers when Lexie mentioned to Cynthia that Sara-Jane had found such a deal on tickets that she'd bought them at once and without asking Lexie how long she wanted to stay in Europe that summer.

Lexie's conclusion was, “I hate it when she does that.”

“Yeah, but on the other hand,” Cynthia pointed out reasonably, “you
want
to go to Europe together, right?”

“Course. And I know, I'm a control freak. I want to be the one to decide things for myself. For Sara-Jane, too, I guess.”

From this Jenn understood that Lexie would be heading to Europe after graduation and she'd be traveling with someone other than Cynthia. At first she figured that Sara-Jane was a relative. Lexie's sister, maybe, or perhaps a cousin.

But then Lexie said, “She's also decided we have to spend time in Venice. Way too much time in Venice, if you ask me. It'll be romantic, she says. Gondolas, locking lips while some guy pushes us through the canals, plays a mandolin, and croons about love.”

Cynthia laughed. “Sounds like she's getting
very
serious. Gondolas? You go straight into engagement after that. Then it's marriage, the family, and you're finished for life. I
told
you hooking up with someone so much older was going to cause problems.”

“It's not like I don't love her,” Lexie said. “It's just that I want to make a few of my own decisions.”

Jenn was intrigued when it became clear that Lexie was talking about someone with whom she was involved outside of her relationship with Cynthia. So when Cynthia glanced in her
direction—jeans in one hand and yellow cashmere sweater in the other—and said, “What? You're looking like something's on your mind,” Jenn turned away hastily and started pulling her clothes out of her locker.

“Nope, nothing,” Jenn said.

A little silence ensued as they put their clothes on. Then Cynthia said, “Oh. Sara-Jane, right?”

“Sara who?” Jenn asked, striving for innocence.

“I bet you think Lexie's cheating on her partner.”

Jenn didn't want to say what she was really thinking, which was maybe things were different for lesbians since they weren't exactly going to get each other pregnant so maybe it didn't matter who did what and when and how. But she didn't know what she could say in
place
of that. So she went with, “I guess I don't get it.”

“Get what?” Lexie had come to Jenn's locker and was leaning nearby. She'd bent and picked up one of Jenn's shoes, and for a second Jenn thought she meant to threaten her with it, although she couldn't say why Lexie would bother to do that.

Still, she did feel the other girl's presence more acutely than usual, so she said, “I thought you guys . . . you know . . . you and Cynthia . . . I thought you were a couple.”

“Like in the Big Romance?” Lexie looked at Cynthia. They both laughed. “We'd kill each other in three days,” Lexie told her.

“Hey! Maybe we'd last a week, Lex,” Cynthia said.

“Oh.” Jenn frowned. She looked in the direction of the showers. She'd seen what she'd seen, so if Lexie and Cynthia wanted to pretend they weren't involved, what was it to her?

“We're just friends,” Cynthia told her.

“Right,” Jenn said.

“With privileges,” Lexie added.

“Oh. Right.” Jenn wondered if she could come up with another word besides
right
. She felt like a dolt.

“You know what that means, don't you?” Cynthia asked.

“I'm not totally stupid,” Jenn told her. “I just thought . . . You guys are always together and I've seen you and whatever. Never mind. My bad.”

“Sara-Jane's in grad school,” Lexie said. “Second year of a PhD program in California, at USC. We don't have strings when we're not together. If we meet someone, it's okay to mess around.”

“That's what friends with privileges means,” Cynthia said.

Jenn wanted to say “I
know
what it means,” but more than that, she wanted to put the conversation behind them. She found the discussion excruciating. The way they acted together, anyone would have thought the same thing: that they were exclusive. That this wasn't the case was, she told herself, No Big Deal.

She held out her hand for the shoe that Lexie was holding. She'd already put its mate in her locker.

Lexie gestured with it. “This thing's no good. It's all worn down, Jenn. You need a new pair. And this brand . . . ? Why'd you buy it?”

“It was what they had.” Jenn plucked the shoe from Lexie and shoved it with the other.

“What kind of athletic store has only one brand of shoes?”

“They're what I could afford,” Jenn said. There was no way
she intended to tell Lexie that they were also what Good Cheer Thrift had available on the day she ducked in to see what—if anything—she could use for athletic shoes this school year.

“You got to get something better,” Lexie told her. “You can't make the All Island team with these. You can't even get better at training with these.”

“I'm saving up.”

“Have a job?”

“Not yet. I'm working on it.”

Jenn shut her locker decisively and spun the dial on the lock. She began to get the rest of her stuff together. So did the other two girls albeit more slowly.

She was out of the locker room quickly after that, but she only got as far as the school's main entrance when Lexie and Cynthia caught up with her. Lexie called out, “Idea here!” and Cynthia simultaneously called, “Wait up, Jenn.”

Kids were leaving the band room after a late practice. Jenn saw it was jazz band, with Hayley Cartwright and Derric Mathieson among them. She just thanked God Squat wasn't a member because she knew he'd give her grief if he saw her talking to Cynthia and Lexie. She waited for them. The other kids passed by. Jenn moved to one side so that Cynthia and Lexie could say whatever they needed to say away from the crowd.

It was Lexie who spoke. “Ever done restaurant work?”

“Like what? Be a waitress? No.”

“Not a waitress,” Lexie said. “I work at G & G's, in Freeland? Up above Holmes Harbor? We need a busboy. I know the owners,
and I c'n put in a word for you. Minimum wage, but you'd get a share of the tips. You wouldn't be rolling in it 'cause they only do dinner, but you'd have enough for shoes and the rest.”

“Freeland?” Jenn said. It was a stalling tactic. Working with Lexie? She didn't know. . . .

“It's a good idea,” Cynthia said. “Lexie's leaving for the summer. You could train as a waitress and take over for her when she's gone.”

“I dunno,” Jenn said. “I don't know how I'd get there in time, after practice, I mean.”

“I'll drive you.” Lexie snapped her fingers to show how easy it would be.

“But it's way too far for you to take me home,” Jenn said next.

“You could take the island bus home,” Cynthia pointed out. “You do that after practice anyway.”

“Give you time for your homework,” Lexie said. “Anyway, think about it.”

Jenn said she would but she knew she wouldn't. Truth was there was no way on earth she was going to spend time in a car alone with Lexie Ovanov. With her attitude toward the friends-with-privileges thing, the last thing Jenn wanted was any kind of relationship with Lexie.

I
t was one of those rotten late winter March days in the Pacific Northwest when spring remains only a wish. The wind was threatening to topple the alders that had reached the end of their life span along with all Douglas firs that possessed too shallow roots. Rain was falling in great waving sheets. It seemed that winter would go on forever.

In this weather, Ralph Darrow was returning home, traveling inside one of the island's paratransit vans with his wheelchair strapped into position. He'd worked hard to get to this point. He'd demonstrated his ability to walk, he'd made marked progress in living as a one-armed man, and with his house approved for someone in his condition, there was no reason to keep him in any care facility for another day.

Seth was with him in the van. Rich Darrow was following in his car, accompanied by Prynne. Behind them, Steph Vanderslip cruised. She would give the okay to Ralph's return once he showed her he could manage the ramp up to the porch as well as negotiate the hall, the kitchen, the living room, his bedroom, and the bathroom by using the newly installed handrails. Ralph
understood that the onus was on him. At least Seth was pretty
sure
he understood, although his grandfather continued to have trouble with language.

He could tell, though, that Grand was pleased to be going home. Seth only hoped that he would approve of the changes to his house.

The transit van negotiated the rising driveway off Newman Road, and from there Seth directed the driver to the new, secondary driveway that curved off to the right of the hill that hid the house. He saw his grandfather's eyes widen when they made this turn and then proceeded down the slope. Seth had deliberately not told him that a new route had been forged to get him home easily. He'd wanted that to be a surprise.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Seth said to him. “Me and Derric did it. Some guys from work helped. We sold the trees to finance it, plus the rest of the changes in the house.”

Ralph reached out with his good hand and clutched Seth's arm tightly. “Gud,” he managed. “Fahv et . . .”

Seth smiled, knowing what Grand wanted to say. Ralph had called him “favorite male grandchild” for his entire life, despite the fact that he was the
only
male grandchild. Seth said to him, “This's gonna be tough because of the rain. But if you can manage it in a downpour, you can do anything.”

The van came to a halt at the brick path that ran between the house and Ralph's shop. Rich and Steph Vanderslip had parked above in the older area behind the hillock, and through the back windows of the van, Seth and Ralph could see them descending
the new driveway along with Prynne. The rain began to let up.

Rich opened the van doors and smiled at his father. He said, “Welcome home, old guy.”

As if God was on their side, at that precise moment, the sun came out. The rain became a mist and through this mist, a rainbow shone. Prynne said, “If that's not cool, then nothing is.”

Ralph was lowered from the van in his wheelchair. Seth rolled him along the brick path toward the front of the house. He could see that his grandfather was mostly concentrating on his garden at this point. It hadn't been seen to and was in desperate need of its autumn cleanup and its winter alterations.

Seth leaned over and said into Ralph's ear, “No worries, Grand. I haven't got to this part of the place yet, but I will. Promise. You'll have to tell me what to do, though. I don't want to wreck anything.”

“Gud bo,” Ralph said slowly.

When they reached the ramp, the front door opened. Seth was half-expecting Becca, even though it was a school day and too early for her to be back home. But instead a twentysomething guy with the body of a wide receiver came out of the house. They'd left a key for him just in case he got there while they were gone, and so he had.

He was the first of the home health care aides whom Rich Darrow had chosen. His name was Jake Burns, he was a good-looking mix of Vietnamese and Anglo, and his arms bulged with muscles that he no doubt put to good use when he worked with patients.

Seth felt a little twinge when he saw him, because this was the dude who was going to be there in the house while Prynne was there, and he wasn't sure how he felt about Prynne being alone with the guy. Jake Burns was a stud, and he was damn good-looking on top of that.

The home health care aide came down the ramp, squatted in front of the wheelchair, and extended his hand to Ralph. He said, “Mr. Darrow, it's good to meet you. I'm Jake Burns, and I'm here to make your life run smooth, sir.” He already knew Rich Darrow, but he extended his hand to him and to the others as well, repeating their names as they said them to him and offering a smile that Seth figured was capable of melting hearts around the globe. “Let's get you up on your feet, sir,” Jake then said to Ralph. “I know this lady here is going to want to see you do your stuff on the ramp. Need help? Steady now? Use the handrails, sir. Good thing the rain stopped, huh?”

It was going to be tricky, Seth saw, because Grand had only one good arm. But his walking had improved so much that Seth hoped he could manage the gentle slope of the ramp. He held his breath as Jake steadied Ralph on his feet. Ralph nodded his thanks, took a hesitant step, and then gained assurance when his good hand curved around the rail.

The chicken wire over the wood served its purpose. There was no slipping or sliding. Just a slow, sure walk up to the porch. Ralph managed it as Steph Vanderslip stood to one side and watched. When he made it after what seemed like ten minutes, she said, “Now that's what we're looking for, Mr. Darrow.
Nice job. Let's get you inside and check out the rest.”

Once inside the house, it seemed to Seth that his grandfather became the real Ralph Darrow again. His expression altered to that old mixture of sardonic and wise. Someone had cut his long hair during his time in the hospital and in rehab, but it was growing out now, on its way to the length he preferred, which was well below his shoulders and tied back beneath his cowboy hat that was, at the moment, hanging on its usual peg beside the front door.

Seth stood back. He worried about how Grand was going to feel not having access to his bedroom on the upper floor any longer, and he shot a concerned look at Prynne as Ralph, Steph, and Rich headed in that direction with Jake leading the way.

He felt Prynne take his hand, linking her fingers with his. She said, “It's gonna be good. No worries. And the guy—Jake?—he seems, like, perfect to be here during the day.”

“That's part of my worries,” Seth told her. “You and Captain America, with lots of time to get to know each other.”

Prynne stepped back to get a better look at his face. “Seriously?”

“The guy's a stud.”

“He's here to do a
job
, dope. Grand has tons of work to do, with physical therapy and language. And anyway . . .” She wrinkled her brow and examined him.

“What?” he said.

“You're my guy. Don't you trust me? I don't like not being trusted, Seth.”

“My deal, not yours,” was what Seth told her. And it was true.
At some point in his life he had to get past that less-than feeling that kept raising its ugly head. He was who he was, and that
was
good enough: for him, for his parents, for his friends, for Prynne. “I trust you, Prynne. Like I said, it's me, not you.”

Ralph seemed to have approved the bedroom and the bathroom. He also appeared to understand that Becca would continue to live in the house and do the cooking and the cleaning. He nodded when it was explained that he and Becca had simply switched rooms. Rich added, “For now,” although all of them knew that it wasn't likely Grand was going to be able to manage the stairs again.

“It's all looking good to me,” was Steph Vanderslip's announcement when Ralph had demonstrated his ability to get around the house. “The objective, Mr. Darrow,” she told him, “is to have you living on your own once again, without assistance. That could happen if you keep up the work. The language has got to improve, though.”

“It . . .” Ralph seemed to search for the word. It took some time. They all waited. “Wheel,” he finally managed. He pointed to his head. “Try . . . fend . . .”

Seth swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. It wasn't only that Grand had lost words. He'd also lost the ability even to form them.

But Steph nodded, saying, “Welcome home, then,” and to the rest of them, “Now you let me know if there's anything I can do to help out. Nice job,” she added to Seth. “When I want some work done on my house, you're the guy I'm going to call.”

And then she left them and it was time for Ralph to get to know what the routine would be, what Jake would be doing, and what Prynne would be doing. Her part—aside from keeping an eye on things—would be language skills. To that end, they'd bought flash cards, board games, and photograph books to help Ralph recapture his vocabulary.

Jake, then, suggested Ralph come into the kitchen, where he had sandwiches ready. He had Ralph lead the way, and as they went, he told Seth's granddad a bit about himself. Football, UW, and two concussions, he said. “I wanted to have enough brains left to get into nursing, sir, so that was it for me. Now I just watch. Huskies and the 'Hawks. You into football, sir?” He did his nursing course in night school, he explained. He was well on his way to earning an RN degree.

Footsteps pounded across the front porch just as Ralph was settled at the kitchen table. At first Seth figured it was Steph Vanderslip, having forgotten something. But then the door swung open, and Seth's aunt Brenda stood there.

Rich Darrow said, “He's done it all, Bren: the ramp, the house, everything. This's Jake Burns,” he added as Jake's head appeared around the door to the kitchen. “My sister Brenda,” Rich said to Jake.

She didn't acknowledge Jake's “Nice to meet you, ma'am.” Nor did she acknowledge either Seth or Prynne. Instead, she walked to the kitchen to observe her father, said, “What kind of sandwich is that? It had better be something easy for him to chew and swallow.”

“Tuna and mayo,” Jake told her.

“Celery? Nuts? Seeds? What else is in it?”

“Christ, Bren, Dad can eat,” Rich Darrow said.

“Dad can choke as well,” she shot back at him.

“Chopped celery and relish,” Jake said, and to Ralph, “You think you're okay with this, Mr. Darrow?”

“Of
course
he'll think he's okay,” Brenda snapped. “Are you an idiot? He's had a stroke.”

Jake said nothing in reply, and Rich went into the kitchen and suggested that Brenda come join him in the living room. A fire was laid there, and he lit it. He gestured to Ralph's new chair and chose the hearth for himself as Seth and Prynne went for the chess table that sat beneath one of the living room windows looking out into the dull winter garden.

“Here's what you need to know, Richard,” Brenda said to her brother before he could make a remark. “This is just a courtesy call. I stopped at your place first. Amy told me where to find you, by the way.” She said this last bit triumphantly, as if it had been some big betrayal, Seth thought: his mom revealing to Aunt Brenda where his dad had gone. “I'm on my way to Oak Harbor,” Brenda continued. “I'm filing a petition for guardianship.”

Seth wasn't sure what this meant, but he could tell from his dad's expression that it wasn't good. Rich said, “Come on. Don't do that. If nothing else, it gets us into a legal wrangling that could—”

“No legal wrangling at all. The judge appoints someone to evaluate Dad's circumstances. You know what I mean: his
ability to care for himself, make financial decisions, and keep this place in good condition. That person will take a look at everything. He—or she, of course—will also have Dad examined by a doctor.”

“Brenda—”

Brenda held up a hand to silence him, continuing with, “The doctor will make a report. Based on that and the evaluation of Dad's circumstances, the judge will decide if guardianship is needed. It's very simple.” She added with a thin smile, “Dad can have a jury trial if he wants, of course, based on what the reports say about him. But I don't encourage that, to be honest, because the cost to him—and, obviously, the cost to you—would probably get out of hand.”

Prynne and Seth exchanged a look. Brenda had been talking quietly, but Seth's worry was that his grandfather might have heard. And he was going to hear if things heated up, which they definitely would if Seth's dad couldn't stay cool in the face of what his sister was planning to do.

Seth was surprised when all Rich did was sigh. He said, “I'd hoped we could resolve this easier, but I guess we can't.” He then brought out of his jacket a business-size envelope and handed it to his sister. “It's durable power of attorney for health care,” he told her. “Dad signed it when he turned seventy. It makes me, not you, the responsible party, Bren.”