by Leanna Ellis
“Mom,” Cliff grumbles, “we were in college.”
“I know what you two did in my own house.” She clucks and shakes her head.
Heat ignites in my face. I can feel each capillary expanding and burning. Mortified that my sins are being branded on my chest like a big scarlet A, except the A isn’t exactly accurate—maybe just a simple S—I glance toward Jack. Unfortunately there was never anything simple about it.
Jack reaches for a roll but does not meet my gaze.
“Marla,” I manage through the rock-hard lump in my throat, “please.”
“You better watch Gabe.” She points a thin finger at Jack. “Girls were always after my boys. All three of them.”
I stare at the beans lying limp and cold on my plate. I’ve lost my appetite.
The rest of the meal drags on as the conversation lags. Cliff’s jaw pops as he chews, a sure sign of his irritation. While I poke at my food with my fork, I desperately search for something pleasant to discuss—politics maybe, or religion—anything but these laser questions from Marla and her divulgence of personal things. The minutes lollygag along and still my brain seems to have quit functioning in its hostess role. Wouldn’t Cinderella find something nice to say? Maybe I could pass out like Snow White.
Cliff finally clears his throat. “So where is the kid”—he waves his fork—“Gabe from?”
Jack swallows a bite. “Oklahoma.”
“So he’ll be going back there soon. Good.”
“Actually”—the corner of Jack’s mouth twitches in what I imagine is the beginning of a smile—“his mom and siblings moved here this past summer to be closer to her parents, now that she’s a widow.”
“The kid in some kind of trouble?” Cliff jabs his roll with his knife. “Is that why he came to live with you?”
“He’s working on his Eagle Scout project. It was easier for me to help him if we lived in the same location.”
“Eagle Scout, huh?” Cliff’s mouth thins as he pushes his chair back. “Maybe I’ll go chaperone.”
What’s the problem? Has he heard some scandal about Eagle Scouts? I suspect he’s being territorial in a Tarzan beating-his-chest kind of manner. In my mind Gabe’s goal elevates him out of the ordinary teen realm. After the back door closes, silence settles in around the table. I dab my mouth with a linen napkin, avoid eye contact with Marla.
“Dinner was great.” Jack jiggles the ice in his glass and takes a last gulp of tea. “Thanks for having us.”
“You’re welcome. Can I get you something else to drink? Eat?”
“No, thanks. I’m full. I should probably head on home and—”
The back door slams shut, and the sound reverberates through the house. Marla and Jack look to me as if for explanation.
“I think that must be my daughter.” An unvoiced apology lingers on my tongue. Now what?
The back door opens again and Cliff’s voice explodes through the house. “What were you thinking?”
“Leave me alone!” Izzie’s voice hits a higher decibel.
“Have you gone insane? Come back here!”
I follow the chaos into the den, and sense I’m being followed by Marla and Jack. But then I come to a dead stop. My ex-husband and daughter stand toe-to-toe, hands fisted, bodies rigid. They look more alike than they ever have. The shiny tops of their heads gleam in the iridescent light. My ex has a receding hairline.
My daughter, on the other hand, is completely bald.
Chapter Ten
Izzie glares at her father.
Marla bumps into the back of me.
And I sense Jack standing beside me. But I can’t take my eyes off my bald daughter. An uncontrollable trembling starts way down inside of me. Only Gabe and Cousin It are missing at the moment. Maybe they’re smarter than the rest of us.
“Isabel.” Marla is the first to speak. “What have you done now?”
Izzie huffs, turns on her bare heel, but Cliff stops her with a hand on her arm. “What were you thinking?” His demanding tone is not the type that is often tolerated by a teen. “Have you lost it?”
“Cliff.” I step forward, my focus now on the red mark he’s making on Izzie’s arm.
She jerks away from him. “Leave me alone!”
She bolts out of the room. The slam of her door reverberates through the house with a decidedly angry note. My skin contracts. Cousin It noses the pane window on the back door. Gabe wisely sinks back down into the pool and stays put.
“You have some serious problems with that one.” Marla’s tone is that of a woman who has never dealt with a hormonal teenage girl.
“What on earth happened?” I manage, though my voice is shaky. One minute we’re having dinner, the next there’s an outburst and the breakout of a Telly Savalas convention in my den. I stare at my ex. “When did—”
“Don’t blame me.” He holds up his hands. “I went out to the pool and there she was. Bald as the day she was born.”
“Well, she didn’t shave her head out there.” I can’t seem to get beyond the fact that my daughter is bald. Or how it happened.
“I don’t know the specifics, Kaye. I would imagine she did it in the bathroom. But, I tell you, she needs help.”
“Psychological help,” Marla adds.
“My daughter is perfectly normal.” My denial whines in the room like the air surging out of a whoopee cushion. It’s the rest of her family who don’t measure up to normal.
“It’s not normal to shave your head.”
“It’s also not normal to have your father run off with a woman half his age.” I cringe and could bite off my tongue for going there.
“So you’re going to blame this on me?”
“I meant, it’s not normal to have your parents divorce. It’s taken its toll.”
“Look around, Kaye. Divorce happens all the time.”
“It doesn’t make it normal.”
“Are you talking about Izzie or you?” His jab aims for the middle of my chest.
But I ignore the pain, let it glance off me. “It’s also not normal for . . .” I manage to stop myself as my gaze shifts toward Marla’s stack of magazines on the table—Vogue, Cosmopolitan, People, and O.
“Don’t you dare blame me.” Marla has her alpha dog voice on.
With my heart pounding as if I am cornered and have overstepped my bounds, I peer over at Jack who stands with his hands clasped behind his back and his head slightly bowed. I’m not looking for help (not from him anyway but I definitely need divine intervention), just wishing he wasn’t here. He has witnessed way too much about my personal life for one evening. He’s probably trying to think of a polite excuse to escape.
Marla rests a hand over her heart. “I need to lie down.”
“Are you okay, Mom?” Cliff’s angry expression softens.
But she waves him away and takes to her bed with what she calls heart palpitations.
“Should we call the doctor?” Cliff waffles on whether to go to his mother’s side or stand here and continue our discussion.
“She’s fine.” I recognize Marla’s symptoms as simply hysterics, because my own heart is creating a jackhammer effect in my chest and the concussion is rattling through my bones.
“But your daughter isn’t.”
“My daughter? What happened to our daughter?”
Cliff gives me a slow-burning glare and opens the front door to leave. “You’re not handling all of this very well.”
All of what? Being a single mother to my hurting teenage daughter? Caring for my husband’s narcissistic mother? To dealing with him? No, I’m not.
“Probably all the wonderful help I’m receiving,” I fire back, following him to the door. It’s definitely an alpha dog statement. But it only gets me a glimpse of my ex’s back as he walks toward his car. I slam the door in return. Immediately I regret my burst of anger. Leaning my head against the wooden door, I feel the hollowness of the wood and yearn for a solid strength in my life. A weak pathetic prayer l
ifts out of me as I draw in great gulps of air until my own heart rate returns to a more normal tempo.
“Can I help?”
At Jack’s low voice behind me, I find myself fighting sudden helpless, angry tears. I face him. “I’m sorry about this. My mother-in-law . . . ex, I should say . . . my daughter . . . and her father . . . What can I say? They’re not a good mix. I can’t believe you had to see all of this. Please believe me this doesn’t happen every—”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
A knock at the door gives me a start. I lean toward the peephole. “My ex.”
Jack nods and steps back into the den, presumably to give us privacy.
I take a deep breath and open the door. “Forget dessert?”
He chuckles then ducks his head, looking down at the welcome mat. “That was uncalled for. I didn’t mean it.”
Not exactly a firm apology but close enough. “It’s okay.”
He tips his head back and releases a pent-up breath. Looks up at the stars for a moment, then back at me. Tipping his head to one side, he motions for me to step onto the porch. When I do, letting the door close behind me, his hands encircle my waist. “You’re looking good, Kaye.”
“You noticed?” A stupid response that flashes my insecurity. His abrupt change startles me, kicks my heart into gear. Why couldn’t I have just said, ‘thanks,’ and left it at that?
“Of course. I always notice.” He leans toward me, pressing his body against mine and my back bumps the brick wall. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Me either.” Disappointment twists my insides. He’s never uttered “I’m sorry,” not even for his adventure with Barbie. The feel of his hands cupping my waist distracts me. I squirm, irritated at myself now more than Cliff.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
He leans closer, draws a deep breath, and I feel his chest expand against mine. “What were we saying?”
“She can be . . .” I lose track of my thoughts as I breathe in his scent. It’s different from the cologne he used when we were married. But this is nice. More than nice. “What?”
He dips his head and nibbles along my neck. Tingly sensations shoot along my nerves, and I’m not sure if it’s a distress call or an “all-hands-on-deck” signal. “You’re not serious about that yahoo, are you?”
My brain fogs over. “Yahoo?”
“That guy . . . Jake . . .”
“Jack.”
“Is he more than a client?”
“Oh, uh . . .” My thoughts drift to what his hands are doing along my back. I revel in the sensations, snuggle closer, my arms embracing his shoulders. “Hmm . . .” What was the question? “Yes.”
He pauses an inch below my earlobe. “So you are serious about him?”
My heart begins a staccato beat, working its way up to my throat. I scramble. My brain rewinds, replays. Cliff. Jack. Trouble. “He’s a client. That’s all.”
“Good.” He nuzzles my neck and I relax into his arms, my hands working their way along his shoulders and toward his hairline. “Thanks for watching out for Mom. She can be a handful.”
Words fracture apart as the sensations I’ve needed, longed for, stampede through my body. A vibration zings my hip. He pulls back, yanks out his cell phone, and checks the Caller ID. “I have to go.”
“Work?” I tug on his shoulders in an effort to pull him back.
He pockets the phone and hooks his arms around my waist. I lift my lips to his and kiss him, but he pulls back first. “I have to go.”
This is not how it’s supposed to go. Cinderella left Prince Charming holding a glass slipper. Desire building. Passion deferred. Which made Prince Charming chase after her. But Cliff is leaving, backing away, leaving me holding the bag . . . er, his mother. I attempt to camouflage my disappointment beneath a smile. “Okay. Come for dinner again if you want.”
“I will.” He squeezes my waist and moves away. “Maybe I’ll stay for dessert next time.”
Longing swells inside me.
He’s halfway to his car before he turns back. “I’ll be out of town for a few days. Business. I’ll call to check on Mom.”
Mom. Not Izzie. Not even me. Holding back a frown of frustration, I watch him jog down the walkway and slide into his BMW convertible. He revs the engine before peeling off down the street like he’s a teenager. I give myself a minute to recompose myself, readjust my blouse, and fluff my hair back into place. For a moment I’m unsure what just happened. Was the evening a success or failure? I glance up at the stars as if searching for God’s answer and decide the dinner was a step in the right direction.
I find Jack leafing through a decorating magazine in my den. A splash of water from the pool tells me where Gabe is. Maybe even Cousin It.
“Sorry about that.” I gesture toward the front door. “Cliff, uh . . . forgot something.” His wife. His family. His responsibilities.
“No problem.” He closes the magazine and sets it back in its rightful place alongside other magazines on the coffee table. “Figured Mom and Dad needed a few minutes to confer.”
“Did Izzie . . . Isabel make another appearance?”
He shakes his head.
“Probably for the best.”
“She’ll be okay.”
Empty words. How does he know? I should be relieved she only shaved her head. She could cut herself. Or jump in the car and go driving. Without a license. But how does Jack know those events aren’t right around the corner?
Unsure if I should check on Izzie or leave her alone, I stand in the middle of the room. Jack pats the cushion next to him. Reluctantly I take the seat. It’s easier than dealing with another emotional scene at the moment. “I’m not so sure it was a good idea for me to invite Marla to stay with us. Izzie isn’t fond of Cliff’s mom.”
“I admire you for taking in your ex-mother-in-law when she needed help. I’m sure it can’t be easy, but maybe it will show Isabel about real love.”
Guilt tightens its grip on my stomach. “My motives weren’t totally altruistic.”
He studies me for a long, slow minute and I feel stripped of all pretenses. It’s exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. “You’re hoping to get your ex back.”
My foot turns inward and I cross my arms over my stomach. “That obvious, huh?”
He shrugs, stretches his arm out along the back of the sofa. “I’m not too smart, but I can connect the dots.”
I rub my hands over my elbows and glance up at the ceiling. A tiny cobweb has started in the corner, a string dangling from one wall to the next as precarious as my hopes. “I’m trying to do God’s will.”
“And you believe getting your ex back is God’s will?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
He nods. “Admirable. Maybe I can help.”
I blink. “How? Send him a note? Waylay him in the alley?”
He chuckles then shrugs one shoulder. “I’m a man.”
So I noticed. I train my gaze to remain on his.
“I know how men think, what they like.”
My arms tighten. “Twenty-somethings? Blonde? Blue eyes? Big—”
“Not all men are like that.”
“You’re saying you wouldn’t want a twenty-something who looks like Barbie?”
“Are you asking for a confession?” He leans toward me. “Okay, for maybe five minutes. But once you get past the big—”
“Fake,” I add.
“—ness.” He grins. It’s a mischievous smile that is disarming and contagious. “Then yeah, I’d be bored.”
“You’d be an anomaly.”
His gaze roams over me. “You look great. Maybe you don’t need my help.”
“Then why do I feel like I’m doing everything wrong?”
He shakes his head. “Some men are threatened by a strong woman. Have you thought of that?”
I flex my bicep. “And you’re not?”
“Honestly? I can’t stand it whe
n a woman isn’t strong enough to challenge me, to stand toe-to-toe. Not physically, but mentally.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” And I’m a bit relieved he doesn’t want to arm wrestle.
His gaze seems to penetrate, as if he’s trying to read my thoughts. “What were you like when you were married?”
I shrug. “Not alpha.”
He raises a dubious brow. “I don’t see you as the roll-over-and-take-it type that you claim to be.”
“Oh, really?” My forearms press into my belly.
He scooches over a few inches, intruding on my space—and my peace of mind. Not that I had much of that to begin with. “I think you are more than capable of getting exactly what you want.”
“That’s not a compliment. You think I’m manipulative.”
“Are you?” His mouth pulls sideways. “That is definitely one universal turnoff for men.” He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “But men are split on the other extremes. Some only want simpering twenty-somethings who cater to their every need. And others”—he turns his head and looks at me over his rounded shoulder—“like a challenge.”
Is he telling me something? My pulse skitters, and I don’t know how to respond, what to say. Maybe it’s simply his frank analysis that unnerves me. Or again it’s my imagination at work. “You seem more insightful than most men I know.”
Jack claps his hands together between his knees. “I was a psych major in college. Old habit. So, you’re trying to do God’s will. But is Cliff?”
“He’s a good man. Really. He cares about his mother. That’s a good thing, right?” I finger-comb back my new do, a tangle snags on the edge of a nail. “This hasn’t been a great impression I’m making here on you, as a client, that is.”
“You’ve already got my business, Kaye. You were gracious enough to open your house to us this evening. Not to mention Cousin It. Not every business—or woman—would do that. I’d say our relationship has moved past work-related to friends.”
Friends. Okay. That’s all right. I can handle friendship. Maybe I misread his statements earlier. He wouldn’t be interested in me. Especially after he’s learned about the boatload of baggage I carry, from my sex life to my angry daughter, not to mention my ex-husband and ex-mother-in-law. But I remind myself, Cinderella came with baggage too. And Snow White came with seven sleepy, dopey, grumpy dwarfs.
