Facelift

by Leanna Ellis

  “What should I tell Cliff?”

  That stops me. “About what?”

  She swirls her spoon through her uneaten oatmeal. Maybe she can use it for a facial mask later. “He said he’d be by sometime today . . . maybe.”

  Maybe is always the key word with him. But before I can respond, Izzie hooks her arm through mine and says, “Tell Dad he can come help us.”

  I settle into the driver’s seat and glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror. I smooth a hand over my cheek, wishing I’d taken the time to put on more than mascara. “Do you think he will?”

  “Are you kidding? Not a chance.”

  Unsure if I’m relieved that he won’t see me dirty and grimy from working at the park or disappointed that I’ll miss an opportunity with him, I jam the key into the ignition.

  “So, what do you think about Jack?” Her tone is aloof, but I catch her pointed glance.

  “Jack?” I back out of the driveway, keeping my eyes on the side mirror. “I don’t think about Jack. He’s a client.”

  Her mouth compresses. “But he’s cute, don’t you think?”

  “I think he’s way too old for you.” I shove the gear shift into Drive.

  “Mom.” She draws it out dramatically. “Not for me.”

  “Oh, well, then okay, he’s nice looking. Sure.”

  “According to Gabe, he is very successful.”

  “Whoa, Iz, I’m not interested in Jack. Nice as he is.” Cute as he is, but I keep that piece of info to myself.

  “I know. You want Dad.” She says it as if she’s four and I’ve set a bowl of broccoli in front of her. At that moment I want to smack Cliff for making his own daughter dislike him. If she were a client, her disinterest would bother him and he’d be determined to change her mind. “Whatever.”

  With that, the door of communication slams shut.

  “Gabe is nice.” I attempt to wedge that door open for a moment longer as I turn the car down the street toward the park. “He’s cute too.”

  “He’s too young for you,” she counters.

  I smile. “And I thought I’d make a good Mrs. Robinson.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.” But I realize the door is still open, ever so slightly.

  She stares out the side window but doesn’t plug her iPod into her ears. Another good sign. We pass through a couple of stoplights. “Gabe and I are going to work on a project together. Is that okay? Cause if it’s not, well, we’re gonna do it anyway.”

  That kind of introduction draws a wary and irritated glance. “What kind of project?”

  “We’re going to raise money for Lily.” She lifts her chin. “Gabe’s dad was sick with cancer and so he knows insurance doesn’t cover everything. Especially experimental stuff. It was his idea.”

  “That’s great that you want to help.” I hesitate, not sure what I should say, because I don’t want Izzie disappointed if their efforts can’t save Lily. Money so rarely can. “I don’t know much about Lily’s condition. Or what the doctors are saying,” But Lily’s mother said to pray for a miracle. My throat tightens. “So—”

  “We have to do something, Mom.”

  “But there might not be anything you can do. Except pray, Izzie.”

  She pinches her lips closed.

  I take several slow breaths, my hands tightening on the steering wheel. “I just don’t want you hurt, Iz.”

  “I’m not the one with cancer, Mom. I want to do this. I need to do this!”

  “Okay, then. What’s the plan? Are you going door-to-door asking for donations?” My head reels. What kind of permit will they need for something like that?

  “No, we’re going to put on a swim-a-thon.”

  “A swim-a-what?”

  “We’ll get corporate sponsors. The swim team will volunteer. I know it.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “Think of it like a luau, Mom. You and Dad used to throw lots of parties.”

  “A swim party?” I hate that I sound dubious . . . too much like Marla. She always loved playing Devil’s advocate when Cliff and I would say we were buying a new house or putting in a pool or building a deck. Maybe that’s simply the job of a mother. Or maybe I should simply shut up. But I can’t seem to help myself. I’m imagining a hundred teens swarming over our house. “So will it be at our pool?”

  “Mom.” She gives me one of those looks that tells me how dense I am. “We’ve already talked to the coach about a date for us to use the school’s pool.”

  Safety issues arise in my mind like buoys popping up all over a harbor. “And will there be lifeguards?”

  She sighs again. “We’re all competitive swimmers.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “There will be lots of us around who can save someone. Like you, if you start to drown.”

  “Me?” Does that mean I’m swimming? What I’m really asking is does that mean I have to don a swimsuit?

  “Maybe Jack can rescue you.”

  I’m not sure if it’s her tone or the slight smile that injects starch in my spine. “Why would you say that?”

  “Why are you being so difficult about this?”

  “About what? Jack? Or the swim-a-thon?”

  “Why don’t you want me to help Lily?”

  Ah, Lily. An easier subject than . . . anything else. “It’s not that I don’t want you to help.” It’s that I don’t want Izzie to know at this young age that sometimes your best efforts just aren’t enough. “Or do something for Lily.”

  “We’re being smart about this, Mom. We’re doing it like foundations do marathons or walk-a-thons, where people sponsor a swimmer and pay a certain amount for each lap they swim. Jack’s even taking care of the legal details.”

  “Are you going to limit it only to the swim team?”

  “So you do want to swim laps.”

  I swallow hard not wanting to think about myself in a swimsuit. Lily. Concentrate on Lily. “I want to help too.”

  Then my daughter gives me a smile that makes my chest swell with love, crowding out all my fears and worries.

  Temporarily.

  It’s been years since I’ve parked the car and walked into this park. Once upon a time, I brought Izzie here in her car seat and stroller. She’d toddle around wanting to swing and slide at the same time. “Swing!” she’d demand. And I’d push her until I thought my arms would fall off. Then she’d climb up the slide over and over while I watched and chatted with other mothers. It’s how I met Elise and Terry.

  Today though, teens rather than toddlers crowd the park as if free food is being provided. It’s a fairly small park, but popular in the community. It has limited equipment but large trees surrounding it, which become vital in the summer months when the Texas heat intensifies.

  Some teens lounge on swings and the teeter-totters, but most are actively engaged in carrying equipment and tools this way and that. They step over metal bars and large sheets of plastic lying on the ground. It looks like a giant pick-up-sticks game in action. Ramps and handrails are being added to the already existent play equipment.

  Izzie immediately detaches herself from me and heads off to see friends. Gabe gives her the task of handing out water to those working on the project. It’s a beautiful fall day with a bright blue sky with only a hint of a breeze. I walk around, remembering this park from when I brought Izzie here as a toddler. Those were tender days. I was young and naïve, blissfully unaware that other babies didn’t have Izzie’s good health, ignorant of the future of how my marriage would crash into a roadblock. The facelift the park is getting will be good for the community and for children of all shapes and sizes and abilities. My heart swells for what Gabe has envisioned.

  I catch sight of Jack straddling two bars on the jungle gym, a battery-powered screwdriver in hand. He waves, and I smile, returning the wave, then trip over something hard and square.

  Glancing down, I recognize a familiar toolbox. A quick look, right then left, bef
ore I find Harry stretched out under a slide. I nudge the toe of his boot, and he tilts his torso to look at me.

  “Why, Miss Kaye, how are you?”

  “I’m fine, Harry. And you?”

  “Never better.” He grins.

  “Can I give you a hand?”

  “I’m okay here, but you might check with Gabe.”

  I want to ask how he knows Izzie’s friend, but he’s already gone back to work. So I wander back over to the truck where Gabe is checking a notebook. I’m impressed that this young man has organized everything and that Jack hasn’t done it all for him.

  “Hi, Gabe.”

  “Mrs. Redmond! Thanks for coming. Izzie too.”

  I notice he’s taken up her nickname. How is their relationship growing? “She insisted. Pushed me out of bed for a change.”

  Grinning, he lifts his baseball cap, revealing his newly shaved head, and wipes sweat off his brow before settling it back in place.

  “Did Izzie start a trend?”

  “Thought she wouldn’t feel so self-conscious.”

  Smiling, I begin rolling up my sleeves. “What can I do to help?”

  “Would you mind taking these over to Jack?” He hands me a sack of nails, screws and bolts.

  “Not at all. And Gabe?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “This is going to be an incredible place for kids to enjoy.”

  Even though his face is flushed from work, his color deepens even more. “I hope so.”

  “I know so.”

  The sun’s rays slant down offering heavenly hope, but I step into the proffered shade of a giant oak where the jungle gym resides. Jack’s lips pinch a nail as he hammers another into a ramp that will allow wheelchair access over the ground covered in wood chips.

  I walk beneath him. “I’ve got something for you.”

  “Just what I’ve been waiting for.” From his sly look, I’m not sure if he means the sack of nails or me.

  I hand up the sack, careful not to brush Jack’s hand. “Everything going well?”

  “Except for a disgruntled mother’s group who had to take their toddlers elsewhere for the day.”

  “They’ll appreciate the changes later. So when will everything be set?”

  “Tonight, I hope. Inspectors will be out to verify safety issues. And next weekend we’ll have a grand opening.”

  “Is anybody invited?”

  “You better be here. Because I think your daughter will be.” His grin causes a prickling of awareness beneath my skin.

  “I think you’re right.” I offer him a shy smile.

  “Jack!” The long drawn out Scarlett O’Hara cry is one of those helpless female pleas that acts like bamboo shoved under my fingernails. I turn and see my friend, Elise, her newly nip-and-tucked body carefully clad in formfitting shorts and a tank, walking toward us. Her smile remains in place as her gaze slips toward me when my own falters. “Kaye?”

  “Hello, Elise. How are you?”

  “It’s so good to see you.” She gives me one of those appearance-only hugs, not too close, not too personal. “Is Izzie friends with Gabe?”

  “They’re on swim team together.”

  Elise leans close. “I saw her hair. Or lack thereof. Did you almost die when she shaved it?”

  I shrug. “It’ll grow.”

  But she’s already turned her focus onto Jack. Her beaming smile is for him alone. “Jack, I am just so amazed at all you and Gabe are doing.”

  “Thanks, but it’s all Gabe.”

  “You’re just too modest. Do you think you could take a minute? I know what you’re doing is important, but I could use some help unloading. It’s way too heavy.” She looks at me then. “I brought water and sodas for the workers.”

  Jack swings down and lands beside me.

  “Come on.” Elise slides her arm through Jack’s. “I know everyone’s just dying of thirst. Oh, and I brought donuts too.”

  “That was thoughtful.”

  Why didn’t I think of that? I watch them walk together toward the parking lot and Elise’s Suburban. She smiles up at him.

  An about-face blocks the image but the tightening in my abdomen remains.

  Chapter Fourteen

  By late afternoon everyone is exhausted, sunburned pink, and sweaty. But smiles are passed around as we look over all the changes and improvements to the park.

  “I need to get home, Iz. Marla has been alone all day.”

  “Well, that means trouble.” But her gaze travels toward Gabe. “I’ll catch a ride with someone. You go on.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you later.”

  When I arrive home, a strange car sits in front of my house—a slick, red Mercedes convertible. Does Marla have another suitor visiting? Since no one is standing on the porch, I assume she let this one inside. Maybe it’s Anderson Sterling. Maybe he has a different car for each day of the week. That would definitely interest Marla. As she’d like a different car to match each designer bag she owns. Or maybe one for each face.

  After parking and greeting Cousin It who is stuck outside in the heat, I fill up the water bowl and pat her furry side. When she goes to bark at the dog next door, I open the back door and hear voices. Before I can close the door, Cousin It pushes past me, barreling inside.

  Screeches and screams reach me before I can get to the den. Marla stands, a high-piercing squeal coming out of her clenched teeth. She teeters on heels and holds the sides of her face as if her stitches might come loose. I make a grab for Its collar, vaguely aware of a woman sitting on the sofa, legs crossed at the ankle. But It seeks her out like a homing beacon. The blonde holds a pillow between her and the chaos.

  “It, sit!” I grab the dog’s collar. “I’m sorry,” I address the women then the dog, “Come!” I tug her toward the kitchen and the back door. “Out.” With a final push against her furry behind, she’s out the door.

  “I’m so sorry.” I reenter the den, pushing back bangs from my eyes. I’m sticky and gritty with dirt and sweat. A shower is in my near future. I glance from Marla to her friend who looks like a live airbrushed photo. She makes me feel like Ellie Mae Clampett with my jeans and untucked shirt. “Hi, I’m Kaye.”

  Marla settles back on the sofa. She’s actually dressed in a yellow dress and heels. “Have you two not met?”

  “I don’t believe we have.” The woman stands, unwinding those long legs. She has model height and slimness, perfectly polished nails, and exquisite taste in clothes. Her suit jacket reveals a voluptuous top that must be surgically enhanced. Not that I’m an expert on such things, but in my experience if someone is toothpick thin filling out a Cup D, naturally is unrealistic.

  “Are you new to Southlake?”

  “Not officially anyway.”

  Unsure if she’s referring to our meeting or moving to Southlake, I give her a quizzical look.

  “I’m Barbara.” She says it as if her name should be in lights, like Rihanna or Donny and Marie. No last name needed. Then the name clicks in my brain, almost an audible sound.

  “Barbara?” This time I squeak, but in my head there is a long, feral scream. I manage to keep my jaw from falling open and want to ask, “As in Cliff’s personal Barbie?” But I refrain. “It’s . . . uh . . .” Do I have to be gracious to this woman? It’s absolutely not nice to meet her. But what do I say? “Get out!”? Do I open the back door again and tell Cousin It, “Sic her”? That would be my preference but since I was raised to be a proper southern lady, I say in Marla’s gritty way, “Welcome.”

  “Cliff has told me so much about you.”

  My brain fogs over with an image of Cliff wrapped in Barbie’s satin sheets lamenting the fact that he’s stuck married to a woman like me.

  “It was all nice, of course,” she says as if she’s read my mind. “Cliff’s the perfect gentleman.” She reaches forward and touches my hand.

  I pull away as if she were a snake striking. �
��That’s not exactly the word I would use.”

  At Barbara’s small intake of breath, as if she’s shocked I would be miffed about all of this, I glance at Marla. What was she thinking letting this woman into my house? But then she probably approves of Barbie as a daughter-in-law. They shop at the same stores. They probably go to the same plastic surgeon. Maybe they can get a family discount—a buy-one-get-one-free deal.

  “What on earth have you been doing?” Marla gives me a once-over. “Playing in the dirt?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have.” And I keep the details of the day to myself, refusing to cast my pearls before swine. I can’t imagine Marla or Barbie hauling equipment and hanging out in a park all day with a bunch of teenagers. They’re more the bring water, soda, and donuts type.

  Marla shifts to one side and tucks her feet beneath her. “Wasn’t it nice of Barbara to check in on me?”

  I’m speechless. Dumbfounded. Or maybe just plain dumb to set myself up for something like this.

  “She brought flowers and magazines, lotions and soaps. And a gift card to a day spa.”

  I manage to keep my smile aloft, but my cheeks start to quiver from the strain like an over-ambitious weight lifter, the barbells teetering, the legs trembling.

  A moment of silence prevails, and I’m given the chance to catch my breath, but my brain feels as if it’s chasing thoughts around like Cousin It after a fly.

  “Where’s Isabel?” Barbie asks.

  “She’s uh”—I wave a lethargic hand as I search for words—“helping a friend with a project.”

  Barbie glances at her watch. The diamonds glint in the afternoon sunlight pouring through the back windows. “I should be going. Cliff is flying in from New York.”

  And as quickly as I was forced to face the woman who stole my husband, Barbie leaves my house. I’m standing at the front door unsure how I even walked that far. Marla stands beside me.

  “Nice of her to give you all that stuff.” And I suppose it means she’s back with Cliff.

  “That was her way of telling me I need my hair washed and a manicure.” She folds her nails against her palms.