Facelift

by Leanna Ellis

  Cliff followed me home, saying he wanted to check in on his mother. But he’s shown no signs of wanting to go inside. And he hasn’t mentioned Marla once. This is right where I wanted all of this to lead. Isn’t it? So now why do I want to tell Cliff to get lost?

  That’s not what I’m going to do, but giving in to his desires is a sure way to make him lose interest.

  “Let’s go to my place.” His hands roam where they haven’t roamed in a long time.

  I hate to admit that my body yearns for this, for touching and kissing—but not from him. I squirm out of his embrace. “We didn’t do this relationship right the first time.” I’m more breathless than I realized. “I think we should do it right this time if we’re going to try this again.”

  He rests his forehead against his fist. He’s breathing equally hard, maybe more so. He takes a step toward me, hooking his arms around my waist again. “You’re saying we should wait?”

  “Yes.” I place a firm, no-compromising hand against his chest.

  “But we’re married!”

  “Shh. Your mother will hear.”

  “Let her. I don’t care.”

  I stay focused without getting diverted. “The key word is were. We were married.”

  “That’s a minor technicality.”

  “Minor technicalities is what got us into trouble when we were younger.”

  With a huffy sigh, he turns away and stares up at the sky, his mood darkening by the minute. Making him angry is not my intention. I want more than just a rendezvous with Cliff in bed. Because I know that is not the way to find permanence with him. I must resist. And it surprises me that telling him no is actually easier than I ever imagined. Maybe I’m not as desperate as I thought.

  “We need to work out some things between us first.” I take a step toward him, lay a hand against his back, feel his heat. “Obviously, we know how to make love. But it’s the time out of bed that needs work. There’s plenty of time for . . . well, you know . . . later.”

  He glances at me over his shoulder and shoves a hand through his thinning hair. “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

  I laugh softly. “Try a new line.”

  “It always worked before.”

  My laughter fades. Did it work on Barbie? “I’m not eighteen anymore.”

  “You’re right about that.” He faces me again, runs his hands along my fuller curves, his gaze following. “So you’ve grown a conscience along with putting on a few pounds?”

  My spine stiffens.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Kaye. I like a few curves. And you’ve got them all in the right places.”

  Remembering Barbie’s enhanced curves all too well, I feel my spine stiffen. “I’m trying to learn from my mistakes.”

  He pulls me close again. “You think our marriage was a mistake?”

  “I don’t know yet.” I push away, moving a few steps toward the house to give us space to talk. Which we were never particularly good at. “Besides, shouldn’t we be setting a good example for Isabel?”

  He comes up behind me, wraps his arms around my middle. “What do you mean?” He nuzzles my neck. “On how to drive a man to distraction?”

  “How to handle a relationship in a godly way.”

  He snorts. “I’m godly.”

  I laugh at that. I can’t help it. “Thinking you’re god-like is not the same as being godly.”

  “I go to church.”

  I turn back to face him, keeping a couple of feet between us. “When?”

  “I’ve been busy. But I will. When do you want to go? This Sunday?”

  “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.”

  “What does that mean?” He pulls me to him again. “You wouldn’t lead me on, would you?”

  “Never.” I kiss him quickly, breezily, then back out of his embrace. “Good night, Cliff.”

  After Cliff drives away, I remember I never picked up the mail, so I walk around the house to the mailbox out front. Harry Klum’s station wagon is still parked in front of my house. Why didn’t I notice it before? Maybe because my gaze was focused on my rearview mirror and Cliff’s headlights. And my thoughts were on my heart. If Harry can work his way into Marla’s heart, then maybe there’s hope for me and Cliff. Patience is the key. It took us seventeen years to get in this predicament. It’ll take time to set a new course.

  I enter through the front door to avoid Cousin It who’s barking in the backyard. Before I reach the front porch, the front door opens and Harry steps outside. I call out, “Hi, Harry.”

  “Have a good meeting?”

  “Not what I expected. And you?”

  He smiles. “Better than I expected.”

  “Good. I’m glad.” We meet in the middle of the yard. “So how did it go?”

  “She ignored me for a while but she hovered in the hallway. I kept trying to carry on a conversation, and she finally responded. But then I brought my rotor rooter.” He grins and hikes up his sweat pants. “How can a lady say no to that?”

  I laugh. “Is the drain working now?”

  “Good as new. I also checked the disposal in the kitchen sink. Miss Marla said it wasn’t working properly. Someone put a plastic spoon down it.”

  I wince. “You don’t have to fix all my plumbing problems.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  “Let me pay you for it.” I open my purse and reach inside for my checkbook.

  He shakes his head. “Wouldn’t think of accepting your money.” He scratches his head, and the thin strands of hair stand on end. “Marla said she liked the present I sent her. I guess she meant the candy I brought the other day.”

  My skin prickles. “She said that? She said, ‘Thank you for the candy?’”

  He rubs the back of his neck. “Not exactly. It was kind of baffling. She just said, ‘Thanks,’ then got all flustered and added, ‘for the presents.’”

  I start to laugh, then stifle it. I’m not sure what to do. Should I explain the situation to Marla? She wouldn’t be happy that Cliff is interested in me again. Although maybe she’d prefer me as her daughter-in-law over Barbara.

  “She’s crying out for love,” Harry says, “but she has a hard time accepting it.”

  I’ve never thought of Marla as crying out for anything. Maybe she is. Maybe that’s why she thought she needed a facelift. Maybe she was simply lonely and scared. I know how that feels. In the past two years I’ve felt loneliness as I’ve never felt it before. But I also know Marla wants things on her terms. “Harry, have you ever been married?”

  “Fifty-two years.”

  His answer surprises me. “Really?”

  “We were high school sweethearts. I was seventeen and she was sixteen when we eloped. Folks said it wouldn’t last. We’d still be married today if the cancer hadn’t gotten her.” He ducks his head.

  Sympathy swells my heart. It’s then I realize it . . . that’s what I want. To be married for such a long time, where our love has only grown larger over the years, and when we can’t imagine life without the other. Unfortunately Cliff can and has imagined life without me.

  “I’m so sorry, Harry. How long has she been gone?” A tightness seizes my throat.

  “Three years. It’s why I retired. So I could take care of her.” He remains quiet, like a moment of silence out of respect for his marriage, his wife.

  “Tell me about her.”

  Harry’s wrinkles deepen, lining his forehead and bracketing his mouth, aging him. He grips his hands as if they are too restless to be still.

  My heart aches for him. What would Cliff say if I died? Would he mourn me in the same way? Would he get choked up at the mention of my name? Marla must have mourned in private but seems to have moved on. Or maybe she hasn’t. Maybe she’s simply running away from the pain, from the sadness.

  “Mary,” he finally says, “was sweet as cotton candy. Spunky too. Never met a stranger. Would talk to anybody. Didn’t matter if they were famous or homeless.” H
e scratches his head as if stirring up a memory. “She met Robert Redford once. We were in New Orleans on vacation. She walked right up to him and started talking like she’d known him her whole life.”

  Harry laughs, rubs his jaw. “She told him straight out what she thought of his last movie. She wasn’t no pushover, but she was generous.”

  “She sounds wonderful.”

  He nods as if caught in his own memories then shrugs. “She was. To me anyway. And Marla . . .”

  “What about her?”

  “She has many of the same qualities.”

  “Marla?” Do I sound as astounded as I feel? “Marla,” I repeat, trying to sound more resolute than quizzical as I run his adjectives through my head and compare them to the woman I know. Sweet? Generous? There’s the set of encyclopedias she gave us for Izzie sitting on my bookshelf. And don’t forget the picture she painted in an art class and gave to us for one of our anniversaries. Then there’s all the advice she hands out so freely, which rarely helps but mostly makes me feel inadequate. Maybe it’s just her way of trying to help.

  Harry grins at me. “One of the first things I liked about Marla was when she showed a whole group of us pictures of her grandkids. Pulled out a special folder from her purse and started telling us about each one. She was pleased as punch. She went on and on about Isabel, how beautiful she was, how smart, and bragged about her swim meets. I knew she had a soft heart.”

  Am I at fault for not seeing this side of my mother-in-law? Have I been so biased and judgmental that I couldn’t see the good qualities? “Marla?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I shake off my surprise. “But don’t you see that a lot where you live . . . in a retirement village?” I imagine all the elderly people in between Bingo, tap dancing, and trips to the mall showing off pictures of their grandkids. “Don’t they brag about the grandkids every day?”

  “Nope. Marla was the first I ever saw. It didn’t seem like bragging or nothing, either. She just told story after story. One about how Isabel called the color brown chocolate when she was a toddler.”

  I smile at the memory. Marla always seemed disinterested in Isabel or she was always pointing out faults or ways I could better care for her—how to fix her hair, find cute, frilly dresses. I’m surprised, yet touched, by Harry’s story. What else have I missed? Maybe the barricades in our relationship were as much my fault as hers. Am I too eager to pick out her flaws? Always sure I’ve been slighted?

  A tiny crack opens inside my heart and tears rush to the surface. I try to stop them by changing the subject. “So, you were happy in your marriage, Harry?”

  “Happy?” He tilts his head sideways as if it’s an odd question. “Oh, sure.” He rubs his thumb along his jaw. “We went through some hard times. Poor times. Struggled some, as most folks do, I reckon. But I’d say we were happy. Happy as can be in this life. Life isn’t always what you expect. It’s tough. But I always knew Mary was there beside me.”

  His statement feels like a fork to my heart. Is that what happened to Cliff and me? Didn’t he know I was there for him? Or did he take it for granted? My hesitation in jumping back into a relationship is that I no longer trust that he’ll be there for me.

  Which makes me question myself. Have I forgiven him? I’ve tried. I’ve prayed. When those angry feelings start to devour me from the inside out, I pray some more. The fact that he’s never apologized lurks just beneath the surface like a bone spur, continuing to poke me with doubts and spikes of hostility.

  “We were a team, Mary and me.” Harry swipes his hands against the back of his pants. “I’m not sure I was always the best husband.”

  “Oh, I bet you were.” After all, he’s brought flowers and magazines for Marla. The candy brings another smile that I brush aside.

  “I don’t have many regrets in my life. But I wish I’d shown Mary, told her more often, how I felt. Taken more time.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Well, I went to work every day. For her. I came home every night. For her. Oh, I picked up my underwear, scrubbed the kitchen floor a time or two, mowed the lawn. It was all for her.” He shifts his feet in the dying grass. “But I wish I’d brought her flowers more often. I wish I’d told her . . .” His voice cracks and he looks away.

  I touch his arm, feel the strength of muscle under his flannel shirt, sense the tenderness of his passionate heart. “I’m sure she knew how much you loved her.”

  And I pray one day I’ll know a love like that too.

  A yellow leaf rolls across the decking and skitters into the pool. Cousin It sits beside me, tongue lolling, as I slip off my robe. The coolness of the evening makes my skin pucker. Since we’ve moved into this house, I’ve only been in the pool twice. Both times when it was just Izzie and me. Even peering down at my black swim- suit, I can see how the lycra stretches more than it used to.

  With the gentle night breeze, the water feels colder than I expect and I shiver as I slide into the dark water. Cousin It sits on the edge of the pool, my new lifeguard. At least she won’t tell any secrets.

  Stretching my body out, I begin long, lazy strokes and quick little kicks, the water churns into a froth behind me. My mind wanders back to my conversation with Harry. Did Cliff know I loved him by the way I stayed home and took care of his child, creating a home, a haven for him? Or am I as much to blame as he is for the way our marriage shattered? Do I need to apologize as much as he does?

  I come spluttering up and tread water for a moment while that new and disturbing thought sinks into me like a heavy anchor. Maybe I’m maturing. Or maybe I’m delusional that simple words can solve complex problems. Maybe Cliff was showing me how much he loved me by going to work every day, supporting me and Izzy.

  Actions do speak louder than words.

  So what was he saying when he ran off with Barbie?

  I dip my face in the water, because I don’t like the answer. And yet I can’t deny the truth. His actions over the past fifteen months (or longer) reveal how much he loves himself.

  But there’s another question nipping at the heels of that revelation: Has he changed?

  The Bible says we all sin. So I know I’ve been selfish at times too. But I’ve tried to change. No, more than that. I’ve tried to let God change me. But what about Cliff? For that, I have no answer.

  And that disturbs me most of all.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tears fill Terry’s eyes and spill over into my heart. My throat tightens as I watch her hug first Isabel then Gabe. We decided that once all the plans were in place and the swim-a-thon was a “go,” we should inform Lily’s family and get their blessing for the event.

  Terry’s house is the same—spacious, tastefully decorated—it gives the appearance that all is well. Driving past the front, no one would ever know or suspect the warm, inviting colors are shrouded by fear and grief.

  Terry looks over at me sitting on the couch next to Jack. “You should be very proud of your kids.”

  Jack claps Gabe on the back. “We are.”

  “It was their idea.” Through the glimmer of tears, I smile at the two teenagers, my heart expanding. I loop an arm through Izzie’s as she sits beside me.

  Terry grabs a tissue off the end table and dabs her face. “When we started on this journey, I resisted others bringing us dinner or anything, but I soon learned dinners were gifts of the heart. People needed to feel a part of something and help any way they could. By taking what they offered, I was giving them a gift back.”

  Guilt tugs at me. I should have been offering meals or help cleaning, something . . . but Terry and I drifted apart, our lives both struck by icebergs of different proportions.

  Gabe’s project is a gift of his heart to not only the community but also to his family. I glance over at him leaning against the door jamb. “Gabe is completing his Eagle Scout badge this coming weekend. Tell her what your project is.”

  Terry, despite her tears and more pressing concerns, leans forward inte
rested. Gabe straightens, full of confidence and yet without pride. “We’re revamping a park to make it accessible to children who, for whatever reason, can’t utilize the equipment. You should bring Lily.”

  “Sounds like a wonderful idea. I hope she can come.”

  I touch Terry’s arm. “How is she doing?”

  With a weary stoop of her shoulders, Terry leans back in the recliner. “She hasn’t been feeling well.” Her voice drops to a hoarse whisper as if she doesn’t want Lily to hear her from down the hall where she’s resting. “I think the cancer is back.” She gives a swift shrug. “But I don’t know that for sure. We have an appointment next week. But I’m pretty sure it is. Her nails are growing.”

  My forehead creases.

  “I know”—Terry gives a halfhearted, lackluster laugh—“that sounds crazy. But every time the cancer returns, her nails grow like weeds.”

  “What do the doctors say about that?”

  “Everybody is different.” She sounds like she’s quoting a canned response. “What can they say? They’ve learned to trust a mother’s instinct. They’ll run some tests, and sure enough . . .”

  “What will they do this time?” Jack’s brows scrunch into a series of concerned lines. “More chemo?”

  She gives a tiny, almost indiscernible shake of her head. Her gaze drifts away from us as if she’s peering into a bleak future.

  Izzie squeezes next to me, placing an arm around me, leaning into me for support and pushing me closer to Jack. “If we can just hurry and—”

  I place a hand cautiously on her knee, trying to tell her to stop.

  “What?” Izzie glares at me, shrugging off my touch. “What’s wrong with that? We can’t give up!”

  “No one is giving up on Lily, Iz.”

  Terry reaches forward and clasps Izzie’s hands within hers. “What she’s trying to tell you is that this is an uphill battle. And the reality is that we’re just trying to buy Lily time.”

  “What does that mean?” Izzie’s tone borders on belligerent.