by Leanna Ellis
Marla takes several slow breaths. With her chin tilted downward, the skin along her neck gathers like crumpled cloth. “Maybe that’s another mistake I made.”
“What?”
“Not letting Bradford’s sins rip apart our family.” Her hand tightens on the armrest, her knuckles whitening. “Maybe if Cliff had seen how devastating his father’s behavior was, then maybe he would have chosen a different path. But I tried so hard to make things as perfect as I could. So no one would have to suffer.”
I swallow hard. How I’ve wanted to protect Izzie from pain! But there is no hiding from pain. It’s better to accept it and move through it together, rather than suffer in silence. Suddenly the perfect picture Marla always tried to paint of her family is washed away and the gritty reality remains. “Did Bradford cheat on you?”
She gives a sharp nod. “Many times.”
An invisible hand fists my heart in a painful grip. Now all she has said through the years falls into place. Disappointment slams into me. It could be another reason Marla disliked me as I aligned myself with Bradford. But I had no idea he was unfaithful. Did Cliff know? “Like father like son.” I cover her hand with my own. Words pile up in my throat in a rush. “I’m so sorry, Marla. So sorry.”
She gives a lopsided shrug. “I was wrong. In so many ways.”
“I think that’s what God wants us to see. How our imperfections give us a need for Him.”
“I don’t know about that. I just know that I can’t do it anymore.” She slides her fingers into her hairline and tugs her hair back. I can see the red lines from her facelift.
“Do what?”
“Be perfect.” She gives a bitter laugh and frames her face with her hands. “Have you seen me lately?”
I place a gentle hand on her arm. “No one wants you to be perfect, Marla.”
She sniffs and looks away, tears filling the corners of her eyes.
I slide my arm around her narrow shoulders. “God doesn’t expect perfection either.”
“I always thought He did.”
I shake my head. “Nope. Not at all.” I give her shoulder a squeeze. “He’s like the makeup that covers our imperfections.”
She turns to look me in the eye. “Apparently I need to take out stock in that kind of foundation.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Teenagers spill out of my house like water overflowing a dam. They are doing last-minute preparations for the swim-a-thon, moving like schools of fish swishing to and fro, racing against the current. Jack arrives with an assortment of pizzas—cheese, pepperoni, sausage and hamburger—which fills my kitchen with a yeasty, tangy, greasy smell. Cousin It trembles with anticipation. Her pink tongue drips slobber on the kitchen floor. She stares at the table as if it’s a smorgasbord laid out just for her. The raucous noise, at times, reaches deafening levels.
While the kids jockey for slices of pizza, Jack settles at the kitchen table, tilting back the chair. He asks a cute, perky blonde named Joanne how she did on her history test.
“Ninety-two.”
“Nice.” Jack then slides a foot out and trips a gangly teenage boy, who bumps into Joanne. “Watch it there, Max.” He laughs as the boy’s face turns scarlet. He’s well aware of which boys like which girls and vice versa and has enjoyed trying to set them up. “These swimmers”—he grins at me—“have better moves in the water than on land.”
He seems at home here. At home. The thought wallops me.
A loud chorus flares out by the pool and we turn simultaneously. Some boys toss one of their own into the pool. Jack and I make eye contact and shake our heads. That’s when I realize Jack and I have begun communicating through glances. Then I locate an old beach towel. I head to the back yard and toss it over my shoulder, “You’re not going to abandon me here alone, are you?”
He grins. “I’m not that cruel.” When the doorbell rings, he jumps to his feet. “I’ll get it.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you ran out the door and didn’t come back.”
“Not a chance.” His words light my insides with a heady warmth.
It’s becoming comfortable with him here. So comfortable I don’t feel like I have to dress up but am dressed in my relaxed jeans and oversized T-shirt. The realization makes me trip over my own feet as I stumble out the back door. I lean back against the brick wall, slow my sudden rapid breathing. What are we becoming? A family? As much as I like having Jack around and relying on him, even leaning on him in times of difficulty, I recognize the staccato beat of fear in my heart. Will all this end when the swim-a-thon is over? Will I once again lose a family?
After handing the towel to the soaking boy, his clothes dripping all over the patio, he shakes his head, flinging water worse than Cousin It. Izzie squeals and turns away. I stare down at my now spotted outfit.
“Sorry, Mrs. Redmond.” I consider telling him I’d rather not be “Mrs.” anymore but decide it’s not worth the bother.
Then I notice that three, no four, other boys have shaved their heads.
“What’s up with the new do?” I point to my own head.
He ducks his head and rubs his bare top. “Iz started a trend.”
I glance at my daughter who is sitting on the diving board eating a slice of pizza. Fuzz covers her scalp and gives her a concentration camp survivor look. It always gives me a double take. “So you’re all shaving your heads?”
Jason shoves the soaked boy in the shoulder. “Only those of us who are competitive swimmers.”
My gaze meets Izzie’s and I wink. Trying to contain a smile, I return to the house. Jack is standing in the middle of the den.
His smile has been wiped clean, his eyes have darkened like a storm. “Guess who’s here?”
“We didn’t get the invitation!” Cliff steps around Jack. “Didn’t know there was a party going on. Is it BYOB?”
We. His phrasing makes me freeze. Following in his wake is Barbara. Barbie to those of us who know her well. Of course, she looks radiant. And I look spotted with pool water.
“Cliff! What are you—”
“Wanted to come say hello to Isabel.” He dares to cup my shoulders and press a kiss to my cheek. “Where is she?”
I nod toward the pool. As he moves past me, I’m face-to-face with my ex’s new wife. If I were to look in the mirror, I suspect I’d see Barbara in ten years’ time. “Hello, Barbara. Congratulations. How was your trip?”
“Lovely.”
She slips an arm through her new husband’s—and I catch site of the rock on her manicured finger (a good carat and a half, but not as large as I’d imagined in my worst nightmares). She smiles a purr-fect I-caught-the-canary grin. Good, she can have him.
“Perfectly lovely.”
My gaze slips toward my only friend in the room. “Jack. You’ve met Cliff . . . and his new bride.”
Jack shakes both their hands, but I sense a tightness in Jack’s features, and a wariness in Cliff. “So, you took the jump.”
“A total free fall.” Cliff kisses the top of Barbie’s head like she’s a prized possession.
Her gaze skims over Jack as if checking out what is now off-limits.
The back door opens and Joanne comes inside. She eyes the four of us. “They want more pizza.”
“Why don’t you take the boxes out there?” I help her stack the boxes and hold the door for her.
Cliff’s gaze follows the teenage swimmer. She has long lean legs, firm muscles, and perfect tan. I want to punch my ex. “So you have parties every Friday night with the whole high school?”
“They’ve been working on the swim-a-thon for Lily.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember you telling me about that. Of course. Right. So when is that?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Right.” He looks from me to Jack, and I can almost see the wheels in his head turning as if making little adjustments. “For a minute there I thought maybe you and Jack here were seeing each other.”
Barbara’s hand tightens
on her husband’s arm, and he laughs.
An awkward pause has us all looking at our feet, out the windows toward the kids having fun at the pool, anywhere but at each other. I don’t dare look at Jack. I don’t know what he’s thinking, what excuses he might be struggling with. The love lives of teens seem so much simpler than at my stage. I need something to say or do rather than run screaming from the room. “Would you care for some pizza?”
“We’ve eaten—”
“—not hungry.”
“Oh, well, then.” My mind is a blank. I have nothing to say to either one of them. I’m not sure there is proper etiquette in the ex-wives’ handbook (if there is such a thing) for how to handle situations such as this. Am I required to entertain the new Mrs.? Am I supposed to smile? How many times do I have to turn the other cheek before they crack?
After a long, awkward pause, Cliff claps his hands, the sound making me flinch. “Maybe we’ll just go out and say hello to Isabel.”
“All right.” I slide my hand sideways indicating they’re free to go by themselves. I’m not providing escort.
Cliff takes a large step forward then stops. “So, uh, Kaye, you did tell Isabel, didn’t you?”
I open my eyes wide. “About?”
“Our marriage.”
I’m not inclined to make this easy for him. It’s not necessarily out of spite, more out of a sense of outrage that he would think Jack and I wouldn’t be seeing each other in any way other than playing chaperone to a bunch of teens. Not to mention that Jack didn’t jump in and correct him. Through a gritty I’m-not-going-to-let-you-faze-me smile, I say, “I told her.”
“And?”
“What?” What does he want? A parade?
“How’d she take it?”
“She wasn’t bothered in the least.” I don’t bother telling him her reason being that he wouldn’t be moving back home.
With total ignorance, he grins. “Good.” Then his smile falters as if he’s wondering why or if there’s a punch line that he missed. “Okay then.” He opens the door for his bride and they walk out to the pool together. “We’ll be back.”
Oh, goodie. “Be careful around the edge of the pool, Barbara. It can get slippery when wet. I wouldn’t want you to fall in.”
Cliff shoots me a dark, warning look.
Cousin It spies new victims . . . visitors and launches an attack . . . welcome. Barbara squeals and huddles behind Cliff, forcing him to protect her.
When the door closes, I draw a slow breath. Jack is watching me. Assessing the damage. It’s not Cliff though who has made me feel suddenly weepy. “Sorry about that.”
Jack shrugs. “You handled that well.”
“Yeah, well . . . and about that . . . you know?”
He takes a step toward me, sliding an arm around my waist. His sudden nearness throws me off balance. But his chest is solid and firm. “Wanna be making out when they come back in?”
I laugh, nervous, anxious, eager. Hopeful. “That would certainly shock him.”
He winks. Does that mean he’s kidding or serious? I’m tempted to say “yes” and wrap my arms around his neck and go for it. But instead I step away.
“You let me know. I’m available.” His words confuse me. I search his gaze for a deeper meaning but can’t decipher his motives. His gaze shifts toward the bank of windows looking out over the pool. “How will Isabel react to her guests?”
“I don’t know. She was okay about the marriage.”
“But to have the woman pranced in front of her friends.”
Tilting my head to the side, I study my daughter as she climbs out of the pool. “I know.”
Isabel isn’t smiling. But she’s not pushing Barbara into the pool either. She has more restraint than I do. My gaze shifts across the backyard where Gabe is holding Cousin It by the collar. Let her go! I want to yell but resist. I’m thankful my bad behavior and attitude haven’t rubbed off on Izzie. She locks one arm behind her, and pinches her fingers together, one toe rolling inward. Her nervous stance makes it an easy decision when I hear her cell phone go off. I move away from Jack and toward my sanity, scoop up her cell off the coffee table. Opening the back door, I call, “Iz, your phone.”
She grabs her towel, wrapping it around her lithe body, and jogs toward me. She gives me a quick I-can’t-believe-this look, her gaze boring into me, and takes the phone. She walks toward her bedroom. “Hello?”
Cliff and Bridezilla enter my house again. “Isabel said we could sponsor her per lap.”
“Of course.” I hand him a page from the stack of forms on the kitchen counter.
With a flourish, he signs his name. “What’s the recommended amount?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Jack, how much did you sponsor Gabe for?”
“A hundred.”
“Total?”
“Per lap.”
I recognize the tightening around the corners of Cliff’s eyes. But I also know it’s become a competition to him. He never wants to be seen as cheap. “Sure. Great idea.” He finishes filling out his information. “So what time is this swim-a-thon tomorrow? Maybe we’ll just swing by and check it—”
His words are cut off by the slamming of Izzie’s door. She races down the hall toward us. I only catch a flash of her as she turns toward the front door, but I realize she’s dressed in shirt and shorts. Her face is red and tear-streaked.
“Isabel?” I follow her to the door. But by the time I reopen it, she’s out of sight. “Izzie!” My voice echoes in the stillness.
“I told you she hates me.” Barbara’s voice is low and tight.
“Kaye,” Cliff’s eyebrows slant downward, “you’ve really got to get the kid some help. She needs therapy or something.”
I ignore them and seek out Jack’s gaze. “Where could she have gone?”
“And why?” Jack nods as if answering his own question or reading my thoughts. “I’ll talk to Gabe.”
He goes to the pool, and I can see him kneeling down at the water’s edge and talking to the teen. They don’t look at all alike and yet they seem to go together nicely as a father/son pair. In a swift motion, Gabe pushes up and out of the pool, water sluicing off his lean torso. Jack hands him a towel from a lounge chair.
“What’s Isabel going to do this time?” Barbara tilts her nose upward—did she have a nose job at some point in her life? I imagine her as a teen with a big nose and geeky glasses. “She already shaved her head.”
“She’s really out of control, Kaye.” Cliff chimes in, and his two cents aren’t worth that much.
I meet Gabe at the back door. “Who was on the phone?”
“I don’t know. She was okay before that?”
“Yes, ma’am. Seemed to be.” He towels off before stepping in the house. “I’ll change and go look for her.”
But then my phone starts ringing. “Maybe that’s her.” I grab the receiver. “Hello?”
“Is this Kaye Redmond?”
I swallow a sudden lump in my throat. “Yes.”
“This is Terry’s sister. She wanted me to call.” She pauses long enough for my heart to stutter forward. “Lily”—her voice breaks on the last syllable—“she passed away this evening.”
I sink against the doorframe of my kitchen. “Oh, no.” My throat clogs with tears. I rub a hand over my face and try to think, try to right my world. Pressure pushes on my chest and I manage a breath. “I am so sorry. What can I do to help Terry?”
“Nothing. She just wanted you to know and asked you to continue on with the swim-a-thon.”
“Did you call my daughter, Isabel . . . Izzie, earlier?”
“Uh, yes, I did. Just a few minutes ago. I didn’t know you were related. I just have a list of names and numbers.”
“That explains . . .” My hand clamps around the phone. “Please, tell Terry we’re all thinking of her, praying for her. If there’s anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to call.”
“Thank you. We’ll let you know what the funeral ar
rangements are.”
After I click off the receiver, I stand in the kitchen a moment. My heart pounds and tears threaten again. I let them fall but then try to push them back. I can’t fall apart right now. I have things to do. I must find Izzie.
“Kaye?” Jack’s voice is close but I can’t turn toward him. I can’t face him. If I do, I’ll fall apart.
I grip the arm of a chair, squeezing the wood for support. “Lily passed away this evening.”
Jack swears under his breath. “So that’s why Isabel raced out.”
My throat works against the assault of hot tears. “I need to go look for her.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder. I want to lean into him but I resist.
“I’ll help.” His keys jingle.
“I guess I’ll have to go too,” Cliff adds with a heavy sigh. “Why does Isabel have to be so dramatic?”
I whirl around and glare at him, as if Lily’s death is his fault. “Because she’s a sensitive young woman who cared about someone besides herself. Because she has a heart.”
Which, of course, he doesn’t.
Chapter Twenty-four
It’s dark out, but darker within. My heart feels like it’s weighted with water, bloated and sinking with the knowledge that Lily is gone. I ache for my friend, for my daughter, for all of us. The world is a sadder place without Lily’s smile, without the hope of her recovery. And I know my faith should be a comfort. She is, after all, in heaven, but it was too soon for her to go. Sometimes it just feels like God isn’t listening.
My anxiety climbs at the thought of another child missing from my life. Izzie. Where is she? I need to see her, wrap my arms around her, reassure her and myself that we have each other. No matter what.
My cell phone rings. It’s not Darth Vader. It’s not “If I Loved You”—Cliff’s theme song, which should be—“I Never Loved You.” It’s simply my regular ring tone, but I recognize the number in the tiny window. Gabe. We skip the formalities.
“She’s not at the high school.” His tone is direct, calm, and beyond his years.
“She hasn’t come back to the house.” I sound more alarmed, but then I’m the mom. “Where are you going next?”
