Facelift (21 page)

The door where Marla disappeared thirty minutes ago opens. “Ms. Redmond?”

I close my magazine. “Yes. That’s me.”

I feel the gazes of the other women looking at me. Do they think I’m pre-op? Or here for my first injection?

The nurse motions for me to follow her. “If you could come this way.”

“Me?” Then I realize Marla probably needs something. “Sure.”

We weave through a maze of hallways, past islands of activities where everyone is either on the phone or scanning charts. I’m shown to an examination room where Marla sits on a comfortable chair as she sips a chilled glass of water.

“Oh, good, Kaye. Have a seat, will you?”

I glance around, realizing the nurse has left us alone. The only option for my backside is the exam table or the doctor’s stool. I decide to remain standing until I can return safely to the waiting area. “What do you need, Marla?”

She sips her water. “If you want some, the nurse will get it.”

“I’m fine. What—”

“I thought while we’re here, you could see Dr. Scarr, see what he can do for you.”

My heart rate skyrockets. “What?”

“Since you’re so determined to get Cliff back, you should probably . . .” She hesitates, waving her hand around her face. “Freshen yourself up. Make the most of your assets.”

Anger bursts inside me and my face grows hot. I cross my arms over my chest, well, propping up my droopy chest and covering my bulging middle. Words flounder around in my head like a fish flopping on the ground. I catch one solid word: “No.” Then I turn on my heel and grab the door handle, but I face her again. “I’ll be waiting in the car.”

“Kaye, don’t get so huffy. I only meant—”

“I know exactly what you meant. And . . . and . . . don’t you understand? Being loved for . . . for
this
. . . for a lie is not really love. I want to be loved for me.”

“Mom, get up.”

I blink open my grainy eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Isabel stands over me, dressed in a pink top and jean cutoffs. “Nothing. I need you to take me to the park to help Gabe.”

I sit up, my back aching from the foldout sofa. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know. Six.”

“In the morning? It’s Saturday.” Our one day to sleep late.
Later
. Except when there’s a swim meet. Already there’s a soft glow coming through the window as the sun rises.

“I can take the car if you don’t want to get up.”

That wakes me up like a splash of cold water. “You don’t have a license yet.” Then I see the smile on her face. I swing my legs off the foldout sofa. “I’m coming.”

“I can call Gabe.”

I rub the sleep from my face. “No, no. It’s okay. I’m up.”

After a quick breakfast of oatmeal, which I figure Marla can swallow without chewing much but which she only stirs with her spoon, we promise to return in a little while.

“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, before 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.