Facelift (28 page)

His mouth flattens, then he smiles—that salesman smile. “Hey! Good to see you.” He moves away from me and toward Jack, reaching forward with a hand. “How are you?”

Jack shakes his hand and stands as I enter the room. “I’ll go on out to the garage so you guys can talk.”

“Here’s my card.” Cliff pulls out his wallet and hands Jack his business card. “I’ve got an idea that might benefit both of us. Give me a call.”

“Jack,” I interrupt the business pitch. “You don’t have to go.”

He moves to the opening into the den, maybe to make a quick getaway, and taps Cliff’s business card against his palm.

Crossing my arms over my stomach, I look to Cliff. “You were saying?”

“Oh, yeah. Uh . . . Mom is having a difficult time resting here. Apparently there have been lots of phone calls and the doorbell ringing.”

“She didn’t tell you what Gabe and Izzie are doing?”

“Who’s Gabe?”

“A friend of Izzie’s. Jack’s nephew. You met him—”

“Of course. Sure, I remember. Nice kid.” He’s on full sales pitch.

“Do you remember Lily Martin?”

He shrugs, shakes his head as if he doesn’t care and doesn’t want to be bothered with trivial matters.

“Iz used to babysit for her. Anyway, we ran into her the other day at the wig shop. She’s been fighting a brain tumor.”

“That’s too bad, but what does it have to do with all this chaos?”

“Izzie wanted to do something to help her, and Gabe joined in.”

Jack leans against the door frame. “It’s sort of a neighborhood Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney ‘let’s put on a show,’ kind of thing.”

Cliff nods enthusiastically in Jack’s direction but his smile is set, his jaw clenched. “But I’ve got my mother calling and complaining.”

“I’m sorry she’s been disturbed. I’ve got a bunch of teens in my garage making signs for the swim-a-thon they’re running. And donations are being dropped off day and night.” I reach for the shoe box I’ve been using to collect the five-, ten-, twenty-dollar bills that have been left on my doorstep. “See?”

His eyes widen slightly. “They’ve raised all this?”

“So far.”

“Kaye,” Jack slides Cliff’s card into his back pocket, “we could move the operation over to my house.”

“Your house is going on the market. You can’t have this kind of thing going on with Realtors and potential buyers coming and going.”

“Don’t worry.” Cliff claps Jack on the back. “I’ll talk to Mother.”

“Maybe,” I suggest, “Marla feels left out. She has a lot of friends at the retirement village. Maybe she’d want to round up some seniors who would donate.”

“Good idea.” Jack’s smile is so wide that a dimple forms on one cheek. “You too, Cliff. I bet you’ve got a prominent circle of friends who—”

“Mother doesn’t need to be running around corralling volunteers.”

I match Jack’s smile and feel a connection between us even across the room. “Then maybe she should go stay at your place for a while.”

Cliff glares at me. “I said I’d talk to her.”

“Thank you.” Then I put a hand on his arm. “How do
you
want to help?”

“What do you mean?”

“We need a Web site set up.”

“I don’t know how to do
that
.”

“Could you set up a bank account for all of the donations that are coming in? We’ll need one for phone donations.”

“Uh . . .” His gaze shifts toward Jack. “Sure. Call me about it later.”

He pulls out his wallet and hands me a few bills, a fifty and twenty from what I can see. “When do you think all this will . . . stop?”

“The swim-a-thon is in a week and a half.”

“I’ll tell Mom things should calm down then.”

Which tells me two things: Marla isn’t looking to move out any time soon, and I won’t be getting any help from Cliff.

Chapter Seventeen

It’s a perfect fall day, bright and sunny with a cooling breeze that ruffles the trees surrounding the park, stirring up memories of crisp apples and pumpkin carvings. A fire truck sits in the nearby parking lot, the firefighters showing off their equipment to children and families who are flocking to the park for the official opening. I hope none of them recognize me from Marla’s desperate call. Many of the parked vans have blue wheelchair stickers on the back windows.

The mayor of Southlake makes a quick speech, praising Gabe’s efforts. “A fine young man with a bright future who will do much good throughout his lifetime.”

Despite his tan, Gabe looks flushed as he endures the spotlight of approval. He’s wearing a green baseball cap to cover his newly bald head. It matches Izzie’s. The crowd of Boy Scouts and swim mates, along with a wide variety of families, clap and cheer as Gabe weaves his way through the crowd to the wooden bench and table. He climbs to the top where the mayor stands and shakes his hand.

The mayor slaps him on the back. “Say something.”

Gabe dips his chin and looks over at Izzie. She beams up at him and clicks a picture with her cell phone.

The crowd encourages him with a smattering of clapping. A baby cries. Behind me, a mother whispers, “We’ll play in a few minutes.”

“Thanks for coming today,” Gabe raises his voice so he can be heard. “I learned through my dad that someone’s life doesn’t have to be long to be effective and change things for the better. And I learned about perseverance through my little sister and all the obstacles she’s had. I wanted to make a difference. Amy never could play with us on playgrounds. And so I wanted to make that possible.” Then he steps down onto the wooden bench seat. “Thanks again.” He gives an awkward wave. “Now let’s go play.”

“You heard him!” the mayor yells over more cheers.

Children run, limp, and roll along into the park discovering the equipment that accommodates metal limbs and wheels. The smiles from so many faces make my throat close and gratefulness surge up inside of me. It’s one of those rare moments when I don’t think the world is going to hell in a handbasket. Maybe there is hope in the next generation with kids like Gabe . . . and Izzie. My concerns for how the swim-a-thon will turn out soften into mushy hope.

I make my way through the small crowd gathered around Gabe and hug him. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Redmond.” He steps back from my embrace and gestures toward a woman with thoughtful brown eyes. “Have you met my mom?”

“It’s an honor.” I reach forward. “What a great son you’ve got here.”

“Pam Thompson.” She shakes my hand. “It’s nice to meet you as well. I hear you have a pretty amazing daughter too.”

“Thank you.”

Together we watch from the edge of the park as healthy and disabled children play, wait in line for the slide, push each other on the swings, smile and laugh together.

“What a wonderful sight. You must be about to burst at what Gabe has accomplished.”

“I am. And I’m grateful to Jack.” She glances over at him as he helps latch a child into a swing, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “He helped make this dream of Gabe’s come true. His dad couldn’t.”

“I am sorry about your loss.”

“It’s been a tough year. But Luke would be so proud of Gabe. I wish he were here to see this.”

“Maybe he’s smiling down from heaven.”

“I’m sure he is.” She clears her throat. “What a wonderful heart Isabel must have to want to reach out to her little friend and make the swim-a-thon happen.”

“Gabe must have rubbed off on her. Before she met him, she was focused on her little world.”

“Being a teen can be rough.”

“Especially when you lose a parent.”

Pam peers at me closer as if with an unvoiced question.

“Divorce.”

“Sometimes that can be tougher than a death.”

I shake my head. “Death is more permanent.”

“You’re right. But it doesn’t have to mean the situation is hopeless. We have an eternal perspective.”

I nod, understanding, and yet . . . even an eternal perspective clouds under tragedy. “Gabe is an amazing young man. I’m very glad he and Izzie are friends. His giving spirit is contagious. Just a few weeks ago she was an unhappy teen, focused on her own problems. Now she’s focused and determined and living for something bigger and greater than herself.”

“You can’t teach that.”

“You can inspire it though.”

Pam smiles. “Jack has certainly done a lot of that with Gabe. He’s become a really good father figure.”

Something in her tone alerts me. Not that I should be alarmed if she’s interested in Jack. It shouldn’t bother me at all. “A lot of men,” my gaze tracks a young boy running from one end of the park to the other, “wouldn’t have bothered or taken the time.”

“Jack isn’t like most men.”

So I’ve noticed. I purposefully steer my gaze away from him and look at Pam then. But she’s watching Gabe and Jack, standing beside each other, smiling and talking to each other as they push two children in swings. My abdomen tightens. “How long have you known him?”

“Since college. I actually dated him before I met and fell in love with Luke.” Her laughter rings out.

“Really?” With that kind of history, it’s just a matter of time before she and Jack get back together. I ignore a twinge of jealousy. I should be happy for Jack. But why can one person find happiness twice when I seem to be having difficulty finding it the first time around?

A boy about the age of ten races up to us and hugs Pam around the middle. His face is red and splotched, shiny with sweat. “Mom, can we get ice cream?”

“Sure.” She reaches for her purse.

“Let me.” I hand the boy a five-dollar bill. He grins but his gaze shifts toward his mother for approval.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“Absolutely.”

When she nods, her son fists the money. “Thanks, lady.”

“Mrs. Redmond,” his mother corrects.

“You’re welcome.” I smile, softening his mother’s formality.

He stuffs the five in his front jeans pocket then races off.

“That’s Grant.”

“He’s cute.”

“He’s a mess. But he has a good heart too. One thing I’m learning is that you have to give it room to grow. Which is why I allowed Gabe to live with Jack temporarily. So you should be congratulated, Kaye, you’re giving Isabel space so she can help others.”

“I hope so.” I stare down at my feet. The ties of my tennis shoes are as knotted as my insides. “It’s not easy.” Even though this woman would probably be my rival if I wanted to be involved with Jack, I feel a connection with her and so I confide, “I’m concerned how it will all turn out. Izzie is very caught up in wanting things to work out for Lily. She isn’t ready to accept the possibility that Lily might not make it.”

“We have to leave those worries in the Lord’s hands.” Her kind eyes look wise, as if they’ve been softened by her family’s heartache. “The kids prayed for a long time that Luke would be healed. But he wasn’t. I worried that would turn them against God. I worried about Gabe’s grades through all of this. What didn’t I worry about? But all my worry didn’t make things better. Our kids are learning a lesson that can’t be taught in school.”

“I agree.” I just wish Cliff would see the benefit too. He was moderate in his response with Jack in the room. But later he called and gave me an earful. “They’re learning life lessons that could shape their future. But not worrying . . . well, it’s easier said than done.”

Pam gives a light laugh. “If everybody could do it, then we wouldn’t call it faith.”

“Oh, look!” I glance toward the parking lot and see Terry pushing a wheelchair where Lily is sitting and grinning. Lily’s wearing her newly constructed wig that looks like a halo of ringlets. “You’ll want to meet Terry.”

A few minutes later we’re sitting around picnic tables with Pam’s children and passing out hand wipes for sticky ice cream smiles. The children slingshot in and out from among us, finally wheeling Lily and Amy over to the slides. With Lily out of earshot, I ask Terry, “How are
you
?”

She gives me a wide smile, which then wavers.

“What’s happened?” I reach for her. “Did you talk to the doctor?”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Pam’s eyes soften. She sits quietly as we both wait for Terry to continue.

“Most people just want happy answers, so I’ve grown accustomed to that being my first response.”

Pam nods as if she’s experienced the same thing.

I lean forward and place a hand on Terry’s arm. “You can just be you here. Happy or sad. Wild and crazy. Or mad as—”

“Probably closer to the latter.” She shrugs a narrow shoulder.

Pam collects the trash her children left on the table and tosses it in a nearby can humming with bees. “Maybe I should go check on my kids.”

“It’s okay.” Terry sniffs, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “You can stay. I don’t have any secrets.”

“Is there something I can do?” I want to ask what the doctors said about Lily but I refrain, knowing Terry will tell me when she’s ready.

She releases a shaky breath. “Miles doesn’t want the swim-a-thon.”

Her statement hits me squarely in the solar plexus. “Why?”

“He says we’re not that desperate. But the fact is, we are. And it’s really just his pride. But that’s not the real problem.”

I tilt my head, waiting for more.

“He wants a divorce.”

“Terry!”

She crosses her arms over her stomach as if that can hold her together. “He says he didn’t bargain for all of this. He can’t handle it.”

“I’m so sorry, Terry.” Tears spring to my eyes. I want to hug my friend and punch her husband at the same time.

“We need to pray.” Pam comes around the table, places a hand on both of our shoulders and completes the circle. And together, under the shade of a pecan tree, we pray for a miracle.