Facelift (33 page)

My days are filled to overflowing with helping Isabel and Gabe with the swim-a-thon by running errands, depositing checks, checking the Facebook page and providing pizza and popcorn for teens who come in and out of my house. In spare moments, when I’m sitting at a traffic light or lying in bed at night in the moment before I fall asleep, I try not to imagine my ex romping around Vegas with Barbie who’s probably wearing a gargantuan diamond on her left hand, and instead conjure up an Elvis impersonator (complete with toupee, potbelly, and polyester blue-suede jumpsuit) marrying them, which gives me a momentary sense of satisfaction.

Then my thoughts drift toward Marla. Guilt is a common companion for me but not in this instance. I simply wish we could part company as friends. Apparently that might be too much to ask from Marla, but still I attempt to reach out to her. She doesn’t answer her phone or return calls. I’m not sure if she went back to her apartment or stayed with Harry. Part of me wishes she would move in with Barbie and Cliff. Which gives me another chuckle.

Mostly though, I want to apologize to her (for what, I’m not sure), but I want her to know that everything is okay. I wish her happiness, which seems elusive to those who are inclined to stay knee-deep in drama. It’s a concern I have about my own daughter who is easily caught up and carried away by chaos. Her reaction to her father’s elopement was my first glimpse at a new, hopeful attitude in her.

And surprisingly, a glimpse into my own craziness. Which might be attributed to Jack.

I attempt to shake off my reactions to him. It’s foolish. Some desperate part of me wishing for something far better than my ex. Jack and Pam should get together. It makes sense as they’ve known each other for years. The kids are comfortable with Jack. He’s already a father to Gabe. Yes, that is definitely how it should go. Maybe that’s why he hesitated before kissing me the other night. Maybe he is torn between what is right and what he desires.

But a tiny fantasy starts in my head, and I convince myself my attraction to Jack is a way to seek revenge on Cliff. My ex would be stunned into silence and one-upped for sure. So I am content with the fantasy and not about to act on it. I’ve already made a fool of myself with Jack. Once . . . okay, twice is too much.

The Tuesday before the swim-a-thon, a simple phone call puts every absurd thought out of my head and places the event in jeopardy.

“Lily’s back in the hospital.” Fear saturates Terry’s voice.

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry, Terry. What can I do to help?”

“Nothing. I just thought you should know. She probably won’t be at the swim-a-thon on Saturday.”

“We understand. What are the doctors saying?”

“She has a blood infection.”

“Oh.” I’m not sure what that means and I waffle about what to say. “There are good antibiotics that can fight that, right?”

“They’re trying.”

I wish I had a medical degree so I’d know how to interpret the information. “What can I do?”

“Pray.”

So with that disturbing news, I call Isabel out of the den where she’s sorting through the pledges that have been made by teachers, businesses, parents, and citizens of Southlake. The numbers have grown astronomically. A good thing about living in a wealthy community is that money abounds, and in this community with churches on almost every corner, giving hearts abound as well.

“Hey, Mrs. Redmond.” Gabe grins up at me from the schedule he’s been concocting on who will swim at what time at the natatorium. “Aren’t you going to swim?” He hands me my own pledge sheet.

“Me?”

“Yeah, Izzie said you were. Jack’s swimming too.”

Remembering my late night swims, thinking about donning a swimsuit in public, which would not showcase my best assets, I waffle yet again. “I’m not a good swimmer.”

“You don’t have to be.” He nudges me with his broad shoulder. “Don’t worry, there’ll be lots of lifeguards around who can save you if you start to drown.”

“Terrific.”

Isabel plops down beside Gabe on the sofa. “I bet you could get some of your clients and friends from church to make pledges, Mom.”

“I’ll think about it.” I tip my head in the direction of her bedroom. “Can I have a word with you, Iz?”

“Sure.” She follows me. “What’s up?” Her gaze is innocent and oblivious to the pounding of my heart that pumps fear through my veins.

I clear my throat. “Terry called. Lily won’t be able to make it Saturday.”

Her face collapses. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“She’s back in the hospital.” I hesitate, then decide I should reveal my concerns. Better to prepare rather than delude ourselves that all will be well. When it might not. “It sounded pretty serious.”

Her face blanches. “Which hospital?”

After I answer, she grabs Gabe and they head out to visit Lily.

I stay at the house, keeping the other volunteers working and finalizing the schedule with Jack’s help when he arrives with burgers and fries for everyone. After a while, all the kids drift back to their own homes, leaving Jack and me alone.

He catches me glancing at the clock on the mantel again. “They’re fine.”

I rub my hands along my thighs and push up from the floor where I copied the schedule onto poster board. “Oh, sure. I know.”

“You trust them, don’t you?”

“As much as any parent trusts a teen. Or teens. And driving.”

“Gabe’s a safe driver.”

“It’s everyone else on the road that worries me.”

He studies me for a moment. “That’s not what you’re worried about.”

“You’re right. It’s Lily . . . and Izzie.” I pace across the room. A shiver ripples through me and I decide to distract myself with another subject. “How’s the house sale going?”

“We had a Realtors’ tour come through today. You’ll be glad to know they all deemed the house beautifully decorated. A real showstopper.”

I’m not sure if it’s his words or that warm gaze that makes my skin tingle.

“And I forgot to tell you, a friend of mine needs to sell his house and will be calling you for your services.”

My gaze slips sideways toward the clock.

“It’s almost eleven o’clock. Does Isabel turn into a pumpkin then?”

“It’s her curfew. And hospitals close up for visitors after . . . what? Eight or nine o’clock?”

“They may have stopped somewhere for dinner. Or to talk. Does Gabe know Izzie’s curfew?”

“Yes.”

“Then he’ll have her back here.”

“I hope so.” The words aren’t completely out of my mouth when my cell phone rings. I recognize the cell number. “Hi, Gabe.”

“We’re on our way home, Mrs. Redmond.”

“It’s kind of late for you to be at the hospital.”

“We went by Lily’s house and picked up some things for her mother.”

“That was nice of you. Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You both have school tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

My worry has nowhere to go, not even to push into anger. “How’s Lily?”

“She seemed okay. She was sitting up in bed, talking and joking around.”

“Good. Then it’s probably just a bump in her road. Hopefully she’ll be out of the hospital soon.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thanks for calling and letting me know you’re on your way.” I close my phone, caress the facing as relief washes through me.

Jack waits for me to fill him in.

“Gabe said Lily was doing okay. They’re on their way.”

Jack rolls up the poster-sized schedule of the swimmers and snaps a rubber band around it. “They’re good kids.”

“They are. I was worried what would happen if . . . well . . . I don’t want to think about it. Izzie is so caught up in helping Lily. She’s determined to help Lily get well.”

Jack cups a hand along my jaw and neckline. My stomach does a slow roll. “I’d tell you not to worry but I suspect that won’t help.”

All I can do is stare up at him, until my gaze drifts downward toward his mouth. The memory of his kiss lingers. “I know something that might take my mind off it.”

“Oh, yeah?” He moves closer.

I can only nod.

He takes my hand and pulls me toward the sofa. “This is what I do when I’m worried.” He sits me down, settling next to me, his arm snug around my shoulders. My heart is pounding in my chest. Maybe this isn’t the time for making out. But I also don’t want to say anything.

Then he looks me straight in the eye, his gaze serious and calm. “I dump
my
stuff at the foot of the cross.”

My chaotic heartbeat slows as guilt flows through my veins. Why didn’t I think of that? Because I was thinking of myself and my own needs. Then, instead of kissing me, he tucks my hand in his and bows his head. At first I’m not sure how to take this abrupt change. But as he begins to pray for Lily, her mother, and Izzie, my heart tumbles head over heels. There was a time when I felt
I
was the only one praying. I’d lie in bed at night, Cliff snoring beside me, and I’d pray for our marriage, our family. But no miracle happened. And now . . . how can I believe?

When Jack gives my hand a gentle squeeze and looks up, I ask, “So you believe in miracles?”

He rubs a thumb over my knuckles, dipping thoughtfully into each groove. “Yeah. They don’t always happen. If Gabe’s dad had lived, that would certainly have been a medical miracle. But I know they happen. I’ve read about them, witnessed them.” His hand cups mine as he studies me for a long, uncomfortable moment. “You don’t?”

I tug my hand back, erase the feel of his skin against mine. Miracles seem as far-fetched as a fairy tale ending of Happily Ever After. “I don’t know.”

Chapter Twenty-two

The next day I stop by the hospital to visit Lily and see if Terry needs anything. Besides the usual flowers, I take some magazines, a stuffed animal, and cookies. Lily sleeps through my entire visit. When her mother slips out of the room briefly to see me off, she hugs me close.

“If you need me, don’t hesitate to call. Okay?”

She nods, tears brimming her eyes but not overflowing. I start to walk away, but then Jack’s prayer comes back to me. Turning back, I place a hand around my friend. The right words elude me. Doubts bombard me. I clutch at the only solid foundation we have and His words, greater than my own, flow of their own accord,
“Our Father, which art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.”

Terry joins me in saying the last couple of lines and then we hug. It feels as if she is putting all the words she can’t say into her embrace, and I try to convey my feelings to her as well.

Not far from the hospital is the retirement village where Marla lives. It’s where Harry lives too. It’s a quiet and peaceful gathering of apartments and houses. There are no children running, yelling, or riding bikes, only a crew of maintenance men sawing branches off a giant pecan tree. All that’s missing is the neon sign—circle with slash through it over pictures of young children. After I check Marla’s apartment and find no one home . . . or at least no one answering the door, I locate Harry’s residence two streets over.

History is filled with the demise of bearers of bad news. I don’t kid myself that the news I’m supposed to drop like a nuclear bomb on Marla will not be well-received. But decapitation isn’t Marla’s style. I imagine she will inflict pain of a different kind. Before I change my mind, I knock on Harry’s door. A heavy, thick wreath decorated with pumpkins and apples, golden and burnt orange leaves along with a gigantic bow overwhelms the small door. I recognize Marla’s handiwork. It reminds me of how close we’re getting to Thanksgiving. Jack would say there is much to give thanks for. In the chaos of my life, I suppose it could all be worse. But I’m not able to go there.

After a moment’s pause, Harry opens the door. He’s wearing his usual mismatched clothes, but I notice his shirt has been ironed. It’s a sure sign Marla’s taken over his life. “Come on in!” He grins and opens the door wide. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“You have?” I step inside the darkened apartment where the shades are drawn, blocking out the bright sunshine. After I blink a moment, allowing my eyes to adjust, I notice the apartment is smaller than Marla’s. It’s quaint, decorated with antiquated furniture that appears to be in pristine condition. The Victorian sofa doesn’t seem to match Harry and I’m guessing reflected his deceased wife’s tastes. The light from the television gives the room a ghostly cast of shadows. Although the sound is muted, I recognize the women on
The View
arguing about something, their mouths stretched tight as they gesticulate wildly.

Harry punches a button on the television and the picture fades into black. He then turns on a table lamp that offers a rosy hue over the room. “How’ve you been, Kaye?”

“Good. And you?”

“Never better.”

“Is Marla here?”

He gestures toward a door along a hallway leading away from us. “She saw you coming up the sidewalk and ran to the bathroom.”

Irritation pulses through me, and I start toward the bathroom. This is getting ridiculous.