Facelift (6 page)

“She lives in a retirement village. I’m sure she won’t be the first to have had a facelift.”

“I’ll be the first disaster. Everyone”—Marla’s voice sounds scratchy “—will stare.”

“Maybe . . .” Dr. Scarr suggests, still staring at me as if he’s found an ally. That, or he’s paying me back for my pointed questions. “She could stay with you.”

“What?”

“Or another family member,” he tacks on as an afterthought.

Marla fixes me with her one fatty eye.

“You could stay with Cliff.” I’m beginning to see my plan coming to fruition. “That’s her beloved son,” I explain to Dr. Scarr.

“They
were
married.” Marla’s voice is decisively clearer than it’s been. Her use of the past tense glares like a neon sign.

“Were?” He pins me with his gaze.

Something inside me compresses, but I lift my chin a notch and meet the doctor eye-to-eye. “Yes, he’s my
ex
. Okay? Marla is my
ex
-mother-in-law. But they called
me
. Of course I came to help.”

McDreamy’s eyebrows arch. He slides a hand in his pocket and pulls out his cell phone again.

Focusing on Marla, I smooth the sheet across her flat stomach. “Of course I’ll come check on you. Every day if you need it.”

She shakes her head. “Cliff works.”

So do I, but I keep that surly thought to myself.

“And
that
woman is there.” Now I know Marla’s true feelings for Barbie, which gives me delicious reassurance. Suddenly my compassion for Marla multiplies exponentially.

The weight of Dr. Scarr’s gaze makes my face swell like I’m trying to lift three hundred pound dumbbells.

“No, Barbie”—I shake my head. “
Barbara
left him. So there’s plenty of room at Cliff’s.”

“But he’s gone
all
the time.” Her words are amazingly clearer, her voice stronger.

“She shouldn’t be totally alone.” McDreamy gives me a slow blink. I’m positive now he’s getting back at me. “Are there other siblings who could bear the—” He stops abruptly and checks the Caller ID on his cell phone, then steps toward the curtain opening. “I need to take this.”

I turn to Marla. Surely she’d rather be with one of her three sons. “Want me to call Chandler or Chris?”

She shakes her head, making the drainage tubes bob and weave.

Fear, guilt, and panic collide. I swallow hard. With three boys . . . men, you’d think there would be someone who could take care of Marla besides me. But Chandler moved to California with his wife. Chris went in the opposite direction with his significant other, who had even more money than his father. Their wives must be more assertive than I ever was in my marriage. But if caring for Marla means I’ll see Cliff more often, then maybe it’ll be worth the ordeal of having her move in with us.
Temporarily
. It is the Christian thing to do, right?

“Are we good here?” Dr. Scarr, still holding his phone, walks back toward Marla’s bed.

“I can stay with her.” Marla points at me.

The doctor’s gaze follows her trajectory. It feels as if I’m splayed out on a slide and shoved under a microscope, all my motivations and reservations being scrutinized and catalogued. But I’ve also been searching for a sign from God, waiting . . . not always so patiently . . . for Him to reveal His will, His plan. Could this be it?

“Well, of course. If that’s what she needs. If that’s what you want, Marla, then . . .” I have to clear my throat to utter my acceptance, “. . . sure.” My throat tightens and I force myself to say the rest. “You can stay with us.”

Maybe this is God’s answer to my prayers. Just maybe Marla living with us will bring Cliff and me back together.

Izzie turns on her heel and retreats to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. The sound echoes through our small three bedroom house. After the divorce I had to downsize, but I insisted on finding a house with a pool so Izzie would enjoy inviting friends over. All of her friends have media rooms that rival any cinema in the area. Some have weekend homes on nearby lakes. I can’t compete.

With a defeated sigh, I follow after her down the narrow hallway, scuffing my bare feet on the worn carpet. My back aches from sitting at the hospital all day. With only a cursory knock on the door, I turn the knob.

“She’s not coming here, Mom! No.”

“She’s your grandmother.”

“I don’t care.” Izzie shrugs a shoulder. She’s lying on her bed, feet propped on the white wicker headboard.

Knowing I’m facing a brick wall, I take a detour. “Who drove you home after school?”

“Some guy.”

Alarm bells go off in my head. “Does
this guy
have a name?”

“Yeah. But you don’t know him. He’s new.”

I pick up dirty laundry off the floor, gathering it in my arms like the courage I’m going to need to once again broach the subject of Marla coming here. But I’m not ready to change the subject again. “We have rules about this sort of thing.”

“You were busy, remember? At the hospital. With
her
.”

I look forward to the day when we can return to communicating in complete sentences. “I’m sorry about that. I was trying to be helpful.” I scoop up one of Izzie’s bras off the floor. “If you told me his name, then I’d sort of be getting to know him.”

“Gabe. All right?” The huffiness in her tone warns me the detour is getting rocky.

“Nice name. Is he cute?”

She shrugs one shoulder.

“Oh, come on. I
know
you notice if a guy is cute or not.”

“Do you?”

I smile and try not to think back to her coach, my new client, and Marla’s doctor. It’s definitely been a surprising day. “Yeah.”

“Okay. In a bad boy kind of way, he is.”

That gets my attention. “And is he a bad boy?”

She gives me a noncommittal shrug. “I’m telling you, Mom, Marla is a nutcase. And she’ll only cause trouble. You
know
how she is.”

“If you’d seen her—”

“Don’t
you
remember—”

“—at the hospital, then you’d feel sorry for her too.”

“—what it was like?”

“Yes, Izzie, I remember.” I smooth back a lock of her long blonde hair off her forehead and toy with the silky threads. “But it’s the right thing to do.”

Her blue eyes blaze. She glares at me from an upside-down angle then swings her legs around and sits upright. “You want him back!” It’s an accusation, not a question. “Admit it.”

Beneath the heat of her indignation, I can only nod. I blink back the tears threatening. “If it’s the Lord’s will.”

She utters a word that isn’t allowed in our house and definitely not in the Lord’s house.

My eyebrow arches. Gritting my teeth and clenching my hands, I make an abrupt turn on my bare heel.

“Why, Mom? Don’t grovel.”

At the door I pause and look back, somewhat composed, but my heart still jackhammers inside my chest. “Because I made a vow. Because marriages aren’t supposed to end as if they don’t matter.”

“I know. I know. Till death do you part. So call Annie. She’ll tell you.”

Annie. My best friend since fourth grade. She lives half a state away in San Antonio. I know exactly what she’d say about my plan, which is why I’m not calling. “Your father and Barbara”— I force out her real name instead of the nickname I’ve called her over the last year in my effort to be the grown-up here—“they broke up.”

She rolls her eyes. “And Dad will go crawling back, begging, giving away more of my college tuition. And ta-da, they’ll be back together. Doin’ the—”

“Isabel!” My hand tightens on the doorknob.

“I’m not stupid, Mom.”

I slump against the door jamb. Defeat settles over me like an iron chain around my neck. “You’re right. So here’s the deal. Your grandmother is coming here for a short visit and that’s final. And you will be polite and helpful and make her feel welcome. Understand?”

She glares right back at me. “If you do this, I’ll—”

“What?”

“Nothing,” she mumbles, backing down. Relief gives me a smidgen of strength. The conversation is over but far from being resolved. She flops back on the bed, plugs in the iPod earbuds to completely tune me out, and begins texting on her cell phone.

Chapter Five

What appears to be a white gardener’s truck sits in Jack Franklin’s circular drive, but no logo identifies the company. Over the last year I’ve learned advertising is vital to business. I park my Volvo behind the truck. Rake and shovel handles stick over the edge of the tailgate. Several refrigerator-sized cardboard boxes are piled into the bed. Around the side of the house, where the battery-powered pink Barbie Jeep still remains, Jack and his son amble toward me. The giant dog lopes alongside, its black hair waving with each springy step.

I roll my window down and wave from the safety of my car. “Hi!”

Jack coils a yellow nylon rope, looping it hand to elbow. “Hello there. How’d your emergency work out?”

His son grabs the oversized puppy by the collar and lowers the truck’s tailgate. The dog jumps into the bed in a seemingly effortless move.

“It’s going to work out just perfectly.” I smile, feeling the possibilities deep in my bones as I climb out of the car. “I’m sorry again that I had to leave so abruptly.”

“No problem. Those things happen.”

He gestures toward the teenage boy who swings himself into the truck’s bed with an ease and agility that accentuates his age. “This is Gabe.”

I realize this is Jack’s truck, not the gardener’s. “Hi, Gabe. We met briefly the other morning. You a Southlake Dragon?”

He rubs his temple with his thumb. “Yes, ma’am.”

“What year?”

“Senior.”

“My daughter’s a junior.”

Gabe nods but doesn’t say anything else. He steps onto the lowered tailgate and pushes the oversized boxes together in the middle.

“You guys doing yard work today?” Why isn’t Gabe in class? If I were Marla, I’d probably blurt out my question. But it’s not my business.

“An Eagle Scout project actually.” Jack loops one end of the rope through a hole in the side of the truck and hands the rest to Gabe.

“That’s terrific.” I eye the boxes curiously, hoping they might be filled with the pinball machines I saw the other day inside Jack’s house.

“We’re taking any and all volunteers.” Gabe wraps the rope around the clumped boxes. “So if you’re interested just show up at Kirkland’s Park the next two Saturdays.”

Jack forms a knot in one end of the rope, and I try to avoid watching the muscles along his arm bunch and twitch with the effort. Then he walks around the truck to the other side where Gabe hands him the other end of the rope.

“So what exactly is the project?” My gaze shifts from man to dog. The beast seems content in the truck, so I hook around the front of my own car to retrieve my books, measuring tape, and notes out of the passenger seat.

Jack pulls down hard on the rope, tightening it around the boxes to hold them firmly in the truck bed. “Tell her, Gabe. It’s your project.”

“We’re making a park accessible to kids with special needs.”

Surprised, my mouth opens briefly until I can pull my faculties together. I watch Gabe for a moment, deeply impressed. He’s obviously not an ordinary teen. “What a wonderful idea.”

The teen’s ears turn red. He adjusts the ropes even though they don’t seem to need it.

“Sounds like quite an undertaking.”

Finishing the last knot in the rope, Jack turns to me. “I’ve got to take this over to the park and get Gabe to school. Did you want to talk about the house?”

“I’d love to when you have a chance.”

“Go on in the house and look around. I won’t be long. The door’s unlocked.”

“Sure, I’ll work up some preliminary figures of what we could do and the cost. I could just leave it, and you could call me when you’ve had a chance to look it over.”

With a warm smile, Jack jumps over the truck’s side, his work boots hitting the gravel drive with a crunch. “Will do.”

“Are you sick?” Izzie’s voice startles me.

I turn, pushing away from the bathroom counter, toothbrush in hand. “You’re up late. Or is it early?”

Izzie leans against the doorjamb. She squints against the glaring light “It’s late.”