Making Faces (44 page)

“
Do I have lipstick on my teeth, Bailey?”
she hissed at her cousin, grimacing in a parody of a smile so he
could see the two white rows of perfect, straight teeth she had
suffered three long years in braces for.

Bailey sighed and shook his head no. “You're
fine, Fern. You look great. Just relax.”

Fern took a deep breath and immediately
started nervously biting the lip she had just covered in a new coat
of coral red lipstick.

“
Crap! Now I know I have lipstick on my
teeth!” she wailed in a voice pitched for his ears alone.

“
I'll be right back, okay? I'm just going
to go to the girl’s room a second. Will you be okay without
me?”

Bailey raised his eyebrows as if to say,
“Are you kidding me, woman?”

Fern hadn't been gone for five seconds
before Bailey was shooting across the dance floor toward the circle
of wrestlers he had been wanting to talk to since arriving at the
Prom with Fern.

Ambrose, Paulie, and Grant had come without
dates. Bailey didn't know why. If he had a chance to ask a girl to
Prom, hold her in his arms, smell her hair, and stand on his own
two legs and dance, he wouldn't let the opportunity pass him
by.

Beans and Jesse were there with girls, but
their dates were huddled a little way off in a serious discussion
about shoes, hair, and dresses–their own and everyone else's.

The five friends all saw Bailey coming at
break-neck speed in his wheelchair, weaving in and out of dancers
on the floor like a man on a mission, and they smiled in greeting.
They were good guys and always made him feel like they didn't mind
having him around.

“
Lookin' good, Sheen.” Grant
whistled.

Paulie straightened Bailey's bow tie just a
smidge, and Ambrose walked around his chair, giving him the once
over.

“
You come stag like the rest of us?”
Ambrose asked, stopping in front of Bailey and sinking to his
haunches so Bailey didn't have to strain his neck to make eye
contact.

“
Speak for yourself, man. I am with the
lovely Lydia,” Beans crooned, his eyes on his date.

Lydia was pretty cute, but she kind of let
it all hang out, and Bailey thought she'd be prettier if she had a
little of Rita's secrecy. Rita showed just enough to suggest it
only got better beneath her clothes. Lydia showed so much you
wondered why she even bothered with clothes. But Beans seemed to
appreciate that about her.

“
Marley looks good.” Bailey complimented
Jesse's girl, and Jesse waggled his eyebrows. “Yes, she does,
Sheen. Yes, she does.”

Marley's dress was pretty revealing too, but
she wasn't as voluptuous as Rita or Lydia, which made it seem less
so. She was slight like Fern, but she had long black hair and an
exotic slant to her eyes and cheekbones. She and Jesse had been a
couple since sophomore year, and they looked good together.

“
I'm here with Fern.” Bailey got right to
the point, not wanting Fern to come back and see him working the
crowd on her behalf. Ambrose immediately rose back to his feet and
Bailey sighed inwardly. Ambrose acted like Fern was a Russian spy
who had tricked him into spilling the country's secrets instead of
a girl who had written him a few love letters and signed someone
else's name. His reaction made Bailey wonder if maybe he had
feelings for Fern after all. You didn't get that angry over
something that didn't matter.

Bailey looked at Paulie and Grant and forged
ahead, hoping Ambrose would hear him out. “You guys that don't have
dates, would you ask her to dance? Fern's always taking care of me,
but it would be nice if she could dance with someone besides her
cousin at her Senior Prom.”

Ambrose took a few steps back and then
turned and walked away without saying a word. Grant and Paulie
watched him go, matching stunned expressions on their faces.

Beans burst into laughter and Jesse whistled
low and slow, shaking his head.

“
Why does he always act like that whenever
anyone says a word about Fern?” Grant wondered, his eyes still on
his friend's retreating back.

Bailey felt his face grow hot and his collar
felt too tight all of a sudden. It took a lot to embarrass Bailey.
Pride was a luxury a kid like him couldn't afford and have any kind
of life, but Ambrose's rebuff had embarrassed him.

“
What is his problem?” Bailey asked,
baffled.

“
I think he has a thing for Fern,” Beans
said, as if that was the most outrageous thing ever.

Bailey shot Beans a look that made Beans
stop short and clear his throat, swallowing his laughter.

“
I would really appreciate it if you guys
would dance with her. If you think you're too damn good for her
then never mind. It's your loss, definitely not hers,” Bailey said,
the heat of embarrassment morphing into anger.

“
Hey Bailey, no problem, man. I'll ask her
to dance.” Grant patted his shoulder, reassuringly.

“
Yeah, I'm in. I like Fern. I'd love to
dance with her,” Paulie agreed, nodding.

“
Me too. I love Fern,” Beans chimed in,
his eyes gleaming with mirth. Bailey decided to let it go. It was
just Beans. He couldn't seem to help himself.

“
You know I got your back, Sheen. But if I
dance with her, she's going to know something's up,” Jesse said
regretfully. “Marley's my girl, and everyone knows it.”

“
That's okay, Jess. You're right. I don't
want to make it too obvious.” Bailey heaved a sigh of
relief.

“
So what you gonna do while we're keeping
Fern busy?” Beans teased.

“
I'm going to dance with Rita,” Bailey
said without pause.

The four wrestlers immediately burst into
whoops and laughter as Bailey smirked and pivoted his chair around.
Fern had just walked back into the gymnasium and was turning this
way and that, looking for him.

“
You guys take care of Fern. I'll take
care of Rita,” he called over his shoulder.

“
We'll take care of her. Don't worry,”
Grant reassured, waving him off.

“
We'll take care of her,” Paulie repeated.
“And I'll take care of Ambrose. He needs someone to look after him
too.”

“Can I stay?” Ambrose cleared his throat. It
was so hard to ask. But he couldn't leave. Not now. They had all
been up most of the night, and dawn was only an hour away. Elliott
Young had taken over at the bakery and Joshua and Rachel Taylor had
rushed to their daughter's side when they got the call. It had only
been two weeks since they were awakened and told to come to the
hospital not knowing what had happened to Bailey. It was clear by
their panic-stricken faces followed by their grateful tears that
they had expected the worst.

Fern and Ambrose were questioned at length by
the responding officers, and Becker Garth was taken to the hospital
in an ambulance and then remanded into police custody. Fern had
refused to go the hospital but had allowed the police to take
pictures of her injuries. She was bruised and scraped, and she
would be sore in the morning, but now she slept in her own bed, and
Ambrose was standing by the front door, his hand on the knob,
asking Joshua Taylor if he could stay the night.

“I don't want to leave. Every time I close my
eyes, I see that bastard dragging her away . . . sorry, sir.”
Ambrose apologized, although he really wasn't sure what other word
he could have used to describe Becker Garth.

“That's okay, Ambrose. My sentiments
exactly,” Joshua Taylor smiled wanly. His eyes roved over Ambrose's
face, and Ambrose knew it wasn't because of his scars. They were
they eyes of a father, trying to ascertain the intentions of a man
who was clearly in love with his daughter.

“I'll make you a bed down here.” He nodded
once and turned, walking away from the door, motioning for Ambrose
to follow. He moved as if he'd aged ten years in the last week, and
Ambrose realized suddenly how old Joshua Taylor really was. He had
to be twenty-five years older than Elliott, which would put him at
seventy. Ambrose had never really thought about Fern's parents,
never really looked at them, the way he'd never really looked at
Fern until that night at the lake.

They must have been fairly old when Fern was
born. How would it feel to discover you were having a child when
you never thought you would? How the pendulum could swing! Such
immeasurable joy at welcoming a miracle into the world, such
unfathomable pain when that child is taken from the world. Tonight
Joshua Taylor had almost lost his miracle, and Ambrose had
witnessed a miracle.

The Pastor took a flat sheet, a pillow, and
an old pink quilt out of a linen closet, walked into the family
room, and began making up the couch as if he'd done it a hundred
times.

“I've got it, sir. Please. I can do that.”
Ambrose rushed to relieve him of the duty, but Fern's father waved
him off and continued tucking the sheet securely into the cushions
and folding it in half so Ambrose could tuck himself inside like a
taco.

“There. You'll be comfortable here. Sometimes
when I've got a lot on my mind and don't want to keep Rachel awake,
I come down here. I've spent a lot of nights on this couch. You're
longer than I am, but I think you'll be fine.”

“Thank you, sir.” Joshua Taylor nodded and
patted Ambrose on the shoulder. He turned as if to leave, but then
paused, looking at the old rug that snuggled up to the couch where
Ambrose would sleep.

“Thank you, Ambrose,” he answered, and his
voice broke with sudden emotion. “I have often worried that when
Bailey died something would happen to Fern. It's an illogical fear,
I know, but their lives have been so entwined, so connected. Angie
and Rachel even discovered that they were pregnant on the same day.
I worried that God had sent Fern for a specific purpose, a specific
mission, and when that mission was fulfilled he would take her
away.”

“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh
away?”

“Yes . . . something like that.”

“I've always hated that quote.”

Joshua Taylor looked surprised, but continued
on. “Tonight, when you called . . . before you even spoke, I knew
something had happened. And I prepared myself to hear the news.
I've never told Rachel about this. I didn't want her to be afraid
with me.” Joshua looked up at Ambrose, and his large brown eyes,
eyes so like Fern's, were filled with emotion.

“You've given me hope, Ambrose. Maybe
restored my faith a little.”

“Restored mine too,” Ambrose admitted.

Joshua Taylor looked surprised once more and
this time he sought clarification. “How so?”

“I wouldn't have heard her scream. I
shouldn't have. I had the radio on. And the mixer. Plus, I don't
hear all that well to begin with,” Ambrose smiled, just a wry twist
of his lips. But this wasn't a moment for levity, and he
immediately became grave once more. “I heard Paulie, my friend
Paulie. You remember Paul Kimball?”

Joshua Taylor nodded once, a brief
affirmation.

“It was like he was standing right next to
me, speaking into my ear. He warned me–told me to listen. Paulie
was always telling us to listen.”

Joshua Taylor's lips started to tremble and
he pressed a hand to his mouth, clearly moved by Ambrose's
account.

“Since Iraq, it's been . . . hard . . . for
me to believe that there is anything after this life. Or, for that
matter, any purpose to this one. We're born, we suffer, we see
people we love suffer, we die. It just all seemed so . . . so
pointless. So cruel. And so final.” Ambrose paused, letting the
memory of Paulie's voice warm him and urge him forward.

“But after tonight, I can't say that anymore.
There's a lot I don't understand . . . but not understanding is
better than not believing.” Ambrose stopped and pinched the bridge
of his nose. He looked at Joshua Taylor for affirmation. “Does that
make any sense at all?”

Joshua Taylor reached for the arm of the
nearest chair and sat abruptly, like his legs could no longer bear
his weight.

“Yes. Yes. It makes perfect sense,” he said
quietly, nodding his head. “Perfect sense.”

Ambrose sat too, the old couch welcoming his
weary frame into her folds.

“You're a good man, Ambrose. My daughter
loves you. I can tell.”

“I love her,” Ambrose said, but stopped
himself from saying more.

“But?” Pastor Taylor asked, the many years of
listening to people's problems making him highly aware when someone
was holding back.

“But Fern likes to take care of people. I'm
worried that my . . . my . . . my . . ‘“ Ambrose couldn't find the
words.

“Need?” Joshua Taylor supplied
delicately.

“My ugly face,” Ambrose corrected abruptly.
“I'm worried my disfigurement makes Fern want to take care of me.
I'm not exactly beautiful, Pastor. What if one day Fern sees me as
I really am and decides my need for her isn't enough?”