Facelift (15 page)

All of what? Being a single mother to my hurting teenage daughter? Caring for my husband’s narcissistic mother? To dealing with him? No, I’m not.

“Probably all the wonderful help I’m receiving,” I fire back, following him to the door. It’s definitely an alpha dog statement. But it only gets me a glimpse of my ex’s back as he walks toward his car. I slam the door in return. Immediately I regret my burst of anger. Leaning my head against the wooden door, I feel the hollowness of the wood and yearn for a solid strength in my life. A weak pathetic prayer lifts out of me as I draw in great gulps of air until my own heart rate returns to a more normal tempo.

“Can I help?”

At Jack’s low voice behind me, I find myself fighting sudden helpless, angry tears. I face him. “I’m sorry about this. My mother-in-law . . .
ex
, I should say . . . my daughter . . . and her father . . . What can I say? They’re not a good mix. I can’t believe you had to see all of this. Please believe me this doesn’t happen every—”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

A knock at the door gives me a start. I lean toward the peephole. “My ex.”

Jack nods and steps back into the den, presumably to give us privacy.

I take a deep breath and open the door. “Forget dessert?”

He chuckles then ducks his head, looking down at the welcome mat. “That was uncalled for. I didn’t mean it.”

Not exactly a firm apology but close enough. “It’s okay.”

He tips his head back and releases a pent-up breath. Looks up at the stars for a moment, then back at me. Tipping his head to one side, he motions for me to step onto the porch. When I do, letting the door close behind me, his hands encircle my waist. “You’re looking good, Kaye.”

“You noticed?” A stupid response that flashes my insecurity. His abrupt change startles me, kicks my heart into gear. Why couldn’t I have just said, ‘thanks,’ and left it at that?

“Of course. I always notice.” He leans toward me, pressing his body against mine and my back bumps the brick wall. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Me either.” Disappointment twists my insides. He’s never uttered “I’m sorry,” not even for his adventure with Barbie. The feel of his hands cupping my waist distracts me. I squirm, irritated at myself now more than Cliff.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He leans closer, draws a deep breath, and I feel his chest expand against mine. “What were we saying?”

“She can be . . .” I lose track of my thoughts as I breathe in his scent. It’s different from the cologne he used when we were married. But this is nice. More than nice. “What?”

He dips his head and nibbles along my neck. Tingly sensations shoot along my nerves, and I’m not sure if it’s a distress call or an “all-hands-on-deck” signal. “You’re not serious about that yahoo, are you?”

My brain fogs over. “Yahoo?”

“That guy . . . Jake . . .”

“Jack.”

“Is he more than a client?”

“Oh, uh . . .” My thoughts drift to what his hands are doing along my back. I revel in the sensations, snuggle closer, my arms embracing his shoulders. “Hmm . . .” What was the question? “Yes.”

He pauses an inch below my earlobe. “So you are serious about him?”

My heart begins a staccato beat, working its way up to my throat. I scramble. My brain rewinds, replays. Cliff. Jack. Trouble. “He’s a client. That’s all.”

“Good.” He nuzzles my neck and I relax into his arms, my hands working their way along his shoulders and toward his hairline. “Thanks for watching out for Mom. She can be a handful.”

Words fracture apart as the sensations I’ve needed, longed for, stampede through my body. A vibration zings my hip. He pulls back, yanks out his cell phone, and checks the Caller ID. “I have to go.”

“Work?” I tug on his shoulders in an effort to pull him back.

He pockets the phone and hooks his arms around my waist. I lift my lips to his and kiss him, but he pulls back first. “I have to go.”

This is not how it’s supposed to go. Cinderella left Prince Charming holding a glass slipper. Desire building. Passion deferred. Which made Prince Charming chase after her. But Cliff is leaving, backing away, leaving me holding the bag . . . er, his mother. I attempt to camouflage my disappointment beneath a smile. “Okay. Come for dinner again if you want.”

“I will.” He squeezes my waist and moves away. “Maybe I’ll stay for dessert next time.”

Longing swells inside me.

He’s halfway to his car before he turns back. “I’ll be out of town for a few days. Business. I’ll call to check on Mom.”

Mom. Not Izzie. Not even me. Holding back a frown of frustration, I watch him jog down the walkway and slide into his BMW convertible. He revs the engine before peeling off down the street like he’s a teenager. I give myself a minute to recompose myself, readjust my blouse, and fluff my hair back into place. For a moment I’m unsure what just happened. Was the evening a success or failure? I glance up at the stars as if searching for God’s answer and decide the dinner was a step in the right direction.

I find Jack leafing through a decorating magazine in my den. A splash of water from the pool tells me where Gabe is. Maybe even Cousin It.

“Sorry about that.” I gesture toward the front door. “Cliff, uh . . . forgot something.” His wife. His family. His responsibilities.

“No problem.” He closes the magazine and sets it back in its rightful place alongside other magazines on the coffee table. “Figured Mom and Dad needed a few minutes to confer.”

“Did Izzie . . . Isabel make another appearance?”

He shakes his head.

“Probably for the best.”

“She’ll be okay.”

Empty words. How does he know? I should be relieved she
only
shaved her head. She could cut herself. Or jump in the car and go driving. Without a license. But how does Jack know those events aren’t right around the corner?

Unsure if I should check on Izzie or leave her alone, I stand in the middle of the room. Jack pats the cushion next to him. Reluctantly I take the seat. It’s easier than dealing with another emotional scene at the moment. “I’m not so sure it was a good idea for me to invite Marla to stay with us. Izzie isn’t fond of Cliff’s mom.”

“I admire you for taking in your ex-mother-in-law when she needed help. I’m sure it can’t be easy, but maybe it will show Isabel about real love.”

Guilt tightens its grip on my stomach. “My motives weren’t totally altruistic.”

He studies me for a long, slow minute and I feel stripped of all pretenses. It’s exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. “You’re hoping to get your ex back.”

My foot turns inward and I cross my arms over my stomach. “That obvious, huh?”

He shrugs, stretches his arm out along the back of the sofa. “I’m not too smart, but I can connect the dots.”

I rub my hands over my elbows and glance up at the ceiling. A tiny cobweb has started in the corner, a string dangling from one wall to the next as precarious as my hopes. “I’m trying to do God’s will.”

“And you believe getting your ex back is God’s will?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

He nods. “Admirable. Maybe I can help.”

I blink. “How? Send him a note? Waylay him in the alley?”

He chuckles then shrugs one shoulder. “I’m a man.”

So I noticed. I train my gaze to remain on his.

“I know how men think, what they like.”

My arms tighten. “Twenty-somethings? Blonde? Blue eyes? Big—”

“Not all men are like that.”

“You’re saying you wouldn’t want a twenty-something who looks like Barbie?”

“Are you asking for a confession?” He leans toward me. “Okay, for maybe five minutes. But once you get past the big—”

“Fake,” I add.

“—ness.” He grins. It’s a mischievous smile that is disarming and contagious. “Then yeah, I’d be bored.”

“You’d be an anomaly.”

His gaze roams over me. “You look great. Maybe you don’t need my help.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m doing everything wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Some men are threatened by a strong woman. Have you thought of that?”

I flex my bicep. “And you’re not?”

“Honestly? I can’t stand it when a woman isn’t strong enough to challenge me, to stand toe-to-toe. Not physically, but mentally.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” And I’m a bit relieved he doesn’t want to arm wrestle.

His gaze seems to penetrate, as if he’s trying to read my thoughts. “What were you like when you were married?”

I shrug. “Not alpha.”

He raises a dubious brow. “I don’t see you as the roll-over-and-take-it type that you claim to be.”

“Oh, really?” My forearms press into my belly.

He scooches over a few inches, intruding on my space—and my peace of mind. Not that I had much of that to begin with. “I think you are more than capable of getting exactly what you want.”

“That’s not a compliment. You think I’m manipulative.”

“Are you?” His mouth pulls sideways. “That is definitely one universal turnoff for men.” He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “But men are split on the other extremes. Some only want simpering twenty-somethings who cater to their every need. And others”—he turns his head and looks at me over his rounded shoulder—“like a challenge.”

Is he telling me something? My pulse skitters, and I don’t know how to respond, what to say. Maybe it’s simply his frank analysis that unnerves me. Or again it’s my imagination at work. “You seem more insightful than most men I know.”

Jack claps his hands together between his knees. “I was a psych major in college. Old habit. So, you’re trying to do God’s will. But is Cliff?”

“He’s a good man. Really. He cares about his mother. That’s a good thing, right?” I finger-comb back my new do, a tangle snags on the edge of a nail. “This hasn’t been a great impression I’m making here on you, as a client, that is.”

“You’ve already got my business, Kaye. You were gracious enough to open your house to us this evening. Not to mention Cousin It. Not every business—or woman—would do that. I’d say our relationship has moved past work-related to friends.”

Friends. Okay. That’s all right. I can handle friendship. Maybe I misread his statements earlier. He wouldn’t be interested in me. Especially after he’s learned about the boatload of baggage I carry, from my sex life to my angry daughter, not to mention my ex-husband and ex-mother-in-law. But I remind myself, Cinderella came with baggage too. And Snow White came with seven sleepy, dopey, grumpy dwarfs.

I crane my neck toward the back door and watch Gabe swimming laps in the pool. Being tall and lanky, it takes him approximately four whole strokes to reach the other end of our small pool. “Gabe seems like a good kid.”

“He hasn’t shaved his head, but then swim season is approaching.”

“Ha-ha.” My fingers touch the ends of my newly trimmed locks, self-consciously or worriedly. “Not sure what’s going to happen with that. Do I buy Iz a hat? A wig? A therapist?”

“She’ll let you know what she needs.”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my bent knees and study my fingernails. My shoulder is barely an inch from Jack’s. “Parenting isn’t for wimps. When I signed up for this gig, I had no idea how tough it would be.”

“I can only imagine. I’m only a part-time uncle, not even close to being a parent, but it certainly gives the nerves a workout.”

“How’s Gabe’s mom doing after losing her husband?”

“As well as anyone can. She’s overwhelmed. Scared. Okay one day. Not the next.”

No words or insights come to me, so I remain quiet.

“Pam’s grateful I can help Gabe with his project. She has her hands full with the other kids. There’s three more, all younger than Gabe.” He reaches over and brushes the back of his fingers against my hand. His touch has an electrical current attached and causes my nerves to hum.
Get a grip, Kaye. He’s trying to reassure you, not turn you on.
“Isabel is a good kid too. She’s been kind to Gabe, made him feel welcome.”

Slowly I lean back, breaking contact with him. “Izzie is a good kid. Just going through a hard time with her dad. I did the same thing when I was about her age.”

“You shaved your head?”

I laugh. “No. I, well, uh . . . the trouble I got into had more lasting consequences.”

He watches me, his gaze full of quiet sincerity and open curiosity.

“My parents divorced the fall I went off to college.”

“Hard thing for a kid to deal with.”

“I never saw it coming. They never fought. They were always polite to each other. Maybe too polite. Too unreal. But I suppose they were simply waiting for me to grow up and move off on my own. It was a quick, painless divorce. At least that’s what they said. Maybe it was for them.”

“But not for you.”

“I felt abandoned. They were both busy getting on with their lives.” I study the palm of my hand, rubbing my thumb along a crease. “I came to the conclusion, right or wrong, they’d simply lost the passion in their marriage. So very passionate men attracted me.”

“Cliff.” Jack’s voice stuns me as if I’d forgotten for the moment he was even there.

Roughened, raw emotions stick in my throat. “What about you? Did your parents divorce?”