Facelift (30 page)

“I was coming to see Marla Redmond.”

“Is that you, ma’am?”

“No. I’m Kaye Redmond.” I prop a hand on my hip. “You’re a little late.” When Anderson’s eyes widen, I realize belatedly how dire that sounded. “She’s all right.”

“Excuse me.” Harry brushes past me carrying Marla’s large suitcase. He pauses when he sees Mr. Sterling. “Andy.”

“Harry?”

The officer crosses his arms. “What’s going on here?”

“More than you know,” I mutter. “Harry! Where are you going? What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Kaye. Marla insisted. She’s packing the rest of her things now.”

“Packing?” But how will I explain this to Cliff? I lean heavily against the door.

“You sure everything is okay, ma’am?” The officer stares at me as if expecting an honest answer.

I’m not sure I have one for him, but I meet his inquiring gaze. “Have you ever had one of those days?”

“If it’s not an emergency, then I’ll be going.”

“Not
your
kind of emergency.” I follow Harry out the door. But I’m guessing fireworks are about to erupt.

Just as the police cruiser squawks its siren before pulling out and leaving us behind, Izzie and Gabe round the corner with Cousin It loping alongside, tethered by her leash. When they see the cruiser, they pick up their pace. With Harry burdened by the suitcases and carrying them toward his station wagon, and Anderson walking into my house, I stand in the yard alone and greet my daughter and Gabe.

“Mom! What is going on?”

I smile and shake my head. “Hard to explain. It’s all a misunderstanding.”

“What’s Mr. Klum doing with Marla’s suitcases?”

“Apparently she’s decided to leave.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Let’s not talk about it right now. Okay?”

Then Marla walks out of the house. She’s wearing dark glasses and a scarf over her hair. With head down, she pulls the wrap tightly around her and doesn’t bother to pause and talk to Mr. Sterling who follows behind her like a lost puppy.

“Marla!” Anderson chases after her. “What are you doing? Have you lost your—?” He grabs her arm, turns her to face him. “What happened to your face? Did Harry do that?” He clenches his fist at the sight of the last remaining bruises. Didn’t she tell him about her surgery? “I’m gonna kill him!”

Marla stops Anderson with a firm hand on his arm. “You will do no such thing.”

“But he’s hurt you!”

“He has
not
hurt me. Good grief. Don’t be so dramatic.” She touches the side of her face where the final bruises are receding into her hairline.

“Then . . . what?”

She purses her lips. “Stop this, Anderson. We’re not seeing each other anymore.”

“You’re leaving with Harry? Harry Klum!”

Her lips purse. “Yes.”

“But why?”

“Because he sees me in a way no one else has.”

“And how’s that?”

“Like a real woman.”

“What does that mean?”

Should I hide behind the mailbox and allow them a private moment? It’s all too fascinating, appalling in some warped way, yet definitely eye-opening.

Anderson shakes his head as if Marla is making the worst mistake of her life and turns back toward his car. As he jerks it into gear and pulls away from the curb, a vase of red roses tips over in the passenger seat.

Marla passes me, not meeting my gaze, and I rush forward. “Marla! Let’s talk about this. You don’t have to leave.” I can’t believe what I hear myself saying! But this isn’t how I want our time together to end. “Not like this anyway.”

She holds up her hand but doesn’t look in my direction. Her scarf flaps in the breeze. She lifts her chin high, and her spine stiffens.

“Let’s talk about this.”

“Do
not
say a word.” She waits at the curb for Harry to drive the car forward ten feet. “I do not want to discuss this situation. Ever.”

Of course, she’s embarrassed. I am too. But not talking isn’t going to solve our problem. “Look, Marla, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. Honest. I thought you were hurt. I thought—”

She jerks open the car door, slides into her seat, and slams the door shut. She stares straight ahead, not looking in my direction.

“What happened, Mom?” Isabel stands beside me.

I want to tell her this isn’t the worst thing that could happen. There are a lot worse things out there that I don’t even want to mention or think about, things that my friend Terry is having to face. And I realize that Marla has been running her entire life. Running from fear or to get something that will make her happy. But none of that will work. “You can’t keep running.”

Still, she won’t look in my direction.

I tap the window. But there’s no response. I sigh, look to Harry for help. His hands rest on the steering wheel. He shifts the car into Park and opens his door. Slowly he gets out and looks at me across the hood. “Don’t worry, Miss Kaye. I’ll take good care of her.”

“But where are you taking her? Back to her apartment?”

“To my place in the village.”

As they drive off, I watch Harry’s dull red taillights, then his blinker flashes momentarily before he turns the corner.

“Mom, what happened?”

I shake my head. “I came home, heard a strange noise . . . thought it was Marla in pain.” I lower my voice. “She and Harry were”—I tilt my head to the side—“you know.”

Izzie stares at me for a full minute before I see the spark of understanding in her blue eyes. “Eew!”

“Yeah, well, there you go.”

Chapter Nineteen

Sometimes I feel as if I’m standing on the brink, teetering, tipping over. Gravity can have its way or I can lean into the force to make it a semblance of a dive. Would that make me feel better, make me feel as if I’m still in control?

Tonight I literally stand with my toes on the edge of the pool and imagine standing on the blocks at the swim-a-thon, leaning over, sticking my backside out for the world to see, and then . . . belly flopping into the water.
Chin down. Keep chin tucked under.
Since I won’t have to wait for a “whistle” or “gun,” then I can go like lightning. Before anyone has a chance to really notice my . . . shortcomings. The water will cover a multitude of sins. Or so I hope. Because my Lycra bathing suit will not.

With Marla gone and Izzie doing homework with Gabe, I back away from my pool and pretend to walk up to the blocks. With one swift move, I pull my cover-up over my head, toss it onto my towel, step on the “blocks,” which tonight is only the tile-rimmed edge of the pool and dive for the water. It’s chilled and I come up gasping. My thighs hit the top of the water hard, and my skin stings. At least I’m fully immersed in the water. From here, I can swim. Kick a lot. Splashing—lots of splashing—covers my poor form. Or so I hope.

In the meantime I need practice. Not only to build up my stamina but to whittle down my deficiencies. Of which there are many.

I swim laps with Cousin It sitting on the side of the pool, her tongue lolling, brown eyes watchful. I hope she makes a good lifeguard if I suddenly need her. But a scream or holler would bring Izzie and Gabe if I get a sudden cramp.

As I reach forward in stroke after stroke, my mind drifts, lapping over the most recent events. Tomorrow I’ll call Marla. That is, if she’ll take my call. Until then, there’s nothing I can do about the situation.

Besides Izzie’s
eew!
, she hasn’t said much about her grandmother’s behavior. Lack of decorum has become all too common in this family. It’s not the example I want set for Izzie on how to conduct a relationship. She’s bombarded from the news and movies to magazines and books, with the belief that normalcy is relative. Marla’s actions may be what society calls the norm, but aren’t Christians called to a higher standard? Shouldn’t we at least make an attempt to do things God’s way?

It solidifies my reasons for, and hardens my determination to get Cliff back. If Izzie sees how her mother handles herself in relationships, and that a marriage
can
work out, even after a betrayal, then maybe it will encourage and help her understand the power of prayer.

It should be no surprise when Cliff arrives at the house. But I’m not at all prepared. Instead of dressed and ready with a quick line about his mother’s leaving, I’m bobbing in the deep end, treading water, huffing and puffing from all my exercise when Cousin It’s warning barks resound off the rooftop.

“It! Stop!”

She stops barking and starts wagging her tail, rounding the end of the pool to greet Cliff.

He frowns and puts out a hand. “Get back. Stay put.”

She hesitates, wavering, as if unsure what to do.

I eye my towel. How ladylike can I manage to get out of the pool and retrieve my towel and cover-up? With it dark except for the pool light, I hope my flab won’t be too apparent to my ex and make him long for Barbie again. So, gathering my courage as my arms are beginning to feel like limp spaghetti, I make it to the side of the pool and climb the short ladder. The cool, night air hits my body, and I shiver. I dash past Cousin It and scoop up my towel. She grabs my cover-up and takes off with it. But at least she’s out of the way. Wrapped like a hasty, last-minute present, I face Cliff. “Hi.” I pray Marla hasn’t made me into the villain in our latest confrontation. “How are you?”

“Good.” He looks good in a dark suit. His crisp white shirt hugs his neck. He walks forward and leans in for a brief kiss on my cheek. His face is cool from the blast of air conditioning in his car, but his lips are warm. A surprise. And I take it as a good sign. “We need to talk.”

I nod but don’t offer to go into the house. This is our best chance at privacy. “I thought so.”

He turns away from me, and I brace myself for a serious discussion about his mother. He tilts his head back and peers up at the night sky where gossamer clouds whisper past. “It’s nice back here.”

“Thanks.” Pride blossoms inside me. Accomplishing this much as a single mother was important to me. I’ve never owned anything on my own, and this step of independence from Cliff was scary and difficult. For him to acknowledge my little achievement warms me.

His silence, however, worries me. I give him a minute, but he doesn’t say anything else. “So what did
she
tell you?”

He turns back to face me, his right eyebrow arched. “Who?”

“Your mother?”

His left matches his right. “I haven’t talked to her.” Then his brows scrunch into a frown I recognize from experience. “Why? What’s wrong?”

I roll my lips inward, wishing now I hadn’t said anything. Patience has not always been one of my virtues. “That’s not why you came over?”

“No.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

I swallow hard. Is it about Jack then? I don’t want to get into that either. Marla seems like a safer topic. “So you don’t know that she moved out?”

His gaze shifts toward the house then back. “She’s not here?”

I shake my head. “Not anymore.”

“Where is she? What happened?”

“It was a misunderstanding. Really. And she overreacted a little.” An understatement to be sure.

“Mother will get over it.” His statement surprises me. The way he relaxes his arms and frown, he seems suddenly relieved, almost glad. Which makes me frown. What is going on? What
did
he come to talk to me about? Us? Remembering the jealousy he displayed when we were at the burger joint, hope begins to rise inside me. I take a step toward him, wrapping my arms around myself, suspecting his arms will soon be warming me. “So what did you want to discuss?”

“I need a favor.”

I hesitate but only briefly. A favor of a kiss? A favor of forgiveness? “Okay.”

He glances at his watch. “Two favors.”

I smile, knowing where this is headed. I’ve known Cliff for eighteen years. He’s not one to come out and say what he wants. He’s a salesman, making whatever he wants sound beneficial to others. I suspect he’s going to ask to get back together. Why else would he be so dressed up? Why else would he not know or care where his mother is? I decide I will toy with him, drag this out only slightly before giving in. I give him a half-lidded glance. “What is it?”

“I thought maybe you could tell Isabel, but it wouldn’t hurt if you were the one to tell Mother too.”

It’s definitely a backhanded way to get around to our reconciliation, but I will be happy to be the one to spread the news. “About?”

He meets my gaze then glances down, scuffs his dress shoe against the decking. He blows out a rush of air at the pale half-pie moon. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

“You don’t have to be worried, Cliff.” I place a hand on his arm. Saying he’s sorry has never been easy for him. “You know I—”

He pulls his hand away, plants it on his hip. “Here’s the deal. I’m getting married.”

My smile widens. “Yes, I know.”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight?” It’s not exactly a down-on-the-knee proposal, but I know how Cliff works. I touch my wet hair. How will I have time to pack? To dry my hair? Use my Velcro rollers? But none of it matters. I can be ready in a flash. “What time is the flight?”

His stares down his aquiline nose. “Two hours. You sure are understanding about this.”