Facelift (19 page)

I don’t know anything about Boy Scouts . . . or Girl Scouts for that matter. “So remind me what exactly this project is.”

“Gabe conceived it. He’s altering a park to accommodate disabled kids. I only helped with the funding but he met with all the sponsors and convinced them to invest in his project.” A waiter brings our food and Jack tells them which dishes belong with Gabe and Izzie across the room. Jack ladles out rice for both of us, scooping generous portions onto our plates. He offers me the platters of food first and I take a helping of Thai Chicken while he spoons Orange Beef onto his plate.

“What inspired Gabe?”

“His little sister is disabled. Amy’s never been able to play on regular playgrounds. Neither can any kid with a wheelchair or walker. So Gabe petitioned the city council and got permission. Then he met with some of my wealthier clients and asked for donations. He raised almost fifty thousand dollars. With those donations, we’ve bought equipment plus some was donated to update the park. We’ve already done the grading and repaving. This weekend we’re putting the rest of it together. Gabe’s rallied a bunch of kids from school to help out, along with local troops.”

“He’s some kid.”

Jack grins. It’s a devastatingly charming smile that shines right through to my soul. “I couldn’t be more proud of him if he was my own.”

His comment strikes a nerve in me that resonates outward. If only Cliff would be half as involved in Izzie’s life, but he hasn’t made it to one swim meet since he left. He always has to work. Or he’s out of town. There’s always some excuse. I glance over at Gabe and Isabel. Their heads are inclined toward each other and they’re engaged in what appears to be a deep discussion. What are they talking about?

“So how are things at your place?” Jack interrupts my thoughts.

It’s a delicate subject, which I approach cautiously. “She’s improving.”

“How long will she be with you?”

I blow out a breath as if it were candles on a birthday cake. “I wish I knew.”

“That good, huh?”

Shrugging, I focus on the Thai Chicken, which has a bit of a kick to it. “She means well.” If only I were as convinced as I sound.

“There’s a wide road between meaning well and doing good.”

I laugh. “You must have a Marla in your own life.”

“I’ve known a couple.”

“Is that the reason you’re not married?” The intimate question takes even me by surprise. Jack is a curiosity to me. That’s all.

His mouth twists as he ponders the question. “I’m cautious.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

He hesitates almost too long. So does that mean it’s a fresh wound or too painful to discuss? “I was. She wasn’t.” He lifts a shoulder awkwardly. “We were supposed to get married. And then didn’t. It’s one of the many reasons I’m selling the house. I kept it for a while, telling myself it was a good investment. But it’s become an albatross. It definitely needs a woman’s touch. And well . . .”

His hesitation makes me even more curious. Is he still aching over that love? Or has he chalked it up to experience? “The decorating is my job. The furniture should be delivered tomorrow, by the way.” Back on a safe topic, I relax.

“Good.” The tension in his face eases. It’s easy to see why women chase after him.

“How long have you owned the house?”

“Five years.”

I study him for a minute, seeing the way his hand grips the edge of the table. “She must have really broken your heart.”

“Oh, I’m over her. Tiffany. That was . . .
is
her name.” He shakes his head as if having a discussion with himself. “I’ve learned that once you get to a certain level of income, there’s a reason to be cautious.”

“So women are after your money?” And other things, I surmise, taking in his casual, no-fuss good looks.

“Let’s just say I’ve learned that beauty is often
only
skin deep.”

“And you’re looking for more?”

He leans forward, meeting my gaze squarely. “Absolutely. Looks only last so long.”

“Then it’s the nip-and-tuck stage.” Inwardly, I wince. Cliff nipped me out of his life and tucked his family out of sight. Maybe I should have visited a surgeon like Marla did. Was she just trying to hang onto what she had? Or grasp something more? Maybe I should have tried harder.

Jack grabs an egg roll, bites off the end, chews, and swallows. “I don’t get plastic surgery at all. I understand it’s needed for car accidents and to repair birth defects. But . . .”

“Could it be avoidance?” I voice my own fears and reasons for not pursuing such a course.

“Exactly. We’re all headed in the same direction. You can’t evade death. And seems to me, folks don’t want to think about what could happen, what will eventually happen.”

Nodding, I plunge my fork into fluffy white rice. “They don’t want to have to make a decision about God.”

“You’re right. Interesting that God’s Word says we’ll grow more beautiful with age in heaven, and yet here on earth the opposite happens. Or we see it that way.” For a moment he focuses on eating the egg roll and I scoop up rice. “When Gabe’s father passed away, I knew I couldn’t avoid the issue anymore either.” He leans back, his mouth drawing to the side as if he’s reluctant to share something. “We were best friends since fourth grade and went off to college together. Luke and I once made a bet on who would become a millionaire first.”

His statement surprises me. It sounds so much like something Cliff would say or do. Maybe the two men are more alike than I originally thought. But I suspect something along their paths made them veer onto different trails.

“We came from nothing. Our families had no money. We both made it to college on scholarships.” Having started out at opposite ends of the spectrum from Cliff, maybe Jack was destined for a different outcome. “I’m embarrassed to say I won our bet. I don’t think Luke ever pursued it as seriously as I did though. He found his purpose in life—he was a great husband and father.” Jack remains silent for a long moment, concentrating on his dinner then he glances toward Gabe. “He shouldn’t have died.”

“We all do though some day. We can’t circumvent it.”

“At least he died doing what he knew he was supposed to do.” He stares down at his food, not eating, not pretending to. The weight of his loss rounds his shoulders. “Seems to me, there are better things to spend your money and time on than sucking out fat and lifting . . . well, you know.”

“And what do you spend your money on? Not just those pinball machines.”

“Oh, that.” He laughs. “I bought those for Gabe and his siblings, while their dad was sick and in the aftermath of their dad. They came here on weekends to give their mom a break.” He rubs his chin. “I got carried away. I wanted to distract them. Spoil them. Make up somehow for what they’d lost. Kind of foolish to think anything could take the place of their father.”

His desperation to fix an unfixable situation pierces me. I offer him a tender smile. “It’s sweet of you to try.”

He shrugs and looks toward Gabe and Izzie. “I’m just a glorified uncle, but I think of Pam and Luke’s kids as my own. I want to help them all I can. I promised Luke I would.”

Does he worry the way a parent does? Does he toss and turn at night while contemplating all the things that can go wrong, from some crazy student at school bringing a gun to maneuvering through traffic to bad grades and stupid mistakes? Does he send up prayers of desperation, knowing there is nothing he can do to protect his child from all the dangers of this world?

“I donated the arcade games to local orphanages and church youth groups. That’s why the movers were there last night.”

His generosity admonishes me. What would I have done? Sold them on eBay? Cliff would have. “That’s great.” Maybe Gabe’s unselfish act of establishing a park for challenged kids might not be such an anomaly. “So the house is clear?”

“Ready for the furniture.”

My gaze shifts toward the newest threat to my peace of mind. “You think they’re okay together? Iz and Gabe. I mean—” Heat works its way up from my chest, and I’m unsure if it’s from the spicy Thai Mango or from embarrassment. “I know the trouble teens can get into. And I wouldn’t want them to . . . well, you know.”

Do what I did.
But I keep that to myself. Will Jack’s thoughts go down the same slippery slope?

“Nothing is going to happen in this restaurant.”

A nervous laugh skips out of me. “I didn’t mean here. I just meant—”

“I know what you meant.” His gaze is solemn as if he’s reading my very thoughts, my glaring mistakes. But there is no condemnation in that steady gaze. Simply understanding. “They’re good kids. We’ll keep an eye out for them, but I’m not too worried. I know Gabe.”

“And I know Izzie.”

“Then we should be okay.” His gaze bores into me. “So how is it going on the get-your-husband-back front?”

A flush resurfaces. I tug on my vest and stare down at my napkin. I wish I could report success, even progress. “He’s out of town.”

“That’s not very helpful.”

I twirl my fork in the rice, no longer hungry. “My mother-in-law wants me to date.”

“Her son?”

“Other men.”

“Ouch. But that might be a way for you to regain his interest.” Jack leans forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. “If Cliff thinks others are interested . . . well, that’s how the game works, right? It’s a lot like what you do for a living.”

“Staging?”

“Yeah. Dating is another variation of staging. You know, take someone out, walk them through your life, see how they fit in.”

Why doesn’t that make me feel any better?

“If you need any help in that area”—his voice dips so low I’m not sure I’m hearing him correctly—“let me know.”

“Uh, okay, I’ll let you know.”

Is he offering to be my pretend end table, a prop to help Cliff see himself stationed back in my life? Or is he thinking more of an arm decoration, as in taking my arm, walking through life with me?

When I return home, Gabe and Izzie sit on the front steps still talking intently and Marla watches
The Bachelor
on television, so I put on my running shoes and grab the dog’s leash. Jack’s words create hurdles in my mind that I can’t quite get over. What is my purpose? Jack seems so comfortable, and yet so determined.

So is the dog. Determined, that is. Cousin It drags me along behind as she noses the grass and every mailbox, jerking the leash each time she changes trajectory. Why do I always feel insecure and wishy-washy?

Keeping up a steady pace though, I manage to block out thoughts of Marla, Cliff, Jack, Izzie, and Gabe. I jog past pumpkins and a couple of ghouls dangling from trees, pumping my legs faster and faster until my lungs feel like they might burst, then slow to a walk, my tennis shoes feeling like steel boots; Cousin It still
boing-boing-boings
with energy. My breathing requires all of my attention and distracts me from unanswerable questions.

After a mile, more or less, I return to my house. A splash of water from the backyard tells me Izzie is swimming. Cousin It lunges and barks at the shadows, nearly pulling the leash out of my hand. Then I see a solid figure on the front porch. Could it be Cliff? Jack? My heart kicks into high gear.

As the dog pulls me along behind and we draw closer, I recognize Harry Klum. He stands on the front porch. He bends and holds out a hand for It to sniff. Behind his back, he holds a bouquet of what looks to be self-picked flowers. He’s dressed in his usual mismatched style, wearing a button-down shirt that looks as if it came right out of the package, crease folds still in place. It’s tucked into the elastic waistband (which is stretched to its breaking point) of his crinkly warm-up pants. “How’s Miss Marla? I rang the doorbell several times but no one came.”

“I think my daughter is in the pool. And Marla may have gone to bed.” It’s an easier explanation than
she hides like a teen with bad acne.
I unlock the door with the key I tucked in my sock and push open the door. From down the hallway, I hear water running. “Or maybe she’s taking a bath.”

I don’t know what to tell this kind, thoughtful man. I probably should break the news that he doesn’t stand a chance with Marla. Facing the inevitable is the right thing to do. She’s the most particular woman I’ve ever known. Harry seems her direct opposite. I don’t want to be the one to hurt him, so I dilute the truth. “She’s still not ready for visitors.”

“I understand.” His words are simple but heartfelt. He doesn’t seem to have any expectations.

“Thanks for the flowers, Harry. I’ll tell Marla you came—”

“Kaye?” Marla’s panicked voice startles me.

I peek inside the entryway but don’t see her.

“I’m back, Marla!” Should I warn her she has company?

“Is that the plumber?” she calls from down the hall.

“Plumber?” Did I miss something? I start to close the door and stop at the sight of Harry. “I’m sorry, Harry. I better go.” I have to figure out what Marla is talking about. Maybe she took too many of her pain meds and is hallucinating.

But Harry doesn’t back away. He steps forward. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure.” I turn my back on him. “Marla? Where are you? What’s going on?”