Facelift (26 page)

“Mary,” he finally says, “was sweet as cotton candy. Spunky too. Never met a stranger. Would talk to anybody. Didn’t matter if they were famous or homeless.” He scratches his head as if stirring up a memory. “She met Robert Redford once. We were in New Orleans on vacation. She walked right up to him and started talking like she’d known him her whole life.”

Harry laughs, rubs his jaw. “She told him straight out what she thought of his last movie. She wasn’t no pushover, but she was generous.”

“She sounds wonderful.”

He nods as if caught in his own memories then shrugs. “She was. To me anyway. And Marla . . .”

“What about her?”

“She has many of the same qualities.”

“Marla?” Do I sound as astounded as I feel? “Marla,” I repeat, trying to sound more resolute than quizzical as I run his adjectives through my head and compare them to the woman I know. Sweet? Generous? There’s the set of encyclopedias she gave us for Izzie sitting on my bookshelf. And don’t forget the picture she painted in an art class and gave to us for one of our anniversaries. Then there’s all the advice she hands out so freely, which rarely helps but mostly makes me feel inadequate. Maybe it’s just her way of trying to help.

Harry grins at me. “One of the first things I liked about Marla was when she showed a whole group of us pictures of her grandkids. Pulled out a special folder from her purse and started telling us about each one. She was pleased as punch. She went on and on about Isabel, how beautiful she was, how smart, and bragged about her swim meets. I knew she had a soft heart.”

Am I at fault for not seeing this side of my mother-in-law? Have I been so biased and judgmental that I couldn’t see the good qualities? “Marla?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I shake off my surprise. “But don’t you see that a lot where you live . . . in a retirement village?” I imagine all the elderly people in between Bingo, tap dancing, and trips to the mall showing off pictures of their grandkids. “Don’t they brag about the grandkids every day?”

“Nope. Marla was the first I ever saw. It didn’t seem like bragging or nothing, either. She just told story after story. One about how Isabel called the color brown chocolate when she was a toddler.”

I smile at the memory. Marla always seemed disinterested in Isabel or she was always pointing out faults or ways I could better care for her—how to fix her hair, find cute, frilly dresses. I’m surprised, yet touched, by Harry’s story. What else have I missed? Maybe the barricades in our relationship were as much my fault as hers. Am I too eager to pick out her flaws? Always sure I’ve been slighted?

A tiny crack opens inside my heart and tears rush to the surface. I try to stop them by changing the subject. “So, you were happy in your marriage, Harry?”

“Happy?” He tilts his head sideways as if it’s an odd question. “Oh, sure.” He rubs his thumb along his jaw. “We went through some hard times. Poor times. Struggled some, as most folks do, I reckon. But I’d say we were happy. Happy as can be in this life. Life isn’t always what you expect. It’s tough. But I always knew Mary was there beside me.”

His statement feels like a fork to my heart. Is that what happened to Cliff and me? Didn’t he know I was there for him? Or did he take it for granted? My hesitation in jumping back into a relationship is that I no longer trust that he’ll be there for me.

Which makes me question myself. Have I forgiven him? I’ve tried. I’ve prayed. When those angry feelings start to devour me from the inside out, I pray some more. The fact that he’s never apologized lurks just beneath the surface like a bone spur, continuing to poke me with doubts and spikes of hostility.

“We were a team, Mary and me.” Harry swipes his hands against the back of his pants. “I’m not sure I was always the best husband.”

“Oh, I bet you were.” After all, he’s brought flowers and magazines for Marla. The candy brings another smile that I brush aside.

“I don’t have many regrets in my life. But I wish I’d shown Mary, told her more often, how I felt. Taken more time.”

“Didn’t you?”

“Well, I went to work every day. For her. I came home every night. For her. Oh, I picked up my underwear, scrubbed the kitchen floor a time or two, mowed the lawn. It was
all
for her.” He shifts his feet in the dying grass. “But I wish I’d brought her flowers more often. I wish I’d told her . . .” His voice cracks and he looks away.

I touch his arm, feel the strength of muscle under his flannel shirt, sense the tenderness of his passionate heart. “I’m sure she knew how much you loved her.”

And I pray one day I’ll know a love like that too.

A yellow leaf rolls across the decking and skitters into the pool. Cousin It sits beside me, tongue lolling, as I slip off my robe. The coolness of the evening makes my skin pucker. Since we’ve moved into this house, I’ve only been in the pool twice. Both times when it was just Izzie and me. Even peering down at my black swim- suit, I can see how the lycra stretches more than it used to.

With the gentle night breeze, the water feels colder than I expect and I shiver as I slide into the dark water. Cousin It sits on the edge of the pool, my new lifeguard. At least she won’t tell any secrets.

Stretching my body out, I begin long, lazy strokes and quick little kicks, the water churns into a froth behind me. My mind wanders back to my conversation with Harry. Did Cliff know I loved him by the way I stayed home and took care of his child, creating a home, a haven for him? Or am I as much to blame as he is for the way our marriage shattered? Do I need to apologize as much as he does?

I come spluttering up and tread water for a moment while that new and disturbing thought sinks into me like a heavy anchor. Maybe I’m maturing. Or maybe I’m delusional that simple words can solve complex problems. Maybe Cliff was showing me how much he loved me by going to work every day, supporting me and Izzy.

Actions do speak louder than words.

So what was he saying when he ran off with Barbie?

I dip my face in the water, because I don’t like the answer. And yet I can’t deny the truth. His actions over the past fifteen months (or longer) reveal how much he loves himself.

But there’s another question nipping at the heels of that revelation:
Has he changed?

The Bible says we all sin. So I know I’ve been selfish at times too. But I’ve tried to change. No, more than that. I’ve tried to let God change me. But what about Cliff? For that, I have no answer.

And that disturbs me most of all.

Chapter Sixteen

Tears fill Terry’s eyes and spill over into my heart. My throat tightens as I watch her hug first Isabel then Gabe. We decided that once all the plans were in place and the swim-a-thon was a “go,” we should inform Lily’s family and get their blessing for the event.

Terry’s house is the same—spacious, tastefully decorated—it gives the appearance that all is well. Driving past the front, no one would ever know or suspect the warm, inviting colors are shrouded by fear and grief.

Terry looks over at me sitting on the couch next to Jack. “You should be very proud of your kids.”

Jack claps Gabe on the back. “We are.”

“It was their idea.” Through the glimmer of tears, I smile at the two teenagers, my heart expanding. I loop an arm through Izzie’s as she sits beside me.

Terry grabs a tissue off the end table and dabs her face. “When we started on this journey, I resisted others bringing us dinner or anything, but I soon learned dinners were gifts of the heart. People needed to feel a part of something and help any way they could. By taking what they offered, I was giving them a gift back.”

Guilt tugs at me. I should have been offering meals or help cleaning, something . . . but Terry and I drifted apart, our lives both struck by icebergs of different proportions.

Gabe’s project is a gift of his heart to not only the community but also to his family. I glance over at him leaning against the door jamb. “Gabe is completing his Eagle Scout badge this coming weekend. Tell her what your project is.”

Terry, despite her tears and more pressing concerns, leans forward interested. Gabe straightens, full of confidence and yet without pride. “We’re revamping a park to make it accessible to children who, for whatever reason, can’t utilize the equipment. You should bring Lily.”

“Sounds like a wonderful idea. I hope she can come.”

I touch Terry’s arm. “How
is
she doing?”

With a weary stoop of her shoulders, Terry leans back in the recliner. “She hasn’t been feeling well.” Her voice drops to a hoarse whisper as if she doesn’t want Lily to hear her from down the hall where she’s resting. “I think the cancer is back.” She gives a swift shrug. “But I don’t know that for sure. We have an appointment next week. But I’m pretty sure it is. Her nails are growing.”

My forehead creases.

“I know”—Terry gives a halfhearted, lackluster laugh—“that sounds crazy. But every time the cancer returns, her nails grow like weeds.”

“What do the doctors say about that?”

“Everybody is different.” She sounds like she’s quoting a canned response. “What can they say? They’ve learned to trust a mother’s instinct. They’ll run some tests, and sure enough . . .”

“What will they do this time?” Jack’s brows scrunch into a series of concerned lines. “More chemo?”

She gives a tiny, almost indiscernible shake of her head. Her gaze drifts away from us as if she’s peering into a bleak future.

Izzie squeezes next to me, placing an arm around me, leaning into me for support and pushing me closer to Jack. “If we can just hurry and—”

I place a hand cautiously on her knee, trying to tell her to stop.

“What?” Izzie glares at me, shrugging off my touch. “What’s wrong with that? We
can’t
give up!”

“No one is giving up on Lily, Iz.”

Terry reaches forward and clasps Izzie’s hands within hers. “What she’s trying to tell you is that this is an uphill battle. And the reality is that we’re just trying to buy Lily time.”

“What does that mean?” Izzie’s tone borders on belligerent.

“Izzie.”

“
No!
I want to know.”

“Maybe it’s not any of our business.”

“It’s okay,” Terry’s voice is calm, almost resigned, weary from a long battle I can’t even begin to understand—a battle that makes my troubles seem miniscule in comparison. “It means, Isabel, that Lily can’t win against this cancer. It is terminal. She will die. It’s just a matter of when.”

For a long moment Isabel is silent. Emotions flood her face, sweeping away any calm, polite exterior and churning up anger, fear, grief. The flush of her skin makes the pale fuzz on her scalp stand out starkly. Then she jumps up from the sofa.
“No!”
She bolts for the door. “I won’t believe that.”

The door remains open behind her. The soft night breeze floats through the den, bringing with it the smell of charcoal briquettes. Izzie’s cries fill the stunned silence around me, her great gasping sobs push me to my feet. Gabe meets my gaze. “I’ll go.”

He closes the door quietly behind him. Silence fragrances the room like sprays of carnations, mums, and roses in a funeral home.

I turn my attention to Terry. “I’m so sorry. She—”

“It’s okay. I was like that once.” She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest as if trying to hold herself together. Or maybe she’s already spent more tears than one body holds. “But I’ve come to believe there are worse things than death. Like when your child can’t eat or can’t stop throwing up. When she looks to you to stop the pain, and there is no medicine that works.”

Silence thrums in the room, a silence of acceptance and deep anguish. Jack and I look at each other. He’s seen this before when his best friend fought cancer. Recognition darkens his eyes. I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to believe . . . accept. But I have to think of Terry and sweet Lily.

“Does she know?”

Terry nods, her lips pressed together. “The last time she took chemo, there were some really bad days . . . weeks, and she told me she wasn’t going to survive this. She didn’t even ask. She just knew. When I broke down, she wrapped her little arms around me.” Terry’s voice cracks but she goes on. “She told me it was okay because heaven is a better place.”

“The faith of the little children.” Jack’s voice resonates in my heart.

Terry’s eyes fill again with tears but they don’t spill over. “It seems simplistic to us, but I’ve come to understand it’s profound and deep.”