Facelift (10 page)

Jack dips his chin just slightly and his features compress as he stares at the formidable, alien-like creature on my porch.

“Well, I should hope so. I came here to get rest, not be the watchdog of the neighborhood.”

“We’re sorry, ma’am.” Jack’s smile fixes as if Botox has been administered and he can no longer move those muscles. “We didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Marla gives him a dismissive glance and focuses on me. “You’ll just have to tell your boyfriend to come back later.”

“Boyf—? Uh, no.” I take a decisive step away from Jack. “You don’t understand.”

She gives a condescending wave as if she is returning to her throne. “Just keep the noise down.”

Cousin It gives a resounding bark.

Marla turns back, narrows her gaze on the back-talking beast. She bares her teeth and a low growl emerges from her throat. It takes a step back and whimpers. A moment later the front door closes, the sound echoing through the neighborhood.

Jack slowly faces me. His features are blank as if he’s been stunned. “What happened to her?”

“Facelift.”

“Ouch.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“They show before and after pictures, but not
during
for a reason.”

A smile breaks through his shock. “She has the right attitude for what we were talking about.”

“Alpha dog?”

“Was she Darth Vader?”

I tilt my chin downward to hide a smile. “Good guess.”

“And she’s living with you?” He holds a hand up. “Sorry. Not my business.”

“I roll over, remember?” Or maybe I am doing what I want, taking action to get Cliff back. Maybe I need to be more aggressive in that regard. “It’s temporary. Very temporary while she recovers from surgery.”

“That’s cool.”

I stare at him. “Not cool at all. She’s driving me crazy.”

“I meant,” he amends, “cool that she trusts you enough, thinks highly enough about you to depend on you. That says a lot about you as a person.”

I rub my forehead where a headache is gathering like storm clouds. “I don’t know about that. More likely it says I’m a sucker.”

His gaze settles on me, his eyes narrowed, but it doesn’t feel judgmental. In fact, it feels too much like how men used to look at me. That look of interest and discovery. A look that makes my insides flip over like a gooey pancake. “I don’t buy that at all, Kaye.” The rumbling of his voice rattles me. “It’s okay to admit you’re a nice person.”

“To tell you the truth, I have personal motivations in taking Marla in.” My confession will put a strong barrier between us and let Jack know exactly where I stand. “I’m hoping this will lead to reconciliation with my ex.”

His gaze never wavers. There’s not a flicker of disappointment or pity. But he steps toward me. “Now that’s a noble cause.”

The front door opens again, and Gabe jogs out toward the truck carrying a book under his arm.

“Time to go.” Jack smiles. “You’ll call me when the furniture is in?”

I nod, unable to say anything else, confused by an odd hybrid of disillusionment and empowerment.

Chapter Seven

My eyes ease open as a male voice penetrates my sleep-fogged brain. I blink and focus on an angry, frustrated discussion. Who could be angry this early unless they, too, were awakened? Then I catch something about the president, his staff, the White House.

Is Cliff here? He watches CNN and listens to talk radio, usually hurling insults at the talking heads. I throw back the covers and leap to my feet, trip over the blanket, which must have slipped off the side of the sofa bed. Prayer will have to be on the run today. I stumble forward to investigate the jarring voices and pans rattling in the kitchen.

Marla, dressed in a blue robe, actually more a negligee with flowing sleeves and lacy additions, fuzzy slippers with heels, an anomaly I can’t quite grasp this early, along with her newly acquired head gear in place, rearranges a cabinet. I glance around the kitchen, which isn’t big enough to hide a melon baller, and realize she’s alone . . . except for me. No Cliff. From the radio on the counter come the angry male voices, which jangle my nerves as the talk show moves into a commercial and the volume escalates.

From the doorway I watch my ex-mother-in-law move cautiously from side to side, bending her knees, not stooping to reach things down low, not lifting her chin to reach up high, deftly keeping her drainage tube even and steady. Quite a balancing act. Maybe she could audition for Cirque du Soleil. Or a freak show since she resembles
My Favorite Martian.
Still, she makes me feel like a sloth with my mismatched faded red T-shirt and orange threadbare pajama bottoms.

“Marla?” I reach for the volume knob on the radio.

“Good morning!” Her voice sounds chipper despite her gritting her teeth. How does she manage to appear regal with a lopsided antenna bobbing above her swollen left eye? She places a juice glass in a cabinet that contained spices before her arrival. To deal with this, I should have taken an hour or longer for prayer.
Lord, help me!

I finger my right temple, which has begun to throb. “What’s going on?”

“Thought I’d get breakfast started.” She pulls the silverware bin out of the dishwasher. “Isabel should eat heartily before her swim.”

“You’re supposed to be resting.” I manage a calm tone, then add a command as if she’s Cousin It. “Go. Rest. Please.” Thankfully I hold back what I long to say:
Get out of my kitchen!
Instead I offer, “I’ll fix breakfast if you’re hungry.” And she probably is since she didn’t touch the homemade chicken noodle soup I made especially for her. I steer her toward the kitchen table where she sits, poised on the edge of a chair.

“I had my yogurt.” She touches her flat stomach. “Don’t want to need a tummy tuck too.” She gives a slight glance in my direction and I do a quick intake to suck in the dome that has emerged across my once flat belly. Too many late-night snacks since Cliff left. Too many stress snacks—the refrigerator offering comfort when I had no solutions for money troubles, loneliness, and raising a teen all alone.

I close the dishwasher and the cabinet, lean heavily on the counter as I get my bearings. I feel as if I’ve been on one of those spinning rides at the Texas State Fair and the fried butter, fried pickles, and corn dogs are backing up on me. Picking up an egg from the carton, I fold my hand around its coolness. “Did you want an egg?”

Marla taps her fingers on the edges of her knees. “I was
about
to boil some.”

A yawn takes over me for a full ten seconds. “Okay.” I spot a pan on the stove, the water starting to boil, and plop three eggs into the roiling bubbles. “Did you sleep well?”

“Those pills work like a dream. Think I’ll keep taking them after I’ve recovered. No more tossing and turning.”

My eyebrow arcs automatically, but I refrain from stirring the pot. After all, Marla seems to be in a good mood. Instead, I focus on a foil-covered pan. “What’s this?”

“I made a casserole for dinner.” She indicates the dish on the table next to her. “We need to put it in the oven an hour before we want to eat.”

“Marla, you’re a guest. You don’t have to–”

“I would have called takeout, but I couldn’t find any menus. This, however”—her hands bracket the pan—“is Cliff’s favorite.”

My heart kicks up a notch. “Is he coming?”

“I haven’t called him yet. But don’t you think he should?”

Oh, yeah, I do. The sooner the better! Then I glance down at my pathetic pjs and revise that thought to:
After I shower and shop for a new outfit!
“I better wake Izzie. It’s almost time to leave for swim practice.”

“I already woke her.” Marla rises. “She should be ready any minute.”

I want to ask how she managed that feat, but refrain.

“You shouldn’t let Isabel sleep with that nasty dog in her bed.”

“Dog?” My brain begins to clear as I remember Cousin It. “She’s always wanted a dog,” I defend my acquiescence last night when Izzie begged to take It to her room instead of putting her in the crate.

“They’re smelly and carry vermin.”

“Vermin?”

“Fleas.” Marla shivers. “You cannot keep a house clean with animals living with you. It’s like living in a barn.”

As if on cue, the jangle of a collar precedes Cousin It’s arrival. She comes bounding around the corner and jumps at me, but I yell, “No!”

She plants all four feet back on the floor but noses my leg, her tail whipping back and forth.

Satisfied and pleased with my forthrightness, I pat her head. “Good, girl. She is cute though.”

“Cliff hates dogs.”

I frown. “Yes, I know. But she’s a
temporary
guest.” As is Marla. But Cliff will be permanent.

“I certainly hope so.”

She’s not the only one. Cousin It sniffs at the table, just beneath the casserole. Before I can utter a sound, she rears up and places her paws on either side of the foil pan.

“Stop that!’ Marla shrieks. “You
beast
.” She swats at Cousin It’s round, furry backside with a slotted spoon.

I reach forward, grab It’s collar. “Come on, let’s go
out
.”

“Do you think she ruined the casserole?” Marla frets over the crinkled foil.

“It was covered.” I tug the dog toward the back door, but she puts on the brakes. Suddenly I’m embracing the dog’s middle and hefting her forward. When she catches a sniff of the cool morning air, she breaks free and runs outside. I close and lock the door, feeling the need for a tanker to pull up beside me and dump a load of caffeine straight into my veins. I rub my back where the metal bar in the sofa bed attacked me all night and walk back into the kitchen. “Do you want some coffee, Marla?”

“I gave up coffee. It’s not healthy. Causes wrinkles, you know.”

“No, I, uh, didn’t.” But then without coffee, I can’t see my wrinkles in the mirror.

“I should have brought some of my herbal teas. You’d probably sleep better without all that caffeine.”

I’d probably sleep better in my own bed too. Feeling a bit rebellious, I fill the coffeepot with water, grab the coffee tin, and pour the aromatic grounds into the filter. Wrinkles are the least of my worries today.

“Two scoops is enough, dear,” Marla advises from her managerial spot at the table.

I attempt a smile, which doesn’t quite emerge. Is this what Cinderella had to put up with?

“At least that’s how I used to make it for Bradford and Cliff. The other boys never drank coffee much.” She rolls a wrist. “But Cliff thought I made the best coffee in the world. Never a complaint!”

But I’m about to.

“I better check on Izzie.” As I leave the room, Marla mumbles about how I shouldn’t call my beautiful daughter a name that sounds like a lizard.

But I’m not nearly as hotheaded over Marla’s comments as Isabel who is cramming clothes in her bag. I sigh. Each morning dawns with the question: what mood inhabits my daughter this morning?

“What is it with
her
? She told me last night I should style my hair. What does she want? Hot rollers? Or one of those stinky perms?”

I tsk and settle on my daughter’s soft bed, pull the covers up over me, and enjoy the comforting warmth for a moment. I’m tempted to stay right here all day. “I’m sorry.”

“She went through my closet this morning and told me what to wear!”

“Really?”

“She wanted me to wear hose, Mom. Hose! And a dress I wouldn’t wear unless it was Easter. Or a funeral. And only if you made me.”

“It’s okay, Iz. She has different standards. It’s been a while since she was in high school or had high schoolers.”

“Obviously. My friends would think I’m a freak.”

“We wouldn’t want that. Breakfast is almost ready. Marla thinks you should eat before you swim.”

“I’ll throw up.”

“Aim in her direction.”

That coaxes a smile from Izzie.

With a flick of my wrist, I toss back the covers. It doesn’t take much effort to make the bed. Then I place an arm around her shoulders. “This is temporary.”

After school I pick Izzie up and head home. It’s been a long day of transporting Marla to a doctor’s appointment, picking up more prescriptions, buying lunch for her at the restaurant, which sells her favorite chicken noodle soup. Because of course mine didn’t compare. I stayed out of the house for a couple of hours, giving Marla privacy and me a little peace.

Cousin It greets me in the backyard with muddy paw prints on my silk blouse. After wrenching free and pushing through the back door before Cousin It can follow, I stare out the mud-smeared window.

Marla walks over and stands beside me. “She’s been digging.”

Izzie sniffs me. “And it smells like—”

“Well, keep her out! So she doesn’t get it all over the house.” I step away from window. “How long has she been outside?”

“Since you left.”

“All day?” Iz complains.

“Not quite,” I play referee. “But long enough obviously.”

“I’m not a dog sitter,” Marla snaps.

She wasn’t much of a babysitter either. If Cliff asked her to watch the baby so we could go out one night, Marla would say, “You made your bed.”

“Guess I’ll go take a shower.” I glance down at my muddy clothes and hands and get a whiff of my new fragrance.