Facelift (14 page)

I start to form a rebuttal but silence seems the best answer. I just hope I haven’t pushed Cliff too far. But for now, I’ll let his thoughts smolder. He can think what he wants. Covering my hands with thick quilted mitts, I pull the casserole out of the oven. “Dinner’s ready.”

Are we having fun yet?

We’re sitting around the too-small kitchen table. I added the extension in the middle, so now the table is too big for the kitchen nook and yet still too small for six people. Or should I say two enormous egos. Cousin It lies beneath the table, sniffing the aromas with her big, black nose. Izzie glares at her grandmother over another hair comment. “If you pulled it back off your face—” Marla’s words set off fireworks. All of which I tried to snuff out with perky chitchat. Cliff stares suspiciously at Gabe as if the young man might be guilty of
thinking
all the things Cliff was guilty of
doing
in his youth.

Now Marla sticks her slightly disjointed nose into Jack’s business. “How many clients do you have?”

“I’ve never counted.” Jack concentrates on forking his salad.

“
Really
.” The way she says it implies incompetence. “Are most repeat customers?”

“I’d say so.” He stuffs a fork full of lettuce into his mouth as if to keep from saying anything else. Definitely a wise man.

“And how many trips do you put together in a year?”

He takes his time chewing then swallows. “A few.”

Undeterred Marla presses harder. “And do you take all of those trips with your clients?”

“No, ma’am. Not anymore.”

“So you handle more than you have time to actually guide?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His politeness highlights how irritated I usually get over her twenty questions. I wish I had his calm reserve.

Cliff leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, a smirk of approval on his face. Obviously he’s enjoying himself while his mother continues her questioning. Is this good cop/bad cop?

“And do you only handle individual trips?”

“We handle company retreats as well.”

“Ah, well.” She dabs her mouth. “That’s probably where the big bucks are.” Carefully, she places her napkin back in her lap. “Has the economic downturn affected your business?”

“Not particularly.”

“Interesting.”

“Pass the casserole, Jack.” Gabe has gobbled down his first helping. I’m not sure if it’s because he likes it or is nervous at the tension in the air. From his quick glance at Marla, I ascertain he’s trying to divert her attention. But that was a mistake. Her one good eye and other puffy one skewers the innocent teen.

“You don’t call your uncle ‘uncle’?” Marla appears to have adopted Lady Catherine de Burgh’s dominance at
my
dining table.

Gabe downs half his glass of milk. “He’s not my real uncle.”

Marla’s one good eye, the fatty one, widens at that choice tidbit. “Oh?”

A leading question if I ever heard one.

Izzie glares at her grandmother. “Gabe, you don’t have to answer any of
her
questions.”

Since she’s straight across the table from me, I stretch my leg out to tap Iz’s shin. But Jack coughs, making a strangled sound. Izzie shoots me a disgruntled look. Did I miss and reach him instead? Great. Now he probably thinks I’m playing footsies with him under the table. The peas I microwaved slip off my fork and loll around my plate and I focus on stabbing each one.

Marla leans forward. “So you’re living with a man who you’re not even related to? This
is
unusual.”

Only Marla can make an innocent situation sound abnormal or wrong. At least I hope it’s innocent, because I realize I like Jack—in a friendship sort of way.

“Marla,” I interrupt, “would you pass the rolls?”

She lifts the basket, holding it while she continues staring at Gabe. Cousin It jumps to her feet at the sight of food dangling within reach. She noses Marla’s hand. Marla fixes the beast with that one-eyed glare. “Don’t think about it.”

Cousin It retreats beneath the table. Marla is definitely alpha dog here.

Gabe takes another roll. “Jack was my dad’s best friend.”

“Was?” Marla pushes.

I clear my throat. “Would anyone else like more casserole?” Everyone stares at me for a minute but from a quick glance I see everyone’s plate is full. “Don’t be shy. Eat up because we have a lot.”

Without glancing up, Gabe slaps a slab of butter on the roll. “My dad died last year.”

Everyone at the table freezes. The only sound is the tiny intake of air, as if a glass was spilled. Then Marla’s jaw falls slack.

“Oh, Gabe.” I reach forward as if to touch his hand but he’s too far away. “I’m so sorry.”

He meets my gaze then looks back at his plate. A red hue creeps up his neckline and floods his face.

“What did he die from?” Apparently Marla has recovered from her surprise.

“Marla.” I pass her the salad dressing, trying to give her a drop-it look, but she never even gives me a second glance.

“I don’t need any of that.” She waves away any hint.

“Would you like more casserole then?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Salad? Rolls?”

“
No
.” She nips the end of the word between her clenched teeth.

Suddenly Izzie pushes back from the table. “Come on, Gabe.”

“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Cliff demands, finally engaging in the conversation.

“Swimming.”

Her father looks at me to see if that’s permissible.

I smile. “That’s a good idea. Gabe, you can use my bathroom to change if you’d like.” To Cliff I say, “They’re both on the swim team.”

“They’re teens.” He gives a slight snort. And I know exactly what he means because we utilized his parents’ pool.

After they walk out of the room, Cousin It tagging along behind, Marla leans forward breaking what used to be a cardinal rule and placing her elbow on the table. “Someone should supervise them. After all, we know what happened when you two were left alone.”

“Mom,” Cliff grumbles, “we were in college.”

“I know what you two did in my own house.” She clucks and shakes her head.

Heat ignites in my face. I can feel each capillary expanding and burning. Mortified that my sins are being branded on my chest like a big scarlet A, except the A isn’t exactly accurate—maybe just a simple S—I glance toward Jack. Unfortunately there was never anything simple about it.

Jack reaches for a roll but does not meet my gaze.

“Marla,” I manage through the rock-hard lump in my throat, “please.”

“You better watch Gabe.” She points a thin finger at Jack. “Girls were always after my boys. All three of them.”

I stare at the beans lying limp and cold on my plate. I’ve lost my appetite.

The rest of the meal drags on as the conversation lags. Cliff’s jaw pops as he chews, a sure sign of his irritation. While I poke at my food with my fork, I desperately search for something pleasant to discuss—politics maybe, or religion—anything but these laser questions from Marla and her divulgence of personal things. The minutes lollygag along and still my brain seems to have quit functioning in its hostess role. Wouldn’t Cinderella find something nice to say? Maybe I could pass out like Snow White.

Cliff finally clears his throat. “So where is the kid”—he waves his fork—“Gabe from?”

Jack swallows a bite. “Oklahoma.”

“So he’ll be going back there soon. Good.”

“Actually”—the corner of Jack’s mouth twitches in what I imagine is the beginning of a smile—“his mom and siblings moved here this past summer to be closer to her parents, now that she’s a widow.”

“The kid in some kind of trouble?” Cliff jabs his roll with his knife. “Is that why he came to live with you?”

“He’s working on his Eagle Scout project. It was easier for me to help him if we lived in the same location.”

“Eagle Scout, huh?” Cliff’s mouth thins as he pushes his chair back. “Maybe I’ll go chaperone.”

What’s the problem? Has he heard some scandal about Eagle Scouts? I suspect he’s being territorial in a Tarzan beating-his-chest kind of manner. In my mind Gabe’s goal elevates him out of the ordinary teen realm. After the back door closes, silence settles in around the table. I dab my mouth with a linen napkin, avoid eye contact with Marla.

“Dinner was great.” Jack jiggles the ice in his glass and takes a last gulp of tea. “Thanks for having us.”

“You’re welcome. Can I get you something else to drink? Eat?”

“No, thanks. I’m full. I should probably head on home and—”

The back door slams shut, and the sound reverberates through the house. Marla and Jack look to me as if for explanation.

“I think that must be my daughter.” An unvoiced apology lingers on my tongue. Now what?

The back door opens again and Cliff’s voice explodes through the house. “What were you
thinking
?”

“Leave me alone!” Izzie’s voice hits a higher decibel.

“Have you gone insane? Come back here!”

I follow the chaos into the den, and sense I’m being followed by Marla and Jack. But then I come to a dead stop. My ex-husband and daughter stand toe-to-toe, hands fisted, bodies rigid. They look more alike than they ever have. The shiny tops of their heads gleam in the iridescent light. My ex has a receding hairline.

My daughter, on the other hand, is completely bald.

Chapter Ten

Izzie glares at her father.

Marla bumps into the back of me.

And I sense Jack standing beside me. But I can’t take my eyes off my bald daughter. An uncontrollable trembling starts way down inside of me. Only Gabe and Cousin It are missing at the moment. Maybe they’re smarter than the rest of us.

“Isabel.” Marla is the first to speak. “What have you done
now
?”

Izzie huffs, turns on her bare heel, but Cliff stops her with a hand on her arm. “What were you thinking?” His demanding tone is not the type that is often tolerated by a teen. “Have you lost it?”

“Cliff.” I step forward, my focus now on the red mark he’s making on Izzie’s arm.

She jerks away from him. “Leave me alone!”

She bolts out of the room. The slam of her door reverberates through the house with a decidedly angry note. My skin contracts. Cousin It noses the pane window on the back door. Gabe wisely sinks back down into the pool and stays put.

“You have some serious problems with that one.” Marla’s tone is that of a woman who has never dealt with a hormonal teenage girl.

“What on earth happened?” I manage, though my voice is shaky. One minute we’re having dinner, the next there’s an outburst and the breakout of a Telly Savalas convention in my den. I stare at my ex. “When did—”

“Don’t blame me.” He holds up his hands. “I went out to the pool and there she was. Bald as the day she was born.”

“Well, she didn’t shave her head out there.” I can’t seem to get beyond the fact that my daughter is bald. Or how it happened.

“I don’t know the specifics, Kaye. I would imagine she did it in the bathroom. But, I tell you, she needs help.”

“Psychological help,” Marla adds.

“My daughter is perfectly normal.” My denial whines in the room like the air surging out of a whoopee cushion. It’s the rest of her family who don’t measure up to normal.

“It’s not normal to shave your head.”

“It’s also not normal to have your father run off with a woman half his age.” I cringe and could bite off my tongue for going there.

“So you’re going to blame
this
on me?”

“I meant, it’s not normal to have your parents divorce. It’s taken its toll.”

“Look around, Kaye. Divorce happens all the time.”

“It doesn’t make it normal.”

“Are you talking about Izzie or you?” His jab aims for the middle of my chest.

But I ignore the pain, let it glance off me. “It’s also not normal for . . .” I manage to stop myself as my gaze shifts toward Marla’s stack of magazines on the table—
Vogue, Cosmopolitan, People,
and
O
.

“Don’t you dare blame me.” Marla has her alpha dog voice on.

With my heart pounding as if I am cornered and have overstepped my bounds, I peer over at Jack who stands with his hands clasped behind his back and his head slightly bowed. I’m not looking for help (not from him anyway but I definitely need divine intervention), just wishing he wasn’t here. He has witnessed way too much about my personal life for one evening. He’s probably trying to think of a polite excuse to escape.

Marla rests a hand over her heart. “I need to lie down.”

“Are you okay, Mom?” Cliff’s angry expression softens.

But she waves him away and takes to her bed with what she calls heart palpitations.

“Should we call the doctor?” Cliff waffles on whether to go to his mother’s side or stand here and continue our discussion.

“She’s fine.” I recognize Marla’s symptoms as simply hysterics, because my own heart is creating a jackhammer effect in my chest and the concussion is rattling through my bones.

“But your daughter isn’t.”

“
My
daughter? What happened to
our
daughter?”

Cliff gives me a slow-burning glare and opens the front door to leave. “You’re not handling all of this very well.”