Facelift (25 page)

“Then this is just an extension of that business. It’s how things work in the real world, Kaye. You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.” He gives me a broad wink. “You know, I saw him looking at you the other night. Is he putting the moves on you?”

This dinner suddenly comes into sharper focus. Dropping a shoulder and leaning forward, I press my advantage. “You’re jealous.”

He reaches out and snags my hand. “What if I am?” His thumb bumps over my knuckles. “Would you take pity on me?”

“You never stir pity in me.”

“Maybe I should. You haven’t mentioned the present I left for you on the porch.”

Confused, I stare at him. “You left a present? For me?”

“Yeah. In a paper bag.”

“Oh!” I jerk my hand away. A cold awareness rolls over me. “Oh no.” The bag. I assumed it was from Sterling and for Marla.

“You got it then?”

I nod, not sure how to answer. But the truth is usually the best way. “I gave it to your mother.”

“What?” His raised voice makes heads turn in our direction.

“I didn’t know it was from you. There wasn’t a note. And your mother has had these men visiting her. I just naturally assumed.” Then I rest my head against my hand. “Great. Now she probably believes Harry . . . or Sterling gave her . . .” I meet Cliff’s gaze. His jaw is tight. “What was in that bag?”

“
Things
that made me think of you.”

From his heavy-lidded look, I imagine it wasn’t anything a son should be giving his mother. Or that she should even see. It makes me start to laugh. And I cover my mouth, because Cliff is not smiling. His scowl is deep and dark.

“You’re going to have to tell her, Kaye.”

His tone kills my laughter. “Me? Why not you?”

“Because you’re the one—”

The waitress interrupts at that moment with our food. The portions are small centerpieces in the middle of large white plates, special sauces dribbled around for effect and light dipping. Presentation, once again, is the key to palatable acquisitions. Silently we both concentrate on our meal.

“Want to try some?” I offer.

He wrinkles up his nose at my healthier choices. “Try this.” He carves a bite of steak, forks it, and holds it out for me to eat off his utensil in a reminder of the intimacy we’d shared throughout the years. “A little fat won’t hurt you.”

I hesitate only a moment before taking the bite and chewing it thoughtfully. “Good choice. Very tasty.” After clearing my palate with a sip of water, I toss out a delicate subject. “Barbara came over to the house the other day to see your mother.”

He doesn’t pause in carving into his steak. “Mom told me. Gave me an ear full. She’s never liked Barb much.”

Barb
. His abbreviation of her name churns around in my head building up a good froth. “Seems to be a trend.”

He chews and swallows, keeping his gaze on me. “You still think Mom never liked you either? That’s bunk.” He shrugs. “She may have given me grief before the wedding, but she didn’t say anything afterward.”

“She didn’t have to.”

“She likes you
now
. She wouldn’t have gone to stay at your house if she didn’t. Mother doesn’t ever do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

I’m not so sure about that. I was convenient and an easy escape hatch from her real life. Besides, no one else was offering. “So”—I try to sound nonchalant and indifferent but am afraid my fangs might be showing—“are you still seeing Barbara?”

His gaze narrows and lines fan outward from the corners of his eyes. If he could only see the gray sneaking into his temple, then he’d know how ridiculous he looks with someone as young as Barbara. I bet when he takes her out, people assume he’s with his daughter.

Feeling the weight of his stare, I try to explain. “It just seemed odd that she would visit your mom if things are truly over. The way you said. Especially since there was no love lost between them.”

He clunks his steak knife on the edge of his plate. “Are you jealous?”

“Should I be?”

“Barbara is a determined lady.” He grins, his chest expanding with a deep, self-important breath.

He’s lapping up the fact that two women are after him! My hackles rise along my spine. Am I being played? Am I being pitted against someone like Barbara in a battle I’m sure I can’t win?

Just when I’m about to throw in the proverbial towel, which at this time is a linen napkin, he adds, “But I’m not sure I see that working out. Besides, I have other interests.”

A surreptitious glance in my direction tells me just which direction his interest is blowing these days. But how long will that last?

“This isn’t a good idea.” I push against Cliff’s chest, not hard, just enough to let him know I’m hesitant. But he doesn’t seem to take note and kisses his way up my neckline. We’re standing in my driveway. The cool fall air wafts over us. There’s a romantic moon, but no real romance. Not yet anyway.

Cliff followed me home, saying he wanted to check in on his mother. But he’s shown no signs of wanting to go inside. And he hasn’t mentioned Marla once. This is right where I wanted all of this to lead. Isn’t it? So now why do I want to tell Cliff to get lost?

That’s not what I’m going to do, but giving in to his desires is a sure way to make him lose interest.

“Let’s go to my place.” His hands roam where they haven’t roamed in a long time.

I hate to admit that my body yearns for this, for touching and kissing—but not from him. I squirm out of his embrace. “We didn’t do this relationship right the first time.” I’m more breathless than I realized. “I think we should do it right this time if we’re going to try this again.”

He rests his forehead against his fist. He’s breathing equally hard, maybe more so. He takes a step toward me, hooking his arms around my waist again. “You’re saying we should wait?”

“Yes.” I place a firm, no-compromising hand against his chest.

“But we’re married!”

“Shh. Your mother will hear.”

“Let her. I don’t care.”

I stay focused without getting diverted. “The key word is
were
. We
were
married.”

“That’s a minor technicality.”

“Minor technicalities is what got us into trouble when we were younger.”

With a huffy sigh, he turns away and stares up at the sky, his mood darkening by the minute. Making him angry is not my intention. I want more than just a rendezvous with Cliff in bed. Because I know that is not the way to find permanence with him. I must resist. And it surprises me that telling him
no
is actually easier than I ever imagined. Maybe I’m not as desperate as I thought.

“We need to work out some things between us first.” I take a step toward him, lay a hand against his back, feel his heat. “Obviously, we know how to make love. But it’s the time out of bed that needs work. There’s plenty of time for . . . well, you know . . . later.”

He glances at me over his shoulder and shoves a hand through his thinning hair. “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

I laugh softly. “Try a new line.”

“It always worked before.”

My laughter fades. Did it work on Barbie? “I’m not eighteen anymore.”

“You’re right about that.” He faces me again, runs his hands along my fuller curves, his gaze following. “So you’ve grown a conscience along with putting on a few pounds?”

My spine stiffens.

“Don’t get me wrong, Kaye. I like a few curves. And you’ve got them all in the right places.”

Remembering Barbie’s enhanced curves all too well, I feel my spine stiffen. “I’m trying to learn from my mistakes.”

He pulls me close again. “You think our marriage was a mistake?”

“I don’t know yet.” I push away, moving a few steps toward the house to give us space to talk. Which we were never particularly good at. “Besides, shouldn’t we be setting a good example for Isabel?”

He comes up behind me, wraps his arms around my middle. “What do you mean?” He nuzzles my neck. “On how to drive a man to distraction?”

“How to handle a relationship in a godly way.”

He snorts. “I’m godly.”

I laugh at that. I can’t help it. “Thinking you’re god-like is not the same as being godly.”

“I go to church.”

I turn back to face him, keeping a couple of feet between us. “When?”

“I’ve been busy. But I will. When do you want to go? This Sunday?”

“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.”

“What does that mean?” He pulls me to him again. “You wouldn’t lead me on, would you?”

“Never.” I kiss him quickly, breezily, then back out of his embrace. “Good night, Cliff.”

After Cliff drives away, I remember I never picked up the mail, so I walk around the house to the mailbox out front. Harry Klum’s station wagon is still parked in front of my house. Why didn’t I notice it before? Maybe because my gaze was focused on my rearview mirror and Cliff’s headlights. And my thoughts were on my heart. If Harry can work his way into Marla’s heart, then maybe there’s hope for me and Cliff. Patience is the key. It took us seventeen years to get in this predicament. It’ll take time to set a new course.

I enter through the front door to avoid Cousin It who’s barking in the backyard. Before I reach the front porch, the front door opens and Harry steps outside. I call out, “Hi, Harry.”

“Have a good meeting?”

“Not what I expected. And you?”

He smiles. “Better than I expected.”

“Good. I’m glad.” We meet in the middle of the yard. “So how did it go?”

“She ignored me for a while but she hovered in the hallway. I kept trying to carry on a conversation, and she finally responded. But then I brought my rotor rooter.” He grins and hikes up his sweat pants. “How can a lady say no to that?”

I laugh. “Is the drain working now?”

“Good as new. I also checked the disposal in the kitchen sink. Miss Marla said it wasn’t working properly. Someone put a plastic spoon down it.”

I wince. “You don’t have to fix all my plumbing problems.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“Let me pay you for it.” I open my purse and reach inside for my checkbook.

He shakes his head. “Wouldn’t think of accepting your money.” He scratches his head, and the thin strands of hair stand on end. “Marla said she liked the present I sent her. I guess she meant the candy I brought the other day.”

My skin prickles. “She said that? She said, ‘Thank you for the
candy
?’”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Not exactly. It was kind of baffling. She just said, ‘Thanks,’ then got all flustered and added, ‘for the presents.’”

I start to laugh, then stifle it. I’m not sure what to do. Should I explain the situation to Marla? She wouldn’t be happy that Cliff is interested in me again. Although maybe she’d prefer me as her daughter-in-law over Barbara.

“She’s crying out for love,” Harry says, “but she has a hard time accepting it.”

I’ve never thought of Marla as crying out for anything. Maybe she is. Maybe that’s why she thought she needed a facelift. Maybe she was simply lonely and scared. I know how that feels. In the past two years I’ve felt loneliness as I’ve never felt it before. But I also know Marla wants things on her terms. “Harry, have you ever been married?”

“Fifty-two years.”

His answer surprises me. “Really?”

“We were high school sweethearts. I was seventeen and she was sixteen when we eloped. Folks said it wouldn’t last. We’d still be married today if the cancer hadn’t gotten her.” He ducks his head.

Sympathy swells my heart. It’s then I realize it . . .
that’s
what I want. To be married for such a long time, where our love has only grown larger over the years, and when we can’t imagine life without the other. Unfortunately Cliff can and has imagined life without
me
.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. How long has she been gone?” A tightness seizes my throat.

“Three years. It’s why I retired. So I could take care of her.” He remains quiet, like a moment of silence out of respect for his marriage, his wife.

“Tell me about her.”

Harry’s wrinkles deepen, lining his forehead and bracketing his mouth, aging him. He grips his hands as if they are too restless to be still.

My heart aches for him. What would Cliff say if I died? Would he mourn me in the same way? Would he get choked up at the mention of my name? Marla must have mourned in private but seems to have moved on. Or maybe she hasn’t. Maybe she’s simply running away from the pain, from the sadness.