Facelift (9 page)

“No, but you didn’t either. And she didn’t eat my roses either.” Ignoring her scowl, I walk toward my daughter’s closet. “Can I borrow your tennis shoes?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to go for a run.” It’s not my usual. In fact, it’s unusual. But I feel an urgent need to get out of the house. And a run or fast walk might get me back in shape before I see Cliff again. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“A run?” Izzie stares at me as if I’ve just spoken Aramaic.

“Do you mind?”

“No, sure. But they’re too big for you.”

“I’ll be okay this time. I’m not running far.”

She drops her chin and stares at me. “You’re running? Really running?”

I lift mine a notch. “Yeah.” But under the weight of her stare I give. “Okay, walking.”

Her mouth curves in a satisfied smile. “Do you want to borrow some shorts?”

“I’d probably be arrested for indecent exposure.” I pull socks out of her drawer and shoes out of the closet, which, ironically, I put away earlier in the day before Cousin It helped herself to a leathery snack.

“You know, Mom, it’s kind of late to be going for a walk.”

“I’ll be fine.” It actually feels good to have my daughter worrying about my safety rather than the other way around.

“It’s dark.”

“So?”

“You always tell me not to go out at night alone.”

The words slither around my brain, strike me as odd. Now she’s biting back at me with my own words. “I’ll take Cousin It. Okay?”

“Whatever.”

The irony that Cousin It is the reason I need to get out is not lost on me as I grab the leash. She bounds around me, a seventy-or-more-pound bouncing ball. Her barks echo off the entryway ceiling.

“Shh.” I try to shush her before she wakes Marla. Before I lose my chance to escape for even a few minutes. It finally sits near my feet, her tail brushing the tile and thumping against the wall.

I push open the front door and step into the darkness. The warm night envelopes me with scents of gardenias and damp grass. Sniffing freedom, Cousin It bolts. The leash jerks my arm, and I follow, my feet
thump, thump, thumping
along the sidewalk as I trip and stumble along in the oversized shoes. Prancing and dancing around me, It manages to tie me up like a hostage. Oh sure, this is safe. Anyone who wants to assault me can find me already hog-tied. I wiggle and turn, unwrapping myself from the leash. It barks. The sound rebounds off the rooftops. In the distance, other dogs answer her.

With the warmth of the fall day still heavy in the air, I begin running. It yanks me forward. Two houses later, my legs burning, my lungs exploding, I stumble to a halt, grab my pinched side. My workouts stopped about the time Cliff left. I never could find the energy or time to lift weights or take a jog around the block. My membership to a workout facility, of course, had to be dropped as my financial situation changed. Now, I suck in oxygen like it’s on sale.

But Coach It hasn’t finished with my workout. She tugs on the leash and I stumble forward. We walk and walk and walk. She darts right then left, sniffing at each mailbox as if she might be tracking the postman or expecting a letter. When my pulse slows close to normal, I attempt jogging again. Two houses more, I stop, gulp air, then walk again. I repeat this around the block three times until both of our tongues hang out, though thankfully mine doesn’t drip slobber, and we find ourselves back at our starting point.

I stare at the outline of our house presented by the moon. It has a low-lying roof, square windows, red bricks.
Southern Living
would never stop here to take a photo. The house is over thirty years old. It’s small, but it’s all mine. Everything Cliff and I bought together over the years was with
his
money, whatever he earned or borrowed from his parents. Now I am earning a living on my own. I was thrilled to find a house with a yard large enough for a pool for Izzie.

I contemplate going to see my friend, Terry, whom I haven’t seen in months. Or has it been longer? She lives in the same exclusive neighborhood as Jack Franklin, in her Tara-esque mansion. It wouldn’t be but a ten-minute walk. I’m sure Cousin It is up for it. But I’m not sure I am. Besides my hair is matted with sweat. What would I say anyway? Maybe, “Do you ever feel like running away?” But I know her answer. Why would she run from her perfect life, husband, daughter, and house? She’d also tell me I brought my
ex
-mother-in-law on myself. So would my best friend, Annie, which causes me to nurse my misery in private.

For a long while I study this place I now call home. All I see are things that need fixing, kind of like staring into a mirror and seeing only the threadlike wrinkles appearing between my eyebrows and at the corners of my eyes, sun blotches, freckles, a gray hair sneaking into my brown. My house needs a fresh coat of paint and some of the bushes replaced. I need moisturizer, hair dye, and tweezers.

Let’s face it, we both need a facelift.

The irony strikes me as funny, but I’m too tired to laugh.

The sound of laughter leaps out from down the darkened street and grabs me. Cousin It jumps to her feet, barks and lunges toward the noise. My skin contracts.

“Kaye? Is that you?” A familiar voice reaches out to me from across the street. I feel guilty for my instinct to duck and run. But it’s too late.

“Terry!” I yank back on the leash as It lunges and barks. “What a coincidence, I was just thinking about you.” I jerk the leash hard. “Sit.” She doesn’t.

“Did you get a dog?” Terry slows, her hand clasped in her husband’s, and stands across the street from me. Miles shifts from one foot to the other as if anxious to move on.

“Oh, it’s a temporary situation. How are you?”

Terry glances at her husband. “We’re okay. Just enjoying a few minutes together.”

“It’s good to see you.” Suddenly, I feel like a third wheel . . . with a furry sidekick.

“Call me!” She and Miles move past. Over her shoulder she adds, “We need to catch up.”

I nod and watch them move into the darkness. Cousin It’s barking rings out into the night. I sit down on the curb, the oversized tennis shoes in the street, and Cousin It butts up against my hip. I place an arm around her narrow but furry shoulders. “Well, at least I have you. Temporarily.”

The flash of headlights alerts me to a car coming down the street. I wrap Cousin It’s leash tighter around my hand. Already she’s on her feet, her furry body quivering with the feral urge to give chase. Surprisingly the headlights slow, blinding me for a moment. I scramble to my feet as the truck pulls in front of my house. Cousin It carries on as if I’m going to be dragged off. Her eagerness to defend me would be semisweet, that is, if her raucous bark and jerking on the leash wasn’t so annoying. If only Cliff had defended our marriage so nobly.

The driver’s door opens and out steps Jack. Instinctively I step behind the mailbox and wish it were larger instead of just a cantankerous pole that leans slightly toward the street. “Hi!”

“Sorry to bother you so late.” He walks toward me, bending at the waist to greet Cousin It. “Hey, big girl, how are you?”

Behind them, the passenger door opens, and Gabe emerges. He waves at us but heads toward the front door.

“Gabe needed to borrow a book from your daughter. And I thought I’d bring this contract by.”

“Oh! Sure. No problem. Isabel didn’t tell me you were coming.” Or I would have put my suit back on instead of leaving on jeans and Izzie’s oversized tennis shoes. Thank the Lord good sense prevailed and I didn’t take her up on her offer and wear
her
shorts around the neighborhood, which seems to have turned into Grand Central Station tonight. I jerk back on the leash as Cousin It strains forward.

But Jack leans over, producing a hand for the dog to sniff and then lick. He smiles and rubs the furry head. “Thanks for taking care of Cousin It for us.”

“No problem. I didn’t know Gabe and Izzie were friends.”

Kneeling, Jack pats the dog. “I think they just met.” He glances upward at me, studying me for a long moment that makes my insides crimp. “Isabel said it was okay for It to crash here—she did ask you, didn’t she?”

“In her own way.” I smile, this time my smile not quite so tight.

“She isn’t being any trouble, is she?”

“Trouble?” My smile freezes in place as I recall my shredded roses. “Not at all.” As if to prove I’ve forgiven her, I lean forward and brush the top of her moppy head with my fingers, accidentally grazing Jack’s arm. “Nope. It’s fine.” I rub my fingers against my jeans. “Good.”

He stands upright. “You don’t strike me as the dog type.”

“I used to have a dog a long time ago. When I was in college. Her name was Brontë. She was an English bulldog.”

“Which sister?”

“Emily.”

His mouth pulls to one side. “So, you have a dark side.”

“Don’t we all?”

He laughs and pulls a rolled set of papers from his hip pocket. After he carefully unfolds it, he hands me the contract.

I glance down at his bold, confident signature and notice he changed the amount—making the sum he owes larger. Beside the tacked-on excess fee he wrote—Cousin It Boarding. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He glances down at the dog. “Oh yeah. She’s not a simple houseguest.”

His thoughtfulness surprises me. What would Cliff have done in a similar business deal? Would he have added on a charge he’d have to pay? Or would he have assumed his good fortune? Probably the latter. Jack is definitely a different type of man. “Did you have any questions?”

“Seems straightforward. How soon can we get started?”

“You’re in a hurry.” It’s more a confirmation to my suspicions than a question.

“I thought you would be.”

In question, I tilt my head.

“To get rid of Cousin It.”

I laugh but feel the reality of caring for the monster dog, as well as Marla, settle into my bones. “I’ll get furniture ordered tomorrow morning.”

“Fine.” His gaze feels heavy.

Maybe it’s only my imagination, this awkwardness that springs up between us, probably my paranoia and needs arcing through the dark landscape of my social life like a search light.

Last week I was in Barnes and Noble and the checkout guy asked for my license to verify my credit card.

“Nice picture.” He studied my ten-year-old driver’s license picture a moment too long. Then his bushy-browed gaze shifted toward me.

I snatched my license out of his hand. “It’s old.” About ten years and twenty pounds ago. I tucked my license back into my wallet and grabbed my bag. “Thanks.”

“Mom!” Izzie nudged my shoulder as we turned away from the counter. “He was flirting with you.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“Yes, he was.”

I stole a glance over my shoulder and sure enough the man with gray hair and thick glasses was watching me instead of paying attention to the next customer. Then I smacked my shoulder on the door Izzie had opened for me. “Ooh, Mom! You’re putting out vibes. Good for you!”

A blush blooms inside of me now as I feel Jack’s heady gaze upon me like a warm caress. I glance away from him. I’m not putting out vibes. I’m not interested in dating. I’m working on getting my husband back.

In that brief instant of self-indulgent introspection, Cousin It pounces forward, placing two big paws on Jack’s chest, which doesn’t knock him back a step or make him grimace.

His smile remains steady and real. “Miss you too, baby girl.”

Cousin It jumps and licks, while Jack dodges that pink tongue.

I yank on the leash, irritated more at myself and my own foolhardiness than the beast.

Jack laughs and rubs the dog’s sides and back, then he takes the leash from me, our hands brushing. “Let me. She can be a handful.”

He takes her through several commands—sit, down, roll over, come—all of which she obeys quickly and eagerly.

“How come she doesn’t do that for me?”

Jack plants a knee on the ground, a solid hand on Cousin It’s back, and peers up at me. “You have to show her who’s the boss. Be alpha dog.”

My brow pinches together. “I’ve always been the roll-over-and-submit kinda gal.”

His eyes twinkle as a smile spreads across his face. “Maybe she’ll be good for you and teach you a few new tricks.”

“Alpha dog, huh?” I laugh, enjoying the taste of the words and the powerful feelings they invoke.

“That”—Jack pulls something from his pocket—“and liver treats.” He holds out the little block on his palm and Cousin It gulps it down. “She’ll do anything for a liver treat. Just not too many.”

“Or she’ll get fat?”

He shakes his head and pats It. “Gas.”

The sound of the front door slamming echoes through the neighborhood.

Jack winces. “Hope Gabe and Isabel didn’t have a fight.”

But neither Gabe nor Izzie emerge from the shadows. Instead, Marla steps onto the edge of the top step into the porch light. At her glare, I cringe.

“
What
is going on here?” Her fists are mounted on her narrow hips. A soft fall breeze ruffles her yellow negligee. “Is there some sort of disaster?”

I step even with Jack, noticing his eyes widen at the sight of her. “I’m sorry, Marla. We’ll be quiet. I promise.”