The thought caused almost physical pain. Surely not. Lenora Worth was not the type to hurt people. That much I knew to be true. And no amount of memory loss could change it.
Another ding told me Scott had continued instant messaging without me.
“You know what they say, Kat,” he typed. “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”
I couldn’t help myself. I really couldn’t. I punched in the words, “Ali MacGraw. Love Story. 1970.”
“Actually, Ryan O’Neal’s character said it too,” Scott responded. “At the end of the movie. But I’m not sure I agree, regardless.”
“Oh?” I typed.
“Admitting you’re sorry—and that you’ve made mistakes—is critical to the survival of a relationship, especially when you’re in love.”
I realized just how right he was.
“And by the way,” he typed, “there is one little thing I’m sorry for.”
“Oh, what’s that?” I asked.
“Pick up your phone and I’ll tell you.”
Seconds later, my cell phone rang. I grabbed it with a quick “Hello?”
“I’m sorry that I waited so long to tell you this, Kat.”
His words caught me off guard and my heart rate skipped to double time. “Tell me what?”
I could hear the smile in his voice as he whispered, “I love you.”
Now my breath caught in my throat. He’d delivered the line I’d only dreamed of hearing. Talk about great timing. Athena and the other writers would have given their stamp of approval, no doubt.
I wanted to respond in some way, but my tongue appeared to be stuck to the roof of my mouth. I half expected him to deliver the rest of Jack’s lines, listing all of the reasons why he loved Angie, but quickly put that thought out of my mind. This was very real. Not scripted.
“I couldn’t tell you over an instant message,” he said. “And I knew I couldn’t sleep until I said the words. I love you, Kat. I’ve loved you for a long time now. And I’m not sorry about it.”
“Me either,” I whispered. “Because . . . love means never having to say you’re sorry.”
He laughed. “Okay, you got me. But now that I’ve told you how I feel, I’m just wondering if you, well . . .” His words drifted off.
I decided to put the boy out of his misery. “Scott, I’ve loved you for over two years. I’ve been upside-down, inside-out, crazy-for-you, gonna-lose-my-mind-if-I-can’t-say-it in love.” A giggle threatened to erupt but I squelched it. No nerves here. Not with so much left to say. “And I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry God brought you to me. I’m not sorry our paths crossed the way they did. And I’m not sorry that you told me this tonight of all nights. I really needed to hear it.”
“Well, I’m a little sorry that I gave you this information over the phone,” he said. “Because you have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now.”
“Me too.” Now the nervous chuckle escaped. “You’ll just have to wait till tomorrow.”
“When?” he asked. “And how? We’ll be in front of all of those people at the studio.”
“They already think we’re engaged, anyway,” I said. “Why not let them know we’re in love?”
“This whole relationship is happening backward, isn’t it?” he asked. “That’s not a complaint, by the way. I’m intrigued by what the Lord is doing here. Not sure I would’ve written the script this way, but I totally trust him.”
“Me too.”
A delicious silence grew up between us, and I leaned back against the pillows, looking once again at the ring on my bedside table. Though I’d admitted it to no one else—even Scott—I’d carried that ring with me every day since the proposal scene. I reached for it now and slipped it on, giving it a closer look. The goofy thing might be fake, but there was nothing fake about the way it made me feel when I wore it.
Immediately a verse ran through my head. I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine. Clearly the Lord was at work here, moving us into a deeper relationship, both with each other and with him.
“I guess I’d better let you go,” Scott said at last. “I’ll be praying about the situation with your grandmother and Rex. We can trust God with that too, by the way.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Another tender “I love you” came my way before Scott ended the call. I rolled over on the bed and plunked the phone on the bedside table, feeling as giddy as a girl who’d just been asked to the prom. Sweet thoughts of “I love you” rolled through my brain over and over. I found myself in a dreamlike state, a place of sweet imaginings. Before long, my eyes grew heavy, and I dozed off.
Some time later, I awakened, my brain in a fog. Had I really fallen asleep without turning out the light? I heard the television from down the hallway but couldn’t quite make out the words.
Rising from the bed, I made my way to Grandma Lenora’s room. I found her curled up in her gorgeous four-poster bed, still fully dressed in her soft pink gown, the bouquet of sweetheart roses clutched in her fist. In the distance, the DVD player rolled the credits for It Had to Be You. I watched, transfixed, as her name crossed the screen, and several seconds later Rex’s name rolled by as well. Somehow, seeing their names in print solidified my suspicions about their relationship years ago.
Yes, they had certainly loved each other at some point in the past.
And yes, sometimes love really did mean having to say you were sorry.
12
Nip/Tuck
The next morning, I awoke to my grandmother’s frantic words. “KK, wake up.” She tugged on the covers, and I scrambled to come out of my sleepy fog.
“W-what?” I glanced her way, stunned to find her still wearing the pink dress from the night before. It took a second for my thoughts to gather. Was it morning? A glance in the direction of my bedroom window answered that question. Sunlight peeked in through the tiny split between the two curtains. Had I overslept or something?
“You need to get up, KK.” She sat on my bed and patted my leg through the covers. “I’ve made a list and checked it twice. We’ve got a very full day ahead of us and we need to get to work. Up and at ’em.”
A yawn erupted and I stretched. “We don’t have to be at the studio till ten this morning, Grandma. Remember? The tech guys are setting the lights for the new set.”
“I know, I know. But I’ve made plans for us, so we’ve got to get going. We’re shopping for the wedding.”
“What?” Propping myself up in the bed, I tried not to let my frustration show.
“We’ll start at the bridal boutique and then we’ll head to the print shop to look at invitations. From there I want to stop at Dr. Rey’s office to ask him some questions.”
“Wait. Dr. Rey? The plastic surgeon?”
“Yes. I’m thinking of having a little work done before your wedding.”
Surely she jested. “Oh, please don’t do that, Grandma.”
“Why not? A little Botox never hurt anyone. When they put me in the coffin I’ll be loaded with preservatives anyway. So what does it matter if I add a few more?”
“It matters to me.” How could I explain? I wanted her to look like, well, like her. So many well-known people had gone under the knife only to come out looking like their own evil twin. Sweet Lenora Worth needed to stay just as she was. Beautiful. Soft. Lovely. Elegant. And if I had anything to do with it, she would.
Grandma rose from the edge of my bed and went to the window, where she pulled back the curtains. I squinted at the full burst of sunlight now streaming through.
“Take a good look at this wrinkled old face of mine in the sunlight, honey,” she said. “Then you’ll know why I’ve got my heart set on this. We’ll be paying good money for your wedding photographer and we need the best possible shots—of you, Jack, me . . . everyone. How is that possible when I’m so wrinkled? Every picture of me will look like . . . me.”
“Well, I happen to love you. Every single wrinkle. And it will break my heart if you get
rid of them. They’re a part of you.”
She groaned. “That’s easy to say when you’re young and have great skin. Just wait till you’re in your midseventies and the skin that used to be on your face is now around your ankles.”
“Grandma, stop. That’s just silly.”
“Still, there are parts of me that are not where they used to be.” She sighed. “I’ve always talked about traveling south, but I wasn’t referring to my body parts.”
I suppressed a chuckle.
“I saw this new surgery on the Discovery Health Channel the other night,” she said. “It’s called a whole body lift.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I think I’ve seen that. It’s for people who’ve lost a significant amount of weight, right?”
“Well, yes, but I’ve been thinking it will work on elderly people too. We have a lot of excess skin.”
“Yes, but it sounds painful.” I gave her as stern a look as I could muster. “Surely you’re not thinking about it. Seriously?”
Grandma gave me a knowing look. “Try me.”
“Too extreme.” I yawned and stretched again. “And it’s just plain silly. I mean, I could understand if you wanted a day at the spa, or maybe a facial. But a whole body lift? No way.”
“I’ve given this a lot of thought, KK. I figure Dr. Rey can start at the top of my head and pull up all of my skin at once. Just one big nip/tuck under the hairline at the tippy-top of my head, and suddenly my hips and breasts are in the same place they used to be when I was young.”
I couldn’t help the laughter that erupted. “Grandma, you’re a hoot.”
“I’m just saying. This soft, supple skin is nice and all, but I’m carrying far too much of it. I could easily do without a bit. Plastic surgery is a good option.”
“I’m not sure I agree. Promise me you’ll pray about it.”
“Okay.” She shook her head. “I suppose I should. Though I’m sure even the Lord himself would agree that wearing your chin around your kneecaps is cumbersome at times.”
Good grief. “One more thing, Grandma. Promise me you won’t let them inject collagen in your lips. That’s just gross.”
“Collagen? In my lips?” She looked stunned. “Why would I do that?”
“To make them look pouty. It’s the trend.”
“Heavens, no.” She began to fan herself. “If I want to look pouty, I’ll just think about the amount of money I have to pay my agent every year!” She let out a laugh. “Harvey Klink is one rich man, thanks to the commissions he’s making off of me.”
I sucked in a deep breath and counted to three. No point in reminding her that Harvey Klink was now agenting from cloud number nine. So many of the people Grandma remembered with such fondness had already transitioned from this life to the next. But how could I relay that information without depressing her or creating some sort of
upset?
“I have an idea, Grandma,” I said, ready to offer a distraction. “Let’s put on our Elly May bathing suits and swim in the cement pond instead of shopping. Doesn’t that sound like fun? We can shop for the wedding another day.”
“Shop for the wedding?” A look of complete confusion registered on her face. “Who’s going shopping for a wedding?”
More counting under my breath helped bring my emotions under control.
Before I could reply, Grandma looked at me with tears in her eyes. “Oh, KK, I’m so worried.”
“Worried?” About what?
“Yes. I think I’ve lost the key to my trunk.”
“Your steamer trunk?”
“Yes, the one at the foot of my bed. I’ve searched everywhere, but the little key is gone.”
“No, Grandma,” I said. “It’s in the buffet downstairs. You asked me to put it there for safekeeping, remember?”
“Oh, yes.” A smile lit her face. “That’s right. What a relief. There’s a lovely shawl in the steamer trunk that I’d like to wear to your wedding. We were talking about weddings, weren’t we? I’m pretty sure we were.” A look of concern seemed to pass over her in a wave.
“Y-yes.”
After a brief pause, she was back to her usual cheerful self. “You know, KK, I haven’t been swimming in a month of Sundays. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt. I could use the exercise. Oh, and guess what? I’ve been thinking about having plastic surgery.” Her wrinkles grew even more pronounced as she whispered, “Have I told you that already?”
Instead of responding, I somehow managed to divert her. Before long we were swimming in the cement pond, talking about Granny, Jed, Jethro Bodine, and the rest of the Beverly Hillbillies cast. Poor Grandma really couldn’t seem to remember that she’d started the morning asking me to go shopping, so I didn’t remind her of that fact. How many times had she said something only to forget it seconds later? I silently thanked the Lord that we already had a doctor visit planned for later this week . . . and not to a plastic surgeon. Though, hey, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to play it up as
such.
We finished our swim, then dressed to head to the studio. Though the day was getting off to a late start, I knew we had much to do. Tuesday was always our run-through day. I was also more than a little curious about the new set. A chapel for the upcoming wedding scene. If Grandma wasn’t confused enough already, this new chapel should be just the thing to get her going.
As I pulled up to the studio, I noticed an unfamiliar car. Candy and her mother stood alongside it, glaring at the person inside. Interesting. By the time I’d dropped Grandma off and parked, they were in a full-out squabble. I knew it wasn’t my place to listen in, but how could I help it?
I passed by, glancing at them out of the corner of my eye. The man in the car was ranting about something. Something to do with money, it sounded like. His words turned vile, and for a moment I almost joined in the conversation just long enough to take him down a notch or two. How dare he use language like that in front of a child? Who was this jerk, and what was he doing here, anyway?
My answer to that question came from the most unlikely source.
“Daddy, stop!” Candy called out. “Stop calling Mommy that name.”
I turned to face her, realization setting in. Daddy? This was her father?
The man—handsome enough on the outside, but clearly ugly within—turned to her with a condescending look and said a few more words, none of them positive or kind, then turned back to his wife. Er, ex-wife. The words that followed were anything but pretty.
“You’re raising her to be just like you, Bianca. Mouthy.”
Okay, I couldn’t really argue that point, but now I saw where some of the mother-daughter angst came from. Papa Bear apparently ate his young. And his ex.
Before long, this foul-mouthed man and Bianca were doing some serious name-calling and using Candy as a buffer between them. I made busy, standing near the studio door with my script in my hand. Surely they would think I was waiting on someone. In truth, I was. Candy. I wanted to stick around for her just in case, and that meant not budging. Ironic that I suddenly had such empathy for her.
At some point Candy had obviously had enough. She turned and ran into the building, tears streaming down her face. The weirdest sensation came over me as she bolted past me. For whatever reason, I was reminded of that stupid dream where my parents sat across from each other in silence. Even their lack of communication was less painful than this.
On the other hand, both were awful, if you were the kid stuck in the middle.
My thoughts shifted and I realized I had to do something. I needed to get to Candy—right away. I entered the studio, looking around the set. No sign of her. The next logical place to look was the children’s classroom. I glanced inside and saw the kids gathered around their teacher. The perky twentysomething nodded in my direction and I offered a little wave. Toby looked my way with his toothless grin. Something about his sweet face always did my heart good. Still, no sign of Candy. Only one other place seemed logical.
I found the youngster in the bat
hroom, sobbing. Well, I heard her, anyway. And saw her little shoes under the door of one of the stalls.
“Honey, this is Kat. Are you okay?”
She didn’t answer, but I could hear her sniffles.
“Candy, you don’t have to talk to me about this if you don’t want to. But I’m here if you do want to talk, okay?”
“O-okay.” More crying followed, but not the dramatic, over-the-top kind I’d witnessed from her in the past. No, this was the real deal. Heartfelt tears from a brokenhearted little girl. As I listened in, I was transported back in time to my own childhood.
My introspection was interrupted by Candy’s voice. “I . . . I hate him.”
I didn’t respond. I could tell she wasn’t quite through yet. Better let her get it all out.
After a minute, she whispered, “My dad is so stupid. I hate him. And I hate my mom too.”
Okay, this wasn’t getting any better. I wasn’t sure how to go about salvaging things, though. Candy’s crying turned to full-out sobs now.
Before long Bianca came in the restroom hunting for her daughter. I could tell from the smeared mascara that she’d been crying too. Only, now she was in full-out mama mode, and not in a loving, protective way. She spoke to her daughter through the closed stall door. “Candy, come out of there right now.”
“No.”
“Stop acting like this. We had a deal, you and me. We’re not going to let him get to us anymore. Right?”
More sobs erupted. So much for that deal.
Bianca turned to me with a sigh. “It’s always like this. He doesn’t come around for months at a time and then shows up at the worst possible time. And it’s always the same. He needs money. Can you believe the nerve of a man who would let his eight-year-old daughter support him?”
A rhetorical question, I hope.
“Why they’ve even let him on the set is beyond me. I’ve asked them not to allow it, but who listens to me?”