Love's Image

Shannon kept her gaze focused on Armand as the nurse eased the bandage away from Shannon’s cheek. Armand’s eyes betrayed his attempt to hide his disappointment.

“Will that …” He pointed to her face and quickly turned away. “Will that scar always be there?”

Shannon’s throat tightened.
Scar?
Her eyes misted as she swallowed hard. The pain in her heart was worse than the pain from the accident. She couldn’t speak.

“Maybe,” the nurse replied, her expression stoic. Professional. “Probably.”

“That’s terrible,” Armand said. He looked everywhere but at Shannon. His chiseled features had taken on a sallow cast, and a shadow covered his eyes as he tilted his head forward.

Reaching for his hand, Shannon found her voice and did her best to sound cheerful. “I’m sure I’ll recover. My body heals fast.” She couldn’t let him know her fear. Fear of losing everything she’d worked so hard to accomplish. Fear of not being in control of her life. Fear of losing him.

Armand forced a smile but never looked Shannon directly in the eye again. Her heart sank, and her veins throbbed. She knew, deep down, that this was the end for them. No matter how much he’d professed his undying love, she was now certain that her beautiful face and ability to get any modeling job she wanted were not only what had attracted Armand, they had been what kept him. Now she had scars. Ugly scars. And he couldn’t see past the surface.

Shannon’s modeling career had taken off so fast, she wasn’t sure if she’d gone down that path because she really wanted it or because it had been handed to her on a silver platter. Whatever the case, here she was, twenty-seven, and faced with an uncertain future because she had scars. If Armand didn’t stick around, at least she’d know why. Right before the accident, he’d told her he loved her and started dropping hints about the future.

Marriage, she suddenly remembered. He’d even come right out and mentioned the word
marriage
.

Nothing had changed between them since then, except two mangled cars and a four-week stay in the hospital. And a scar.

She glanced over toward the window to avoid staring at Armand. Even the weather remained the same—a disgustingly gorgeous, sunshiny day with a few puffy white clouds hovering overhead. Why couldn’t it rain? Shannon didn’t have any excuse except self-pity for the sick feeling in her gut. She was alive, she had plenty of financial reserves, and her family had offered their emotional support. But Armand continued sitting there, looking past her, letting her know, without words, that he couldn’t face her the way she looked now.

Just as Shannon feared, three days after she returned home, a flower-delivery boy stopped by with a bouquet of two dozen red roses and a card that said Armand would regrettably be out of the country for the next month or two. Shannon blinked back the tears. She knew this was a kiss-off from the man she’d been with since their photo shoot in Nassau this time last year.

A sob threatened to escape her throat, but she sniffled and swallowed deep. There had to be a solution to this problem. There was always a solution.

Shannon would never forget the first time she’d seen Armand. While most male models spent all their time studying their reflections in the mirror or any piece of glass they passed, Armand had grinned at her and given her his undivided attention. He’d told her he loved who she was in her heart and that her looks weren’t important to him. For the first time in her life, Shannon had felt like someone truly valued her for the person she was deep down. Now she knew that was a farce; they were only words spoken by a man who made a living being beautiful himself.

When she heard the knock on the door, Shannon mechanically got up and answered it. “Oh, hi, Mom.”

Her mother smiled back at her, a twenty-year-older version of herself. Perfect teeth, smooth complexion, flawlessly cut, colored, and styled hair. Too bad she’d gotten pregnant and quit the performing arts program at the community college to get married.

“Don’t worry, Shannon, honey,” her mother told her when she opened the refrigerator and set the soup bowl on the top shelf. She turned around, glanced at Shannon, then looked everywhere but directly at her daughter. “Those cuts will heal, and you’ll be back in front of the camera in no time.” She’d grabbed a dishrag and started wiping down counters—a move, Shannon knew, meant to avoid looking at her.

“I don’t think so, Mom,” Shannon said. “These aren’t just cuts. They’re scars that’ll be with me forever.”

With a shrug and a slight grimace as they locked gazes for a split second, her mom replied, patting her on the hand, “Well, there’s always plastic surgery.” The lilt in her voice was a little too rehearsed. “You do what you have to do to please your fans.”

Please her fans? Hardly. More like give her mother what she’d always wanted for herself—a career centered on the spotlight and superficial beauty. Bitter feelings left over from Shannon’s youth were starting to surface, and she didn’t like it, so she turned to her mother and did what she’d always done. She offered a megawatt smile and got one in return.

As soon as her mother left her apartment, Shannon stood in front of her mirror, the light shining brightly on her face. For the first time since the car wreck, she took a good look at reality, really studied the damage. The windshield had gashed her when the oncoming SUV had come within inches of her face. A bright red scar started at the top of her left cheekbone and continued to the bottom of her chin. She knew if the impact had been the slightest bit stronger, she wouldn’t be alive today. So why did she feel so miserable instead of grateful?

The phone rang, jolting her from the mirror and her self-pity.

“In the mood for company?”

It was Janie, the one person in her life Shannon felt certain didn’t care about her looks.

“Not really.”

“You don’t sound so good.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You shouldn’t be alone right now. I’m coming over.”

“You don’t have to,” Shannon said.

“I know I don’t have to, silly. But I want to. What are friends for?”

Shannon felt a little better as she replaced the phone in the cradle. Janie had been her closest buddy back in high school, back before Shannon McNab had become a household name among the fashion conscious, TV producers, and magazine executives. Janie couldn’t have cared less what Shannon did for a living or how many times her picture had been on the covers of magazines. In fact, she hated the spotlight, which worked well in their relationship, because Shannon was always the one who had it, not her.

The only thing about Janie that bothered Shannon was the fact that she liked to talk about God and her relationship with Jesus. Sometimes she spoke as if she wanted to convert Shannon. It wasn’t that Shannon didn’t believe in God or anything. She just didn’t need religion right now. Maybe later, when she was a little older.

“Hey, Scarface.”

Shannon opened the door to a grinning Janie.

With a groan, Shannon said, “I thought you wanted to make me feel better.”

“Sorry. I was trying to lighten things up.”

“I know. Want some soup?”

Janie chuckled. “Did Sara cook her famous chicken noodle soup? She’s such a mom.”

“Of course. Isn’t that what she does every time someone gets sick?”

Janie took a step back and glared at Shannon—without the flinch or grimace Shannon was starting to expect. “You’re not sick.”

Okay, so Janie wasn’t going to feel sorry for her. “You didn’t answer me. Want some soup?”

“Sounds good.” Without hesitating, Janie headed toward the kitchen and opened the refrigerator where the big glass bowl of soup sat on the top shelf. “This it?”

Shannon nodded and sank down on the vinyl kitchen chair as Janie dumped the contents of the bowl into a saucepan and set it on the front burner. She joined Shannon while the soup heated.

“Are you totally bummed about Armand?” Janie asked. She’d never minced words.

Shannon nodded then shrugged. “I guess, sort of.”

“If he leaves you just because of a stupid scar, he’s not worth having.”

“I’m sure he had other reasons,” Shannon argued. “Armand’s not that shallow.”

“Other reasons?” Sarcasm laced her words as Janie held up her hand and counted off on her fingers. “Let’s see. You’re still strikingly beautiful, even though you have that red line on your face that will probably, given time, fade to practically nothing. You’re one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known in my life,” she said as she pointed to her second finger. “Then there’s the fact that you were class salutatorian, and you’re smart as a whip. I guess your love of animals doesn’t count since he’s allergic to them.” She shrugged. “Perfect woman in my book.”

In spite of the pain in her heart, Shannon smiled. Janie always did have a way of putting things into perspective and bringing the positive to light. “You forgot to mention that I make a mean German chocolate cake,” Shannon added, trying to get into the spirit of things and pretend none of this really mattered.