The Makeover (17 page)

Camellia held out her hand. “Deal.”

The screen door swung open, pulling the women from their handshake. Shelby appeared in the doorway, her expression perplexed. “Those boys were acting just fine to me,” she said, a bit breathless. “Still, I told them not to cause trouble for you. I also threatened to stay open on Christmas,” she confessed, grinning mischievously. “That drained the color from their faces, let me tell you.”

“Nice work,” Camellia said, giving Shelby a playful hug. “Well, I’d best be going. Sharene, I’ll see you on Friday for card night.”

“Card night?” Shelby questioned.

“Oh, yeah, Shelby, Camellia and I are going to hang out Friday night, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh,” Shelby said, looking between the two women. “Me too?”

Camellia put a hand on Shelby’s back as if to console her. “Um, if it’s okay, Sharene and I were thinking just us two. Do you think you could find someplace to go for the evening?”

Shelby’s joy was so palpable, Camellia could feel it emanating from the girl into her own body. “Y
es! Yes, I’m sure I can come up with something.”

Camellia stepped out into the blazing sun, sliding her oversized sunglasses into place. It was good to see a plan turn out the way it was intended. And there was still
one more plan needing to be set into motion.

She pulled her phone from her handbag and speed dialed Northern Medical Center. When the receptionist at the main desk answered, Camellia’s heart was racing so fast she had to lean into her
SUV to steady herself. “Yes, can you connect me with a gynecologist on staff?” she sputtered. “I need to see about having my IUD removed.”

TWENTY-FIVE

The first Friday evening with Sharene had exceeded Camellia’s expectations. Sharene had appeared genuinely happy to see her, and they easily passed the time playing gin rummy, drinking iced tea, and getting to know each other. But it was Shelby’s jubilant demeanor after returning home from her date with Justin that truly made Camellia’s heart swell.

Camellia’s own demeanor soured once she arrived home, however, when Henry greeted her by announcing that their presence was requested at another Diagnostic Radiology Services function. This time an end-of-summer cookout, back at the Farling home at the lake. Henry found the invitation amusing. Camellia did not.

“Look at it this way, we’ll be outside for
this party, so it’ll be easier to run.”

Camellia glared at her husband on her way to the kitchen, and grabbed a bottle of chardonnay from the refrigerator. “You can’t honestly expect me to go through this again,” she muttered, pulling the cork from the bottle and pouring half a glass. She swiveled back in his direction. “Could you?”

Henry met her at the counter and shrugged his shoulders. “I feel obligated to attend. I feel obligated to bring my wife.” He picked up her wine before she could react and took a drink.

“Hey!” Camellia slapped at Henry’s hand, causing the wine to splash onto the counter. “First you set me up, then you steal my wine, and then you
spill
it. Henry Rhodes, you’re not having your best night.” She plucked the glass out of his hand and slipped out of his reach. “If I wanted this level of insult, I could go down to the hardware store and spend time with that boy who refuses to call me anything but ma’am.”

He followed her into the living room and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her on the neck.

“Henry, it’s far too hot for you to be covering that much of my skin. We’d be better off doing that in a cold shower.”

“Deal,” he said, taking the wine from her hand again, this time setting it on the coffee table. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“Oh,” she said, smiling shyly. “I’m sort of out of commission.”

Henry did a double take. “You are? That hasn’t happened since right after you had the IUD placed. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” She sat on the arm of the couch and looked up sheepishly at her husband. “It’s just not in there anymore.”

“It fell out?” he gasped.

Camellia laughed heartily. “No, silly. I-I had it taken out.”

Henry’s face softened. “How come?”

Her bottom lip quivered for just a moment. “Because you can’t get pregnant with an IUD.”

He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her legs. Camellia knew he wouldn’t look at her because he was crying. She could feel it in the rapid motion of his back as it rose and fell.

Two weeks later, the last Saturday in August, Camellia and Henry returned to the lake, as ready as they were going to be for the cookout.

They passed their own house along the way, some of the construction crew working through the weekend to get the kitchen cabinetry installed. They would be living there in a month, and even though Camellia wasn’t crazy about living amongst The Snobs, it was comforting to know that Deb would be only a quarter of a mile around the lake, an easy walk – or run – if necessary. And even though Markleeville had grown on her, and she liked having the downtown so close, she was ready to leave the cottage and its ugly wood stove, dreadful furniture, and microscopic closets.

They arrived at the party fifteen minutes early, with a grand plan to have some alone time with the host and hostess, David and Geri Farling. Camellia hoped a little friendly chatter before the other women arrived might break the ice and encourage Geri to show her a little warmth in the company of the other guests. A gesture that surely would be imitated if first done by the director’s wife. Camellia hated the pretense but understood how cliques worked. And while she didn’t have the slightest desire to befriend any of these women, they were tied to Henry’s workplace, and the least she could do was try.

The party started much like the last one, except this time they met up with their hosts on the covered patio at the back of the house, which was set up with multiple tables that spilled onto the grass, signaling a sizable party. David was still unable to come up with Camellia’s proper name, this time calling her Karina, and Geri once again managed thirty seconds worth of small talk before excusing herself to attend to a “situation.” But this time, as the woman’s slight figure disappeared into the house, Camellia followed.

“So Geri.” Her voice was shaky; even more so when Geri came to a halt in the hallway, clearly surprised to find Camellia on her tail. “Um, how long have you and David lived here?”

Geri turned and looked down her nose at Camellia, scowling. “Three long years.” Without waiting for a response, she swiveled and headed for the kitchen, Camellia continuing to follow.

“Where did you move from?”

Geri inspected a selection of cheeses on a sterling silver tray polished to perfection and shook her head. She placed her hands on the counter, leaning her weight into them, as if the condition of the cheese tray was more than her fragile disposition could handle.

“Thomas? Where’s Thomas?” she demanded. The catering staff scattered out of the way as a short, stocky man with a pencil mustache stepped cautiously forward.

“Yes ma’am.”

Geri bowed her head, Camellia assumed for maximum dramatic effect. “Thomas, didn’t I say no Camembert? I seem to clearly remember specifying no Camembert, didn’t I?”

Thomas looked at Camellia as if she might intervene at any moment. She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders in reply.

“Yes ma’am,” he finally replied, shuffling his feet, “I believe you did say no Camembert.”

“Then
why
is there Camembert on this cheese tray? Why?”

Camellia wondered if this was typical Geri or if her host was putting on a show for her. She was itching to intervene, to take the heat off of Thomas while making Geri look like the nutjob she was, but she was here to fall into favor with Geri, not humiliate the woman. So she remained silent and watched the performance that clearly wasn’t over yet.

“Perhaps one of the catering staff confused it with the Brie, ma’am.”

“Thomas, do I look stupid
to you? Who confuses Camembert with Brie?”

Camellia felt the laughter rising from her chest into her cheeks, and she fought to suppress it, going so far as to fake a sneeze just to drop her head out of view for a second to hide her amused expression.

“I’ll fix it myself, ma’am,” Thomas assured, whisking the tray to the far end of the kitchen where he stood with his back turned. Camellia was sure it was so Geri wouldn’t see him laughing, either.

Geri abruptly turned her attention back to Camellia. “Now, what did you want to know?” she asked sharply.

“Oh, um, I asked where you moved from.”

“Chicago.”

“A beautiful city,” Camellia cooed. “I took many trips there when I was editing
Flair
.”

“How nice for you,” Geri replied coolly. “May I ask: have we begun a game of Twenty Questions? I have guests coming, you know.”

Camellia’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t manage the forced pleasantries any longer. “I’m just trying to get to know you,” she mumbled, humiliated.

Geri sighed. “This isn’t the best time.”

“Is there some reason that you don’t want to know me?” Camellia questioned. Her fists clenched.

Geri checked her blue St. John sheath, which was perfect, and turned her head to the side, avoiding eye contact with Camellia. “I hear you’re working at...a diner. Is that correct?”

“Yes, I am.”

Turning back to look directly at Camellia, Geri clicked her tongue and shook her head slowly. “Apparently, David isn’t paying your husband well enough. I’ll be sure to have a chat with him about it. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Geri stepped past Camellia, who had turned and raised a fist, trying to decide whether or not to strike. It was Thomas who made the decision for her, catching Camellia’s hand and guiding it back down to her side.

“Won’t do any good; she’s icy to the core,” he said in a hushed tone. “You’ll only hurt your hand.”

Camellia grinned and patted his arm. “Be sure to give me your card. You’re my caterer for life.”

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a stack of business cards. “Excellent, maybe you can hire me to throw you a Camembert party.”

Camellia laughed so hard tears ran down both cheeks. “Speaking of parties, I think this one is over for me. Good luck to you!” She breezed along the hallway and out the back door, spotting Henry sitting at a nearby table, surrounded by colleagues. They appeared to be engrossed in serious conversation, which meant most likely they were discussing a case. Camellia didn’t want to disrupt him so she kept walking, pulling her phone from her bag and typing him a brief text message:

Pick me up at Deb’s when you’re done. No rush. XO

The laid-back atmosphere at Deb’s comfortable A-frame house with its cool blue color palette was exactly what Camellia needed to decompress, which she did by kicking off her shoes, plopping onto the crisp white sectional, and putting back a frozen margarita courtesy of Deb’s new power blender. Deb explained over the second margarita her good intentions for buying the blender.

“My sweet Charlie passed in 2003, and Lisa tells me six years is too long to be alone, so I figure I better drop a few pounds and get back in the dating game.”

Camellia glanced around the living room, noticing a menagerie of framed photos featuring the same burly man with full beard and friendly blue eyes. “I didn’t know you were married,” Camellia said. “How did he die?”

“Aneurism,” Deb said, tapping her head to indicate the location. “Real sudden.”

Camellia put a hand to her heart, reacting to the dull pain that had found its way to her chest. She couldn’t imagine losing Henry, especially so young.

Deb must have picked up on Camellia’s distress, because she elbowed her then and clinked her glass. “It was a long time ago. I’m fine. As a matter of fact, I’m not even sure why I’m considering dating. I haven’t had a problem with my life. Lisa’s the one who’s forever worried about me living out here alone.”

“Lisa wants everyone to be happy,” Camellia acknowledged.

“I
am
happy,” Deb insisted. “Or at least I was. Now that I’ve got dating on the brain, I’m turning stupid. For God’s sake, I blew two-fifty on that stupid blender to make juices and smoothies so I could lose a couple of pounds.”

“You’re not that stupid,” Cam
ellia needled. “The thing makes incredible margaritas.”

Henry rapped on the door as the third round of margaritas were getting polished off. On Deb’s insistence, he joined the ladies at the kitchen table, where they had moved to be closer to the blender.

“Your house is charming, Deb,” Henry said, looking around and nodding. “How long have you lived here?”

“Four years,” she said, pushing her glass across the table, appearing to be done. “Before that, Charlie and I had a ranch in town.” She peered at Henry, said “He passed,” and fixed her eyes on Camellia, obviously not caring to go over the details again.

“What made you want to live out here by yourself?” Camellia asked, resting her cloudy head on Henry’s shoulder.

“It was different. I needed something different. If it wasn’t for The Snobs, this place would be perfection.”

Camellia picked her head up and turned to Henry. “Speaking of The Snobs, how was the rest of the party?”

“Manageable,” Henry said, rubbing his wife’s back. “I take it from your text things didn’t go so well with Geri.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “That’s an understatement. I don’t think things will ever go well with Geri. Or any of those women, for that matter. I don’t know what their problem is with me.”

“I do,” Deb said, getting up to root in the pantry for snacks.

Camellia and Henry exchanged a puzzled look. “You do?” Camellia asked.

Deb emerged from the pantry with a bag of Doritos. “Sure. You adapted.”

“Adapted...you mean to Markleeville?” Henry asked, still looking bewildered.

“Exactly. They don’t like that.” She tore open the bag, spilled some of the chips onto the table, which was apparently filling in for a bowl, and took a handful, munching loudly. “See, none of them wanted to come here, just like you. But while they clung together, relishing in their misery, and hoping all the doom and gloom will be the catalyst to their spouses finding jobs elsewhere, you gave Markleeville a chance. That’s like the kiss of death.”

“Wow,” Camellia said, giving in to the chips and snagging the few closest to her. “That makes a hell of a lot of sense.”

“I have to admit, it really does,” Henry conceded, shifting in his seat and crossing a leg. “But Deb, how do you know all this?”