Facial Recognition

by Jennifer Peel

  “Again.”

  His chest rose and fell before he started to splutter. “Ugh. I can’t stand lavender.”

  I smiled to myself. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “It’s fine, just use something else.” His manners were so brusque. I wondered what had happened to him to make him that way. The boy I remembered had never been happy-go-lucky, but he’d had a kind spirit to him.

  “Just relax,” I whispered in soothing tones while squirting some almond oil in my hands, even though I felt on edge myself. I wasn’t sure I wanted to touch Brooks. I had given hundreds of facial massages, yet this seemed wrong. Probably because I knew part of me would enjoy it while the other part would want to smother him with a warm, wet towel. We weren’t supposed to treat our clients like sexual beings nor kill them. So, you see where this got tricky for me.

  My eyes darted between my hands and Brooks’s tousled hair—gorgeous hair that I had always wanted to run my hands through. I’d had dreams about it all growing up. I’d hoped on prom night I would have gotten the pleasure, and then he would have fallen madly in love with me and decided he couldn’t live without me. Obviously, none of that panned out. The jerk didn’t even remember me.

  Brooks made it more uncomfortable because he popped his eyes open. Dawning appeared on his face. “You really do remind me of someone I used to know.”

  “Oh really,” I said, way too high pitched. “Who? Maybe I know her.”

  He let out a long sigh. “Her name is Gracie Cartwright, but I called her Grace.” His lips twitched, almost forming a smile.

  The way he said my name so reverently made my heart pitter-patter. I had forgotten how much I liked that he called me Grace. It gave me the courage to plunge my hands into his fantastic hair. Holy crow, it was like dying and going to heaven. His hair was thick and soft. His scalp was perfectly smooth. I had to clear my throat before I had a moment. I really needed a boyfriend.

  “Why did you call her Grace?” What a ridiculous question to ask a stranger—you know, if he had been one. Yet I had always wondered and never asked him back in high school. Besides, I’d had much odder conversations in this room. Most people don’t want to talk, but with some people it’s all they want to do. I’d found out all sorts of things about my clients. I had one lady confess that she wore cat costumes whenever she was at home and sang “Memory” on repeat.

  He closed his eyes as if he reveled in my touch. I even saw goose bumps appear on his shoulders and chest. That filled me with pride, though it was wrong. So very wrong. This was not a place where anyone should be turned on.

  “The name just fit her,” he finally responded. That was sweet and gave me some goose bumps.

  Just for that, I made sure my fingers worked some magic on his scalp. “You must have been close to her.”

  “We were only neighbors.”

  What! Only neighbors? This was coming from the boy who had sneaked into my room the night after my mother died and held my hand as we sat on the floor while I sobbed. Not to mention we had kissed once. I had come to him crying our junior year when Danny Kershaw told me I wasn’t a very good kisser. Brooks had offered to give me some pointers. The only feedback I had gotten after our dizzying kiss was that Danny Kershaw had no idea what he was talking about. I’d hoped, after the best kiss I’d ever had, that Brooks would see me differently. That the boy who had whispered my name before tenderly parting my lips and who had taken his time letting his tongue sweep the inside of my mouth would realize we were meant to be together. That had been wishful thinking. He’d acted like it never happened. The memory stung. That was it—he was getting the cleanser I’d had some burning complaints about.

  His eyes fluttered open, and he took another good look at me. “Come to think of it, she would be a lot older than you.”

  I had to keep from snarling. I was the same age as him, and he had aged well. Did he think I had grown up to be a hag? Joke was on him, though—not only did I have good genes, I was definitely going to torture him a bit. I immediately stopped the goose bump–inducing scalp massage and grabbed a warm towel to wrap around his head. I resisted the urge to smother him with it.

  I grabbed the deep cleanser from the counter behind me. Zoe had done a beautiful job of neatly organizing all my supplies. “So, has your girlfriend been here before?” If she had and it was indeed Morgan, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen her. Unlike Brooks, I would recognize my old classmate.

  “I don’t think so, but she heard this was the best spa in Fort Worth.”

  I had to smile. We had worked hard to earn that reputation. “We’d like to send her a thank-you note for the referral.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. We did like to send people thank-yous, but if it was Morgan, she was getting nothing. “What’s her name?”

  “I put her name on all the paperwork you made me fill out. Which is overkill, by the way,” he growled.

  I grabbed my chest. He really was seeing Morgan. And he was a jerk. I shouldn’t care about either; except I had thought I would marry the man someday. And apparently some random voice did too. I should probably get that hearing-voices thing checked out. Possibly with a local priest. The voice was obviously evil.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way. We’re only trying to be thorough and make sure each client receives the best care,” I replied more snippily than I normally would have.

  He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but not a word came out. Fine by me. I was done talking to him. I had to say, though, I was glad he came in here. He’d proven to me that I hadn’t missed out on a thing. In fact, I was lucky he had stood me up. Not only that, I could tell his daddy to quit fretting over his estranged relationship with his son. Okay, so I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t even tell Tom I’d seen Brooks. Poor Tom was still beside himself over what he had done to push Brooks away, though I believed Tom had done his penance. And Brooks’s behavior today only cemented that he was a spoiled brat for not reciprocating Tom’s attempts to mend their relationship.

  I squeezed a generous amount of the lemon-and-sage–scented cleanser in my hand and with gentle sweeping motions applied it to his upper torso and then his angular, perfect face. So maybe he had some blackheads on his nose. I supposed that meant I should throw in an extraction for him. What a pity. He deserved a little torture.

  “That stuff stings,” he complained.

  “It’s the price you pay for beauty,” I sang, not even caring that he was shifting in discomfort while I continued to apply the cleanser. To be more wicked, I added in, “You have really large pores, and I see a lot of lines on your face. I recommend getting a good moisturizer.”

  “I have wrinkles?” He sounded oh so vain. His eyes flew open, begging me to tell him it wasn’t true.

  I had to press my lips together before I smirked at him. “There are different types of wrinkles. You have some frown lines around your brow. I suggest smiling more.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “How do you know I don’t?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  “You’re awfully presumptive, Jane.”

  “Am I wrong?” I challenged him. Which I would have never done with any other client. But Brooks was different. He always had been for me.

  He gave me an icy stare. “I don’t see why that is any of your business.”

  “My apologies. You’re right. You are absolutely none of my business,” my stupid voice cracked. I mean, it wasn’t like I hadn’t been in love with him for over half my life.

  Chapter Three

  I let out a huge sigh the moment I reached Pecan Orchard’s city limits. There was something so soothing about my hometown. I wasn’t sure if it was all the cute shops on Madison Street—the main thoroughfare—that were tightly knit together and made of brick with classic awnings. Or the way the shopkeepers still swept the sidewalks and dressed their business windows for each holiday. Currently they were all decked out in red, white, and blue in commemoration of Memorial Day, which would be in a
couple of weeks. Life was slower in Pecan Orchard, and I loved it. When you went to the grocery store here, you learned to always get your frozen foods last because it was inevitable that you would run into someone, or several someones, you knew, and long conversations would ensue. Many cartons of ice cream had melted at Dixon’s Grocery Store while people were shooting the breeze.

  Tonight, I needed home more than ever. My time with Brooks today had me reeling. Which was ridiculous. I was a grown woman who had not spent the last twenty years mourning Brooks. Sure, I had thought about him more than I would like to admit. So maybe I stalked any photos Carly posted of him on Facebook. Perhaps I had even checked him out on LinkedIn. And whenever Tom had any news of him, I paid extra close attention. Could anyone blame me? I’d had a voice in my head tell me we would get married. With all that said, him not recognizing me today hurt. It felt like prom night all over again. I was the forgotten girl.

  It had been one thing for Brooks not to see me romantically, but I’d thought we were friends. Like best friends. At least good enough for him to have given me a heads-up that he had been planning on ditching me. Good enough that even after twenty years he would have recognized me. Although, after two decades of no word from him, it was stupid how hurt I was by it all. Thankfully, I would never see him again. He had made sure to mention to me after his appointment that while I had done a good job, my attitude was severely lacking and he would be posting a poor Google review. I’d told him I looked forward to writing my rebuttal. He’d sneered at me before I’d walked out to allow him to get dressed.

  Lorelai and Colette got a big kick out of him complaining about me to the owners. I’d had my wits about me and knew he would be one of those complainers, so before he got to them, I had made sure to tell Lorelai and Colette that he thought my name was Jane. They’d happily played along and said all the right things, including that they would discipline Jane. We’d all had a good laugh about it, even if inside I had been crying a bit. I missed the old Brooks. Not to mention I was having a hard time forgetting how wonderful it had been to touch his broad shoulders and taut chest. It was as if my fingers were meant to touch his skin.

  I had to shake those thoughts. It was poker night with the boys, a.k.a. my daddy and Tom, and I needed to be on my A game. Plus, I had to conceal from Tom that I’d seen Brooks today. He would be ashamed of him if he found out how deplorable his son had behaved. Or worse, he would blame himself. Poor Tom.

  I turned onto Poplar Street, located in the historic district of Pecan Orchard. It had been home for the last twenty-four years. Most women would be embarrassed to admit they still lived at home with their father. However, I saw myself more like Jane Austen’s Emma. My daddy and I were both respected members of the community, and I didn’t live at home because I had to—it was purely by choice. I had more than enough money to live on my own, but with Daddy being a widower intent on never remarrying, it seemed silly to move out.

  Daddy and I had fallen into a good routine. We took turns cooking, and I paid him rent, though I knew he was saving it all to give it back to me for a down payment on my own house. He was also good about giving me my space. The entire upstairs was mine to do with as I pleased. Besides that, Daddy’s face lit up every time I walked through the door. He was cuter than a Labrador retriever. Don’t get me wrong, I would love to come home to a man who would take me up in his arms and kiss the daylights out of me while feeling all my curves, but I was beginning to think I would have to make do with a kiss on the cheek from the best dad around.

  When I pulled into our drive, I took a moment to admire the butter-yellow colonial revival home with clapboard siding and white shutters. Momma loved pastels. Poor Daddy still lived in a pink bedroom, and we had a robin’s-egg–blue kitchen because Daddy couldn’t bear to change it. It looked like the Easter Bunny had thrown up in half our house. Daddy had even managed to keep the peonies alive year after year. It was the big stately pecan tree, though, that was the king of the yard. Every house on the street had one. Heck, probably every house in the town had one.

  Momma had loved that tree. The first fall we lived here, Momma had tried every pecan recipe she could think of. Pecan pies, butter pecan fudge, maple pecan pork chops. The list could go on. Unfortunately, Momma couldn’t eat most of those things, and she’d died the following fall. The dilated cardiomyopathy brought on by her diabetes had bested her. My world had never been the same since. Maybe it was why I still lived at home—she was still here.

  I hustled into the house and was greeted by my two favorite men shouting “Gracie” from the living room. I couldn’t help but dart their way to kiss their heads. Before I bestowed my kisses, I took a second to smile at my men. Each so different, yet they were the best of friends. Daddy was on the shorter side, thin, with wispy gray hair. He sipped merlot and wore khaki pants and dress shirts even when he was at home. Though he’d married a country girl, he was all city and had grown up in New York. For as long as I’d been alive, he’d worked as an electrical engineering consultant for wastewater treatment facilities. He should have retired by now, but I think work kept his mind off Momma.

  Tom, on the other hand, was big and boisterous. He drank way too much beer and ate more than he should. He was one of those men who had been the cat’s meow back in the day, but his unhealthy habits had gotten the best of him. He had been a brilliant corporate lawyer for an oil company until he’d recently retired. Several years ago, Tom had almost lost his job following his divorce from June. After his indiscretion, he never forgave himself, and his life had never been the same. Yet he still had a big smile for me and always made sure to have a fizzing glass of Diet Pepsi with a twist of lime waiting for me during poker night. And he was always the first person to compliment me. Well, besides my daddy. But Daddy was always quiet about it. Tom boomed.

  First, I kissed Daddy’s head. “How was your day?”

  “Fine, sweetheart.” He patted the hand I had rested on his shoulder. He still wore his wedding ring. I loved it so much, yet it broke my heart.

  Tom was next. I kissed his salt-and-pepper mop. For his age, he had a lot of hair. It reminded me of Brooks. After running my hands through Brooks’s hair today, I knew he would be lucky like his daddy and keep it for a long while. “Looks like I need to get my shears out.” When I’d graduated from cosmetology school many moons ago, I had started out as a hairstylist. I didn’t do it very long before I went back to aesthetician school. Now I only cut hair for Tom and Daddy.

  Tom took a swig of his Bud Light. “Not tonight, darlin’, we have some serious business to take care of.”

  “Give me a minute, and I’ll be back to kick your booties.”

  Both men chuckled. They knew I was headed to change into my Lucky Charms shirt that stated I was magically delicious. I only ever wore it in the house during poker night. Maybe I should wear it around town to advertise. Although I preferred blind dates. I thought maybe the voice would appear if I dated men I’d never seen before. Just like when Brooks had popped his head over the fence. Or shown up out of the blue today. I had to stop thinking about it. Perhaps I should forget the voice and just choose someone myself. Not the podiatrist, though.

  When I walked away, I heard Tom tell Daddy, “Steve, you’re a lucky man. That girl of yours is pure gold. I can’t believe some fella hasn’t snatched her up yet.”

  “All in good time,” Daddy responded, as if he were okay with the fact that I was going to be a spinster. I truly was living the life of Emma Woodhouse. I had a doting father who didn’t want me to leave the nest, my mother was dead, and I lived in a beautiful house, albeit a little too pastel. Perhaps, though, it meant I would get my Mr. Knightley. A handsome, distinguished man I’d known forever but hadn’t considered to be husband material. Maybe I should start flipping through my own contacts. Brooks popped into my head. Absolutely not. I didn’t care that he had challenged me today, just like Mr. Knightley did with Emma. Or that he was handsome and distinguished. The man didn’t even re
cognize me.

  With those lovely thoughts, I raced up the stairs and into my room, which was really two rooms. Daddy had knocked down the wall between my bedroom and the old guest bedroom, so it was more like a suite with a private bathroom. Totally Emma Woodhouse worthy. Except my room was more like a homage to Dr. Noah Drake, a.k.a. Rick Springfield of General Hospital. My momma had been obsessed with the show and him. Momma had said I would be a blessed child since I was born on March 25, 1981. The same day Dr. Noah Drake made his debut. Her water broke with me right after the episode was over. She’d told me she had cried for a week straight when he left the show in 1983 to focus on his music career. I only wished she had been around when he came back to the show in 2005. She would have squealed.

  Momma had loved the show so much she used to tape episodes on our old VCR. I remember watching them with her when she would get really sick and have to stay in bed. I would curl up next to her and drool over the handsome doctor. I had vowed to Momma that if I ever had a son, I would name him Noah. It was the last thing she had whispered to me. “Don’t forget your promise, Gracie. I want a grandson named Noah.” I’d cried and laughed. Leave it to Momma to say something so silly as her last words. I’d kept all her old tapes and bought the last model of the VCR they ever made in 2016, just to make sure I could keep on watching them. Dr. Noah honestly was quite the rake, but there was something about him. Regardless of what a hot cad he was, watching those old tapes kept me connected to Momma.

  I walked through my room and brushed my hand over one of my many Rick Springfield posters hanging on the walls. It was a fresh-faced one of him in scrubs. Wow, was he a looker. I stopped and sighed, gazing into Rick’s hazel eyes. Momma had been so thrilled when my eyes turned out to be hazel too.

  “Don’t tell the guys downstairs, but oh, did I have a day today. You remember Brooks. He used to make fun of you, and of me for liking you. Yeah, I should have known then he wasn’t the one. Well, I saw him today. And I heard the voice again. I know, I’m as surprised as you. Obviously I need therapy. For goodness’ sake, I’m talking to a poster. Still, what’s your opinion? And how hairy are your feet?”