Hearts are broken
Pieces dispersed.
Do I gather them?
Is this the path I traverse?
I beg you please
Don’t let us become a blank verse.
Dear Universe
She needs to see
Time is terse
My heart is hers
I don’t mean to coerce
Somebody please
Don’t let our love lay in a hearse.
Dear Universe
This is my last plea
Time needs to reverse
But it moves forward
My broken heart needs a nurse
Baby, pretty please
Let’s write a happy, new verse.
Chapter 7
Izzy
I wasn’t sure how long I stared at my paused TV screen with tears tracking down my face as Dawson’s image peered into my soul. However how long it took for the TV to go black, that’s how long I was frozen in place.
Hearing his anguish, seeing his pain, ripped my heart to shreds.
Oh no.
Was Beckett able to read between the lines? Did he know Dawson was talking about me?
With trembling fingers, I grabbed my phone off the coffee table. No messages from him. Crap.
Should I message him?
Pacing the floor, I argued with myself. If I didn’t reach out, that might confirm that I was the girl Dawson was referring to and wanted back. But if I did reach out, he might ask me for insight into who Dawson was talking about. Or what if he ignored me all together?
I needed something mindless to do with my hands while I sorted through my jumbled thoughts. I was too worked up to paint or sketch, so I moved to my desk. Leaning down, I slid the bottom drawer open and withdrew a handful of colorful paper strips. With quick fingers, I started folding the strips. Crisp edges. Sharp points. Folded over and over into a tiny little hexagon. Gently, I pressed the sides in causing the paper to puff up into a star shape. I dropped it into an empty jar on my desk. I grabbed another scrap and folded it until another wishing star had formed. I hadn’t made these since Amsterdam with Dawson.
By the time I decided to call Beckett, the jar was half filled with wishes. The problem was I didn’t know what to wish for anymore. Half the stars contained wishes for what used to be, and half wished for what was now. I was afraid to keep folding. Terrified to tip the balance one way or the other. That was the only reason I picked up the phone and dialed. While I waited for him to answer or ignore my call, I started wearing a hole in the carpet.
“Isabelle, hi,” his voice was flat, but not angry or suspicious.
“Hi yourself.” I inhaled deeply.
“Sorry I didn’t call as soon as the show ended. Dr. Reeves called before I could dial you.” He sounded distracted.
“No problem. Is everything OK?” Dr. Reeves was the doctor in charge of the medical trials I participated in.
“Not really. But I don’t want to worry you.”
“When you don’t want to worry someone, you should never say that, Doctor,” I teased.
“I know. My bedside manner kind of goes out the window when things concern you and your health. Sorry,” he confessed in a sad voice.
“Just tell me what’s going on. If you need to speak as my doctor instead of my boyfriend, that’s fine. I’ll be the patient, not the girlfriend,” I offered.
“OK. We lost another person from the trial.”
“Oh no.” I sank to the couch. “Who?”
“Annie.”
“The little girl?” my voice cracked as I recalled the cute little girl I’d drawn pictures for.
“Yes. And that’s not all. There are two more with unexplained illnesses, and one who’s in transplant rejection,” he continued.
The breath stalled in my lungs. My mouth gaped open like a fish, but no sound came out.
“Isabelle? Isabelle? Answer me,” his voice was concerned.
“Sorry. I’m here,” I whispered.
“Don’t worry until you have reason to. How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Great. No symptoms of anything.” Except emotional turmoil and mental anguish. But I was pretty sure they were unrelated to my illness or treatments.
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. If anything, anything at all feels off, you have to let me know immediately. OK?”
“Yes, of course. And don’t let these setbacks in the trial discourage you. Even though there have been five affected negatively so far, the number isn’t statistically significant,” I said, trying to comfort him. And myself.
“Tell that to their families. They are significant. There’s a little girl who’s never going to grow up. There’s a baby boy who’s never going to meet his dad,” he growled, pain rippling through his voice.
“That’s not what I meant. Yes, they’re significant as people. But they don’t negate the positive results of the trial because the number of positive outcomes far outweighs the negative,” I argued.
“I know. I’m just really worried about you,” he croaked.
“It’s OK. I know you are. Please keep me updated on how the sick patients are doing.” I had to know what to expect.
“Absolutely. Now, on to happier subjects. What did you think of LO’s new song?”
Silence filled the line as I tried to figure out how to answer without revealing my inner chaos. “I thought it was beautiful. It’s definitely different from the music they’ve previously released.”
“It seems so much deeper. More emotionally impactful,” he said.
“Their sound is maturing,” I offered neutrally.
“I definitely agree. And I can’t believe someone from your parents’ party recorded Dawson singing for your grandparents,” his voice was filled with disapproval.
“I know, right? It feels like our privacy at a family gathering was betrayed,” I answered.
“Any idea who would do that?”
“None.” I hadn’t really given it any thought yet.
“Either way, I think the Loyals will eat it up. Rock star taking an oldie request for a pair of grandparents. It’s pretty sweet,” he said, the smile obvious in his tone.
“Yeah it is. Speaking of the band, are you ready for the concert?” Hopefully the reminder would distract him from Dawson’s confessions.
“Yes and no. I can’t believe I’m actually going to watch them from the front row and then we get to hang out with all of them after the show. I can’t figure out what to wear,” he gushed.
I busted out with laughter.
“Are you laughing at me, Isabelle?”
“I’m sorry, Beckett. I just have never in all the time I’ve known you, seen you nervous about anything. I always thought you were this analytical person who never got worked up over anything. You never lose your cool,” I answered through my giggles.
“I did lose my cool once around you. But you were too sick and out of it to notice. Back in Texas when you got really sick, and I thought I was going to lose you before we’d even really given us a try. I was a basket case.”
“I’m OK now. That was months ago,” I soothed.
“I know. I just worry. And I’m not used to worrying. I’m used to analyzing. Calculating odds. But not being personally invested. I know that makes me sound horrible. But—”
“No, I get it. If you allowed your heart to get invested in every patient you ever encountered, eventually your heart would be too broken to continue the work you were obviously destined to do,” I explained.
“And that’s why I adore you. You get it.”
♪ Change by John Waite
My heart plummeted and soared simultaneously. It warmed my heart to be adored, but I felt like such a traitor to him. Beckett had saved my life. Then he started to help heal my heart. Helped me find stability in chaos. And yet my heart still wanted to sing Dawson’s song.
“I do my best,” I offered lamely.
“I hate to rush off, babe, but I really need to go follow up on my
samples in the lab,” he said in my ear.
“No problem. Try to get some rest and not worry so much.” I got up and paced the room.
“I will. Can’t wait to see you for the concert. You’ll have to keep me from making a fool of myself in front of them though.”
“You already met two of the guys. You’ll be fine,” I reminded him.
“Maybe… Anyway, I’ll see you Friday evening. Love ya.”
“Me too. See you Friday,” I said quietly.
After hanging up, I got dressed so I could go meet with Charles. I needed to deliver a few more pieces to my space at the gallery.
“Isabelle,” he greeted me warmly and held the door open for me. Once I was inside, Charles took the stack of frames from me.
“How have you been?” I asked as I rushed to match his long strides.
“Great. Sydney made me bring her with me when I told her I was meeting you today,” he called over his shoulder.
“How’s she doing?” My heart was in my throat as I waited for reassurance that she was still doing well after the experimental trial.
“She’s great. More energy than ever before. We’ll see her after we put these in the room where your other pieces are.”
I entered the large room we were using to mock stage my show. My nerves and heart settled as I became surrounded by pieces of myself.
“Show me what you’ve got.” He set the stack on the table.
I spread out the pieces, showing him the ones he’d requested that I finish first. Then I unearthed the “Total Eclipse of the Heart” piece.
“Stunning.” He picked it up gingerly and examined it. “This is new?”
“Yes. I started it a few days ago.” Butterflies fluttered in my belly while I waited for a full critique.
“There’s a shift with this piece. I can’t put my finger on it exactly. There’s more color than your most recent works. It’s more vibrant. And it’s raw and emotional. It’s perfect,” he declared.
“Thank you.”
He smirked. “I’m guessing your soul searching has helped you get some of your mojo back?”
“I’m working on it, sir.”
“Glad to hear it. We still don’t have a focal piece for the show.”
“I know. And I wanted to talk to you about that. I was wondering if I could borrow some studio space. I have an idea for a series of thirteen interconnected pieces, but I don’t have space in my apartment to work on that many pieces at once.” What I didn’t say was that I wasn’t a hundred percent sold on the idea, but I didn’t have anything else so far.
“I’ll clear some things out of one of the unused rooms. It’ll be ready for you to start tomorrow,” he answered.
“I can’t thank you enough. I think you’re going to like what I have planned.” Fingers crossed.
“If it carries the depth of your newest work, then I know I will.”
I beamed at his compliment.
“Now that’s all settled. Let’s go see Sydney. Maybe we can convince you to have a late lunch with us.” His shoes tapped along the polished floor.
“I’d love that,” I answered with a laugh.
As we entered Charles’s office, a blur of purple and braids barreled into me. Squatting down, I drew the little girl into my arms. “You’ve gotten so big since I saw you last,” I exclaimed.
“I’m almost ten now,” Sydney proclaimed.
“Where did the time go?” I asked Charles over her head.
“I have no idea. But I’m glad we’ve still got plenty.” His eyes sparkled with moisture. “So, Sydney, Isabelle is going to go to lunch with us. I just need to go take care of a few things first.”
“OK, Daddy. I’m gonna stay with Izzy.”
This little girl’s enthusiasm for life was infectious. Still on my knees, I ran my hand over the neat rows of braids in her hair. “I love your hair.”
“It hurt real bad getting it done. The lady Mama takes me to pulls so hard. And I have to sit still for so long,” she said with a pout.
“It does look like it would take a long time to create all these braids,” I observed.
“Yeah. And, it makes me look like all my friends. I don’t want to look just like all my friends. I want to be special.” Her nose scrunched up.
I pressed my hand to my chin and looked her hair over until an idea took shape in my mind.
Standing, I pulled her over to the table where she’d been drawing earlier. I unzipped my purse and pulled out the zippered bag inside. It was filled with cross stitching supplies. During my illness, I’d turned a few of my paintings into cross-stitched designs for Nana and Granny. The collection of shimmery threads and needles was still in my bag in case the notion ever struck me to do another.
“I don’t know a lot about hair like yours, but I’m going to try something, and we’ll see how it looks. Sound good?”
She nodded excitedly. Once I got the threads spread out, I threaded my needle with orchid. “Stand in front of me.” I held up the needle. “I’m going to run thread through your braids to add some color.”
“Can you add a lot of different colors?” She bounced up and down.
“Sure. If it works.”
Gently, I held one of the braids framing her face. Carefully, I started at the bottom and worked my needle in and out, adding a subtle hint of glitter and color. I tied a bow at the end of the braid once I was done working the color in. I did the same thing to the other side of her head. After I got the hang of it, things moved relatively quickly. I repeated the process over and over until the top layer of braids had been adorned in shades of crimson, apricot, sunshine, fern, peacock, cobalt, flamingo and plum.
“All done,” I declared when I’d tied off the last one.
“I wanna see.” She hopped from one foot to the other.
“Let’s go to the bathroom so you can look in the mirror.” I held her hand as we moved down the corridor to the nearest restroom.
As soon as she caught her reflection in the mirror, she squealed. “Oh my gosh.”
Holding my compact mirror, I turned her body and angled the mirror so she could see the back.
“Eeeeekkk!”
I winced at her ear-piercing screech.
“Thank you so much, Izzy. I love them.”
“Great. I hope your parents will too.” I probably should’ve asked her dad before I messed with her hair.
“Let’s go find Daddy.” She tugged me out the door. Anyone looking at her like this never would’ve guessed she’d been fighting for her life nearly two years ago.
When we rounded the corner, Charles was coming out of his office. “I was just looking for you two.” His mouth dropped open. “Somebody’s been busy.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I know I should’ve asked before I messed with Sydney’s hair. But the idea came to me as she explained how she wanted her hair to be special. And I kind of just went with it.” My face scrunched up in concern.
“I think it looks beautiful. Nice work.” He smiled widely at his daughter.
I sighed in relief and walked out with the father-daughter pair.
We strolled down the street to a little diner that was known for their burgers and milkshakes.
The rest of the afternoon flew by as I enjoyed lunch and laughter with Sydney and Charles. It was something I was in desperate need of.
When I arrived back at my apartment a few hours later, my heart was lighter and there was a spring in my step. A crowd milled around on the sidewalk outside the front door. Squeezing through the throng, I finally reached the front of the building. Police were taking photos of the wall next to the door. As they stepped aside, I was able to read the graffiti message on the bricks. “He’s MINE, slut.”
Who would paint that on the side of an apartment building? I didn’t know all of my neighbors, but my heart went out to whoever the message was directed towards.
When I entered the lobby, a police officer stopped me. “Which apartment do you live in ma’am?”
“I’m Isabelle Clark, and I live in five-A.”
“Would you mind answering a few questions for me?” He had a pad and pen poised ready to take down my response.
“Sure. Not sure how much help I can be since I don’t really know very many of the tenants in the building. But whatever I can do,” I agreed.
“We think the message is directed towards a woman and was painted by a woman. Are you currently involved with anyone?”
“Yes, I have a boyfriend. But he doesn’t live here. He’s a doctor in Atlanta,” I explained.
He wrote down my answer. “Is he married?” the officer asked without looking up from his notepad.
“What?” I asked, outraged. “I would never date a married man. That’s an awful thing to suggest.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
He finally looked up at me. “I mean no offense, ma’am. It’s just something we have to ask. It seems the perpetrator feels some sort of entitlement or ownership of the man in question.”
I was slightly mollified. “I understand. And unless Beckett has been hiding some secret life from me, he is not married.”
“You said he’s a doctor?” He tapped his pen against the pad.
“That’s right.”
“Do you know if there are any patients who might have formed some sort of attachment to him?” he asked.
“I guess that could be the case. But like I said, we’re in a long-distance relationship. And we have been from the beginning. I can’t imagine one of his patients traveling a few hours to deface the building where I live,” I said.
“You’re probably right. But if you could humor me and ask him if he can think of anyone, I’d appreciate it. Here’s my card. If you find out anything or see anything, give me a call.” He held out a business card.
“Thanks. I will.” I took the card and made my way to the quiet of my haven.
Chapter 8
Dawson
After taping the show, I longed to reach out to Izzy. But I wasn’t quite ready for her to shut me down completely. I wanted to make sure she came to the concert. She needed to be there before she made a decision about our future.
Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series: Box Set 1 Page 53