Family of His Own

by Catherine Lanigan

  “I can pick up the rest of your forms on Wednesday,” Zoey said, handing him the folder. “Come with me and I’ll take you to the kids and you can get them ready to go home with you.”

  Scott rose and shook her hand. “Thanks for your help, Zoey.”

  “This is what I’m here for,” she replied as she led him down the hall.

  She tapped on the last door on the right and opened it, then stepped aside so that Scott could enter.

  Bella stood on a step stool beside a changing table. She was talking to Michael as she changed his diaper. She’d just taped the clean diaper as Scott walked into the room.

  “Bella?”

  She turned to look at him and he realized he’d underestimated the impact of her wide-eyed gaze on him.

  She burst into a brilliant smile. “Scott! You’re here!”

  “I am.”

  “Did you come for us?” She kept her right hand on Michael’s belly so that he wouldn’t roll off the table.

  “I did.”

  “I knew you would.” She beamed.

  “Really? How did you know?”

  “It was like in the movie. I prayed for you to come back and you did.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  ISABELLE SQUEEZED OUT a dab of indigo blue oil paint onto her palette, slipped her palette knife into the blob of white paint and began mixing. Sliding the knife through the indigo and adding bits of white, she struggled to create an intense Mediterranean blue for a faerie’s eye. With art nouveau butterfly wings and a butterfly-inspired skirt that filled the foreground, this painting was more about the stained glass design than the faerie herself. But the color was not coming together.

  No matter how much she tried to stay on track, her thoughts drifted back to Scott.

  “Ugh!” She whacked the palette knife against her board. What had happened with them? Were they even friends anymore?

  She glanced at her phone. No calls. No texts. It had been nearly two weeks since New Year’s Eve. Yes, she’d been lost in her painting. The new year meant he was doing inventory, but considering she’d turned down his proposal, his silence caused an ache inside her she’d never felt before.

  She grabbed her cleaning cloth and swiped the knife against it. She picked up another tube of paint and didn’t look at it, still thinking of Scott.

  Really, he owed her an apology. He should have called her days ago. Actually, she’d expected him to call because he always was the first to apologize when they argued.

  This had been their biggest disagreement yet. She tried not to dwell on the possibility that she had caused permanent damage between them. She’d said things that she’d never intended to say to anyone.

  Was she hard-hearted and selfish? Just thinking about what she’d said made her cringe. She’d never thought of herself as cold...

  But she was on the cusp of something momentous in her career. If she abandoned it now, she would never know what she could have achieved. She’d always regret it.

  On the one hand, she believed she owed it to herself to pursue her art. She cared about Scott, but she couldn’t give him the kind of commitment he’d asked of her. On the other hand, she was very good at raising kids. She had five younger brothers and sisters to attest to that. She could probably give lessons. Scott had no idea what he was getting into. He didn’t have siblings. He’d never cared for a baby. He was living in a dream world. As much as she was determined to follow her own path, she felt guilty leaving Scott alone in that situation.

  She mixed the paint.

  She needed to calm down and stop overthinking things. That had always been her problem.

  Now that the Lodges was closed for the winter, she had too many hours on her hands to do precisely that...overthink.

  It was a good thing she was consumed with her painting and getting this work done for Malcolm.

  Taking a dab of paint, she lifted her brush to the faerie’s face.

  Last winter she’d filled some of her empty hours by hanging out with Scott in his coffee shop. He’d taught her how to use the espresso machine and steam milk. She quickly learned to draw pictures in the foam just like Maddie Strong Barzonni over at Cupcakes and Cappuccino. Maddie’s expensive brass and copper Italian cappuccino machine could not be equaled, and Scott didn’t try. His customers came as much for the books as they did for his coffee. Last year he’d experimented with selling handmade chocolate truffles and turtles from a woman in town who was hoping to build clientele and then open her own shop.

  Isabelle had had fun working in Scott’s store. The winter days had passed a bit faster. She’d still had time to paint while earning extra money and spending time with Scott.

  Isabelle finished the faerie’s eyes and stepped back.

  Her hand flew to her mouth. “What the...”

  Somehow, her anger at Scott and her musings of their happier times had flowed into her work. Forget a blue-eyed faerie; she’d painted Scott’s deep brown eyes with golden flecks and long, black lashes. She’d often teased him that his lashes were the envy of all her girlfriends.

  Her eyes misted over as anger gave way to concern. A fog of apprehension enveloped her. But this was something different. And she didn’t like it. She’d lost her focus. Her heart and mind were consumed with Scott. What was he thinking? What was he doing? He’d never gone this long without calling her. Seeing her.

  And she couldn’t remember more than five, maybe seven days at a stretch without making contact with him.

  This had never happened to her before. She’d always been able to put the real world aside and walk into her artistic world.

  Now she couldn’t seem to leave reality behind. She dipped her brush in linseed oil and carefully wrapped a piece of linen cloth around it. Then she hit Scott’s name on her cell.

  The call went to voicemail.

  “Scott, it’s me. I think we should talk—again. I know I was harsh, but it’s been twelve days and I haven’t heard from you. Call me. Please?” Isabelle shucked off her paint-splattered shirt—an old one her brother Christopher had given her years ago. She threw it across the back of one of her garage sale walnut dining chairs.

  “If the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain.”

  She’d head right over to the coffee shop and confront him. She couldn’t possibly go another hour letting him think the worst of her.

  She felt awkward and ashamed about revealing her feelings to him. Isabelle had always been private. She didn’t even share much with her girlfriends, though Sarah, Maddie, Olivia and Liz often confided in each other and her. Olivia’s Valentine’s Day wedding was fast approaching, and that subject appeared to enthrall everyone. The more Olivia talked about writing vows and picking wedding songs, the more Isabelle clammed up. When they all sat around the deli at lunch talking about their lives, their concerns, Isabelle kept quiet. She laughed when they joked around and commiserated when someone was sad or upset. But she didn’t share.

  Sharing might cause too much introspection. She felt she’d done a good job with her life, living on her own, not asking anyone for help. Except for Scott. She didn’t like to think too much about what that meant.

  If she got too close, too intimate, shared too much, she might get lost in him. And after all she’d sacrificed for her siblings, she couldn’t afford to lose herself to someone else again. She was proud of her brothers and sisters, and of herself, for how she’d raised them. But she had to focus on herself now.

  Isabelle, the adult, didn’t like to reflect on Isabelle, the child, who saw things that didn’t exist but believed in them with all her might. Her father had indulged her when she came home from an afternoon at the lake and told him that she’d seen water nymphs among the cattails and lily pads. He was fascinated with what she saw and had encouraged her to draw the
faeries. Once, she’d taken him to the spot where she’d seen a water sprite, but that day the little people hadn’t come out to play with her. She’d described their antics to her father and he’d told her that he loved her all the more for her gift of “seeing.”

  Connie had derided him for encouraging Isabelle’s fantasies, claiming that Isabelle’s faerie visits were a child’s imagination. Nothing more. Nothing real. But her father had stood by her.

  After he died, Isabelle had never seen a faerie again. She realized her mother was right. The faeries weren’t real. But then she’d painted one and it sold for over a hundred dollars, and Isabelle had come to see them as guides to her future. Each time she painted one, she was inspired to paint another.

  She studied her butterfly-skirted faerie, peering into its brown eyes, and felt a sense of loss.

  She had to see where her art would take her. She couldn’t give up that opportunity for a man. Especially one who was about to start a family. But she wasn’t willing to give up on her friendship with Scott.

  At least not yet.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ISABELLE ARRIVED AT SCOTT’S store to find it closed. The little paper clock suggested he’d be returning at three.

  “Five minutes.” She harrumphed and walked over to the right side of the shop where a second door led upstairs to Scott’s apartment.

  It was unlocked. That was unusual, but he occasionally left it open when he was renovating, which was an ongoing process since the apartment needed a lot of work. Maybe he was finally putting in the gas fireplace he’d always talked about. The apartment had high ceilings and was difficult to heat.

  She climbed the familiar wood stairs, remembering last year’s Super Bowl party. He’d invited everyone over on the spur of the moment, and because he didn’t have enough seating, she’d gone with him to a local furniture store to pick out two matching sofas. She’d taken it upon herself to pick out end tables and lamps. Scott had admitted that his bachelor apartment needed professional help.

  Upon reaching his apartment door, she knocked.

  No answer. She knocked again. “Scott?”

  She heard voices inside but she didn’t recognize them. Footsteps rumbled across the bare wood floors. Scott flung the door open. He held a toddler in his arms.

  He froze when he saw her. “Isabelle? What are you doing here?”

  Stunned by the sight of Scott with a baby, she took a step back.

  “Why are you holding a baby?” she asked.

  Scott smiled and turned the baby around. “Isabelle, this is Michael.” He picked up the baby’s hand and waved it at Isabelle. “See? He says hi.”

  “Scott, I...”

  Just then a little girl came running out of the bedroom. She was thin with a tumble of blond hair that reminded Isabelle of herself when she was a child. Her eyes were enormous deep blue pools with thick black lashes that made Isabelle want to paint her portrait. There was something mesmerizing about this child, but Isabelle shucked off the thought because she didn’t paint children.

  The little girl wore a flowered shirt, red corduroy pants and brand new red sneakers. She pulled at a price tag on the pants.

  Isabelle held her breath. What in the world?

  “Mr. Scott, I can’t get this off,” the little girl said, looking up at Scott. Scott leaned down and yanked on the price tag.

  “There you go,” he said.

  Isabelle’s eyes widened as she looked from Scott to the baby and then to the little girl, who moved closer to Scott and put her hand around his thigh.

  “Mr. Scott?” The girl flinched as Isabelle continued looking at her. She reminded Isabelle of a baby bird, sweet, young and just trying its wings.

  Isabelle put her hand on the doorjamb because she felt as if the ground had shifted and she’d lost her balance. “Scott? What’s going on?”

  Scott’s smile looked as if it had bloomed from the sun. She’d never see so much happiness. “I’m their foster parent, Isabelle.”

  “Oh.”

  Bella’s wary eyes never left Isabelle’s face. “Who’s this?”

  “It’s okay, Bella. This is my friend, Isabelle.”

  “Has she come to take us away?” Bella asked fearfully.

  No child or adult had ever considered Isabelle with so much terror. She felt like an interloper, but her heart went out to Bella. “Don’t be afraid. I’m just a friend.”

  Isabelle locked eyes with Scott. “This is them? The ones you told me about?”

  “Yes.” He replied, his voice tight. She could tell he was ready for an argument. Battle.

  For some reason, tears stung her eyes. She had a thousand questions. Their relationship had changed irrevocably, and she realized with a jolt that that had been her decision. Scott had told her what he wanted and she’d turned her back on him. She’d rejected him and the promise of a family.

  She wanted her art career and her friendship with Scott. But obviously, she couldn’t have it all. Scott wanted something entirely different.

  And this was it.

  Bella and Michael studied her warily, without a glimmer of trust. Isabelle couldn’t begin to imagine what these children must be feeling. They’d been taken from their home and their whole world had been altered. Now they lived a new life. Already, Bella had bonded with Scott judging by the way she cleaved to him. He was her protector and she trusted him.

  What kind of life had this child endured that every time she met someone new, she was afraid her life would be ripped apart again?

  No wonder Scott had come to their rescue. He’d always had a strong heroic streak. It was one of the qualities she admired most about him. Though usually, he was coming to her rescue.

  That thought had never crossed her mind before. Truth was funny like that. Had she been taking advantage of Scott’s kindness?

  Isabelle dropped to her knees and held out her hand to Bella. “I’d like to be your friend, too, Bella.”

  Bella didn’t make a move. Instead, she tightened her grip on Scott’s leg.

  “Isabelle, maybe we better give Bella some time, huh?”

  Isabelle rose slowly. “Sure.”

  “So, what did you want?” Scott asked, picking up Michael’s pacifier, which had fallen into the crook of his arm.

  “I, er, I called you and you didn’t call me back. About the other night. New Year’s Eve, I mean. I didn’t want you to think...” She looked at Bella and then Michael. “But clearly—”

  “I made some decisions, Isabelle.”

  “I see that.”

  “Look, my mom is going to be here in a few minutes to watch the kids so I can open back up for the afternoon crowd. You know, I get a rush for a couple hours after school lets out.”

  “Yeah. I remember.”

  “Was there anything else, Isabelle?”

  “Well... I was wondering if you could drive me into Chicago next week. To the gallery. I have a really big painting, and your truck... It would help me out a lot.”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll have to see. I’ve got the kids now, so I don’t think I can take a day off like that.”

  “Sure. I understand,” she replied, taking a step back.

  “Let me see what I can do.”

  “No, it’s okay. You have a lot on your plate now.”

  “I do.” He grinned joyously at Michael, who put his little hand on Scott’s cheek and smiled back.

  Isabelle was still in shock. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Scott this happy. She simply didn’t understand. Kids weighed a person down. They were demanding and their needs had to come first with just about everything. But then again, Scott was new to the game. He hadn’t been a parent for two weeks yet. When the years dragged on and the responsibilities increased, he’d find out how it was.
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  “I’d better go,” she said.

  “Yeah. Nice seeing you.” He glanced down at Bella. “Say goodbye to Miss Isabelle, Bella.”

  “Bye,” Bella whispered.

  “Goodbye, Bella. It was my pleasure to meet you.”

  Bella’s smile appeared to be a struggle.

  “Say goodbye to Michael,” Bella said. “Just because he’s not grown up like me, doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand.”

  Isabelle blinked. For the first time in years, she remembered how snippets of wisdom used to fall out of the mouths of her brothers and sisters when she least expected it. She’d been astounded that the little person she’d rocked and burped, bathed and bandaged could utter something so immeasurably profound. She’d buried those words and those memories under canvases or in her canvases. She didn’t know which.

  “You’re absolutely right, Bella,” she said, smiling. It was a good feeling. “Goodbye, Michael. That’s such a nice name.”

  “Do you think so?” Bella asked.

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Thanks. I named him.”

  “Oh, so you like it, too.”

  “Yes,” Bella said with a nod. “At St. Mark’s they said it was the name of the greatest angel soldier.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “That’s right. Well, goodbye, then.”

  “Goodbye, Isabelle,” Scott said, but his smiled was directed at Bella.

  Isabelle couldn’t take her eyes off Scott. She’d never pictured him holding a baby or having a young child cling to his leg.

  He quietly closed the door.

  She gripped the handrail as she went down the stairs; her feet were unsteady and her hands were shaking. When she reached the bottom she grabbed the door handle and took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

  Scott has a family.

  He was a foster parent to two children he’d met on New Year’s Eve.

  It was unfathomable. The Scott she thought she knew had been an illusion. Or maybe she’d never really known the man at all.

  Isabelle had always thought that she and Scott had been on the same page. She realized now that her ambitions, her desire to make a name for herself had dominated nearly every aspect of their relationship.