Family of His Own

by Catherine Lanigan

Isabelle jumped. “Okay!”

  He laughed. “You’re so much fun.”

  “I am?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” he said. “I’m watching those eyes. Now, do as I told you. Command the paint.”

  “I am.”

  “No you’re not. Your mind is someplace else.”

  If he only knew.

  Though she was surrounded by art—by Wes—she still found her thoughts fleeing back to Indian Lake and Scott. Bella and Michael. She wondered what Scott would think of this new direction her work was taking. She wanted to feel the energy of the paint and the canvas the way Wes did.

  “I’m trying,” she objected and squeezed her eyes tighter. “I’ll concentrate.”

  “Okay. Get some more paint on there.”

  He was so different from dependable Scott. He had a certain power over her, when Scott usually asked for her advice or deferred to what she wanted.

  Though not so much lately...

  Why did that thought sting?

  Wes grasped her hand, bringing her back to the moment.

  Each time he refilled the paint stick, his bicep flexed against her arm. Between thoughts of Scott and this closeness with Wes, she had no hope of focusing on her painting. She had to get her head on straight, or she would blow this opportunity—maybe even her whole career. She’d be back in Indian Lake with her tail between her legs, admonishing herself every day till she died.

  “This lake you’re painting—it exists?” he asked.

  “Yes. At home. I went there often as a child. Now I work at the Lodges which are at the north end of the lake.”

  “Ah, so it inspires you?” He whisked her hand rapidly over the canvas as if cracking a whip. The paint slashed across the former stripes and waves.

  “Yes, though I paint in my apartment. But I get ideas there, at the lake.”

  “We need some aquamarine here.” He pointed at the top of the painting.

  “That’s exactly how I saw it.” She marveled. She gestured toward the bottom half. “This is the underside of the lake, where the light can’t penetrate.”

  “Much like a tomb,” he mumbled.

  “Yes.”

  “Then the sunlight streams down, creating the gradation of color. Azure to cerulean to navy.”

  Isabelle shouldn’t have been surprised at his acuity. “Pretty mundane stuff for you, huh? After all, it’s just a lake.”

  He went over to the bench and shuffled several cans of paint around before plucking one from the group. He held it aloft like a prize. “Add some white to this. When you mix, think of what’s in your heart and mind. Fear? That will be the blue-black of the lake bed. Where people drown. Fish die. And life is renewed. What kind of renewal do you want for yourself, Isabelle?”

  He walked over to her and put the can on the floor. Without flourish or hesitation, he placed both hands on her cheeks and pulled her face to his. He pressed his lips gently to her mouth. She expected him to pull away quickly, as he’d done in those first days after they’d met. A hello kiss. A friendly kiss.

  That’s not what she got.

  He increased the pressure and drew in a deep breath as if he were about to plunge underwater. He traced the edge of her jaw with his thumb, then placed a hand on the small of her back, pulling her to him. She felt his heart pounding inside his hard chest and she wondered if he could feel hers, too.

  Isabelle felt dizzy, weak. Her body seemed weightless, as if she could float to the moon and back. Sail away to the stars like the boy in her painting.

  The boy. Scott.

  She couldn’t help thinking about him now, probably with Bella and Michael leaving the bookshop for the day. She wondered if he thought about her when she wasn’t around.

  Lately, Scott had been so busy with the kids that she’d felt displaced from his life. She was the one texting him. She stopped by with macaroni and cheese for the kids. She made excuses to see him.

  For too long she hadn’t admitted that Scott took up a large place in her heart.

  How could she even consider kissing someone else?

  “Sorry,” she said, pulling away from Wes.

  “Isabelle?” Wes whispered. He rested his forehead against hers.

  “I... I suppose there’s some rule about kissing the protégé?” She scrambled for a diplomatic exit. She was flattered that he found her attractive, but she was confused by the tumult of emotions inside her. She couldn’t get Scott out of her head.

  “No. Thank God.”

  “Oh.”

  “Not unless you didn’t like it. Then we’d make one up.”

  “I didn’t say that,” she replied, tilting her head back. She’d just kissed the one-way ticket into the world she’d dreamed about. She should be elated. But Wes wasn’t a prize to be won. He was gifted and talented and she liked him a great deal.

  But he wasn’t Scott.

  “I thought it was...lovely.”

  “Is that all?” He smiled.

  “Now you’re teasing me.”

  “I am. Sorry. But you’re fun to tease. And instruct,” he said. He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Ordinarily, I’d suggest that we try it again.”

  She dropped her eyes and glanced toward the door.

  “But I’m guessing there’s someone else in this painting.”

  “Uh, huh.”

  “But he’s not here, is he?” Wes asked.

  “No, he’s...moved on.”

  “I see.” He dropped his hands and bent down, gathering his paint can and stick. “Then there’s still hope for me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  SCOTT TWISTED THE cap off a bottle of beer and sat down at Luke’s kitchen table across from Trent and Luke.

  “Are you sure you want to go see her this weekend?” Luke asked, taking a sip from his own bottle. “I mean, I was at that gallery, man. I saw the way that guy was moving in on her.”

  Trent tapped his bottle on the table and stared at it thoughtfully. “He impressed me as the sophisticated type. He knew all those clients and he’s obviously been to Europe and Argentina to see their galleries. What woman could resist a guy like that?”

  Scott snorted. “Thanks for the support, guys.”

  “Just saying.” Luke spread his hands.

  “Listen, both of you. This is a big break for her. I wish Isabelle nothing but the best,” Scott said sincerely. “And I’ve moved on.”

  “Blah, blah, blah.” Trent rolled his eyes. “You can’t tell me that just because you’re a foster dad that all of a sudden you don’t love Isabelle.”

  Scott dropped his chin.

  “What were you thinking?” he pressed. “That she’d come running? It doesn’t work that way.”

  “I... I thought the kids would make a difference for me,” Scott confessed. “I thought they’d be enough.”

  Luke blew out a heavy breath. He clutched Scott’s shoulder. “We’ve known each other for a long time. You were there when Jenny died. I did the build-out on your coffee shop. I’ve never seen you this...resigned. You don’t think you’ve lost her, do you?”

  “I’m getting that feeling, yeah.”

  “Dang, buddy,” Trent said. “What can you do to stop it?”

  “I’m doing it. I’m staying close. I want her to know I’m still here. If it turns into a train wreck, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”

  Luke and Trent shook their heads glumly.

  Scott knew what they were thinking. They had both gone through a great deal of challenges to be with the loves of their lives. Trent had nearly lost his life in the process. But right now, his friends were glad they were where they were and not walking in his shoes.

  When they’d finished their beers, Scott rose from his chair. “Well, gu
ys, I’m heading back to the shop to check on some inventory before I call it a day. Great shooting today.”

  “Yeah, your aim is definitely improving,” Luke said.

  “Thanks—” Scott slapped both their backs and left.

  It was Sunday evening and the sun was just going down. The sidewalks were clear and patches of grass showed in the yards where the snow had melted. Most folks in town didn’t like March. It was gloomy, gray and you never knew from one day to the next if spring would wander in or if you’d wake up to a blizzard. Scott liked the unpredictability of the month, though. The promise of spring was pervasive, even in a snowstorm.

  Hope. That’s what Scott needed when it came to Isabelle.

  Not to mention a strategy.

  It was strange not to have Isabelle calling him for help. But ever since he’d taken in the kids, he hadn’t had time to take her for coffee or meet her for dinner. The tables had completely turned. He’d been the one doing the asking.

  He stopped cold. That’s it.

  He took out his cell phone and hit her name.

  The call went to voicemail. “Isabelle. Hi. It’s me. I know I’ve been leaning on you a lot lately, but this is a woman thing. Or a girl thing. Easter’s coming up and I want Bella to have her first Easter dress. I was thinking I’d drive into Chicago and we could all go shopping. Macy’s or Carson’s. We can meet you on State Street. Then, maybe—if it’s okay, I mean—we could see this studio where you work. Call me back.” He paused then added, “Miss you.”

  Scott felt a surge of confidence. He had to make sure she knew that he was still here. Still her rock.

  * * *

  SCOTT STOOD ON the corner of Randolf and State Street holding Bella’s hand, with Michael lodged between his knees as they stared at the Easter display windows at Macy’s. The floor of the display was covered in lush green grass that Scott could swear was real. Tall Ficus trees were strung with lights and adorned with pastel eggs. Masses of potted tulips and daffodils filled the foreground near the window’s edge. But the main attraction was a six-foot mechanical rabbit dressed in blue-and-white-striped overalls, which stood at a tall, white pedestal holding an artist’s palette and paintbrush as he decorated a giant Easter egg. The motorized bunny nodded toward Bella and Michael, and each time he did, Michael squealed with delight.

  “He’s funny!” Michael clapped his hands.

  Bella was all smiles. “I’ve never seen anything like him before. What is it?”

  “That’s the Easter Bunny I told you about.”

  “I thought he was a rabbit.” She looked from Scott to the big bunny. “A little one.”

  Chuckling, Scott said, “Everything is big and wondrous in Chicago.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Isabelle said from behind him.

  Scott whirled around. He couldn’t hold back a grin. He was happy to see her and she looked radiant. “Hi!” He kissed her cheek. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Oh, a bit,” she teased with a smile sweet enough to kiss.

  “Miss Isabelle,” Bella said softly. “Dad said you’re going to help me pick out a dress.” Her eyes traveled warily up to the enormous bunny. “For Easter.”

  “I’m happy to help,” Isabelle replied, putting her hand on Bella’s head.

  Scott lifted Michael into his arms, and as he did Michael reached out, grabbed a hunk of Isabelle’s long caramel hair and pulled her toward him. He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Issa!”

  “Hello, Michael. I’m happy to see you.”

  “Yeah.” Michael buried his face in Scott’s collar as if he was embarrassed.

  The moment felt like a dream come true to Scott. He was here with Isabelle. Two kids. And they were going shopping for Easter outfits. But his dream was an illusion. He was far from making all this real.

  Scott nodded to Bella. “You take Miss Isabelle’s hand and don’t you lose her.”

  “I won’t, Dad.”

  Scott didn’t know what he expected from the kids’ department other than racks of tiny outfits, and clearly, neither did the children. They all paused at the entrance, staring up at shelves brimming with enormous, colorful baskets tied up with cellophane, streamers and huge bows. Michael scampered from a stuffed bunny to a chick to yet another bunny, snuggling each soft and cuddly toy for a moment before moving to the next.

  Bella was overwhelmed by the sight. She stood stock-still, her eyes tracking from the pink wheelbarrow filled with toys and candy to the lilac teeter-totter with a kid-sized bunny on either end. Mechanical bunnies painting Easter eggs were stationed all across the floor.

  “Bella, the dresses are over here,” Isabelle said, but Bella didn’t budge. Isabelle looked at Scott expectantly.

  “Bella?” Scott leaned down. “Are you okay?”

  “It’s so beautiful,” she sniffed.

  Sensing that this moment was an emotional one for Bella, Scott signaled to Isabelle with a slight jerk of his head for her to leave them alone.

  “I’ll get Michael before he knocks something over,” Isabelle said and left.

  Scott put his hand on Bella’s shoulder. “What is it, sweetheart?”

  “I didn’t know all these things. My mother never told me,” she whispered as tears filled her eyes. “She should have told me.”

  “Sweetie, the thing is, well, the Easter Bunny is like a story. A fairy tale. He’s not really real.”

  “No?”

  “He’s a myth.”

  She wiped her eyes and looked at him with a crinkle at the bridge of her nose. “A what?”

  Scott considered the marvelous display. He thought of the hours of work it had taken the designers to create this scene. “The Easter Bunny is a symbol of spring. The renewal of life. A long, long time ago, a storyteller used symbols like the bunny and the egg to explain that spring always comes. There’s always hope. Then in America—” he eyed the pyramid of gold-wrapped boxes of candy “—the manufacturers kept the story going so they could make the day more special.” He frowned. “I think.”

  “I thought you wanted me to have a new dress.”

  “An Easter dress for a little girl is very special. And I want you to have something nice. That’s why I asked Miss Isabelle to help. She’s good at picking out dresses.”

  Bella leaned closer to Scott. She put her hand on his collar and fidgeted with it, pulling it out from under the neck of his sweater. “Nuh, uh. That’s not why she’s here.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No, Dad. She’s here because you like her very much.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Bella leaned even closer. “Because you smile a lot when she’s around.”

  Scott pulled her into a hug. “You know something, Bella? You’re very observant. Maybe someday you’ll be a journalist like me.”

  “I want to be like Miss Isabelle.” She turned back toward the display. “And the bunnies. A painter.”

  Scott felt his heart leap and then crash. Isabelle had made a strong impression on Bella without even trying. That was one of the things about Isabelle—she was unforgettable. He wanted so much for Isabelle to want what he had. To want him. If she didn’t, not only would Scott be heartbroken, so would the kids.

  * * *

  WITH ISABELLE’S HELP, Bella chose a pink, sleeveless dress with appliqued daisies around the hem, waist and neck. Scott insisted on white patent leather shoes, tights, a purse and a straw hat.

  “I don’t want all that stuff, Dad.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too much,” she said shyly.

  Scott shook his head. “Isn’t this what girls wear for Easter?” he asked Isabelle.

  “It is,” Isabelle agreed. She lowered her voice. “But she’s never had an Easter like we di
d as kids. She doesn’t understand. Sometimes less is more. You know?” Isabelle leaned down to Bella. “Did you find something else you want instead?”

  “Yes,” she replied cautiously. She held out a pair of pink glittered high-top sneakers. “I like these.”

  “Oh, my...” Scott wiped his face with his palm. “St. Mark’s will never be the same.”

  Isabelle laughed. “I think they’re terrific, Bella. What a fashion statement!”

  “My mom will kill me,” Scott said.

  “Please, Dad?”

  Isabelle jumped to her defense. “Honestly, Scott. She can wear the sneakers to school. By fall, she’ll have outgrown them. The dress is adorable. And these are better for running in the lawn during the egg roll. The white shoes would get grass stains.”

  “What’s an egg roll?”

  “It’s a game we play every Easter at my mother’s house,” Scott explained. “This year it will be at our house, though. I was going to surprise you kids with it.”

  Isabelle winked at Bella. “We’ll get the sneakers.”

  “Yay! Michael, look at my—” The excitement drained from Bella’s face. “Dad, where’s Michael?”

  “He’s—” Scott turned to the spot where the toddler had been playing with the stuffed bunnies. “Not here.”

  Isabelle gasped.

  Alarm bells rang in Scott’s head. “Michael? Michael?” he called.

  Isabelle grabbed Bella’s hand. “Stay with me.”

  Scott looked underneath the pink wheelbarrow and around each of the mechanical bunnies.

  No Michael.

  Isabelle and Bella were over by the racks of clothing. “Michael? Come see Miss Issa, sweetie.”

  Ice ran in Scott’s veins as fear took over. Images of several worst case scenarios flew through his mind. “MICHAEL!” He shouted loud enough to be heard three floors above them.

  “Da!”

  Scott halted. “Michael?” He spun around.

  “Da.”

  Scott followed the sound to a corner cabinet piled with clear plastic boxes filled with delicately painted chocolate eggs imported from Belgium. “Michael?”

  “Da.”

  Scott opened the cabinet door and inside sat Michael, still in his spring jacket and jeans, his light-up sneakers flickering brightly as he ate a chocolate egg. He smiled at Scott with chocolate-covered teeth.