Tapestry of Trust

by Mary Annslee Urban

  Her friend refolded the masterpiece, tucked it back into the box, and closed the top. “You know, you’ve been acting odd all week. In fact, ever since that guy Charlie showed up.”

  At the mention of his name, Isabelle looked away. Stay cool. As if that was easy when Charlie was involved. She fingered the gold locket dangling about her neck, sliding it back and forth on the chain, as she thought how to answer. Or better yet, how not to. Working up a smile, she swung her gaze back to Kate. “Define odd.”

  The corner of Kate’s lips tipped into a smirk. “All right.” Yanking a chair beside the desk, she plopped down and crossed her arms. “Let’s see. How about, quiet, sulky, distracted.”

  “Gee, thanks for sparing my feelings.” Isabelle forced a chuckle.

  Kate’s eyebrows lifted. “No problem. Now, tell me about this mystery man.”

  Isabelle shrugged. “Like I already told you, I knew him in high school.” How would Kate take the truth? Not that she cared to find out.

  “Oh, there’s more to this story.” Kate shook her head.

  More than Isabelle cared to tell. “OK. We dated.”

  “So, a boyfriend?” Kate’s eyes widened. She scooted the chair closer and perched an elbow on the desk.

  “Yes. A boyfriend.” Even now, the words tasted bitter. So long ago, yet so painfully fresh. Emotion wedged in Isabelle’s throat. She swiveled in her chair and faced the window. She took in the tattered clouds floating in the distance. Pure white against a blue sky. A perfect contradiction to the turmoil inside her. History and forgiven, she reminded herself. A perspective she needed to remember, the only defense against her burden of guilt. She said a quick prayer, thanking God for His grace, and for leading her forward, out of the past. A past she didn’t want to remember, let alone discuss.

  “Isabelle, talk to me.” From behind her, Kate’s voice urged her toward a place she didn’t want to revisit.

  No words came. Isabelle lowered her gaze taking in the empty swings, the lonely playground where, just an hour earlier, sing-song chatter had filled the air as her twenty-two second graders spent the last of their school day clambering in and around the jungle gym. Happy-go-lucky, carefree.

  That’s what she needed. A moment’s reprieve from the chaos. Isabelle whirled the chair back to find Kate staring. “I haven’t been to the barn to ride in over a week. If I don’t figure out some way to get the help I need, I’ll go crazy.”

  Kate slapped her hand against her leg, her face flushing as strawberry red as her hair. “Isabelle, every time I ask you about Charlie, you change the subject. What’s going on with you?”

  If only Kate would stop talking about him, Isabelle could purge him from her thoughts. “I’m serious, Kate, Emma quit eight weeks ago. If the school isn’t going to provide a replacement soon I’ll have to solve this problem myself.”

  A squeal of protest fumed from Kate’s lips. “You changed the subject again.”

  Isabelle ground her teeth.

  “Isabelle.”

  “OK, OK.” She lifted her chin, determined to nip Kate’s curiosity in the bud. “Prepare to be bored, because there’s not much to tell. We dated a while. High school sweethearts. No big deal.” Enough said. She hoped.

  “How long?”Kate pushed.

  Best friend and confidante through college, Kate had been told much of Isabelle’s past. Including being abandoned by her mother at eight years old and never knowing her father. But how could she bring herself to expose her most painful secret? The one she kept burrowed deep in her heart. One too sad to remember, yet too valuable to forget.

  Her son.

  “How long?” Kate repeated.

  “Three years.” Isabelle released the answer reluctantly.

  “Three years?” Surprise hung in Kate’s whisper. “And you’ve never mentioned him.” A frown creased her forehead.

  Isabelle swallowed past the lump in her throat. She’d hurt her friend’s feelings. Part of Isabelle wanted to burst out with the tale, let Kate know why Charlie’s reappearance had her stomach doing back-flips. She couldn’t. “I don’t enjoy rehashing past failures.”

  “Is Charlie the reason you never dated much in college?”

  More than Isabelle wanted to admit. “I left Charlie behind years ago.” Along with her ability to trust.

  “Really?” Kate twisted her lip. “Because I get the impression this Charlie fellow still tugs at your—”

  Isabelle raised a hand, stopping Kate midsentence. “You’re wrong.” She snatched a stack of papers and stuffed them in a folder. Memories tugged at her heartstrings, not Charlie.

  “Isabelle.” Kate obviously wasn’t buying it.

  Isabelle side-glanced at Kate, her lips still twisted. “Aren’t you supposed to meet Mark and his mother at the caterer’s today?"

  At that Kate’s eyes bugged. She launched from her seat and grabbed her gift. “You’re right. I don’t know how I forgot.”

  Too busy meddling. Isabelle kept her opinion to herself and rocked back in her chair. “If Mark’s mother asks me once more why you’re habitually not on time, I’m going to tell her the truth. You were born late and never got over it. With that tidbit of news, Mrs. Punctual might just cancel the wedding.” Isabelle winked.

  “Don’t even kid about that.”

  “Being late?”

  “No. Cancelling the wedding.” Kate hurried out the door and the knot in Isabelle’s stomach dissipated into relief. Picking up her pen, she focused her attention on a more pressing issue. Grading workbooks and finding a way to replace her teacher’s aide.

  ****

  Later that afternoon, Isabelle muffled a yawn and drove into the parking lot at her apartment. Friday and the start of spring break had finally arrived. Although she should have been whooping for joy, she struggled to keep her eyes open. The week had taken a toll. Long nights correcting papers, not to mention she hadn’t slept well since Charlie appeared on her doorstep.

  Stop that. Not going there. Kate’s curiosity roused enough emotions to keep her up all night as it was.

  The good news, though: she was closer to finding a teacher’s aide. One of her student’s parents had to be willing to help. Funny how one little move in the right direction made her feel better.

  Isabelle slowed her car through the crowded lot. She scanned from one side to the other, surprised to find every spot full. One truck was parked on the grass. Chewing her lip, she circled the lot again.

  As she finished the loop, she glanced in her rearview mirror and caught a muscled body in swim trunks. She hit the brakes and gawked at the guy as he chased a rolling volleyball across the tarmac. Then it hit her. Spring Fest. She remembered the flyer in her mailbox.

  Energy restored, she glanced at the clock on her dash. If she hurried grading papers, she could make the party, grab a lounge chair, and mingle with grownups for a change.

  She rolled down the window, and the scent of a tangy Texas barbecue wafted in through the opening. She inhaled, setting her stomach to rumbling. Yep, she definitely needed to get to this party. She waved her hand out the window. “Excuse me, sir. Do you know how long the Fest will last?”

  The man slowed, looked, then bustled her way, landing on a snippet of grass along the sidewalk. He paused to catch his breath. “Yes. ma’am. Nine o’clock. Everything’s…just getting…started.”

  Before she could thank him, he hiked up his loose swim trunks then took off in a half run, half hop, back toward the party while lobbing the volleyball over the fence.

  Hmm. She searched again for a place to park. Nothing. As she debated whether to park across the street or behind the complex, taillights on a red truck a few spots down winked on and her day suddenly got better.

  Thank you, Lord. She smiled and pulled into the parking space. With her car tucked between two SUV’s, Isabelle got out and scurried around to the trunk just as it popped open. Ducking under the hood, she reached for her canvas bag.

  “Isabelle.”

 
Her pulse ricocheted. She turned her eyes toward the deep male voice and met Charlie’s dark gaze.

  Bending, he peered into the open trunk. “Hey, I’m glad I caught you. I planned to stop by today and see how you and Humphrey were doing.”

  Stop by? Friends stopped by. Charlie hardly fit that category. That’s what her brain wanted to tell him, and she might have, had it not been for the traitorous organ skipping wildly in her chest. Her tote got stuck between two boxes. She yanked the bag by the straps, jerked upright, and smacked her head on the edge of the trunk. Shooting pain sparked from one temple to the other, bursting like firecrackers in her head.

  Biting back a squeal, Isabelle clung to the back of car to ensure her balance.

  “Isabelle, are you OK?” Charlie moved toward her.

  “Fine.” She nodded, scrunching her eyes against the pain.

  “Are you sure?” Charlie reached over and brushed a finger against her temple.

  She leaned into his touch and remembered her weakness to his soft caresses and what they had cost her. She opened her eyes and pulled away.

  “Isabelle?”

  Isabelle covered her eyes with her hand. “I’m fine.” Dizzy and seeing stars, but fine. She lowered her hand and blinked to refocus, only to find Charlie hovering a little too close, his narrowed gaze studying her.

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “I am, Charlie. Really.” For a klutz, that is. She stepped back and pressed her lips together to keep from blurting that she didn’t want his concern. Or the scent of his cologne tickling her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose and straightened, her vision finally clear. “Isn’t it just amazing? We haven’t seen each other in forever and now, what? Twice in the last week.” She strove for sassy but got squeaky instead. Hopefully she still conveyed her message.

  Charlie didn’t flinch. He just stood there looking like GQ springtime in his khaki shorts and a polo shirt. Her heart skipped a beat.

  She looked beyond him to the secluded pool area, and gestured to wisps of white smoke curling in the sky behind him. “There’s a big cookout brewing. Are you going?” If so, she’d alter her plans.

  “Sure, I’d like to. It will give us some time to catch up.”

  She snapped her gaze back to him. Charlie slid his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. Peering over the rims, he grinned down at her.

  Her pulse ground to a halt. He thought she’d invited him. Well, she’d just allay that little misconception right now. “Actually, I won’t be going. But I hope you enjoy it.”

  “You have plans?”

  Isabelle tried to ignore the inappropriate jolt shooting through her by the warmth in his brown-eyed gaze. She blew out a breath. “Yes, I have plans.” She’d leave it at that. Did he think she’d been sitting around the last six years waiting for him to show up? Of course, she had plans. Even if they just switched to canned soup instead of barbeque.

  A long pause ensued as his eyes held hers. She remembered how he used to blink away his disappointment—the same way he was doing now.

  She swallowed several times against the rising lump in her throat, before finally adding, “I’m sorry, Charlie. This isn’t a good time.” Not that there ever would be.

  ****

  Nothing like standing next to the girl he’d fallen in love with before he’d even been old enough to drive and realizing she was virtually a stranger. Charlie breathed deep. The air felt heavy, awkward, tense. Regardless, he let his gaze skim over Isabelle, making no apology for his inspection. He admired her oval face, pert nose, luscious lips. Still a beauty. Even with the long hair he once loved replaced by a more sophisticated style that barely reached her shoulders.

  “Your haircut is nice, Isabelle.” He hoped to keep the conversation alive.

  “Thanks.” Her slender eyebrows drew together, and she didn’t look amused.

  All too aware that getting to know Isabelle again was going to take work, Charlie debated on what to say next—something to break the tension. “So, what’s that haircut called?”

  “A bob.”

  A bob…of course. He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. OK, not his best move, but, then again, he’d been out of practice. Besides, Isabelle’s apathy wasn’t making things easy. “Well, I like that style on you.” He was getting nowhere.

  Isabelle reached back into the trunk. She pulled out a canvas bag bulging with papers and workbooks. “Thanks.”

  Charlie stepped forward and reached for the bag. “Here. Let me carry that for you. I’m going right by your apartment.”

  Isabelle pulled away from him, the bag bouncing against her hip. “No. That’s OK. I’ve got it.”

  Charlie’s stomach lurched. He understood her being a little standoffish, but the loathing look in her eyes had him perplexed. Did she blame him for everything?

  “I do need to go.” She clasped her burden close and shut the trunk lid.

  Nerves dancing on edge, Charlie pressed on. “One more thing.” He kept his distance, though he wanted nothing more than to kiss and make up. “Do you still like to horseback ride? I’m doing a marketing project for Cedar Lake Barn outside of Austin. Have you heard of them?”

  She hitched one shoulder. Not a hint of a smile. “I’ve heard of them.”

  He was losing her. He’d better talk quick. “Well, they’ve given me an open invitation. I thought we could…maybe…ride sometime.” Never in a million years would he believe Isabelle Crafton could make him this nervous. The woman whose very presence used to calm him, now had his guts tied in knots. “I haven’t ridden in forever.” He tried for a grin. “In fact, not since we broke up.”

  Fire sparked in Isabelle’s eyes. Charlie swallowed…hard. Great. He’d said something wrong.

  Her mouth opened and her gaze softened, but she didn’t speak right away. “Thanks, Charlie, but I really can’t.” She spun away, her blunt heels beating like a war-drum against the sidewalk.

  Charlie threw up his hands. “Isabelle, what is it? I’m trying here.”

  She spun back toward him, the intensity in her eyes causing him to brace for a lecture. Instead, a quivering smile touched her lips then faded. “I can’t do this, Charlie.” She shook her head.

  “Do what? Talk to someone you used to care about? Someone who only wants to get to know you again? Tell me what can I do to get us past this rough spot?”

  “Charlie, you need to rethink history. I don’t recall officially breaking up. That would have required a response from you about the most important question in my life.” She whirled again and hurried across the parking lot.

  Heat swarmed Charlie’s body. It took all the resolve he could muster not to chase her down and get a few things straight. As if they could have officially broken up when he couldn’t even find her to answer her questions.

  They needed to talk.

  But first, he needed to pray.

  3

  A week later, Charlie hurried down the office corridor and caught the elevator before the doors closed. Stepping inside, he exchanged nods with a couple of cackling women, crossed his arms, and watched the numbers climb as he headed to the sixth floor. Bone tired and brain weary, he wasn’t sure how he’d even made the thirty-mile trip without falling asleep. He’d been awake most of the night, thanks to his overactive mind and Isabelle.

  The elevator doors swooshed opened. Charlie straightened his tie and headed toward his office at Wilson and Huss Marketing.

  Sunlight poured through the wide expanse of windows in the lobby, spotlighting a cluster of leather chairs where at least eight clients waited. He lowered his gaze and pushed through swinging doors. Then he continued down the corridor, past the prattle of legal strategists in the conference room already steeped in the business of the day. He kept moving, hoping his first appointment hadn’t arrived early.

  Outside his office, he stopped at his secretary’s desk and checked the telephone ledger. Several messages were jotted on the pad, but none pertained to him. Glancing over the de
sktop, he checked to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. He didn’t need any surprises today.

  Nothing jumped out at him except a picture of Brenda from several years earlier and several pounds lighter. The thought of having a picture of himself on his desk boggled his mind. Lately, he could hardly look in the mirror. Judging from Isabelle’s cool demeanor, she couldn’t stand the sight of him either.

  Charlie breathed deep, curtailing his emotions. No time for self-pity. He needed to get busy. Focus.

  He stifled a yawn. Coffee. That’s what he needed. Charlie turned on his heel and headed for the break room.

  Inside, he spotted Brenda leaning against the counter looking bored. Her usual self. “Good morning.”

  “It’s still brewing. But, not decaf.”

  “Caffeine’s OK.” Charlie smothered another yawn. Not just OK. Absolutely necessary.

  “I thought you usually stopped for coffee.”

  “I didn’t have time today.” He clasped his hands and waited for the brew to finish.

  Brenda’s dark lashes splayed upward. “Overslept, huh? Out too late with Miss Erica, I bet.” She twisted her lips into an exaggerated kiss, doubling her already double chin.

  Charlie squinted to keep from rolling his eyes. “I didn’t see Erica. I just didn’t sleep well.” How about a little sympathy? He rubbed the back of his neck. “Has my first appointment arrived?”

  “Nope.” Brenda combed her fingers through her blonde mane, exposing the dark roots. “In fact, they’ve rescheduled.”

  “Excellent.” Charlie exhaled relief. He’d worked for days on the Fleming project and had gotten nowhere. Now he wouldn’t have to adlib a presentation. Thank you, Lord.

  For the last week, he’d felt worthless, frustrated, distracted. He had no idea why. No. That wasn’t true. He did know why. Isabelle.

  Numbing questions crowded his mind. What had she been doing these last six years? Why hadn’t she responded to his calls and letters, or at least given him a chance to explain? What drove her to just drop out of sight? Even more, to drop out of his life?