He shifted in his seat. Even his secretary was mad at him. Great. One more female he couldn’t figure out.
“What’s with the prune lips? You and Erica have a fight?”
Charlie drew in a deep breath to refrain from telling Brenda to go look in mirror. This had to be his punishment for making her work. “Erica and I broke up months ago. You know that.”
“Being apart hasn’t agreed with you. You look miserable. Worse than usual.” The duckbill lips again. Not commenting was tough, but good sense barely prevailed. He took a swig of coffee.
“Maybe you and—”
Charlie raised a hand. “My mood has nothing to do with Erica.”
Brenda’s eyes rounded. She darted a glance at the doorway then back at him. “You don’t mind if I sit, do you?” Before Charlie could say no, she flopped into the seat across from him. Scooting to the edge, she rested her elbows on his desk. “So, you’re moping over another woman?”
“Let’s just say I have issues with an old friend.”
Brenda pulled back a little. Her eyebrows shot up. “We are talking about a woman, right?”
“Yes.” Charlie sat straighter. “Of course, I’m talking about a woman. An old girlfriend.” He could just imagine the rumors she could start with that tidbit.
“So what about her?”
“Nothing really.”
“You dating her?”
“No.”
“But you’d like to?”
“Sure. I mean, maybe. That is if she were more receptive.”
“I don’t blame her for not wanting to date you.” Brenda leaned back in her chair, and rubbed her red nose. “You probably broke her heart or something.”
“We attended different colleges.” He shrugged, taking care to temper his tone. “Well, let’s just say distance and immaturity helped contribute to poor choices.” He pulled in a breath, shook his head, not fully believing he was having this conversation with Brenda. “Yes. I did let Isabelle down.”As she did him, but he was willing to forgive and forget.
Brenda jumped to her feet and marched toward the doorway. “Send her flowers.”
“Flowers?” He echoed, liking the idea.
Before he even got the word out, Brenda, quick as a cockroach, scrambled back into the room and plopped a votive candle on his desk. Pulling a match from a matchbox, she struck it on the sole of her shoe and lit the wick. “Here. This will help you relax. Blue lavender. Close your eyes. But don’t knock it over or you might burn the place down.” She coughed into her hand and then patted his desk. “Of course then your girlfriend problems will seem like nothing.”
Charlie laughed, and Brenda scooted out the door. “Thank you. And please keep this confidential.”
Brenda halted, whirled back, her hand gripping the doorframe. She frowned at him. “Ever since you and Erica broke up, gossip has been in short supply. But I won’t tell. I kinda like you better now.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder toward the hallway and lowered her voice. “And if Princess Erica found out you had eyes for someone else, she’d find a way to ruin your chances.”
His sentiments exactly. “Thank you.”
Her eyes widened. “By the way, now that you and Miss My-Daddy’s-the-Boss are really kaput, what about your job?”
Good question. Charlie shrugged. “So far so good. Her dad likes my work.”
“For now.”
Charlie nodded. He had to agree. Three weeks until graduation and for now he had a job. He thanked the Lord for that. “I’m getting my resume together just in case.”
“Good plan. “And about this little conversation we’re having...” Brenda shot him an obliging glance and touched her fingers to her lips. “My lips are sealed.”
“Thank you.” Charlie inhaled and got a nose full of lavender. He sneezed. “This is supposed to relax me?”
Brenda rolled her eyes. “Yes. Sit back, shut your mouth, and close your eyes. I’m going to mosey over to the next hall and watch Miss Erica mope.” Her lips quirked into a crooked smile, and Charlie chuckled. “Gotta do something to brighten my day.”
Settling back in his chair, he heeded Brenda’s advice, adding a prayer to the mix. He needed guidance. He needed peace. He needed to talk to Isabelle.
****
Half an hour later, Brenda poked her head back in his office. “By the way, your mother called earlier.”
“My mother?”
“She said it was urgent but not emergent.”
Charlie scratched his head. Urgent but not emergent? “OK. Thanks, Brenda.” He dialed his mother’s number and turned on the speakerphone.
On the third ring she answered.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hello, dear. Hope you’re having a good day.”
“Let’s say it’s getting better. So what’s emergent but not urgent?” He bit back a chuckle at her analogy.
Silence followed by a wistful sigh. “Charlie, I’m worried about you.”
Charlie straightened. “Why?”
“Well, I spoke to Erica a little while ago.”
Erica. He slumped back in the chair.
“She told me you aren’t working very hard to resolve the issues between you two.”
And this she thought was urgent? Charlie swallowed a sigh. “Erica’s correct.” Dropping his gaze, he thumbed through the open file in front of him.
“Are you serious?”
He picked up a pen and pulled a couple of documents from the file. “I don’t know why you’re surprised. We broke up months ago. I don’t plan on making that mistake again.”
“Son, do you realize what you’re giving up? A prestigious position. Financial security. Not to mention Erica is beautiful and…”
Writing swiftly, Charlie jotted notes on a page, adding an occasional, “Uh huh.” He half listened to his mother’s rhetoric, until something she said hit a nerve.
“Hold on there.” His tossed the pen down and leaned forward, planting his forearms on the desk. “Do not confuse love and happiness with money and status.”
“Charlie, you and Erica were in love and can be again.”
“No.” Charlie shook his head. “I don’t love Erica. I never did. As far as money and status, I’m no longer driven by either of them.”
“If you lose Erica, you’ll never have this opportunity again.”
Good. “The only opportunity I’d like is to have another chance with Isabelle Crafton.”
Silence.
Charlie waited. He yawned. Scratched his jaw.
Then something between a groan and a sigh came through the speakers. “I hope I heard you wrong.”
“Nope.”
“You just told me you didn’t want to make another mistake, so why on earth would you be interested in Isabelle Crafton. That…that—”
“Mother.” Charlie sat bolt upright, clasping the armrests of the chair. “Don’t say a negative word about Isabelle. I know how you feel, and, frankly, it doesn’t matter.”
“Charlie, you’d better reevaluate your goals.”
Done. “I need to get going Mom, I have work to do.”
He clicked off the speaker and did a quick web search. After finding the number he wanted, he picked up the phone and dialed. He cleared his voice and waited for someone to answer.
“Yes. I’d like to order a bouquet of flowers. Yellow and white daisies.”
Isabelle’s favorites.
6
Isabelle quietly shut the closet door in the classroom, careful not to interrupt her student while he worked on his math. Friday afternoon, but Drew stayed after school to finish his assignment. She brushed off her jumper and glanced around. Besides a few scraps of construction paper and a dusting of glitter on the floor, the room looked in order.
“Drew, do you need any help?”
The boy looked up and yawned. “Nope.” Tucking his pencil behind his ear, he dropped his gaze back to the paper.
Isabelle bit back a sigh. “Drew, you need your pencil to finish
your work.”
Without glancing up, he snatched the pencil and chewed the eraser.
Shrugging a shoulder, Isabelle crossed the room and sank into her desk chair. She pulled her day planner from her bag and reviewed her schedule. When she realized how many activities she had planned the next couple weeks, both for school and Kate’s wedding, she sighed. May looked even busier. What was Kate thinking when she planned her wedding so close to the end of the school year?
The answer came quickly. Mark’s mother, the self-appointed wedding coordinator. Mrs. Johnson picked the date, along with just about everything else for the wedding. She wanted the wedding perfect for her son’s bride. Which drove Kate a little crazy, but at least Mrs. Johnson was acting out of love.
In contrast, Charlie’s mother would have acted the same in regards to planning the wedding, but her motivation would have been to impress her friends, not her future daughter-in-law.
Whoa. Where did that come from?
Isabelle shook herself as if to banish the thought. Time to refocus on something more relevant: Kate’s shower. She scribbled notes on a pad, including a reminder to pick up the cake. She scratched the side of her head with her pencil and glanced at the clock on the wall. Finally.
She got to her feet and walked to the front of the desk. “Drew, are you finished?”
Fidgeting in his seat, Drew shrugged. “I guess.” With an elbow, he pushed the paper aside, lowered his arms on the table, and plopped his chin on his fist.
She felt her heart skip. Not again. “Please bring me your paper? Your mother’s probably already waiting.”
Drew traipsed to her desk, dragging his book bag like a sack of bricks. He handed her his work, his gaze downcast.
Isabelle skimmed the worksheet. She didn’t understand. “You’re not finished.”
She’d assigned him half the problems on the page, and he still completed less than yesterday. She crouched beside him and peered into his eyes. “I can’t help you if you don’t do your part.”
Drew scrunched his face tight. “I hate school. I never have fun.”
“OK, let’s make school fun.” The words popped out a little prematurely. She already did her best to make the classroom atmosphere fun. Not to mention the reward system she’d implemented, which made success easy for the students. Well…except for Drew.
Taking a breath, she thought another moment. “How about a special behavior chart?” Isabelle studied his face, now lifted toward her. For once, she had his attention. “We’ll make things easy. You’ll earn a star for good choices. Like completing homework and schoolwork, keeping quiet in line, waiting your turn, or if you raise your hand instead of speaking out in class.”
“What do I get for the stars?” His brows rose.
Good question. Isabelle pondered. “OK. Got it. At the end of each week, we’ll total the stars.” She raised her hand before he asked about prizes. “If you don’t turn in an assignment or if I have to correct you for picking on a classmate, stealing someone’s supplies, or talking when you shouldn’t, I’ll remove one star.”
Drew shuffled his feet, a frown tugging his lips. “That’s not fair.”
Isabelle bit her lip, debating whether to laugh or scream. Poor Drew. She knew exactly what he needed—more one-on-one attention. But with only a parent volunteer helping out once a week?
Drew’s gaze captured hers again. One look at the hopeful glint in his eyes, and she knew that whatever it took, she had to help him succeed.
“OK, Drew. We have six weeks left of school, so if your stars add up to…” She paused, trying to quickly estimate how many times she corrected him each day. She needed an attainable goal. “One-hundred and fifty.” She widened her eyes to encourage him.
His head drooped again. “One-hundred and fifty stars?”
Isabelle lifted his chin with her finger. “That’s only five a day. Homework assignments and daily school work are easy. I’ll even start you out with three stars each day. If you do your work and I don’t have to correct you, all the points stay.” She saw a spark of interest in his eyes. “And your prize will be a trip to Copperhead Arcade.”
When Drew’s mouth fell open, she knew she had him. “With tokens and everything?”
Isabelle nodded. She wished she had thought of this months ago. “Yes. Tokens, pizza, drinks. You and your mom—my treat.”
A grimace scribbled across his face. “What if my mom can’t take me?”
Isabelle couldn’t imagine his mother’s life. Single, barely making ends meet. Calls and notes from the principal almost daily. She rose and wrote a quick note explaining the plan.
“Take this to your mom.” She winked. “If she can’t take you, with her written permission, I will.”
Isabelle extended her hand to seal the deal.
As Drew gripped her fingers, his smile widened, showing off missing front teeth. “OK, Miss Crafton. Make sure we get pepperoni pizza.” He shrugged his book bag onto his shoulder. “And...I like root beer.”
“OK, pepperoni pizza and root beer it is.” Isabelle chuckled and he scurried out the door.
She turned back to her desk and started gathering her things. She had never seen Drew smile so big. Unless he was teasing another student.
Still, they’d made progress. “Always look for the positive.” Isabelle muttered to herself, knowing with Drew, she had to look closely.
She scooped up the workbooks and stashed them in her tote. She understood Drew’s motives, more than she cared to admit. Second grade had been difficult for her, too. In the care of her ailing grandmother after her mother left, Isabelle remembered how rejected and frustrated she felt. Not knowing what to do with those feelings, she acted out in class and had a hard time making friends. She hated to think where she would be if Aunt Myra hadn’t taken her in.
From somewhere in the hallway, Isabelle heard someone sneeze. She slung her bag onto her shoulder, ready to leave.
The school secretary walked into the classroom, holding a vase of flowers. “These smell delightful, even if I am allergic. On your desk OK?” Becky sneezed again.
Flowers? Her heart fell. Had the principal softened the blow of not getting her more help by sending flowers as a truce offering? “No, I’ll take them.” She met Becky halfway and wrapped one arm around the bountiful vase. The floral scent tickled her nostrils.
Becky tilted her head and fingered a petal. “Yellow and white daisies, my favorites. Who’s the admirer?”
Isabelle rolled her eyes. “My guess, the principal sent them. You know, flowers instead of a teacher’s aide.”
“Really?” Becky sounded surprised as she followed Isabelle out of the classroom. “If the principal sent those to you, I’m quitting. All the stuff I do around this place and I’d be lucky to get coal in my stocking.” Becky smiled and waved as she left the room.
Isabelle shook her head with a chuckle. “I’d still rather have an assistant. See you tomorrow, Becky.”
****
Hitching one shoulder to keep the canvas bag from slipping, Isabelle fumbled with her keys. The locked clicked, and she pushed open the door. The sound of soft sobs met her ears. She almost dropped everything.
Kate sat on the sofa, sobbing, a phone clutched to her ear.
“Are you OK?”
Kate shook her head.
Isabelle pushed the door shut with her foot, quickly setting her belongings on the entry table. She rushed to her friend’s side just as Kate clicked off the phone. “Mark?”
Kate didn’t answer, she pointed at her hair instead.
Isabelle blinked. She intended to tell Kate her hair looked fine, but after a closer look, she gasped. How had the blonde highlights in Kate’s auburn hair turned orange? Tangerine orange. The same shade as the blouse Charlie’s girlfriend wore Sunday night at Tenille’s.
Stop it. Isabelle cringed. What was wrong with her, thinking about Charlie’s rich girlfriend when Kate needed her?
Isabelle plopped down next to her fr
iend. “What? How? I mean, did you do that?”
Kate blew her nose. “Mrs. Johnson told me henna was a great conditioner. I’ve been out in the sun lately, and I wanted my hair to look nice for the shower tomorrow.” Another sob escaped her puffy lips. “I called my hairdresser. She’s booked, so I called several other salons. No one has openings.” She blew her nose again. “I can’t go to the shower looking like this.”
Isabelle fingered her own hair, wondering what Kate was thinking taking health or beauty advice from Mark’s mother? Didn’t she remember the dandelion capsules for bloating? Mrs. Johnson hadn’t realized a supplement was needed. Two days in the hospital, dehydrated and critically low in potassium should have taught Kate a lesson. Guess not.
In all fairness, Isabelle knew distraction sapped a few brain cells, and Kate had certainly been distracted. “OK, I’ll check the Internet and see what to do.”
“Do you think we can fix this?”
“There’s a fix for everything. Don’t worry.” Isabelle wiggled more comfortably in her seat, pulled her laptop off the end table, and swung her feet onto the coffee table. She typed henna into the search menu.
Humphrey joined her on the couch. Purring, he rubbed his head against her arm. Isabelle scratched him behind his ears. He pawed the keyboard and tried to climb into her lap. “Not right now, little fellow.” Isabelle thought to ask Kate to hold him, but when she looked up, Kate was curled up against the side of the sofa hugging her knees. Isabelle set the cat on the floor.
She bit back a smile, thinking about the zany things people did when they were getting married. Sure, the once-in-a-lifetime day needed to be perfect. But somewhere along the line, the standards had become unrealistic.
Take for instance the stack of magazines in their living room—detailing proper wedding etiquette―everything from the ideal dress, purchased a size too small to coaching the best man on how to make a flawless speech, one that required skillful memorization and professional training on pronunciation.
Yes, Isabelle understood Mark and Kate wanted a dreamy utopian wedding, but from her perspective, their dream seemed more like a nightmare. Invitations, honeymoon arrangements, flowers, proper music selections, all of which seemed to drive Kate batty. Isabelle wouldn’t even mention the argument she had to referee between Kate and her soon-to-be mother-in-law over the finest must have menu.
Tapestry of Trust Page 5