“Hey,” I say.
“No Isabelle today?”
I shake my head. The last thing I want to do is explain to my dad what’s going on. He’ll give me advice that I don’t want.
“Well, I’m making dinner tonight. Tacos.” He grins. “It will be ready in a few minutes.”
“Okay.” I sigh. I’m not hungry, though. I really just want to be alone, but if I refuse to eat, Dad will want to know why. Dad returns to the kitchen, and I start toward my room. Before I make it, there’s a knock on the door.
“Can you get that?” Dad shouts.
I momentarily hang my head, and then I shuffle to the front door. I open it to find Isabelle standing there. Anger, heartache, and familiar excitement war inside of me. I want to take her in my arms and pretend everything is okay, but when I look at her, all I see is her kissing Cam.
“You left,” she says.
“Yup.” I step outside and close the door, not wanting my father to overhear.
“Why?”
I raise a brow. “Seriously?”
She nods. “What’s going on? Why are you acting like you’re mad at me?” She reaches for my arm, but I move out of the way before she can touch me. Her face falls. “Grayson? What’s wrong?”
“I cannot believe you.” I cross my arms. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here.” I jog down the steps, needing space.
“What are you talking about? I thought we were going to hang out tonight.” Hesitantly, she follows me down the steps, but she doesn’t get too close. “Please tell me what’s going on.”
“What’s going on is that you’re a liar and a cheater.” My tone is cool and controlled.
She takes a careful step back, eyes wide. “What?” Her voice cracks, and for a brief moment, I actually feel sorry for her.
“I saw you, Belle. You were kissing Cam,” I shout and then glance at the house, praying my father didn’t overhear.
She gasps and shakes her head. “It’s not like that, Grayson. It’s not—”
“Don’t.” I slice my hand through the air. I’m not buying her lies and excuses. “Nothing you say is going to make this better.”
“But—”
“After everything I told you about my mom…” My face is hot with anger, and my hands shake. If anyone knows how much I despise cheating, it’s Belle. “Of all the things you could’ve done to hurt me, you do this?”
“I didn’t—” Tears stream down her face, and her bottom lip trembles.
My heart shatters even more, but I can’t let myself give in. She cheated on me and betrayed my trust.
“Go home, Belle.” I walk back up the steps, grab the doorknob, and turn around to face her. “You made your choice.” Then I go inside and slam the door.
“Everything okay?” Dad is standing in the living room, arms crossed.
“Belle and I broke up.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nope.” I head straight for the kitchen. The spicy aroma of taco meat fills the room, and my stomach rumbles even though the thought of eating makes me sick. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and disappear into my room. My solitude doesn’t last long, though.
“What’s going on, Grays?” Dad asks as he pulls out my desk chair and sits facing me.
I kick my backpack across the floor. “I caught her kissing her ex-boyfriend.” I flop down on my bed and groan. “She cheated on me, Dad. Just like Mom cheated on you.”
With a heavy sigh, he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He nods slowly. “I’m sorry, kiddo.”
I give him a disbelieving look. “That’s all you have to say?” This is not like my father, which makes me believe he’s going to say something I’m not going to like.
“Did she explain?”
“Explain? What’s there to explain? I saw her, Dad. There’s nothing she can say that will justify cheating.”
“No, but things aren’t always what they seem.” He rubs his hands over his face and stands. “Don’t jump to conclusions. You might live to regret it.” Without another word, he leaves and closes my door.
I stare after him, dumbfounded. Don’t jump to conclusions? I know what I saw. There’s no way I misunderstood what was happening. Just like Dad never misunderstood what happened with Mom. When he first found out, he was devastated. So was I. And when everything happened with the church, he shut down, refusing to talk about it, even to me. Does he believe the rumors? I never had the guts to ask him, and he never volunteered the information.
Is it possible I don’t know the truth about my own mother? Heart racing, I scramble off my bed and rush into the kitchen. Dad’s fixing himself a plate of tacos. “What do you mean things aren’t always what they seem?”
He sprinkles cheese on his tacos and then turns to face me. “I mean exactly what I said. Just because you saw her kissing her ex doesn’t mean you know the whole story.”
“You never knew the whole story with Mom.” I cross my arms. “That doesn’t change what she did.”
“No, it doesn’t.” He leans against the counter. “But if she hadn’t died, we might have been able to fix things.” He shrugs one shoulder, grabs his plate, and sits at the table.
I stand, frozen, and watch him take a large bite of his taco. He seems so at peace with Mom’s betrayal. “You really would have forgiven her?”
“Maybe.” He takes another bite. “See, Grayson… I’ve had a few years to think. Every person is responsible for their actions, yes. But a relationship takes two. Once the pain passed, I realized there were things I could have done differently with your mom. And I realized I still loved her, even through the pain. We might have made it work.”
“How?” I pull out the chair across from him and sit.
“It wouldn’t have been easy, but we would have found a way.” He opens his can of soda and takes a drink before wiping his mouth with a napkin. “With God, there’s always a way.”
I bury my face in my hands and sigh. How can he be so calm? Sure, it’s been years, but how does a hurt like this ever go away? I don’t think this gaping hole in my heart will ever heal.
Dad gently removes my hands from my face and gives them a firm squeeze. “You don’t stop loving someone just because they hurt you.” He gives me an encouraging, albeit sad, smile. “You find it in yourself to forgive them. And then you move on, with or without them.”
I swallow hard against the threat of tears.
“I know it hurts. And I know it’s not easy.” He releases my hands. “But love never is.” Dad turns his attention back to his food. “You should eat something.”
In a daze, I get up and fix myself a couple of tacos. I’m still not hungry, but maybe eating will help clear my mind. Or just distract me for a little while. I eat in silence, debating whether I should turn my phone back on. I know if I do I’ll be tempted to message Isabelle, and I just can’t talk to her right now.
Dad’s right about finding a way to forgive her—God teaches us that—but I don’t know how. She not only cheated on me, she flat out lied to my face. She told me I had nothing to worry about, that I was the only one she wanted. No, it’s not about forgiveness. It’s about trust. And how do you get that back once it’s gone?
Once dinner is over, Dad asks, “Want to watch a movie?”
“Not tonight.” I take my dishes to the sink and begin to clean up.
“I got this,” Dad says, nudging me out of the way. “Go take care of things with Isabelle.”
Yeah, right. I shuffle through the living room, not paying any attention to anything when I slam my shin against the coffee table. Stabbing pain shoots up my leg. I let out a painful yelp. “I’m okay,” I call to Dad so he won’t rush in here to check on me. I rub the sting from my leg and scowl at the coffee table as if it’s somehow its fault.
Dad’s Bible lies open, an old receipt tucked between the pages to mark his spot. I haven’t seen Dad’s Bible since Mom died. Huh. I retreat to my room and dig my phone from my ba
g. Heart racing, I power it on. As expected, I have several messages from Isabelle. I lay on my bed and read them.
it’s not what you think. i promise. please let me explain.
grayson please? you don’t understand.
fine. don’t answer me, but you need to know the truth. after i talked to andrea, i went to my locker and cam was there. he started saying all this stuff to me and i didn’t know what to do. before i could say anything, HE kissed ME. i did NOT kiss him. i pushed him away and told him to stop. that’s the truth. i swear. you have to believe me.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply. Is that really the truth? I want it to be. So bad. Because then I can be angry with Cam and not Belle. Because then she’s an innocent victim, too, and not some lying, cheating seductress out to destroy me. There’s a gap in the timing of the messages and then…
i’m so sorry grayson. please forgive me. i don’t want cam. i want you.
I have no idea how to respond. A huge part of me wants to tell her I believe her and forgive her and that everything will be okay. But I don’t, and everything isn’t okay. It might never be okay again. So, I delete her messages, close my eyes, and pray for guidance.
27
ISABELLE
MY EYES BURN FROM LACK of sleep, and my face is puffy from all the crying I’ve done. Based on the way my vision blurs right now, the tears aren’t stopping anytime soon. I wipe them away and close my locker. When I turn around, Grayson is coming down the hallway. He walks by as if I don’t exist, and fresh tears blaze a painful path down my cheeks.
“You are unbelievable!” Andrea marches up to me and gets in my face.
“What?” I sniffle and wipe my face again.
“You just couldn’t wait to go after Cam, could you?” Her shrieking intensifies my headache. “We weren’t even broken up for a day before you made a move.”
I press the heels of my hands against my temples. Make it stop. “What are you—No. Look, whatever he told you—”
“Don’t!” She points at me. “I went out of my way yesterday to apologize and try to make amends, and you stabbed me in the back.”
Students turn to stare. She’s making a scene. Why won’t she shut up? My mouth moves, but nothing comes out. Grayson’s watching. Nothing I say or do can make this better.
“You’re a bad friend, Isabelle,” she says.
“I’m a bad friend?” I clutch my broken heart. “But you… and Cam… you dumped him. And I didn’t ask—I didn’t want him to kiss me. I—” My gaze drifts to Grayson, but I can’t say out loud, in front of all these people, how much Grayson means to me.
“Oh, don’t try to twist this around.” Andrea shakes her head, her black hair whipping around her face. “You’ve been dying to get him back.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” I fling my backpack over my shoulder, glance at Grayson to be sure he's listening, and enunciate each word slowly. “Let me be perfectly clear. I don’t want Cam.”
“Then stop kissing him!”
“I. Wasn’t!”
A blur of motion and my cheek stings with fresh heat.
I gasp and cup my cheek. She slapped me. She actually slapped me. Andrea gapes at me, as if surprised by her own action and the realization she can't blame that on me, too, and then shoves her way through the forming crowd. I stare after her, stunned. Grayson’s gaze collides with mine for a fraction of a second before he turns away. I hang my head, not even trying to stop the tears anymore. I’m entirely numb, and everything inside of me is broken.
There’s no way I can go to Spanish and sit next to Grayson when he can’t stand to look at me. I won’t be able to concentrate anyway. So, instead, I make my way to the nurse’s office.
“Oh, Isabelle, dear, what happened?” Ms. Young jumps up from her chair and scurries around her desk. She pulls my hand from my face and cringes. “Let me get you an ice pack.”
I take a seat on the uncomfortable blue bed and take the ice pack she offers me. Gently, I put it on my cheek and wince. “Ow.”
“What happened?” she asks again.
“Oh, um. It’s stupid.” I force a smile. “I went to close my locker and I accidentally hit myself with the door.” I don’t know why I’m lying when I should just tell the truth. Andrea deserves to suffer some consequences for smacking me. But I also really want to forget all about this.
The bell rings, but I don’t move. Ms. Young doesn’t ask me to, either, so I sit with an ice pack on my cheek, feeling sorry for myself. How did my life get so messed up? The only good thing I had was Grayson, and now I’ve lost him. God, please, help me out here. I don’t know what to do. How can I make things right?
Ms. Young hands me a tissue, and I realize I’m crying again. Or still. I don’t even know anymore. She sits next to me and rubs my back. “It’s going to be okay. Might be a tad swollen, and you’ll have a good bruise, but nothing too bad.”
“Thanks.”
She pats my leg and stands. “I’ll write you a late pass. You can take the ice pack with you.”
I groan. So much for avoiding Grayson. Reluctantly, I take the late pass and head to class. Señorita Guzmán smiles when I hand her the pass. There’s a video playing, and I’m so grateful we’re not practicing our dance or anything else that will require me to talk to Grayson. I slip into my seat and stare at the television.
Unfortunately for me, the video ends ten minutes later, and Señorita Guzmán instructs us to head to the gym. I hate my life. Once in the gym, she starts the music and counts out the steps. Grayson gets into position, his body stiff. We move to the music, but he doesn’t look at me. I clear my throat, mostly so I won’t break down into sobs. My throat burns with the effort.
“How’s your cheek?” he asks.
“Fine.”
He nods, and we fall silent again. His head is down, and I stare at his soft, beautiful, windblown hair. My fingers ache to run through it.
“I can’t do this,” I mutter as I back away from him. I can barely see through my tears, but that doesn’t stop me from running out of the gym.
“Isabelle!” Grayson calls my name.
My full name.
A sob nearly chokes me. I don’t slow down, though. I can’t. I can’t look into his eyes and have him tell me it’s over, that he doesn’t want me anymore. I hide out in the girls’ bathroom for the remainder of the period, and when the bell rings, I sneak out the side door, but I don’t go home. I can’t stand to be there, to see the evidence of a shattered life.
Instead, I drive to the Elmwood Street Christian Church. I have no idea if anyone will be there, and I don’t really care if there is. I just need the peace that comes with being in God’s house. I walk in, and the place is dimly lit, the pews empty. Stopping just inside the door, I inhale deeply and close my eyes.
“Is there something I can do for you?”
I gasp at the unexpected sound and open my eyes to find a woman walking down the aisle. When she gets closer, I recognize her as Sandra, Pastor Rick’s wife.
“Isabelle?”
“Yeah, sorry for just walking in.”
“Shouldn’t you be in school?” she asks. There’s zero judgment in her tone, and I never knew I could be so grateful for something so small.
I nod and bite the inside of my cheek, but the tears come regardless. “I’m sorry. I can go.” I turn to leave when she puts her hand gently on my arm.
“You don’t have to leave.” She gives me a soft smile. “In fact, I’m guessing you need to be here.”
I sniffle and wipe the tears from my face. “Thank you.” My voice trembles.
“Pastor Rick isn’t here, but maybe I can help. Come on.” She leads me to the closest pew, and I sit. She slides in next to me, angling her body so she can face me, elbows resting on the back of the pew. “What’s on your mind?”
I blow out a breath and lick my lips. Then, I start talking, and I don’t stop until I’ve divulged my entire life story. I tell her everything from B
randon’s death to Mom’s drinking to the reasons I left my old church and even all the stuff with my friends and Grayson. Through all of it, Sandra is silent, listening. When I’m done, my shoulders slump, and bone-weary exhaustion weighs me down.
“Oh, sweetheart.” She pulls me into a hug. “I’m sorry, Isabelle. Truly.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
She rubs my back, and then releases me. Unshed tears glisten in her eyes, and guilt gnaws at me. I shouldn’t have burdened her with my problems. She’s got way more important things to worry about.
“It can be hard to understand why God does what He does, and I suppose we’re not meant to. We simply need to trust Him and His plans for us.”
“I know.” I nod.
“I don’t know many adults who could deal with everything you’ve been dealing with, but Isabelle…” She takes my hands. “None of what’s happened is your fault. You know that, right?”
I hang my head, unable to give her the answer I know she wants.
“The people in your life, the ones who are supposed to be there for you—your parents, your former pastor and church, your friends—they’ve failed you when you needed them the most. It's what broken, imperfect people do.” Her tone is gentle but firm.
Tears roll down my cheeks and drip from my chin, landing on my jeans with an unsatisfying splat. “I just don’t know what to do.” I cover my face with my hands and sob.
Sandra puts her arm around my shoulders and lets me cry until I can’t cry anymore. I straighten and drag my hands over my head and down my hair. My temples throb, and my nose is sore from running so much.
“Can we pray?” Sandra asks.
“Yeah.” My throat burns.
“Heavenly Father, please watch over Isabelle,” she says in a soft, soothing tone. “Wrap her in Your loving embrace, protect her, and guide her through these broken relationships and difficult times. Amen.”
“Amen,” I echo.
“Let me give you my number,” Sandra says. “And I want you to call me, anytime, if you need anything.”
“Thank you.” I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do about Andrea and Grayson, but knowing I have someone I can call and talk to is a relief.
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