Tapestry of Trust (15 page)

Hearing her name again, she blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness.

Kate stepped up and into the dim light spilling from the tableside lamp. She crouched beside her. “Why aren’t you in bed sleeping?”

Good question. Isabelle adjusted the throw pillow behind her back. The last thing she remembered was mulling over her evening with Charlie.
Charlie.
Yes, exhausting. “I guess I dozed off. What time is it anyway?”

“Eleven-thirty. Past your bedtime.” Kate patted her shoulder.

“Yep.” Isabelle yawned and then proceeded to her room. “Six thirty will arrive soon enough. Good night.”

“Hey, one question.” Kate’s curious voice came from behind her.

Isabelle took a step backward and poked her head around the corner. “Let’s talk in the morning. I’m beat.”
Emotionally and physically.

Kate ignored her and moved closer. “So, how’d your evening go?”

Quickly, Isabelle combed over the details in her mind. Although not as horrific in some respects, the new information dancing through her brain certainly wasn’t something she wanted to share. “Fine.” She didn’t look at Kate as she spoke but peered beyond her into the dusky room.

“
Fine
, as in, Charlie wasn’t as bad as you thought?”

Isabelle bit her bottom lip, still avoiding eye contact, and shrugged her shoulders. “Fine, as in, survivable.”

Kate chuckled. “Fine. Survivable. Sounds intriguing.”

More like dizzying.
Isabelle swung her gaze back to Kate and slowly shook her head. “Hardly.” She tried to sound strong, unemotional, even as tears bathed her eyes.

One of Kate’s brows slipped up. “What happened?”

A terrible sadness poured over Isabelle. Maybe it was time to confide in her friend. But knowing Kate had been raised in a Christian family and was in love with a respectable man, Isabelle doubted she’d understand. Kate lived life right. No skeletons in her closets. No bad memories tucked away.

“I’m a great listener.” Kate reminded, her eyes glittering in the shadowed light.

“I know.” Still, Isabelle wondered if her story would change things between them. Although she was almost too tired to care at this point. She drew in a breath and waved Kate into her room. “All right.” She’d skirted the truth long enough.

Kate didn’t hesitate. As swift and agile as Humphrey, she scrambled past Isabelle, plopped on the edge of the bed, crossed her legs and smiled. “I’m all ears.”

Great. She thinks were having a slumber party.
For a brief moment, Isabelle shut her eyes and bowed her head.
Lord, give me the words.

She exhaled and cleared her throat. Too worked up to sit, she paced the room, back and forth, occasionally raising her eyes to the window and into the endless night.

Kate stayed quiet, her eyes wide.

By the time the conversation wound to a close, Isabelle felt exhausted. Drained of emotions. Numb and confused. She paused, glancing to where Kate sat on the bed. Something in her friend’s gaze made her heart skip. Why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut?

Kate rushed up and smothered her in a hug. “I’m sorry for all you’ve been through. I only wish you’d told me sooner.”

Isabelle hugged her back and started to cry. The tightly wound knot in her chest finally loosened. She was finally free from the secrets of her past.

Still, there was one question yet to be answered: would Aunt Myra have lied?

13

Impetuous.
That’s the one thing Isabelle knew she wasn’t.

At least not anymore. She had learned that lesson the hard way. As a result, she’d resolved to think things through, not make rash decisions.

So, why then, she asked herself for the hundredth time, was she in the car driving on a Thursday afternoon four hours to Denton after working all day and being exhausted from her late night chat with Kate? Hardly rational. In fact―impetuous. She sighed and took another swig of gas station coffee, hating it when her emotions overrode common sense.

Punching down the accelerator, she merged onto I-35 North. Even as every cell in her body screamed for rest, she couldn’t bear to sleep another night without knowing the truth, or at least attempting to prove Charlie wrong.

She took another sip then forced the paper cup back into the holder. Cold and yucky. She smacked her lips. Nevertheless, caffeine and the donut she’d bought should boost her adrenaline. She needed all the help she could get. Blowing out a breath, she tightened her fingers on the steering wheel and willed her eyes to stay open.
Mind over matter
.

“Yeah, right.” She snorted. As if she ever listened to what her mind had to say…or her instincts. If she had, she would have stayed away from Charlie and been spared his twisted version of history. Not-to-mention, she wouldn’t be headed on a wild goose hunt to Aunt Myra’s house.

Nothing less than impetuous.
She groaned.

All for the chance Charlie might be telling the truth.

Whoa.
Isabelle squashed that thought. She knew better. Her aunt could never be that cruel. Who’d stuck by her? Aunt Myra. Not Charlie. Of course he’d lie. He had nothing to lose.

In contrast, Isabelle had everything to lose. To find out she’d been betrayed by someone else...unthinkable. She shook her head.
Not going there.
Still she needed to set the record straight once and for all. Charlie had abandoned her, end of story.

She finished her donut then wiped crumbs off her lap. Reaching down, she adjusted the radio until she found the Christian station. The newest rendition of
Amazing Grace
roared through the speakers. Cranking up the sound, her left leg jiggled with the music as she bobbed her head back and forth, singing along. For the moment she felt relaxed.

Until the city lights of Denton came into view. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe.

Get a grip.
She sucked in air and expelled it slowly.

She was going home where comfort and safety reigned. She cruised onto the exit ramp. “Everything will be fine.”

At Elm, she took a right and continued through the downtown area. The glow of antique streetlights lit the historic buildings. The scene brought her back to high school days. She passed the specialty shops, the impressive clock tower, Ruby’s Diner, Sweetwater Grill. Nothing had changed. Even a few lights on Tasty Strudel Bakery’s sign were still missing.

She smiled, remembering how she and Charlie nestled in a corner booth after a Friday night football game and indulged in fresh baked pastries. So much warmth in that place, bakery scented air, cozy ambience.

Sighing, Isabelle’s skin tingled. She rubbed at the emerging goose bumps along her arm and focused on the road, silencing the melancholic thoughts.

She turned onto Trident Street, continued to the end of the road, then pulled into Aunt Myra’s driveway. After parking in her old spot beside the ivy-covered arbor, she grabbed her bag and sauntered up the stone walkway leading to the house. A half stride from the steps, the porch light blinked on, and the front door flung
open. Aunt Myra stood in the threshold, her arms open wide. “Isabelle, welcome.”

Isabelle bounded up the steps and fell into her aunt’s embrace.

Home at last.

Inside
the foyer, she dropped her bag. An unexpected calm embraced her. A moment’s respite from the memories, as if Aunt Myra could shelter the past. Temporary, she knew, for tomorrow her questions would begin.

Aunt Myra took a step back and
crossed her arms, her blue eyes crinkling. “Look at you, all grown up and as lovely as ever.”

Isabelle chuckled as she caught her reflection in the entryway mirror. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, and several tendrils escaped her ponytail and straggled her cheeks. Hardly lovely. She looked more like… well, like she felt―a mess. She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “Thanks, Aunt Myra. You look great, too.” And she did. Dressed in a tailored pantsuit with her silver hair smoothed into a bun. Poised and graceful. As always.

Her aunt blushed. “Maybe for an old woman.”

“You’re not that—”

A shrill whistle drowned out her words. Aunt Myra spun on her heels and was halfway to the kitchen before she paused and looked over her shoulder. “The water in the kettle is ready. Make yourself at home.”

Isabelle settled into one of the cushioned armchairs in the living room and breathed deep. It felt good to be home. Good to be in familiar surroundings. Nothing ever changed here, from the antique furniture, to the fresh flowers spilling from a milk-glass vase on the mantel. Everything looked exactly like she remembered.

She blinked, except for the walls. Now green instead of white.

Isabelle held her breath and darted another glance around the room. Several new knick-knacks mingled among the old, and a floral painting replaced the vintage seascape. Her breath went out in gasp. She coughed into her hand to cover it.

OK, the house needed updating, but she’d always found solace in her aunt’s predictability. Something she needed now more than ever.

Aunt Myra entered the room carrying a large tray laden with cups, a pot of steaming tea, creamer, and a plate of cookies. She set the silver platter on the small table and took the seat across from Isabelle. “Help yourself. They’re warm.” She gestured to the snacks then raised one of the steaming cups and gently blew on the hot vapors.

Isabelle forced a polite smile. “Thank you. They smell wonderful.” She reached for a cookie.

Aunt Myra placed her cup into the saucer with a soft clink. “So, you must have Friday off this week?”

“Not exactly.” Isabelle finished her bite of cookie and cleared her throat. “It’s exam week and proctors administer the tests.” No need to mention, the begging that took place before the principal agreed to the last minute trip.

Her aunt nodded, clasping her hands together on her lap. “I’d hoped now that you’ve graduated you’d come home more often. Traveling to see you isn’t as easy for me as it used to be.”

Ignoring the guilt, Isabelle nibbled her cookie. Yes, she should visit more often. She regretted neglecting her aunt, but regretted even more the reason for the trip. Self serving, she knew, especially since she had to leave Drew to fend for himself during end of grade testing. She swallowed her bite along with a sigh.

“Are you OK, dear?” Aunt Myra leaned forward, peering at Isabelle over her spectacles.

Hardly.
“Fine. Just tired.” Isabelle mumbled, sliding her gaze from her aunt’s. “So tell me about this wall color, the new painting, the knick-knacks.” With her cookie, she made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the room.

“I’m glad you noticed.” There was a flash of excitement in Aunt Myra’s tone. “I decided it’s time to make some changes. Bring the house up to date. Something I’ve wanted to do for years.”

“For years?” Isabelle swallowed, forcing down a cookie morsel stuck in her throat. “I had no idea.”

“No, I suppose you didn’t.” Aunt Myra gave a quick chuckle. “You know, I haven’t changed the place much since Harold died. Although I never cared for his taste in decorating.”

Isabelle paused and leaned slightly closer. “Uncle Harold?”

“Yes.” A brief wistful smile touched her aunt’s lips. “He’s the one who liked the white walls and drab furnishings.”

Isabelle studied her aunt, not quite comprehending. She’d been widowed for over forty years and rarely spoke of her husband. Hard to believe she’d kept the same décor all this time in memory of him. Forever love, Isabelle concluded, until something more feasible dawned on her—forever stuck in the past.

Like me.
Isabelle’s stomach curled into a tight knot.

Her aunt’s silver brows drew together. “So, what do you think?”

Giving herself a moment to gather her wits, Isabelle moved her gaze slowly around the room again. “I like the changes. I’m glad you’re redecorating.”

“Yes, it’s time. I’ve hired Kayla Stevenson to help. She’s the best decorator in Denton.”

“I remember her.” Isabelle recalled the woman’s designer touch at the Hamilton’s house. Although, too much of Sharon’s taste still lingered. Floral couches with burnt orange accents, glass tables and wrought iron lamps. Isabelle preferred warmer hues and traditional furnishings. Nothing in the Hamilton’s house suited her taste except the
Returning Home
tapestry that graced the dining room wall.

Aunt Myra chattered on about her plans. Half listening, Isabelle added an occasional “um-hum,” while she struggled to keep her mind off the Hamiltons. This was why she didn’t visit more. Everything about Denton reminded her of the past.

A low chime sounded and her aunt, deep in conversation about her decorating plans, paused. She picked up a napkin and daubed the corners of her mouth. “It’s late. We’ll catch up tomorrow. Fresh linens are on your bed.” She lifted the tray of dishes and carried them to the kitchen.

The hands on the mantel clock read nine.
The golden hour.
Isabelle breathed easier. At least some things hadn’t changed.

14

At Millie’s Restaurant on the outskirts of Denton, Isabelle sat across from her aunt at a table tucked beneath a large window. The turn of the century building still possessed the same cozy ambience Isabelle remembered. Distressed wooden beams lined the high ceiling, historic photographs hung on the wall and rustic antiques filled every room.

Warm and inviting.

Isabelle settled back in her seat, opened the menu, and glanced over the food choices. The waitress hovered at her shoulder.

“So you’re a teacher. That’s something I thought about being. Such a noble profession.”

“I agree.” Isabelle nodded, deciding between the Cobb salad or grilled chicken wrap.”