Tapestry of Trust (16 page)

“My daughter’s third grade teacher is wonderful and very proactive. She recommended we look into math and science camps at UT or San Marcos for Eliza.”

“That’s great.” Isabelle lowered her menu and glanced at the waitress over the top. “Make sure you pick a program that’s fun. You don’t want to push your daughter too hard, or she might get burned out.”

The young woman’s shapely eyebrows winged upward. “Thanks, I hadn’t thought of that.”

Isabelle started to offer another suggestion, but instead swallowed when Aunt Myra kicked her leg under the table.

“Cobb salad for both of us, thank you.” Aunt Myra handed her menu to the waitress.

Good. Decision made. Isabelle closed the menu.

The waitress blinked then smiled. “Only salad? How about some soup? Best jalapeño cheddar around. One of my daughter’s favorites.”

“Just salad for me.” Aunt Myra looked at Isabelle. “Would you care for soup?”

“No thanks. Salad and rolls will be great.” Isabelle handed the waitress her menu.

The woman whisked away. Isabelle rested her forearms on the table and clasped her hands. Two days since she’d arrived, and this was the first opportunity she’d had to really talk to her aunt.

“That Ellie.” Aunt Myra chuckled, picking up her coffee cup. “She’ll go on forever if you let her.”

“Well, there’s a lot to consider when raising a child.” Isabelle would have been the same way.

Her heart slipped a little.

She breathed deep and firmed up her chin. “I guess I always think like a teacher.”

“As you should.” Aunt Myra smiled and Isabelle relaxed, feeling more comfortable with her aunt than she had since arriving.

She cleared her throat, scooted her chair closer and rested an elbow on the table.
Stay cool and collected
. The best way to bring up the past. “I haven’t been here in forever.” She drew in another breath and peered around the room, taking in timely antiques along with some of Denton’s most prominent women. “Looks like Denton’s socialites still frequent the place.”

Aunt Myra unfolded her napkin and arranged silverware on either side of her doily placemat. “Yes, it attracts a nice local crowd. The food is made from scratch, you know.”

“Yes, I remember.”

Ellie set a basket of rolls in the center of the table. “Fresh from the oven. My daughter likes them with jam or honey butter.”

“Thank you.” Isabelle took one, added honey butter and tasted a bite. “Delicious. Your daughter is right.”

Ellie smiled. “The rest of your lunch will be right out.”

Aunt Myra pulled a roll from the basket and slathered butter across the center. “I wish I’d known you intended to visit. I would have eased up on my schedule.”

“No, no.” Isabelle flapped a hand. “I’ve enjoyed discussing decorating plans. But I’m glad we can visit now.”

“You’re right. We haven’t had a good conversation in awhile.” Aunt Myra took another bite. “Aren’t these the best rolls? This is why I love to eat here.”

“Yes, delicious.” Isabelle swallowed her bite. “So, you come here a lot?”

“Not too much. Although, last week I met Dottie Myers here for lunch.” She leaned in. “Fortunately, Ellie was off.”

“She seems to be a good waitress. Just a little chatty.”

Aunt Myra raised her chin. A smile etched her face. “Which makes visiting with your lunch companion challenging.”

Then I better talk fast.
She pulled another roll from the basket and tore off a piece. “I remember Charlie’s mother used to like this place. Do you ever run into her?” Another honorable member of Denton’s elite.

Aunt Myra’s lips grew thin. “I try not to notice.”

Understood. “I suppose she hasn’t changed much. Still a bit overbearing?”

There was a sharp intake of air as Aunt Myra cast her gaze out the window again. For a moment, only silence. “Have you noticed how lovely the spring flowers are this year? Must be from all the rain,” she finally said.

Isabelle was being ignored and she knew it. Still she
followed her aunt’s stare. Red and white geraniums in charming disarray splashed over sides of clay pots that bordered the flagstone patio. “Yes, beautiful. The red are my favorite. They remind me of the roses Charlie used to bring me.” She watched for her aunt’s reaction.

Aunt Myra snapped her gaze back, her slender eyebrows raised to the tip of her silver-white bangs. “Not a very good comparison, dear.”

Isabelle shrugged. “Funny, sometimes memories just reappear.” All too often lately.

Aunt Myra cocked her head, her face suddenly stony. “Take my advice. Some memories are better left forgotten.”

“Like those of Uncle Harold?”

Aunt Myra splayed a hand beneath her neck, her eyes stormy. “Of course not. I cherish those memories. But you and Charlie and…all the tragedy.” She shook her head. “I forgot about that nightmare years ago. I think it’s best you do the same.”

A hard lump formed in Isabelle’s throat, and she tried to swallow. Had her aunt forgotten about her son?

Images of her baby filled her mind. So tiny and frail, lying in his incubator in the Neonatal ICU and covered in a tangle of wires and tubes. The doctors allowed her to stay at his bedside. Gently, she’d touch him, stroking his skin, studying him. His teeny hands and feet, soft black downy hair. His precious face—every perfect little feature.

Over and over, she’d whispered, “I love you.” Never had she experienced such love. A love she never wanted to forget.

A stilted silence followed.

Tears flickered in Isabelle’s eyes. She blinked them away. She wasn’t ready for this. Talking about Charlie was hard enough. “Those experiences, Aunt Myra, although tragic, led me to Christ. His grace carried me through even when my son died.”

Her aunt’s face blanched white. She picked up her drink and took a long sip.

This wasn’t going well.

Isabelle breathed in a shaky breath and let it go. “I hate to dwell on the past, but there are a few issues I still need resolved.”

Aunt Myra did not comment, only shifted in her seat and sighed. Meaning? Isabelle couldn’t decide.

Isabelle leaned in. “Aunt Myra, I know this subject is unpleasant, but I need to know something. After I left for East Texas, did Charlie ever—”

Aunt Myra made a sound in her throat, her body stiffening like a prim ballerina. “Speak of the devil.”

“Charlie?” Isabelle repressed a little shudder and didn’t dare turn to look.

“Worse.”

“Sharon?”

The sound of a high-pitched cackle of laughter answered Isabelle’s question.

She held her breath. Her heart pounded. For a long moment neither spoke, neither she nor her aunt. Then, as if nothing happened, Aunt Myra brightened, picked up her coffee, and took a sip. Isabelle knew she should do the same, ignore Sharon’s presence. She popped another bite of roll into her mouth and chewed, willing herself to focus on something more productive—her empty stomach. That worked for about ten seconds before her eyes strayed to the opposite side of the room and lingered. Sharon stood, wearing a too-snug black dress, waving her hands and tottering around a corner table hugging friends. Still as social and friendly as ever―to those of influence, that is, which never included Isabelle.

Isabelle swallowed, no longer hungry. She whipped her gaze back to her aunt and assumed a calmer tone than she felt. “Hardly the person I hoped to see today.”

Aunt Myra lowered her cup. “Well, pretend she is, dear. Because it looks as though she’s coming to say hello.”

“What?”
Oh, Lord, help me.
The prayer came automatically. Good thing God knew what she needed, because every reasonable thought tumbled from her brain.

“Sharon, how are you?” Aunt Myra glanced up, smiling.

“Doing well.” Sharon nodded at Aunt Myra, then cocking her head, she glared at Isabelle. “Isabelle Crafton, it is really you. My, my, it has been a while, hasn’t it?”

Not long enough.
Isabelle rallied and lifted her chin. “Six years.” She hated the crack in her voice. Still she forced a smile. “I don’t get back often.”

“Six years? Time does fly.” Sharon repeated, her gaze bouncing between Isabelle and her aunt.

“Yes it does.” Aunt Myra agreed, draining the rest of her coffee.

“Absolut—” Isabelle began.

“Yes.” Sharon cut in smoothly. “Time waits for no one. It seems like only yesterday you left Denton for parts unknown.” She turned slightly, settling her chilly glare on Isabelle. “Moved on with your life, as we expected.”

Expected?
Nothing like beating around the bush. Isabelle nodded, every hair on the back of her neck standing at attention. It was as if she were eighteen again.

“Isabelle has moved on.” Aunt Myra piped up. “She’s graduated from college and lives in Austin where she teaches second grade.”

“Austin.” Sharon wagged her head and propped a hand on her hip. “Not far enough, I’m afraid.”

Isabelle shifted in her chair. Tension gripped her shoulders. She traded a glance with her aunt who looked as confused as she was. Amazing how Sharon managed in less than five minutes to reduce her to a bundle of nerves. Isabelle didn’t even have that effect on her cat.

“I moved to Austin to teach school.” Isabelle coughed into her hand, wishing the remark back. She had no reason to defend herself.

“Teach school. Ha!” Sharon leaned in, her shoulders hunched. “That’s not all you’re doing in Austin.” She pitched her voice lower, but her tone matched her grimacing face.

Isabelle’s mind spun.

“What are you insinuating Sharon?” Aunt Myra spoke up before she could catch a thought.

Good question. Isabelle balled her hands in her lap and tried to maintain her composure.

Sharon held her stance and her glare. “I’ve spoken with Charlie and his friend Erica about you. I know what’s going on.”

“Charlie?” Aunt Myra’s glance flew to Isabelle’s face.

Fighting not to jump up from her seat, Isabelle straightened her spine and crossed her arms. “Since you know what’s going on, Mrs. Hamilton, why don’t you fill me in?”

A laugh escaped Sharon. “Don’t be coy with me, Isabelle. You’re trying to steal Charlie from Erica. And that won’t happen if I can help it.”

“I―I.” Isabelle’s gaze traveled from Sharon to her aunt’s gaping face. “I’ve seen Charlie a few times, but I have no interest in pursuing anything with him.”

“Isabelle.” Her aunt’s eyes widened. “So this is why all the talk about Charlie.”

Frustration ripped through Isabelle. She plunked her fisted hands on the table. “I have no interest in Charlie. I just want to understand what happened between us six years ago.”

“You tried to trap him and it failed.” Sharon snarled.

Surging to her feet, Isabelle gripped the table’s edge and looked into Sharon’s face. “Our lapse in judgment was mutual. What wasn’t mutual was Charlie taking responsibility for it.”

Sharon leaned closer. Practically nose to nose with Isabelle. “Why would you expect Charlie to be responsible for such a short-lived mistake?”

Short lived mistake! It was a child! Their son.
Isabelle’s stomach dropped and she drew back. “Far from short lived, Sharon. I carried the baby twenty-nine weeks.” Her voice went low, but remained steady. “His lungs weren’t developed enough and―”

Sharon’s mouth fell open, her eyes sharpening. “Isabelle, you’re talking crazy.”

Every cell in Isabelle’s body froze. She paused and looked at Aunt Myra for support. Her aunt stayed quiet, her lips tightened.

Isabelle’s heart shattered further. Gasping for air, she grabbed her pocketbook and took off across the room, past the staring faces, and pushed through the double wooden doors.

Once outside, she bent over, hands on her knees, her purse dangling from her shoulder. She inhaled and blew the air out slowly, trying to keep herself from hyperventilating.
Lord, help me.

15

Charlie rummaged in his desk drawer, pulled out a file and opened it. He ran his gaze over the advertising sketches, forcing himself to concentrate on his upcoming presentation. Tomorrow would be here before he knew it.

Minutes chugged by. He shifted in his chair, blinked to sharpen his focus. Still, nothing he read seemed to sink in. He dropped his pen and fell against his seat.
Just great.
He couldn’t concentrate. Well, on anything other than Isabelle…and their son.

His son—died without his father.
Grief clogged Charlie’s throat. He
tightened his jaw, teeth gritted. If only he had known the truth, he would have pushed harder to locate Isabelle. Badgered her aunt more, knocked on every door in Denton County…in the state. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyelids. Why hadn’t Isabelle tried to contact him again? Why hadn’t she let him know?

He forced his jaw to loosen, blew a short breath through his lips. He just didn’t get it.

No, that wasn’t true. He knew all too well why Isabelle reacted the way she did. She didn’t trust him. And why would she? He’d let her down, just like her mother and her father had. Charlie sighed. Yes, he did the one thing he promised her he’d never do.

But
if given the chance, I’ll never let her down again.

Although, he knew it was a pretty slim chance. Isabelle wasn’t the same girl he’d fallen in love with so many years ago. Life had hurt her. He had hurt her.

If only she could see the good in him. To see God in him. To…

Charlie stopped, drew in a deep breath. The scent of coffee filled his nostrils. Rubbing his nose, he shook off his self-pity.
Enough wasted time.
Time to get to work. Right after a cup
of
caffeine.

He climbed to his feet and stretched, working the kinks from his back. Guilt still jabbed at his conscience, but, he pushed through it.

“Howdy, boss man.” Swinging an empty mug in her hand, Brenda met him at the door of the break room. “You’re in luck. The brew just finished. Pumpkin spice. Yummy. The perfect flavor to get you into the Thanksgiving spirit.”