Tapestry of Trust (7 page)

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 friend. “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.

Kate’s sigh snagged Isabelle’s attention. She glanced up and met her friend’s swollen eyes. “Find anything?”

“I’m searching.”

Another sigh and Kate blanched even paler, accentuating the orange in her hair.

Isabelle stifled a chuckle at her pitiful friend. Kate wouldn’t have been concerned about conditioning her hair if not for the shower tomorrow, and look how her efforts had paid off— with tangerine hair. Once again, a nightmare more than a dream.

She snapped her laptop shut. “OK, we need toner. The beauty supply store is open until seven.” Isabelle hurried to the door. “Come on.”

Kate, still looking a bit shell-shocked, ambled over. “Are you sure? I don’t want my hair looking worse.”

Like that was possible.
Isabelle spared Kate the thought as she shepherded her out of the apartment. “We’ll read the directions carefully. Worst case scenario, your hair will turn purple.” A little more vogue, in Isabelle’s opinion.

Kate halted at the end of the walk. “Pur-ple?”

Before more tears escaped Kate’s eyes, Isabelle grabbed her by the elbow and guided her toward the car. “I said worst case. We’ll be fine. That’s what directions are for.”

****

The next morning, Isabelle slammed the car door and trudged back inside the apartment for the last of the shower supplies. Exhaustion racked her body. They were up until three in the morning fiddling with Kate’s hair, looking for shower games, and preparing food.

“How do I look?” Kate pirouetted into the room and dipped into a curtsy.

Still amazed at how four bottles of toner, a cup of cider vinegar and one of Kate’s own conditioners had done the trick, Isabelle nodded. By midnight, Kate looked like her old self again. Now dressed in a white crepe skirt and matching vest, Isabelle thought Kate looked every bit a magazine version of a glamorous bride-to-be. “Simply lovely. Are you coming early with me?”

Kate flashed her nails. “My manicure is at noon. I’ll be there about two. Let Mark’s mom know, will you? Otherwise, she’ll be bugging me while my nails are drying.”

“I’ll do it. See you there.” Jerking her purse off the kitchen table, Isabelle was on her way out the door when Kate intercepted her.

“Are you wearing those?”

Isabelle followed Kate’s gaze down to her feet, still cozy inside pink and white sneakers. “I guess they don’t match, do they?” Distraction, the culprit again. She dropped her things on the sofa and hurried into her room.

Stretching, she pulled high-heeled sandals from the top shelf in the closet. After slipping them on, she couldn’t resist a quick peek in the mirror. Her sundress hit just above the knee and the black sash at her waist matched the shoes perfectly. She re-pinned a fallen wisp from her upswept hair, then propped her hands on hips. She twisted from side to side.
Not too shabby
. Although she had no one to impress.

Now properly dressed, she gave Kate a hug on her way out the door. “See you there.” She turned and glimpsed the flowers on the entryway table. “I almost forgot about those. I thought we could use them as a centerpiece.”

Kate walked over. “They’re beautiful. Who are they from?”

Isabelle crossed her arms, still disappointed about receiving flowers instead of an assistant. “I guess this is the school’s way of saying, ‘Sorry, no help this year.’”

“Really? I don’t recall any other teacher without an aide getting flowers.” When Kate’s eyes narrowed with the same speculative glare as Becky, Isabelle’s heart sank.

Something didn’t feel right. She plucked the tiny card off the plastic clip. Becky probably delivered them to the wrong classroom. She started to open the envelope then halted. Unless…
Charlie?

“Isabelle. Read the card.”

“I don’t have time. I’ll read it later.” She tossed the card on the table and swooped up the vase of flowers.

Kate picked the card up. Before Isabelle could snatch it back, Kate started reading.

“
Isabelle, Sorry about everything. Let’s talk. Love, Charlie. P. S. Tell Humphrey hello.”
Kate’s eyes narrowed. “You never have filled me in about you and Charlie.”

Nor would she. Isabelle clutched
the vase
closer. “Kate, I better leave before Mrs. Johnson calls.”

“You know, Mark told me Charlie’s a nice guy.”

Isabelle sent Kate her best glower.

Kate didn’t take the hint. “Isabelle, give him a chance.”

“I don’t think his girlfriend would appreciate that.”

“Girlfriend?” Kate’s eyes rounded. “Are you sure?”

“Afraid so.”

“Isabelle, I...” Just like that, color drained from Kate’s face. Loyal to the core.

Isabelle waved a hand. “I know. He’s a creep.”

“Isabelle, about today…”

“I know. I better go.”

“Yeah.” Kate shrugged. “I suppose you better.”

7

Charlie stood beside his truck and narrowed his eyes at the storefront,
Kitchen Comforts and Cozy Bath.
A much bigger store than he imagined, but he was game. He pocketed his keys and crossed the parking lot.

Ready to push through the door, he stopped mid step when someone yelled, “Wait up, Charlie.”

He turned to find Erica, dressed in a black slinky dress, tottering toward him as fast as her high heels would let her. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I told you I’d help you pick out a gift for the bride and groom.”

“And, I told you no. Besides, I thought you decided not to attend.”

“I changed my mind since everyone else in our graduate class will be there.”

Great.
“But since I don’t need your help, I’ll see you at the shower.” He took a step then pivoted back. He held up a finger. “By the way, why were you talking to my mother about us?”

Erica narrowed her eyes. “Why wouldn’t I? We’re almost like family.”

Charlie inhaled a steadying breath. “
Almost
is the key word, remember that. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep my mother out of our issues. It only gets her hopes up for something that will never happen.” And makes his life miserable.

“Mothers do know best, Charlie.”

Charlie swallowed a snort. Now she sounded like his mother. “My mother’s opinions have no influence on my personal life. Remember that, too.” He turned and pushed open the glass doors.