How could he dare to trust another woman with his son—or with himself? He had been happy with April. He had thought he made her happy, too, but she had left him. Isabelle seemed wonderful, but everybody seemed wonderful in the beginning, didn’t they? How could he be sure? How could he be sure she wouldn’t harm him and Sam the way April had?
But it was more than that. It was the whole notion of being happy like this, of daring to think it might be real. He thought of this friend he’d had, a woman named Viva, whose fiancé, Bobby, had died the day of their wedding. She grieved so terribly that she didn’t eat or sleep, but three months after the funeral, she was living with another guy, a jerk who yelled at her in public, who told her at dinner that she was too fat. Viva never stopped smiling. Her eyes stayed as bright as mica, right up until she finally broke it off two years later, and then she fell apart again. “This was what I was afraid of,” she told Charlie, sobbing into a bloom of tissues. “He kept me busy so I didn’t have time to think. He kept the grief at bay, and now here it is, back again.”
Well, who could blame her for staying one step ahead of her grief? But was Charlie just grabbing at happiness, not caring if it was real or how long it might last? And did Isabelle really care about him and Sam, or did she just want forgiveness?
He dug into his pocket for his cell phone and called information, his heart galloping in his chest. He had said the wrong words to April. He’d have to be more careful to say the right ones to Isabelle. He’d take everything very slow so neither one of them would be harmed. “Do you have a number for Isabelle Stein?” he asked.
ISABELLE HAD NEVER dated anyone but Luke, and back then she had been sixteen and you could have told her it was common for couples to make love while jet skiing and she would have believed it. But now, she didn’t know what to expect. They had only slept together once, but was this the start of something or was it a fluke she’d do best to forget? She didn’t know what to call what they had. Were they dating now? She called her friend Michelle and blurted out what happened. “How do I do this?” she said.
“Well, what do you want?” Michelle said quietly. In the background, Isabelle could hear Michelle’s daughter, Andi, happily babbling. She heard Michelle’s husband, Barry, laughing, a big, goofy guy who had proposed to Michelle on their second date.
“I want to see Charlie,” Isabelle admitted.
There was a pause. “I can fix you up with someone, if you want. A nice guy, too. Works in accounting. Smart, kind, no baggage,” Michelle said.
“No. I want to see Charlie.” Isabelle sighed.
“Well, just take it slow and don’t count on anything,” Michelle advised.
“Why not?” Isabelle blurted. “You did. You got engaged on your second date.”
Michelle sighed. “That was so different,” she said.
“How?” Isabelle bit down on her lip. “I’m moving on, exploring options. Isn’t that what I should be doing? I even applied to photography school in New York.”
“You did? Well, that’s really great, but look, I care about you. Right now, I don’t want you to get hurt. And honestly, this is insane. Just promise me that you’ll go slow.”
“I promise,” Isabelle lied.
She hung up the phone, feeling prickly and irritated with Michelle. How could she not count on something when she was already feverish about seeing him again? How could she not want to grab her jacket and go over there? And how could she not feel guilty about all of it? The phone rang and she plucked it up.
“Hi, remember me?” Charlie said, and she laughed out loud.
THIRTEEN
BY THE TIME it was March, Sam was certain Isabelle would let him talk to his mother. At first he had thought that Isabelle would make this happen much sooner, but then the angel books he was reading kept talking about how everything was “in God’s time,” which they said was very different than the time on a wristwatch.
Meanwhile, he was learning more and more about angels. They had their own language, and it wasn’t always in words. An angel could point you to a special number, like eight, which was his mom’s favorite, to let you know she was around. Or they could make a song come on the radio that told you what to expect, like “Good Day Sunshine,” which came on one day when Sam was at Isabelle’s and he had just about died with excitement. “Oh, you like this song, too?” Isabelle said, as if she didn’t really know what was going on. Lately, Sam caught Isabelle looking just beyond him, as if she were seeing something, and he whipped around, and for a moment, he was sure he saw a flash of yellow hair like his mother’s. He was almost certain he could hear his mom, whispering to him. Sometimes, too, Isabelle would stare at him, her mouth opening, as if she had something to tell him, and when she closed it again, he told himself it just wasn’t the right time. He bet she was trying to teach him to be patient, and he would be. He could wait forever as long as he could talk to his mother again, as long as he could maybe even see her, just one more time.
He didn’t care that people might say it was impossible. Lots of things were impossible. At school, Mr. Moto, his science teacher, told them how light could be both a wave and a particle, which was supposed to be impossible. You could go to a distant planet and somehow come back younger than you were when you left because the laws of time went all screwy.
Sam knew what his mom cared about. He did his school work. He brushed his teeth twenty times on each side the way she’d told him too. He combed his hair and he took lots of pictures of himself so maybe Isabelle could show his mom and she would know what she missed.
One day, Isabelle even talked his dad into building him a darkroom in the spare bathroom, with its own little red safety light, though Charlie, worried that the chemicals might cause his asthma to flare, insisted on calling Sam’s doctor for an okay first. “I can teach him,” Isabelle said. “Plus, he’ll be at home.”
The first time she took him into the darkroom, he was so jazzed he could hardly stand it. Here he was alone in this small room, with just him and Isabelle! He loved the way she let him touch everything, the way she put her hand on his back to guide him over to the corner of the room. He wanted to touch her back, to see if he could feel her wings, but he wasn’t sure he was supposed to, so instead he gave her what his mom used to say were love taps: feathery touches on her arms, her hands. “Are you tickling me?” Isabelle said, putting her hands on her hips, but she was laughing when she said it.
But then she turned out the light and suddenly it was so dark. Darker than his room at night. Darker than when he swam underwater with his eyes shut. He was disoriented and couldn’t figure out where the door was. He stretched out his hand for Isabelle, and he touched air. For a moment, he heard the beating of wings, roaring in his ears. “Isabelle!” he shouted, and then he felt her touch him. But he couldn’t calm down until she finally opened the door and took him outside, the two of them shading their eyes against the sudden light.
“Was it the dark?” she said, crouching by him. “Lots of people get spooked by it.”
“I couldn’t see you! I couldn’t find you!” He leaned closer to her so the warmth of her body seemed to surround him. He snuggled against her side.
She stroked back his hair. “But I was right there. I was there all the time.”
He snuffled. “Where do you go when you aren’t with us?”
She startled. “I go to work. I’m home. I’m all sorts of places.”
He wondered if she was with his mom, but he didn’t ask. Was he allowed to?
When she was ready to leave, he got nervous. “Could I have some water?” he asked.
“It’s your house, honey. You can’t get it yourself?”
“I can’t reach the glass.”
“Sure, I will.” As soon as she was gone, he took off his watch and tucked it in the pocket of her jacket. She’d find it when she got home, and then she’d have to bring it back, visit them again.
“Here you go,” she said, handing him the water. He gulped it down,
suddenly thirsty.
“See you later, alligator,” she said.
Sam grabbed up her jacket, his watch making a soft weight in the pocket. “Don’t forget your jacket!” he said, handing it to her.
She took it, and then she smiled, turning her palm to her face and kissing her fingers and then turning her hand around and waving the kiss to him as she went out the door. Transfixed, he stood as still as he could be, right in the spot where her kiss was, letting it sparkle all over him
THE NEXT DAY, right in the morning, when Sam was at the kitchen table drawing a picture of a volcano for a school project, the phone rang and Charlie picked it up. “Of course, come by later with it,” he said.
Sam felt a rush of heat go through his body. He looked at Charlie, expectant. “Isabelle,” Charlie said casually. “She found your watch in her jacket. She’ll bring it over around dinnertime the day after tomorrow”
“Maybe when she comes over, we can all go to the pizza place, too,” Sam said. “And to a movie.” He picked up a black crayon, the color of Isabelle’s hair, and studied it. It wasn’t the right color for lava, but he wanted to use it, anyway. He wanted to draw her beside the volcano. He looked up at the clock. There was a lot of time to get through before he saw Isabelle again, but at least he would see her.
IT WAS ALMOST spring again, the sort of soggy April that usually wreaked havoc with Sam’s asthma, but for some reason he felt better. Maybe it was because he was happy, because every weekend now, he, his dad, and Isabelle would do something. Sometimes they went to Leaning Tower of Pizza and got a pie, and Sam always got to choose the kind. Other times they went bowling, and now that the weather was nicer, they sometimes walked on the beach and all three of them skipped stones. His father didn’t have that tense look on his face that he used to have when Isabelle was around, and some days, right in the middle of the week, it was even his dad who suggested that Isabelle come over and join them for dinner or board games, which delighted Sam.
One evening, when they were all on the couch watching a movie, a western about a cowboy and his dog, Sam drowsed against Isabelle. He was in that half-sleep stage when he wasn’t sure whether he was dreaming or not. Isabelle’s hair floated around one of his shoulders like a blanket, and even though he could hear her talking to his dad, he could hear her wings rustling. She smelled like cookies and maple syrup, and she was so warm and comfortable, he just wanted to stay like this forever.
“He’s asleep,” his dad said, “maybe I’ll take him to his bed.” Sam, eyes still closed, began to spread himself out on the couch, so that his head was in Isabelle’s lap. He reached for her hand and held it, his eyes still shut, and then he heard Isabelle’s voice, soft as music.
“And maybe you won’t,” she said to Charlie, laughing. She stroked Sam’s hair, making him shiver, but he pretended to be asleep, to see what she might do or say next. “I love this boy,” she said quietly, and Sam held her hand tighter.
THE NEXT DAY, Sam was at school finishing his poster on the solar system when Teddy leaned over the desk, lightly punching Sam in the shoulder. “Hey,” Teddy said. “How about you come over to my house after school?” Just like that, they were friends again.
At Teddy’s, Sam sprawled over the big brown chair, picking at the fraying buttons. He didn’t know what to do with himself and he felt as if a thousand bees were buzzing inside of him. They had played cards and made grilled cheese, and both of them were restless and bored. Teddy was flipping the cards and then he threw them in the air. “I’m getting sick of rummy,” he said.
Sam didn’t even care anymore if Teddy’s mother came home suddenly because at least it would be something. Let her yell at him. Let her do whatever she wanted. He could handle it.
“We can go to my house, you know. My dad’s not there,” Sam said.
Teddy raised one brow. “Oh, yeah? What’s cool about your house?”
Sam bristled. “My dad built me a darkroom to develop film for prints. Isabelle showed him how.”
“Are they like boyfriend and girlfriend?”
“Of course not,” Sam said indignantly. Isabelle and his dad had been friends for a long time, it seemed. All three of them went to the beach together and to the movies, and they had even gone ice skating this winter, until Sam had started coughing and they had all had to go home. They were together except for the times that were just Sam and his dad. But his dad and Isabelle didn’t kiss, they didn’t hug or touch. And anyway, Isabelle was an angel. “They’re just friends,” Sam decided.
“You sure about that?” Teddy said. “How much do you know about her, anyway?”
“A lot. She’s my friend, too.”
“Oh, yeah? No grownup is a kid’s friend unless he wants something. Trust me.”
Sam shrugged, but he felt something knocking along his spine. Teddy could say whatever he wanted, but he didn’t know Isabelle. And as much as Sam sort of wanted to tell him, he’d never mention to Teddy that Isabelle was an angel, because you had to keep things like that secret. You had to have faith. Still, he could feel Teddy’s doubts, like a jellyfish sting. “What could she want from me?”
Teddy stood up. “That’s for her to know and us to find out,” Teddy said.
Sam didn’t like the way Teddy was grinning at him. “She’s nice,” Sam said.
“Well, then we need to know that, too.” Teddy tapped his fingers on the table. He grabbed his jacket. “Come on,” he said. “I just figured out what we can do today. The lock was broken on the back door of the movie theater and I bet we can sneak right in.”
FOURTEEN
THE FIRST FEW MONTHS of their courtship, Isabelle felt dazed. She knew enough not to depend on anything, but she couldn’t help feeling a thrill when another week passed, and then two months and then three, and here it was May and they were still together. Every time she saw Charlie, her heart jumped about her ribs, and she noticed, too, how his whole being seemed to light up when he saw her. He brought her little gifts: a perfect iris, a roll of film, and once a wind-up camera with two little legs. “This relationship is impossible,” he kept saying, but he smiled when he said it. He always kissed her nose, and lately, he called her every night before he went to sleep.
At first, they saw each other only when Sam was in school, grabbing lunch together, taking a walk. “We have to take this slow and careful. He’s been traumatized,” Charlie said. “I just want to make sure this is going to be something real before we tell Sam. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“Of course,” Isabelle said, running the words something real through her mind.
They hung out with Sam more and more, but were careful not to act like anything but friends. At the movies, on the street, Sam was always in between them. When Charlie dropped Isabelle off at night, he waved at her, the way he might to the postman. Still, she was so happy. What a thing, to feel good again! The next time she was in Lora’s office, Isabelle blurted that she wanted to stop therapy.
Lora raised a brow. “Why?”
“It’s a chance for me, now,” Isabelle said. “A way to feel good without the weight of all that examination and thinking. It just finally feels right to stop.”
“Don’t you think examination and thinking have value? Especially now, in a new relationship? Especially considering who this new relationship is with?”
Isabelle thought of Charlie, the way he looked, sleeping in her bed, one arm thrown over her waist. She thought of the expression on Lora’s face when she had told her, like a door slamming shut. She couldn’t help it—she sighed, and then she looked up at Lora. “I think sometimes you just have to go by how you feel.”
“Well, then,” Lora said, standing up. “You can always come back,” she said, but Isabelle, walking outside, thought only of Charlie.
ONE DAY, THEY were having lunch at the Mermaid diner by the beach. Isabelle, sitting in a booth across from Charlie, ordered fries and a coke. She reached out and took Charlie’s hand, and then she felt something, like a d
isturbance in the air. She turned around to see Luke with his girlfriend, who was hugely pregnant in a blue dress. Luke leaned down to nuzzle her neck, to kiss her mouth, and she laughed delightedly. Isabelle swallowed and held Charlie’s hand tighter. “What?” Charlie said.
“Hello, Luke,” Isabelle said, and then Luke looked over at her, and his whole body tensed. His girlfriend awkwardly put her hand on her belly.
“Isabelle,” Luke said. “Nice to see you,” and then he put his arm back around his girlfriend and guided her away and Isabelle felt suddenly as if she had been slapped.
“They’re unfriendly,” Charlie said.
“That’s my ex,” Isabelle said.
“Are you okay?”
Isabelle nodded. Seeing Luke had hurt, but not the way she thought it might have. She didn’t want to be the woman beside him, not anymore, and that was a relief. But seeing him so loose and easy with his girlfriend, so devoted, made her unsettled. Would she and Charlie ever be as bonded as that?
She traced her hand along Charlie’s arm and he took both her hands in his. “Don’t be upset. You’re here with me,” he told her. “And tonight, we’ll take Sam to the movies. Any one you want to see.” He studied her. “How come you and Luke never had kids? You’re such a natural with Sam.”
Isabelle pushed her fries away. “We couldn’t. I can’t have any.” She waited for Charlie to say what people always said: “You can adopt”; “It doesn’t matter.” Or once, most horribly, “Aren’t you too old to have kids anyway?” But instead Charlie reached up and cupped her face. “I’m sorry,” he said, and it somehow made her feel better.
When the waitress came by with a dessert menu, a tall blonde with a name tag that said Joey, she glanced at Isabelle as if she knew her. Isabelle pretended to be studying the forty varieties of ice cream they had listed on the menu. The accident had been a while ago. No one in the town talked about it anymore, and sometimes, if she was lucky, she even had whole days when she didn’t think about it at all herself. So why, when she saw the waitress giving her and Charlie the once-over, did Isabelle feel so guilty? Why did she feel as if she were committing a great, unpardonable crime that she needed to apologize for? She glided out of there as if the huge tip she insisted on leaving wasn’t a bribe to have the waitress on her side.
Pictures of You Page 21
