Scott reached into the cabinet and pulled him out. Not until he had the boy in his arms did his heart start beating again.
“Michael!” Isabelle and Bella came running up.
“He ate the chocolate!” Bella gasped.
“I think he was hungry,” Scott said.
Isabelle nodded. “I’ll go pay for Bella’s shoes and dress...and this box of chocolates. Maybe we should take the kids to the cafeteria upstairs before I show you the studio.”
“Good idea,” Scott replied, taking a packet of tissues—something he never traveled without anymore—from his pants pocket. He wiped Michael’s face. “Here’s my credit card.”
“Scott.” Isabelle put her hand on his arm, her thumb caressing him. “Are you okay?”
He couldn’t get over the love he saw in her eyes. Did she feel it? Did she know it was there? “I thought I’d lost him. I was so...”
“I know, Scott,” she replied with a sigh of relief. “But you didn’t. We’re all still here. Together.”
“We are,” he said. His heart pinged. Just once. It was all he would allow.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ISABELLE UNLOCKED THE studio door and proudly stood aside as Bella and Scott, who was holding a sleepy Michael, entered her new world.
Isabelle couldn’t describe the elation she felt as she ushered them toward the magnificent room that vibrated creativity.
Wes’s canvases hung on the walls around them, dwarfing her own paintings. But they were hers. For that alone, she knew Scott would appreciate them.
“So, it’s been going well?” he asked.
“It has,” she answered as they walked toward the easel where her most recent piece was covered with a cloth. She wanted a proper unveiling. A bit of drama. One day there would be a red carpet gallery showing for her art—a solo exhibit. One day.
Scott’s eyes roamed the room, taking it all in. “This is all Wes’s work, right?”
“It is.”
“Wow,” Bella said, reaching for Scott’s hand. Michael was wide awake now, squirming in Scott’s arms. Isabelle watched both the children taking in sights she guessed they’d never seen.
“Wow,” Michael echoed, though Isabelle guessed he was more impressed with the skylight than he was the paintings.
Scott was equally impressed. “His work is massive.”
“It’s for a commercial client. He’s meeting with them all day today.”
“What does somebody pay for that much commissioned art?”
“I’m not sure,” she answered honestly. “But it’s a lot. Malcolm told me that much. Wes’s interviewed with another client in New York and one in Milwaukee. He’s hoping to land them both. He said the work would take him over eighteen months to complete.”
Scott was looking at her intently.
“What?” she asked.
“You seem know a great deal about him and his work.”
“Of course I do. We’re together every weekend, you know. I’ve learned a few things, even if he doesn’t talk much. He blasts his music and paints and shouts and whoops. You should see him in action. It’s really something.”
“I should.” His voice was flat. “And what do you do?”
Her eyes lit up. “That’s what I want to show you. Besides Wes and Malcolm, you and the kids are the first to see it.”
“Well, come on, then,” Scott said. “Take that rag off your masterpiece.”
Isabelle walked over to the easel and whisked off the cloth. “Ta-da!”
“What in the...” He pointed at her canvas. “You did that?”
“What is it?” Bella asked. She cocked her head right. Then left. She blinked and stared.
“Purdy.” Michael grinned.
“It’s an expressionist vision of Indian Lake,” she explained.
“Ah! I see that now. Interesting. I like the colors,” he replied. Something was off about his smile. “Everything here is amazing.”
He scanned the room, and Isabelle imagined he was taking in every detail, like the journalist he was at heart.
Bella’s head was cranked all the way back to stare at the ceiling. “What is that?”
“It’s a skylight, sweetie. The roof was taken out and they put a window in there,” Scott said.
“Why?”
Scott sent Isabelle a gentle smile, and this time it felt more familiar. Genuine. Warm, friendly and so very Scott.
“Bella, do you remember what I told you about the light in your bedroom?” Isabelle asked. “How light looks different depending on which side of the house it comes in from?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, this skylight helps illuminate our paintings. It’s important for us to see exactly what colors we’re using.”
Isabelle took Bella’s hand. “Come. I’ll show you.”
She went to an enormous box of oil paints and opened the lid.
“There’s so many, I can’t count that high.”
“You’ll learn. Tell your Dad to help you with your numbers. In the meantime, see this tube? This is crimson. This is burgundy. This next one is a blood red. This one is coral.” Isabelle picked up other tubes. “With white, black, blue and brown, I make other colors. There’s no end to the colors I can create. Then I use those colors to make a picture that I hope no one has ever seen before.”
“What picture?” Bella asked.
Isabelle smiled from her heart. “The pictures in my mind. I see all kinds of things. I see the world the way I wish it was. Filled with peace and harmony. Love and gentleness.”
Isabelle heard Scott suck in a breath and she turned to him.
“I never knew that,” he said, his voice filled with respect.
“I thought I told you,” she replied.
“No.” His tone was sad, as if she’d cheated him. Maybe she had. Suddenly, she felt guilty. How many other things had been left unsaid between them? It was mostly her fault. She’d kept her emotions locked away so they wouldn’t interfere with her goals. If she spent hours focusing on her needs and wants, other than the pursuit of art, she’d never get her work done. She might never have picked up the first paintbrush.
She remembered Wes’s instructions to her and how he painted from the heart. He infused his energy, his passion, into his paintings and channeled his most inner self.
That was what Isabelle had been doing with her faeries, and even more so in her expressionist interpretation of Indian Lake.
Wasn’t it?
“Miss Isabelle’s painting is very pretty,” Bella whispered to Scott. “Do you like it, Dad?”
“Actually, I do. It’s different from what I expected, but it’s very good,” he replied though Isabelle noticed that he barely glanced back at the painting. His eyes were on her.
Isabelle rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled. Funny. She’d never once felt uncomfortable in Scott’s presence. But there was a distance between them now that she’d either been too preoccupied or too naive to notice. Maybe her attraction to Wes, her immersion in her work, had caused this. Or was it Scott’s decision to move on with his life, to foster the kids? They had been traveling down different paths for a while now. Would they ever find their way back to each other? Did she want that?
“Isabelle, I was hoping to talk to you for a second,” he said, glancing at the kids. Bella was enthralled by the art in front of her. She picked up a brush. “Is this what you use?”
“Yes,” Isabelle said and gently took the brush from her. “But it’s my best one and not a toy.”
“I know,” Bella said, eyeing the tubes of watercolors.
Michael was on the floor untying his shoes. He pulled one off and tossed it on the floor. It skidded too near Wes’s painting.
“Maybe we should mo
ve the kids over to the corner where they won’t cause any trouble,” Isabelle suggested.
“Better still...” Scott reached into the mini-duffel bag he carried and pulled out a coloring book and a sticker book. “This will keep them quiet for a few minutes. Michael is getting good with sticker art.”
He handed the book to Michael, who shoved it away. “No.”
Isabelle looked at Scott. “I think the day downtown has been too much for them.”
“I’m seeing that.”
“Let’s get them away from the paintings. We can sit on the bench back there.”
Scott handed Bella the books, some crayons and a plastic bag filled with stickers. “Bella, you and Michael play in the back of the studio out of the way of these paintings. Okay? I’ll only be a minute. You watch out for Michael, okay?”
“Where are you going?” Bella asked with a catch in her voice. Isabelle realized that the little girl still clung to old fears. It might take months, even years, for Bella to learn to trust Scott completely and heal from her old life.
“Bella,” Isabelle answered softly. “We’re not going anywhere. Just moving away from the paint and canvases.” They walked the kids to the back of the studio. “You and Michael can play with your books. You can see us and we can see you. Okay?”
“Oh, okay. When you finish talking, Miss Isabelle, would you show me how to paint like you?”
Isabelle hadn’t been prepared for the warmth she felt at Bella’s interest. “Of course I will.”
“Okay.” Bella sat down next to Michael and opened the bag of stickers.
“What is it, Scott?”
“I wanted to say that what I’ve seen here today—I think I understand more about you than I ever have. This is your world, Isabelle. You belong here—in this studio, with this enormous energy around you.”
“You feel it, too?” She gasped.
“I do. And I can’t compete with it, Isabelle.”
“What are you saying?” She began to tremble. She felt as if she was losing him.
He took her hands and squeezed them, smiling gently. “Maybe all I want to say is that I get you like I never have. Your art isn’t just a career for you, it’s your passion. Your soul. You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t painting and that’s never going to change. It shouldn’t change. I want you to do all you can to learn and better your skills, to seize every opportunity that comes your way. You deserve it. You’re an amazing woman, Isabelle. I’m so lucky to have been part of your life.”
“Scott, are you trying to say goodbye to me? That’s not what I want.”
“No, I’m not saying that. But I am saying that I can see how easy it would be for us to drift apart. More than we already have. We’re both busy and things get away from us, you know? I’ve got the kids and you—you have all this. And you should have it. I’m really happy for you, Isabelle.”
She didn’t know when the tears had come, but there they were, filling her eyes, sliding down her cheeks. Everything he said was true. He was just being realistic. There was a strong chance that in the months to come they would be so consumed with by their separate lives that they wouldn’t have time for each other. Scott had been a constant in her life for so long, but now it seemed like their relationship had to be all or nothing.
She’d overheard Wes talking to Malcolm on the phone about her progress. She’d received good to great reviews thus far. Wes had predicted “rave” reviews for her at the next show. Malcolm was pleased with her ability to produce on deadline. And he’d told Wes that he was impressed with the experimentation she was doing. As long as she still produced art nouveau paintings that sold, he supported her desire to spread her wings. She was measuring up.
Isabelle put her arms around Scott’s neck. “Thank you for that, Scott. It means a lot to know you believe in me.”
“I always have. Always.”
“I know.”
The edge of his mouth quirked up. “But I’m not a Tribune art critic, so my opinion hasn’t got the weight—”
Bella’s squeal of delight interrupted their conversation.
Scott’s eyes shot over to the spot where the kids had been one second ago.
“What?”
Bella was twirling like Isabelle had seen her do at their house. She had a tube of watercolor paint in her hand and squeezed a huge dollop into the air as Isabelle and Scott watched. Michael ran around her legs, coming dangerously close to Wes’s mural.
“Bella!” Scott shouted.
Bella stopped twirling and sat on the floor wide-eyed. The paint plopped on the floor, making a puddle of blue. She burst into tears.
Isabelle was instantly on her feet and darted over to Michael, grabbing him under the arms and lifting him off the floor just as his feet were about to come into contact with the canvas.
Scott went to Bella and hugged her. He looked up at Isabelle. “Maybe coming to your studio wasn’t such a good idea.”
“Definitely not the place for children,” she said. This was a good reminder. As cute as kids could be, they still got cranky and were full of mischief. And at least until they were a little older, they required constant attention. They couldn’t be a part of her new world. At the same time, her heart went out to Bella, who looked up to Isabelle. It wasn’t the kids’ fault. They were just being kids. She smiled at Bella. “Though I am an advocate for teaching children to paint.”
Scott took the tube of watercolor from Bella’s hand, passed it to Isabelle and then pressed Bella’s head to his shoulder. “It’s all right, sweetheart. You guys are tired. I think it’s time to go.”
Isabelle got a rag and wiped up the smear of blue.
“But I wanted to look at Miss Isabelle’s other painting.”
Isabelle held Michael as Scott stood and gathered the sticker book and crayons. “Well, I don’t know...”
“It’s okay,” Isabelle said. “It’s right over here on the easel.”
The painting was covered in a cloth, and Isabelle pulled it away. She was proud of her blonde woman lying in a forest meadow, dewdrops glistening on her moss green gown.
“It’s beautiful,” Scott said.
Bella stared but remained silent.
Isabelle watched her as she took in every delicate detail.
“I want to be a painter like you, Miss Isabelle,” Bella said.
“What a lovely compliment,” Isabelle replied.
“Would you teach me?”
“I would love that,” Isabelle said, looking over at Scott, realizing he hadn’t taken his eyes from her.
Bella slipped her hand into Isabelle’s. “Then I know I’ll be good.”
“Of course you will, Bella,” Scott said. “Miss Isabelle is going to be really famous someday. People will come to see her paintings hang in galleries all over the country.”
Isabelle gaped at him. “You think so?”
“I most certainly do,” he replied confidently. “You have to see that.”
She followed his eyes as they studied her painting. It was good. Very good. Even as she’d painted it, she’d felt herself transitioning to a new phase of her talent.
With each brushstroke she’d moved away from the world she’d known into uncharted artistic territory.
“Bella, let’s get your jacket,” Scott said as he took Michael from Isabelle. “It’s time for us to go. Miss Isabelle has a lot of work to do. We’re in the way.”
Scott’s words stung because they were the truth. She didn’t see how she could weave both her worlds together.
They’d started to walk out. Bella held Scott’s hand while he carried Michael, who was already drowsy.
Isabelle followed them to the curb and helped buckle Michael into his child seat. Scott closed the door.
The look he gave her was steely
. “Tell me the truth, Isabelle, do you love me?”
“You’ve never asked me that before.”
“It’s time I did.”
She drew in a deep breath. “Yes.” She couldn’t believe that it had come out so easily. Why hadn’t she seen that before? She did love Scott.
“But?”
“But...” She glanced inside the minivan at Bella, who had closed her eyes. “I can’t be tied to a family. I adore the kids, I do. Love them, in fact.” She gestured toward the studio. “You saw what happened. They were right in front of us the whole time and it wasn’t enough. What if they’d knocked over a can of Wes’s paint and destroyed his work? What if they’d hurt themselves? And trust me, I’m not blaming them. What I don’t want is to be that person that stifles them in any way. I want them to feel free and childlike. They’ve certainly earned it.”
“And loving me?”
Her heart felt like it was shattering. Tears burned her eyes and her voice caught. “I do love you. But I don’t see how this can work.”
Scott’s brown eyes were filled with pain. Pain that she’d put there. Lost hope. Lost love.
“There it is, then,” he replied and turned away.
He walked around the van and got in. He started the engine and when he drove away, he didn’t look back.
She hadn’t expected him to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
SCOTT UNLOCKED HIS bookstore door. “Well, if it isn’t the Law and Order duo,” he joked as Sadie and Violet walked in. He closed and locked the door behind them. “Thanks for taking me up on my offer to man the store. I’ve found I can’t run the shop seven days a week and take care of my family.”
“I need the cash,” Violet said bluntly. “I’ve only got six weeks till finals at the police academy. And I’m broke. Neither of us wants to ask Mom for any more money.”
“Yeah, we already have plenty we have to pay back,” Sadie agreed. “I want to get through law school as fast as I can, which means summer semesters. That’s expensive. Working weekends for you will help us a bunch.”
Family of His Own Page 19
