It could only have been Wes.
“Can I get you a glass of wine?” Scott asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Okay.” He kissed her cheek. “I want to talk to Luke about the renovations on my house. See you later.”
“Sure.” Isabelle watched him walk away, the dull pain in her chest sharpening. She’d been feeling it since the day he and the kids had come to the studio. She’d told him that being together was impossible. Yet, here he was, being the friend he’d always been.
The look he’d given her had always been there. He loved her. She just hadn’t seen it.
She wondered how her life, their lives, would be different if she had.
Loving Scott should be so easy. And it would have been if she’d pinched herself long ago, woken up from her self-induced dream of an art career. Everything was moving so quickly now that she didn’t have time to look back.
She’d made her choice, hadn’t she?
She’d chosen a life that didn’t include Scott.
Isabelle moved over to join Sarah, Liz, Cate and Olivia, who were huddled near the entrance to the library. “It’s a lovely party, isn’t it?” Cate was saying. “Mrs. Beabots is so creative. And these desserts!”
“Yeah, I wish she’d stop raising the bar.” Liz chuckled. “Each time I think it’s my turn to host a holiday, she beats me to it and then dreams up these fabulous decorations. Have you ever seen a table like that?”
“Only in a magazine.”
“Well, Isabelle could top it, I bet,” Olivia said. She sighed. “I adore your paintings. It must be wonderful to be there in Chicago—painting.”
Their words grated. Rather than feeling triumph or even joy in her work, she felt inadequate. They knew her as the old Isabelle. Painting for tourists. Selling on the cheap.
“It’s wonderful.” It was easier to lie.
“And the studio. What’s it like?” Sarah asked.
“An old warehouse, really, but the skylight is amazing. Scott and the kids saw it. I’m learning expressionism.”
Olivia stared at her. “Expressionism? Isn’t that, um, a departure for you?”
“What’s expressionism?” Liz asked.
“You know, Jackson Pollock and all that,” Sarah said. “I have a small one in the dining room.”
“A Pollock?” Isabelle asked.
“A copy. My father liked it,” Sarah clarified. “I didn’t know you were veering so far afield.”
How could she explain all the changes in her life these past few months? “I’ve wanted to try my wings and this is the opportunity I’ve prayed for. I have to go for it.”
“Well, whatever you do, you’ll be great.” Sarah gave her an encouraging smile.
“Thanks.”
Cate beamed at Isabelle. “I want one of your pieces for my house. That way you and your spirit will always be around me.”
“What a lovely thing to say.” Isabelle managed a smile. “And how are your wedding plans coming, Cate?”
Cate was glowing, and Isabelle was certain she’d never seen that blissful expression on her own face. “Trent and I have been so fortunate.” She lowered her voice. “I wasn’t going to tell until after the party, because I didn’t want to take away from Mrs. Beabots’s moment, but we’re getting married here. In Mrs. Beabots’s house. Next month.”
Isabelle gasped. “So soon?”
“I can’t wait,” Cate gushed. “It seems like forever for us. But May is the most beautiful month in Indian Lake. Not too hot. Not too cold. Flowers everywhere.”
Sarah put her arm around Cate’s shoulder and laughed. “And I should definitely be over this morning sickness by then.”
Cate rattled off the menu they intended to serve. Liz talked about her baby’s teething and how he kept her up all night. Isabelle was surprised Liz could laugh about it. She’d hated walking the floors with Violet and Sadie, when they were teething, so her mother could sleep. On the other hand, she hadn’t been as averse to quieting Michael when he cried.
After her Wednesday night Thai dinner with Scott, she’d realized, brutally, that she had been remiss in not texting her sisters, seeing her friends. Most important, Bella and Michael didn’t understand why she wasn’t coming around as much lately. She liked being with them more than she’d anticipated.
She realized with surprise that she’d only seen the kids twice this past week. She’d wandered over to Scott’s bookshop with the excuse that she needed a break from painting. Scott had been busy with customers—in fact, he had more business than ever with the new child-focused shop—and she’d been happy to spend time with Bella and Michael.
Even more surprising was that Isabelle missed the kids when she went home.
I miss them. I really do.
The changes in her perspective were subtle but clear. She had taken to heart what Scott had pointed out. Her life was not solely about her art. It never had been.
Her phone buzzed again in her purse. She ignored it. She didn’t want to tell any of her girlfriends about Wes. He’d sparked too much curiosity at Olivia’s wedding as it was. She knew if she mentioned him she’d get a thousand questions and none of them had an answer. He was her mentor. That was all she could honestly say about him right now.
Isabelle excused herself and eased her way into the front parlor where Scott was entertaining the group with a story about one of his tourist customers. Her mother was there, and winked when she saw Isabelle. Sadie gave her a finger wave. Their eyes went quickly back to Scott.
Isabelle had forgotten how good a storyteller Scott was, and how easily he could entrance people with his wicked sense of humor. He was both observant and insightful. She leaned against the doorjamb and listened.
As Scott finished the story, everyone laughed and some applauded. Just then, Isabelle’s cell phone rang again. If she didn’t answer it, Wes would not leave her alone all night.
She went to the kitchen, where she could be alone to take his call. “Hello?”
“I miss you,” Wes said straight off.
“Really? Why?”
“I’m working in the studio and for the first time ever, it feels empty. I like it better when you’re here with me.”
“Wes. I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’re coming back tonight.”
“Um. Not tonight. But Tuesday. The art student won’t be in the apartment this week. And I’ll be there bright and early on Wednesday for the show.”
“That’s too long.”
“Two days?”
“That’s what I said. Long time.” His voice was hushed. Sensual. She could hear loneliness in his tone.
Wes had worked alone all his life, he’d told her. In fact, in the beginning, he’d been concerned that their situation wouldn’t work out. He was afraid Malcolm had been too hasty in offering her part of his space.
“Wes,” Isabelle began. “I promised my mother I’d spend some time with her. I’ll be there Tuesday afternoon before the show.”
“Oh, okay. I get that. Seeing your mom. I guess.”
She put her hand on the island counter. Whether to steady herself from the idea that Wes actually missed her or to help her concentrate, she didn’t know.
“I’m so surprised you miss me,” she said.
“Yeah. Shocker.” He laughed. “Well, have fun with your family. Ciao.”
“Ciao.” She ended the call.
She turned around to see Scott standing in the entryway. He was watching her, but didn’t say anything. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to know that Wes misses you.” His face was expressionless, but she saw pain in his eyes.
“Oh.” Once again, she felt as if she were suffocating. Her friends talked of little besides
weddings and babies. Subjects that made her uneasy. Clearly, none of them understood her completely. But how could they when she was only now discovering all that was Isabelle?
He took two strides and stood next to her. He took the cell phone out of her hand and put it in her purse. “You won’t be needing that. At least not for a few minutes.”
“Why—”
“Isabelle,” he whispered and lowered his eyes to her mouth. He pressed his lips against hers and pulled her close. She closed her eyes and let his kiss take her away. He obliterated her feelings of inadequacy and all her misgivings about her art, the frustration she felt being at home with her friends who lived in a universe so separate from hers. She felt his breath and the beat of his heart. The warmth of his hands on her back gave her strength.
She was falling—
She snapped her eyes open.
That was it. She was falling into a trap. Love’s trap, the one that had captured all her girlfriends and made wives and mothers of most of them. She couldn’t let that happen to her. She had goals to achieve. Interesting artists to meet. Honors to receive. Her future was golden, and if she allowed Scott to mesmerize her like this, everything she’d done, all her hard work would have been for nothing.
She had to be very careful.
“Scott, I think I should go.”
“I’ll drive you home.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She took a step back, forcing him to drop his arms. “Because if you do, we’ll keep kissing. I’m too vulnerable right now. You know I need to make this next showing the best of my life. If I get off track...”
He put his fingers over her lips. “Stop talking. Connie will take you home. Okay? That better?”
“Yes.” She exhaled.
“But I’ll pick you up Tuesday, about two. That way you’ll be there for the show on Wednesday.”
“That’d be great. Mom has to leave for work and my sisters will be off to school by then.”
“Well,” he said, placing his fingers at her temple and brushing back a long lock of hair. The soft satin light in his eyes went straight to her heart. “I assure you, you’ll be in no danger from me.”
What was happening to her? One minute she couldn’t wait to be away from him and the next she thought she didn’t want to spend a moment apart. Was she sabotaging herself? How could she want something more with him when she knew what it would cost her?
Each time she was with Scott, she forced herself to think about her future and not the sense of belonging she felt when she was with him. Even now, when she believed they’d come to an understanding that their lives would never mesh, she’d begun to want him more. Want what he wanted.
Her art fulfilled all her childhood dreams. But did she truly hold the same dreams now? Was she guilty of clinging so hard to one part of herself that she hadn’t explored her own potential for more?
She forced herself to think about a future without Scott in it and the prospect was icy and hollow.
She felt like she was inside an impressionist painting where the light was fuzzy and objects difficult to discern. She was woefully conflicted and confusion didn’t begin to explain the web of emotions inside her heart.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.
“Okay,” he replied and brushed his lips against hers.
She closed her eyes, expecting more, but when she opened them he was gone.
She started to go after him, but stopped herself. That would go against her plan. Her goals.
Wouldn’t it?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ISABELLE WAS ALONE with Connie in the open kitchen–living room of her house. Outside the wraparound glass walls flowed rivers of pink, yellow, orange and purple tulips, resembling a Monet painting. “How many bulbs did you plant last fall, Mom?”
“Oh, five, six hundred. The boys helped me,” Connie said, pouring a fresh cup of coffee for Isabelle. She handed it to her with a stern eye. “How much weight have you lost?”
Isabelle shrugged and took the coffee. “I dunno. A few pounds. It couldn’t be helped. I’ve been working so hard.”
Connie put a hand on her hip. “Don’t kid me. Art has nothing to do with this. I watched you with Scott yesterday. You’re not yourself. Not by a long shot. Now, do you want to tell me what’s going on, or should I drag it out of you like Sadie is learning to do in law school.”
“Oh, Mom.” Isabelle allowed a smile to lift the corners of her mouth. “She was always like that.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Connie ordered.
Isabelle let out a deep breath but it didn’t stop the sting in her eyes. “I think I’m falling in love with him.”
“I thought that was a given.” Connie lifted the coffee mug to her lips then lowered it when a tear slid down Isabelle’s cheek. “Isabelle. We’re not talking about Scott, are we?”
“No. Yes. Yes and no.”
Isabelle watched her mother’s expression switch from bewilderment to confusion to revelation.
“There’s another man?”
“Mom. I don’t understand myself at all anymore. I’m on the verge of becoming everything I ever wanted to be. Malcolm is planning another gallery showing next month, and my new paintings will be in it.” Isabelle stared into her coffee and saw nothing but darkness. No silver linings. No glimmer of hope. Only paradoxes and difficult decisions that she didn’t want to make.
Connie leaned back against the sofa cushions. “This is about that handsome artist. Malcolm’s nephew?”
“Wes. Yes.” Isabelle leveled her eyes on her mother. Maybe if she told her the story, her mother would know what to do. Maybe her mother had the answer. “I paint with him every weekend in the studio. He’s working on an enormous commercial project. Mom, he’s the most talented artist working in Chicago right now. Art World has done two articles on him in the past three years. This project could put him on top.”
“On top?”
“Of the world. Er, the art world. He’ll be immortal.”
“Immortal?” Connie cleared her throat. “Isabelle. Be honest with me. Is that what you really want for yourself? Fame that’s so immense, so permanent, that you would achieve immortality?”
Isabelle stared at her mother’s shocked face. “Would that be so bad?”
“Uh, no. I just had no idea.” She put the coffee mug on the glass tabletop.
“Mom, be honest with me. Isn’t that what you’re striving for?” She gestured to the bookshelves high on the walls where Connie had placed her architect models of skyscrapers and innovative commercial buildings. “If you got the chance to build one of your dreams, you’d be lionized. And if it rose above Wacker Drive in Chicago, people would know your name for decades. Centuries, maybe.”
Connie glanced at the shelves and then looked at Isabelle. “And you grew up with my dreams sitting on a shelf, urging you to go for yours. Didn’t you?”
“Yeah, chip off the old block, huh?”
“I’ll say so.” Connie reached for Isabelle’s hand. “But sweetheart, where does Scott come in? And this Wes?”
“Mom, that’s the really hard part.” She put her coffee down. “Scott’s been there for me for years. And lately, he’s been, well, more romantic. When I’m with him, I feel... I feel...” Isabelle wiped away another tear or four. “And then there’s Wes. He’s everything I ever wanted for a life partner. He’s an artist. He’s handsome and charming and so talented. I feel like a sponge taking in every word and action of his. I’ve learned so much from him, I don’t even know where to begin.”
“And how does Wes feel about you?”
“That’s the thing,” she choked out, feeling her throat burn with the heat of truth. “I think he’s falling in love with me. At Mrs. Beabots’s yesterday he c
alled and told me he misses me. He felt lonely because I wasn’t there.”
“I see.”
Isabelle threw her hands in the air. “What? What! What do you see? Mom, I don’t see anything. I feel torn in two. Yesterday, when I was with Scott, I felt... I don’t know. Good. Safe. Appreciated. Then when Wes called, I wanted to be with him. Mom, help me.” She reached for her mother’s hand again. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Do nothing.”
“Oh, thanks,” Isabelle groaned. “That’s wisdom?”
“Hey, I’m an architect. Not a counselor.” She rubbed Isabelle’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, sweetie. There’s nothing worse than watching your child go through heartbreaking times. But the one thing I do know is that you are in a place that demands patience. You need to see this through to the end. I admire your tenacity and dedication to your art. You do have what it takes to make it someday. As for Scott and Wes, let them make the moves. Stand still. See which one rises to the top. Then you’ll have your answer.”
“Rises to the top? When does something like that happen?” Isabelle asked.
Connie picked up her mug as her lips crept into a puckish smile. “Usually after an explosion. Life has a way of shaking things up just so we can see how they’re supposed to settle.”
“Sounds harrowing to me.” Isabelle gulped.
“Life changes usually are,” Connie replied. “But don’t worry, you have your whole family as a safety net. We love you, Isabelle. We always have.”
Isabelle couldn’t hide her skepticism. “But everyone is always so busy. They hardly know what I’m doing. They—”
Connie speared her with a resolute gaze. “This family, each and every one of us, will always be grateful to you, Isabelle, for all you sacrificed when you were young. You never got to have a childhood and we all know it. I’ve kept everyone from calling you so you could have time to concentrate on your art. The boys call me several times a week asking about you. They were thrilled about your showing. Weren’t we all there?”
“Er, yes. I was surprised, really,” Isabelle confessed.
“We all know this is your time. We don’t want to do the first thing to stand in your way. If Scott loves you, and I believe he does, even if he’s been too chicken to say so, then eventually, when you’ve reached that star you’ve picked out, he’ll be there, too. I can’t vouch for Wes. But I will say this—if he loves you, he’d better treat you like the princess you are.”
Family of His Own Page 21
