Tapestry of Trust

by Mary Annslee Urban

  “No.” At least not yet.

  “That’s not what I heard. Erica’s been a-squawking.”

  Charlie shook his head and grinned. “I’m sure she has.”

  Erica’s threat to make him miserable had begun. Not that he was surprised.

  Brenda leaned in, her tart onion breath wafted up his nostrils. He stifled a sneeze. “You weren’t fired, and you’re working on your afternoon off. My guess you haven’t made nice with Miss Isabelle yet.”

  The scent lingered, and Charlie inched back a little. “Correct.”

  Brenda wagged her finger at him. “Like I told you. Erica would meddle if she found out you were hot for someone else. I heard what happened at the party.”

  “Really?”

  “Erica’s version, that is.”

  Charlie could only imagine what that would be. Just thinking about the whole ordeal made him angry all over again. He breathed deep and pinched the skin between his brows where a headache continued to brew. No point wasting energy fuming. At least Isabelle still agreed to meet with him. News he received from Mark, via Kate.

  “So what are you doing here? It’s a beautiful day.” She gestured toward the window.

  “I needed to copy some files.” And distract himself from life’s issues. Evenings alone in his apartment were enough.

  “Well, then tell me what’s up with the little leftover girlfriend.”

  “Leftover?” Charlie laughed and shoved the copied paperwork back in his briefcase. “Isabelle’s far from leftover. We still have some fences to mend, which I’m working on. I just hope Erica leaves her out of our issues.”

  “Not possible.” Brenda waved a hand. “But keep going. No one listens to Erica.”

  Charlie laughed again. For the last year, at Erica’s request, he’d kept the details of their breakup under wraps. Not that he minded keeping their personal life out of the workplace. Apparently, those days were now over. “So what do you want to know about Isabelle? The truth, or shall I trump up the facts to give you something to gossip about?”

  “Give it to me straight. I’ll play the devil’s advocate with the gossips.”

  Charlie felt a surge of appreciation for Brenda’s allegiance. “Brenda, I believe you’re more of an ally than I thought.”

  When Brenda’s eyes welled up, he wished the words back. “Hey, I wasn’t trying to offend you.”

  “I’m not offended. I just can’t believe Erica’s on the warpath; and if she gets her way, you’re out of here.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

  That didn’t surprise him. But for now, it was just gossip, and he’d let it be. Mr. Huss still appreciated his work.

  Brenda swiped her eyes, and Charlie swallowed past a lump in his throat, wondering how to respond. He hadn’t expected Brenda, of all people, to get sentimental. But before he could deescalate her emotion, she pulled a candy bar from her pocket, tore open the wrapper, and took a bite. So much for her rush of melancholy.

  “So are you getting married?” She smacked her red lips.

  Charlie shook his head. Wow. How do women do that? “No wedding plans yet.”

  “No?” Her eyes misted again. “Well, I hope you get the girl, Charlie. You’re a good guy. A little weird. But in an OK sort of way.”

  Charlie scratched his head, chuckling. “Thanks…I think.”

  She tore off another bite and winked. “Now, back to your story.”

  He shifted then shrugged. “Isabelle and I dated through high school. We attended different colleges. Unfortunately, distance… immaturity...”

  Brenda flapped a hand. “I get the message. But you’re a grown man now. A man of God.”

  Charlie lowered the pages he’d pulled off the copier. “How did you know I was a Christian?”

  She stopped chewing, her brows scrunched. “Didn’t you think I’d notice how you cleaned up your language? Or that you’ve been more respectful to others? Not to mention you have a Bible on your desk.” She grinned. “I look out for such things. I wanna know who I’ll be spending eternity with.”

  Brenda a Christian? He felt his jaw go slack and firmed it up. Lord, forgive me. Who am I to judge?

  Brenda must have read his mind. “Yes, Charlie. Christians come in all shapes, sizes, and personalities.” She smoothed her hair and raised a brow.

  Touché. He nodded.

  “By the way.” Brenda peered at him. “Do you want to hear what Erica’s saying about you and your gal?”

  “Not really.”

  Brenda ignored him and knotted her hands under her chin then worked her voice into an almost perfect rendition of Erica whining. “I caught Charlie cheating with his old girlfriend. Sniffle, sniffle. He begged me to give him another chance, but I said, ‘forget it.’ Yada, yada, yada.” Brenda’s eyes nearly crossed and she blinked. “There are several more chapters of the Charlie and Isabelle’s saga. Even with my love of information, I became too nauseated to listen.”

  Charlie felt nauseated, too. He shook his head. “Well, I’m not afraid of Erica. She can say whatever she wants. I just don’t want Isabelle hurt.”

  Struck by the significance of his own statement, he felt a sudden ache in his chest. Here he was worried about Isabelle getting hurt, when he’d probably hurt her more than anyone ever could.

  ****

  An eerie feeling made Isabelle raise an eyebrow at the photo in the rumpled newspaper spread across the art table. She pushed aside a drying painted clay pot and took a closer look. So familiar. Something about the woman’s eyes. Isabelle leaned in and squinted at the small image. Erica.

  Isabelle put her hand over her mouth to smother a gasp that rose in her throat. Even at work in her classroom she wasn’t safe from thinking about Charlie? Or worse—his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend, according to Charlie, like me. Cringing, Isabelle read the accompanying article.

  Erica Huss newly appointed Vice President of Strategy and Growth for Wilson and Huss Marketing Firm. Huss holds a MBA from the University of Texas, a BS in International Business and also studied at Oxford.

  “Miss Crafton, I’m all done.”

  Isabelle jumped. She’d forgotten Drew was here.

  Gathering herself, she slid a pot over the article and wheeled around. She moved to the front of the class. She’d read enough anyway. Enough to know that despite a shared ex-girlfriend status, she was nothing like Erica. Proper, gorgeous, brilliant, and well bred.

  Seeing Drew’s brow knit, she stopped in front of her desk and countered with a sheepish grin. “Did you check your answers?”

  “Yep.” Drew was already out of his seat and halfway down the aisle. “How many more weeks do I have?”

  Isabelle waved him forward, delighted by Drew’s new enthusiasm. “Give me your worksheet, and we’ll take a look.”

  Drew shoved the paper into her hand. “Tell me how many stars I got, too.”

  “I’ll do that.” Isabelle circled the desk and lowered herself into the chair as Drew danced on his toes beside her. Opening her calendar, she pointed to the first Tuesday in May. “OK, we have about four weeks left. And, you have…” She pulled out his behavior chart and counted the stars with the end of her pencil. “Fifty-six stars.”

  Drew craned his neck to peer at the page. “I have too many stars for now. Huh?”

  Isabelle leaned on her elbows, caught between amazement over Drew’s mathematical processing and concern that his reasoning might get him into trouble. “Drew, look at me.”

  Drew’s eyes met hers. He twisted his lip. “Huh?’

  “Let’s go over this again. You need a hundred-and-fifty stars. That’s about five a day.” She didn’t want him to slack off now. She knew at best, he’d need her grace when the end-of-the-year festivities began. “Remember last Thursday, you received four stars, then six on Friday. See, every day is different, so you don’t have too many. You’re doing well, but don’t stop trying.” She looked into his eyes. “I bet you’ll love Copperhead Arcade.”

  Sighing, Dre
w slumped his shoulders. “It’s kinda hard to be good all the time.”

  All the time—not exactly accurate. Although, she had to admit, his behavior and schoolwork had improved. “Hang in there. Blessings for your effort will come.” She winked. Four more weeks to keep him motivated. Four long weeks.

  Kate hurried in to the room, her blunt heels tapping across the tile. “Drew, I saw your ride out front.”

  “OK. Bye, Miss Crafton.” Drew popped his backpack on his shoulder. “Four weeks, huh?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Halfway to the door Drew skidded to a stop, his tennis shoes squealing against the classroom floor. He glanced back. “My mom is asking off work. So I have to get my stars.”

  “I’m confident you will.”

  “OK.” Drew darted out the door, calling back. “I know I will, too.”

  Kate glanced at her warily before sitting. “You’re quite the cheerleader.”

  Stuffing the grade book back in her desk, Isabelle nodded. “Let’s hope my pep talk works. He’ll be a different kid when he sees what he can accomplish.”

  “You mean if?” Kate clucked her tongue. “I hope he’s not in my class next year. I don’t have the energy or patience for him.”

  Neither had Isabelle at the start of the year. But one look into Drew’s lonesome eyes and she couldn’t help but feel for him. The child didn’t fit in, and she knew that feeling all too well. Not that her grandmother didn’t love her, but Granny’s ailments kept her pre-occupied. She discovered negative attention grew easier to achieve. Isabelle assumed Drew’s single mom tried her best. But her busy work schedule had to be hard on her son.

  “I understand Drew more than I care to admit. Besides, he’s making progress. Everyone deserves a chance to change.”

  “You’re right. Just fix him before he gets into my class.”

  Isabelle chuckled. Kate, raised in a stable, loving family, would never understand. “I’ll try.”

  Kate scooted her chair closer. Her expression changed as if a thought struck. “Thirty-two days.” She slapped her hands on the desk. “Can you believe it?”

  “Until?”

  “Isabelle… The wedding.”

  “Oh that.” Isabelle covered her mouth in feigned shock. “I almost forgot.”

  Holding up a finger, Kate grinned. “Don’t let it happen again.”

  “Like I could.” She winked. “So, thirty-two days until total bliss.”

  “I can’t wait.” Kate widened her star-dusted eyes. “Everything will be wonderful. I’ve lost my last two pounds. My dress fits perfectly. My tan lines are filled in.”

  “Wow.”Leaning on her elbows, Isabelle clasped her hands and studied Kate across the desktop. “What about that pimple on your face?” She couldn’t resist.

  “Pimple?” Kate surged up from her slouch in the chair and ran to the mirror in the corner. “Where?” She leaned in close. “Isabelle, come show me.”

  Isabelle chuckled. “Just kidding.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Honest, you look great. Just make sure you and Mark put as much into the marriage as you have the wedding plans.”

  Kate swung back around and grinned. “Great advice. Write that down and I’ll stick it on the refrigerator.”

  “Or mention it to Mark’s mom. She might have it framed. You know what a romantic she is.”

  “Tell me about it.” Kate tipped her head. “I think she already has our first anniversary planned.”

  Isabelle’s thoughts immediately turned to Charlie’s mother. The woman she’d once assumed would be her mother-in-law. A chilling thought now. In fact, any thought about a Hamilton disturbed her. Which reminded her she’d be meeting Charlie today. Feeling a headache coming one, she kneaded a knuckle against her temple.

  “Isabelle, are you OK?”

  She tried not to sigh. “Just thinking about tonight.”

  “Tonight? Oh, that’s right. What time is Charlie coming?”

  Too soon. “Six forty-five. I promised him an hour. Probably the longest hour of my life.”

  A purring cat look crossed Kate’s face.

  But before she could speak, Isabelle blinked up at her friend and punched her lips into a grimace hoping to deter her.

  Kate ignored her. “May be the best hour of your life.”

  “I doubt that. But it’s time I hear him out. I’m ready to move forward.”

  “Good, because everyone deserves a chance to change.” She winked.

  “Touché, Kate.” Isabelle held up a finger. “However, there’s an exception to every rule. Charlie is the exception to this one.”

  “But—”

  Isabelle waved a hand and got to her feet. “Believe me, you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  As much as she loved and trusted Kate, she couldn’t share this part of her life. “I wouldn’t want to bore you.”

  Kate’s brow knitted. “Isabelle.”

  Hitching her bag on her shoulder, Isabelle started for the door. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “I’ll be in late. We have game night with Mark’s family.”

  “Sounds like fun.” Isabelle swung through the door. Good. Now she’d have some cool down time after she met with Charlie. Somehow she thought she’d need it.

  10

  Late afternoon, Charlie looked at his watch then rapped on Isabelle’s door for the third time. He waited a moment.

  No answer.

  She probably forgot…or worse, stood him up.

  Blowing out a breath, he rubbed his neck. He should have pressed to meet with her sooner. Waiting almost a week allowed too much time for her to reconsider. Though it was hardly fathomable that she wouldn’t want to clear up their past and move forward.

  He checked his watch again. Six fifty. Clenching his teeth, he pounded again.

  Still no answer.

  He pulled out his phone, checked his messages. None. He snapped the cell shut and shoved it in his pocket. Doubtful she even knew his number. And, even if she did…

  He shook his head. Might as well forget it and head home. Getting things right with Isabelle was obviously more his idea than God’s. He chewed his lip and hammered his fist on the door one last time. Lord, help me trust you, because my emotions are completely—

  Somehow, over the thumping of his heart and the heavy rap on the door, he heard the patter of footsteps on the other side of the entry.

  “I’m coming.” Isabelle’s voice rang out.

  “Great. I mean, OK.” The response was barely out of his mouth when the door whipped open.

  Isabelle wrestled with Humphrey, who bucked like an angry stallion in her arms.

  “Come in and shut the door.” She ordered, trying to wrap the cat in a towel.

  Good thing Charlie did what she asked, because a second later Humphrey squirmed out of her grip, leapt into the air, and flung himself onto a chair. His screech tore through the room as Isabelle tried to grab him. Slipping from her hands again, the feisty cat landed on the floor with a thud.

  In disbelief, Charlie watched as the soggy feline skidded across the hardwoods, belly first with paws splayed like some animated Saturday morning cartoon character.

  Not knowing what else to do, he followed in pursuit, nearly colliding with Isabelle as she scooped up the cat, just before he slammed into the table leg.

  “He just hates baths.” Isabelle rubbed Humphrey with a towel against hissing protests.

  No joke. “Let me help.” Charlie hunkered down beside her and burrowed his fingers in the cat’s wet fur. Thrashing and meowing, Humphrey continued to fight. Charlie was amazed the animal still had the energy. For several moments the battle waged until one of Humphrey’s long claws dug into Charlie’s palm.

  Letting go of the cat, Charlie jumped up. “Ouch!

  “Oh no.” Isabelle, now on her feet, grabbed Charlie’s hand as Humphrey vanished under the sofa. “I’m sorry. Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine. No big deal.�
�� In spite of the pulsating pain, Charlie held still, allowing Isabelle to inspect the gash. Maybe the little guy did him a favor after all.

  Isabelle rubbed her fingertip along the wound. “It’s not deep. You shouldn’t need stitches.”

  “Good to hear.” Not that he thought he would. This wasn’t the first time he’d tussled with temperamental cats. A little soap and water and he’d be fine in a couple of days, but if Isabelle wanted to dote on him, no problem.

  “I’ll have to remind Humphrey who rescued him from the drainage ditch.” Charlie tried to sound lighthearted. “Not to mention, I gave him to you in the first place.”

  “I really feel terrible about this.” Isabelle glanced at him then whirled away. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

  “I’m fine, really.” He called after her, studying the ragged tissue. He flexed his hand. Ouch. The little cougar wasn’t fooling around.

  Isabelle reappeared clutching a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a handful of gauze. “The good news is Humphrey is current on his rabies shots. Have you—”

  “I think I’m up to date, too.” Impulsively he gave her a wink, pleased when she smiled. Progress.

  “I meant tetanus.” Isabelle rolled her eyes. “Have you had one in the last five years?”

  Charlie thought fast. A couple of years ago he’d cut himself while fishing with his dad. He got four stitches and a shot. Had to be tetanus.

  “I’m good.” He’d verify with his dad later. He didn’t want to end up in the emergency room tonight.

  “Well, then, sit down, and I’ll get you cleaned up. Unfortunately, I’m out of antibacterial cream.”

  “Peroxide is fine.” Charlie took a seat at the dining room table.

  He watched in silence as Isabelle dabbed his palm with wet gauze. Figuring this wasn’t the best time to start a conversation, he sat back and enjoyed the view. Her perfect oval face, delicate high cheekbones and those lips…sweet, pliant, kissable. He blinked.

  Enough of that. He took a breath.

  “In a few days, you’ll be back to normal.” Isabelle finished taping the dressing in place.