“Thanks. I know where to come the next time I get hurt.”
She gave him a look that said, “Don’t you even think about it.”
He countered with smile. We’ll see.
She wadded up the leftover gauze and packaging. “I’ll wash my hands, so we can leave.”
“All right, but what about Humphrey?”
“With all his wiggling, he’s probably dry by now.” She disappeared into the kitchen. A moment later, she rejoined him and collected her purse. “I’m ready.”
Charlie followed her out the door, looking forward to getting a few things straight with Isabelle Crafton.
****
Isabelle matched Charlie’s strides as they walked toward the café. She wasn’t looking forward to this. In fact, it took every bit of her resolve not to turn and run home.
The bell on the door of Tenille’s chimed as Charlie opened it. As at the opening bell of a boxing match, butterflies, punching and kicking, flooded her midsection. Nope, she didn’t want to be there, especially on an empty stomach. She moistened her lips and inhaled, feeling a bit lightheaded.
Stepping aside, Charlie allowed her to enter first. “After you.”
Great. The perfect gentleman. Pleasant, helpful. Only about six years too late.
The rich aroma of coffee and sweet rolls mingled with decadent chocolate and seasoned the air, sending her stomach rumbling as she stepped up to the counter. She hugged her purse against her abdomen, hoping to dissuade the gurgling, and looked at the overhead menu. Today she decided to splurge. No point in being at Tenille’s and not enjoying something.
She opened her mouth ready to order a chocolate scone but shut it when she eyed the dessert case. Fresh peanut butter cookies would also go great with a cup of coffee.
Decisions. Decisions.
So wrapped up in her options she forgot for a moment who she was with until a gentle touch between her shoulder blades sent a shock wave up her spine. She straightened. No longer hungry.
“Anything you want. My treat,” Charlie whispered, his breath warm on her neck. Even as she stiffened further to ward off another chill, her knees wobbled. Enough already. What was wrong with her? These emotions had no place in her life. She dawdled a moment longer, staring at the menu, trying to get a hold of herself. She shouldn’t have come. OK, she conceded, maybe they did need to clear—
“Ma’am, what would you like?” The clerk stood ready, eyebrows raised, looking rather bored. Apparently, she didn’t want to be there any more than Isabelle did.
Isabelle rummaged in her purse for some change. “Decaf latte, skim milk. Charlie, I’ll get mine.”
Ignoring the comment, Charlie pulled a credit card from his wallet and tossed it on the counter. “I’ll take care of this young lady’s order. And, for me, black coffee.” Then as if he’d read her mind, he flashed an impish grin and pointed into the glass case. “Two of those peanut butter cookies. Still your favorite, Isabelle?”
Not anymore. Still, she nodded, but she wasn’t impressed.
“Decaf latte.” The clerk set the drink on the counter.
Isabelle swiped it up then searched for a place to sit. The sooner they got this over with, the better. In the far corner of the room, she saw a young man hitch up his backpack and push in his chair. Not the best location, but, oh well. Winding her way through the tightly packed room, Isabelle set her drink on the table and took the seat by the wall.
A moment later, Charlie joined her.
“This is nice. Out of the way.” He smiled and took a sip.
Isabelle lifted her drink, thinking how innocent Charlie looked sitting across the table. Down right charming, if she dared to be honest with herself. The way he helped her with Humphrey, even laughed about being clawed. She sighed.
Charlie slid the plate of cookies in front of her. “Have one. I’ve heard they’re the best in town.”
“Thanks.” Isabelle picked up a cookie and set it on a napkin.
“You know, Isabelle, I’ve missed you.”
Isabelle snickered. She didn’t mean to, but from what she could tell, Charlie had moved on just fine. And he had an ex-girlfriend to prove it. Unlike her, whose love life sort of bit the dust when they parted.
“Seriously, Isabelle. I have missed you.” Charlie repeated with a little more emphasis. She still didn’t buy it.
“Charlie, we only have an hour. Maybe we should talk about more pertinent issues.” Like January fourteenth, freshman year in college.
Charlie nodded. “You’re right.”
After a moment of bristling silence, they both spoke at once.
Charlie stopped, cleared his throat. “Sorry.”
“No problem.” Isabelle took a deep breath. Man, this was awkward.
“I’ll start.” Charlie said after another moment.
Isabelle nodded, lifted her cookie and watched his lip twitch.
“Well…I just want to say, I messed up.”
No kidding. She nibbled a bite.
“I never wanted to let you down. College was a tough time for me. Wrong priorities. I should have called sooner. Come to your rescue. However, I never stopped caring about you. I still haven’t.”
Isabelle dropped the cookie. She grabbed the edge of the table, restraining herself from pouncing on him. “College…tough for you? I’d wager it was a bit tougher on me. But don’t think for a second, I needed to be rescued. What I needed was to be loved.”
Charlie held up his hands. “I’m sorry. Poor choice of words. What I’m trying to say is I should have been there with you.”
“Yes, you should have.” There. She said it. All that needed to be said apparently, because she felt better. Leaning back, she crossed her arms. Color drained from Charlie’s face, and she noticed his jaw went slack. What? Did he think she wouldn’t agree?
“I would have been with you if I’d known where you’d gone.”
“I wasn’t going to chase you.”
“I understand, but you avoided my calls and letters…” Charlie picked up his napkin, mopped his forehead.
“Calls? Letters?”
“I admit ten days was too long to wait to call you back, but the pressure from my parents...” He shook his head. “I’m not blaming them. I was trying to reason through it all. And when I called, your aunt said you’d left. She wouldn’t tell me anything. Not the first time or any time after. And the letters I sent—”
Isabelle held up her hands. “I don’t want to hear this. Aunt Myra never mentioned calls or letters. She wouldn’t have kept that from me.”
“Isabelle, I wouldn’t lie.”
“Charlie, please.” Isabelle grabbed her cup and took a swig of coffee.
“OK.” His voice took on a defensive tone. “I’m not here to point fingers. We both made mistakes. We’re older now, wiser. Thanks to my relationship with God, my priorities are now straight.”
Older, yes. Wiser, undecided. “Charlie, I’m happy for you.”
“Isabelle, don’t you think what we had is worth pursuing again?”
Was he crazy? Like being stressed justified his actions. Not to mention…he’d said nothing about her pregnancy. Isabelle lifted a finger. “What we once had is—”
“Oh, hello, dears.”
Words died in Isabelle’s throat. She recognized that voice, even before she heard Charlie’s murmured, “Mrs. Johnson?”
Yanking a chair from a neighboring table, Mrs. Johnson settled into it, right between Isabelle and Charlie. “After a long day of wedding planning, nothing tastes better than a mint chocolate latte.” She lifted the cup to her lips and blew, sending rivulets of frothy cream over the side.
Isabelle clasped her hands on the table and listened, while Charlie kneading his jaw, rocked back in his chair as Mrs. Johnson shared the latest plans for the wedding in between sips of mint chocolate latte.
11
Isabelle took off in a sprint, dodging puddles and branch debris, as she crossed the parking lot to her apartment.
Another round of lightning crackled across the sky, hastening her pace. She shouldn’t have insisted she and Charlie walk to Tenille’s, or better, held to her instincts and drove herself. Then she’d be home and not trying to outrun a storm with him.
Ducking against the wind, she caught a glimpse of Charlie loping beside her. His long legs could easily double her short stride, but he kept pace with her. With thunder exploding around them, she actually felt better with him there.
Once under the complex’s covered walkway, Isabelle slowed her steps to catch her breath. “Good thing we left when we did. No telling when the downpour will begin again.”
The words were barely out of her mouth when she heard the patter of raindrops against the metal awning above them.
Moving further beneath the covering, Charlie smirked. “I’d say about now.”
She returned his silly grin. “Well, thank you, Mr. Weatherman.”
Charlie burst out laughing, his fixed stare so beguiling a shudder worked its way through her body. She pivoted on her heel and stomped the last couple feet to her apartment before her guard slipped any further.
She dug around in her purse and produced a key. All in all, the night hadn’t been too bad, thanks to Mrs. Johnson and her tales of the wedding. No resolution for her and Charlie, but how could there be?
She plunged the key into the lock. A discomforting niggle, one more thought to complicate her life, hovered in her mind. What if Charlie had tried to contact her? His words strummed through her head like sour notes of a violin. When I called, your aunt said you’d left. And you never answered my letters. She forced her mixed-up emotions to quiet. If true, Aunt Myra would have told her.
Sighing, Isabelle unlocked the door, then swung back around to find Charlie very much in her personal space. She jolted and gasped.
“Are you OK?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” She met Charlie’s compelling gaze. The tenderness in his expression moved her more than she cared to admit.
“Are you sure?” Charlie’s brow furrowed, his warm, narrowed gaze even more alluring.
“Yes. Fine.” She rubbed the chill from her arms, wanting no part of his concern. No part of Charlie Hamilton. She breathed deep before adding, “It’s late. I still have some things to get done tonight.”
“We haven’t finished our conversation.” Charlie folded his arms over his chest.
She shook her head, ignoring the set of his jaw, the look of disappointment on his face. “I say, let’s let bygones be bygones?” Whatever that adage meant, it seemed to fit.
He stared at her. “That’s not what I want.”
We can’t have everything we want. She spared him that thought and shrugged. “Sorry, I’m tired. I have to get up early and…”
The rumble of thunder deafened her words. She peered into the misty night, looking beyond the walkway to the water pouring off the roof gutters. “Wow. I’m glad we didn’t get stuck in that.”
He shuffled a step closer and leaned in, his face replacing her view. “Isabelle, please. We do need to talk.”
She bit down on her lip, fighting the desire to agree. But what was the point? Shaking her head, she leaned her shoulder into the door and sent it flying open. She steadied herself with a hand on the doorframe, then pulled the door shut, but not before Humphrey shot past her feet and into the night.
“Humphrey.” Isabelle squealed in vain as the feline bolted down the sidewalk.
Charlie, quick in pursuit, snagged the cat before it ran into the bushes. Then he carried him, at arm’s length, out of clawing range, back to her. “Short memory, little fellow? Don’t you remember the drainage ditch?”
Isabelle took Humphrey from him. “Come here you little deserter.” What was it with the males in her life? She stepped into the apartment and waved Charlie in. “OK, ten minutes.”
****
Once inside Charlie went to the living room as Isabelle carried Humphrey into the kitchen.
He wearily dropped into a chair nearest the sofa, folded his arms, and leaned back. Something didn’t feel right. When he showed up this evening, he knew what he needed to say, and how he intended to say it. State the facts, ask forgiveness, move on.
But like hitting a brick wall, everything changed once he’d mentioned his attempts to contact Isabelle. All these years he’d thought she had ignored his calls and letters. Now he found himself wondering about Myra Hinson. And that thought really disturbed him, because unlike his mother, Myra always seemed supportive of his and Isabelle’s relationship.
He huffed a hard breath, a dark notion taunting. If Isabelle hadn’t received his messages, then Myra had lied to him, too. Why hadn’t he seen through her? Why hadn’t he pushed harder?
Old feelings of regret twisted inside. Charlie lifted his hand and kneaded the taut muscles in his neck. There was no denying he’d made mistakes. If only…
He straightened and thrust those thoughts aside. He couldn’t go back, nor could Isabelle. Still, it hurt him to think that all these years she’d thought he’d deserted her. If nothing else, he’d clear up that misconception.
He shifted in his seat and tried to relax. He looked around the room. Everything was tidy and decorated nicely. Warm colors, accent pillows, fringed throws. Even a spicy aroma wafted in the air. He drew in the smell of something like herbs or flowers. Whatever it was, he liked it. The room’s ambience definitely spelled Isabelle. Cozy. Warm. Inviting.
Nothing like his living room, which showed tell-tale signs of college life, clutter, unfolded clothes, boxes of old textbooks. Come to think of it, his gym bag still had sweats in it from last week. Shaking his head, he knew he should get his place straight now that he’d graduated, but he hadn’t felt motivated by much―except seeing Isabelle.
He made another scan of the room and noticed a collection of framed photographs along the wooden mantel. In one picture, he recognized Myra Hinson, standing next to Isabelle who was dressed in graduation garb and holding her diploma. In another Isabelle beamed amid a huddle of friends, their arms looped around each other in a group hug. Several other pictures lauded a happy Isabelle in a variety of memorable moments. None of which included him.
Between the tug in his chest and the acid burning his gut, he wondered what he was even doing here. In all likelihood, she had moved on.
A rattling sound echoed from the kitchen, then the sound of dry cat food being poured into a bowl, clinking against the glass. An impatient meow and Isabelle’s soothing voice followed.
“See, I have your favorite snack.”
Kindhearted words her spoiled cat couldn’t even hear. Charlie felt a smirk tug his lips. Yes, that cat turned out to be a perfect gift. A whim, as he recalled. He wanted to surprise Isabelle with something unique on her eighteenth birthday. What better than a pricey Persian? Fueled by the memories, he allowed his mind to tumble back to happier days.
Cradling a bouquet of roses in one hand and a furry kitten in the other, he’d arrived at Isabelle’s house just before dawn. He’d never forget the delight on Isabelle’s face when she opened the door or the enthusiastic kiss that followed.
He chuckled. Worth every penny of the three-hundred bucks he’d spent, even if his mother was furious, and the blue-eyed fur-ball ended up being deaf.
“What’s so funny?’
Charlie glanced up. Isabelle stood staring at him from the archway. “Us.” He smiled.
“Us?” Isabelle wrinkled her nose and sauntered into the room. He watched her every move. The sway of her hips, the way her black skirt hugged her soft curves.
“I believe we lost the us title six years ago.” She stopped at the end of the sofa and smoothed her skirt before she sat.
“Yes, a lot happened six years ago.” Charlie said soberly. “That’s exactly what I’d like to discuss.”
She pursed her lips and crossed one leg over the other, nervously jiggling her foot. “We’ve rehashed enough. What happened between us is over.”
“Isabelle.” Leaning f
orward, Charlie rested his elbows on his thighs and clasped his hands in front of him. “I want you understand something. It was never my intention to abandon you. I—”
“Charlie.” She flicked her eyes toward him, a single lock of honey colored hair spilling over her cheek. “It’s not important anymore.”
Every logical thought emptied from his head, and it took everything in him not to sidle up beside her and brush the strand away. Kiss her cheeks. Kiss away the tension tightening her face. Charlie took a deep breath. “Isabelle.” He paused, praying for wisdom. “I believe what we’re dealing with is miscommunication.”
“I believe you’re trying to discredit my aunt. The one person who stood by me, and, by the way, she never mentioned hearing from you.”
Unbelievable. Charlie opened his mouth to correct her statement.
Isabelle glared at him.
He remained silent. Probably better to leave her aunt out of the equation for now. A combination of anger and pain welled up in his chest, every one of his senses directed on the woman across from him. Her posture rigid, hands clasped tight in her lap. She didn’t believe him. He cleared his throat and focused on history neither could dispute. The pregnancy. The miscarriage. Up until now, he’d skirted the issue, knowing how painful it would be for Isabelle. Now she left him no choice.
“January Fourteenth. A day I’ll never forget.” His voice faltered, despite his efforts. “Scariest day of my life. I was so young. We both were… None of which makes a good excuse.”
“Charlie, please.” Frustration registered in her voice.
Still, he continued. “From the moment you called to tell me, I knew whatever it took, we’d make things work.” He cleared his throat. “You being pregnant, us having a child. We would work through it together. I just didn’t relay that information very well.”
Isabelle’s stare cut straight through him like two beaming lasers, filled with heat and emotion he had never seen in her before. Just what he didn’t want: to injure her further. But he knew no other way to resurrect the truth then to zero in on the core issue that separated them. “Isabelle, you can’t imagine how sorry I am.”
Tapestry of Trust Page 10
