Tapestry of Trust

by Mary Annslee Urban

  “On your mark, get set—” Someone shouted. Isabelle snagged Kate by the sleeve. “Come on. Let’s wait at the finish line. I want to be there to congratulate Drew.”

  “You’re optimistic.” The last words Isabelle heard before the whistle blew.

  Not waiting for Kate, she bounded for the end of the field and wormed her way through the gathering crowd to stand at the front. With one hand propped over her brows, she squinted against the glaring sun and watched the second graders as they tottered across the grass. Nine partners in all, one teammate as driver while the other barreled along as a human wheelbarrow. Not too bad of odds, she hoped. As long as Drew’s hands moved as quickly as his partner, Michael, running behind him. Lord, help him.

  For an instant, images of the old Drew flashed in her mind. Angry. Unmotivated. A loner. She remembered what a challenge he’d been. Now, here he was, having fun with his classmates. He’d made progress, socially and academically. If only he could win this race. “You’re doing great, Drew,” she screamed, her voice melding with the whooping around her.

  The students pushed harder, hands and tennis shoes splashing through ruts of pooled water. Isabelle closed one eye. She could barely stand to watch as Michael and Drew, neck and neck with Peter and Sam, picked up their pace. The others lagged several feet behind. Drew had a chance.

  “Go Drew! Go Michael!”

  Kate bustled up beside her, nudging her arm with an elbow. “You might have a winner.”

  “I hope.”

  Michael stumbled and Drew’s face headed for the dirt. Isabelle slapped her hand over her eyes. “No.”

  “They’re OK,” Kate said.

  Isabelle dropped her hand in time to see Drew’s fingers inch cross the finish line, a hair’s-breadth ahead of Peter’s.

  As laughter and cheers erupted around her, the students hoisted Drew, the smallest member of their class, onto Michael’s hefty shoulders. Pumping both fists in the air, Drew wailed above the crowd. “I knew I could do it!”

  She knew he could, too.

  Minutes later, Isabelle waved to Drew as he plowed through the crowd toward her. The blue ribbon clamped between his teeth flapped in the breeze. A yard or so away, he skidded to a stop, yanked the ribbon from his lips, and stretched his arms wide. She braced herself the best she could before he tackled her with a hug. “I did it, Miss. Crafton.”

  Isabelle sucked in air and gave him a squeeze. “I never doubted you would.”

  Taking a step back, he shot his hand in the air, dangling the ribbon an inch from her nose. “Look what I got.”

  Isabelle fingered his prize. “First place. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Drew Clark, what’s that you’re holding?”

  At the sound of the woman’s voice, Drew broke into a toothless grin, and in one mighty swoop, he spun and tackled his mom with a rambunctious hug.

  “I won, Mom!”

  “You sure did.” Mrs. Clark hugged him back.

  Although standing in the sweltering sunshine, a chill washed over Isabelle as she observed the encounter. A tender, sweet moment, one she would never share with her son.

  “Mom, guess what else?” Drew jumped up and down as he depicted a moment-by-moment account of the race.

  Before regret got the best of her, Isabelle turned and started back into the school building to gather her things. Field Day was over.

  “Miss Crafton, wait.” Mrs. Clark called from behind her.

  Slowing her steps, Isabelle took a long breath, and waited for Drew’s mom.

  “Miss Crafton, I’d like to thank you for all you’ve done for Drew this year. You know, I’m raising him by myself, and it’s hard to keep up with him like I should.” Even as she smiled a tinge of sadness lit her eyes.

  Isabelle nodded and leveled her breathing. “Thank you, but Drew deserves the credit. He’s a hard worker.”

  “Yes, he is, because of you. One day you’ll be a wonderful mother, Miss Crafton.”

  Isabelle nearly dissolved into tears. She’d come close to being a single mom and wondered how well she would have handled it; regardless, she’d have liked to have had the chance to try. She cleared her throat. “No problem.” Still her voice broke. She gave Mrs. Clark a hug.

  “OK, OK.” Drew’s voice emanated from the sidelines. “What about the Copperhead Arcade?”

  Isabelle glanced at Drew as he capered around her. “You’re close, only one more day.” How could she not admire his effort these last six weeks? Even if it did take some grace on her part for him to finish the year a winner.

  “Oh, rats. I have-ta be good one more day?” Drew punched the air then cut his gaze to her. “It’s gonna be hard.”

  Isabelle reached down and patted his head. “Just one more day. You can do it.”

  Drew pursed his lips, giving his mother a skeptical glance before looking at Isabelle. “OK, I will do it.” He bobbed his head. “Because then I’ll be heading for Copperhead Arcade. Whoa! I’m a winner today and tomorrow.” He waved his ribbon in the air, and when he angled her a lopsided grin, Isabelle chuckled.

  “You are a winner every day, Drew. And remember God has great plans for you.” Great advice. Something she needed to remember.

  ****

  Shoving sentiment aside, Isabelle gathered her tote bag and purse from the classroom and hurried to the car. After a few deep breaths and a little self pep-talk—reminding herself Admiral was at the barn waiting—she felt better.

  After all, she’d had a great morning. Watching Drew win, seeing his excitement. Even if witnessing the interaction between him and his mother roused feelings that lately lingered too close to the surface.

  Her throat clogged and for the umpteenth time she willed herself to keep it together. Admiral. She repeated. Even with the heat, a long trail ride sounded nice. The sun on her back, wind rippling through her hair. Cutting a trail across the parking lot, she scuffed her feet along the gravel to clean mud from her shoes. She didn’t want to waste a moment.

  “Isabelle.” Kate’s voice came from behind her.

  She froze mid step, pausing long enough to glance over her shoulder. “Hey, Kate, I can’t stop to talk, I’m heading to the barn. See you tonight.”

  Still, by the time she reached the car, Kate had caught up to her, out of breath and lugging one last super-soaker under her arm. “I thought we were having lunch.”

  “Lunch?” Isabelle hiked the tote onto her shoulder. “Did we have plans? Because I—”

  Kate held up a hand. “Let me guess. A date with Admiral.”

  “Yeah. Perfect day to ride. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No, that’s fine. We’ll talk later.” Kate paused. A look of anguish crossed her face. Or maybe concern. Isabelle couldn’t place it, but whatever, she didn’t like it.

  “What’s going on, Kate?” She hated to ask.

  “Well.” Kate lifted her hand, coughed in her fist. “I just spoke to Mark and…” She coughed again.

  “And?”

  She shrugged and Isabelle got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “I know you don’t want to talk about Charlie, but I thought you should know a marketing firm in the Dallas area offered him a job. Mark said it’s a great opportunity, and now that Charlie’s out of school, he was considering it.”

  For a moment, Isabelle thought, thank goodness. That was before her irrational heart constricted tightly. She wondered if it would ever pump normal again. Splaying her hand against her chest, she sucked in a breath.

  She shouldn’t care. Didn’t want to care. Friendship―at a distance would be the only relationship she’d ever want from Charlie.

  So why then did her stomach twist into a knot at the thought of him moving back to the Dallas area? Their old stomping ground.

  And, Isabelle swallowed, back under his mother’s protective wing?

  Isabelle forcefully expelled a breath. Sharon’s matchmaking plans to reunite Charlie and Erica just got easier.

  Her mind took off in a
sprint, replaying snippets of the conversation she’d overheard from the night before. Erica’s threat to Charlie, trying to tie him to an embezzlement scheme. The woman still loved him. Why would she do such a thing?

  Unless, it wasn’t a threat, but rather revenge. Isabelle bit inside her cheeks to keep her jaw from dropping.

  Now she had Charlie to worry about.

  “Isabelle, are you OK?”

  “Sure. I’m fine. In fact, I’m happy for Charlie.” OK, maybe not totally fine, but, Kate didn’t need to know that. She opened the car door. “I better get going.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to talk?” This time Kate met her gaze with an expression Isabelle did recognize. Pity. Kate felt sorry for her, all because she protected herself from further heartbreak. Well, too bad her friend didn’t understand that she felt totally content not being in a relationship. In fact, she felt sorry for Kate.

  Sort of. She swallowed a snort.

  “I’m fine. Really. I’ll see you tonight.” Isabelle spun away before the conversation got any deeper. She slid behind the wheel letting the car idle while she rifled through her purse. Her mouth felt parched, and she needed gum. Actually, what she really needed was to point the car west, keep driving and not stop until she reached Arizona. No, California. Start over. New job. New friends. Maybe then she could get Charlie out of her mind once and for all.

  Doubtful. She popped a piece of gum in her mouth. The barn and thoughts of riding Admiral beckoned. Too bad at the moment, guilt took precedence. She could kick herself for not taking care of this last night. If only she’d stepped around the corner. Foiled Erica’s threat. Yes, a threat, that’s all it probably was. Isabelle was making too much out of this. For all she knew Charlie and Erica had already made up. Isabelle took a deep breath and tried hard to believe that. She might have believed it, had it not been for the insistent whisper in her head.

  Probably not.

  “Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.” Isabelle gripped the steering wheel, her hand blanching as she squeezed out her frustration. She’d tried to do the right thing. Knock on Charlie’s door, exchange a few words of forgiveness. But no, nothing could be that simple when it came to Charlie. Instead now she was an eyewitness to possible blackmail.

  She grabbed her cell phone, keyed in 4-1-1.

  “For what city, please?”

  “San Marcos. Wilson and Huss Marketing Specialists.” She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Even worse she couldn’t believe she remembered where Charlie worked.

  “I’ll connect you.”

  Isabelle swallowed past the mammoth-sized lump in her throat.

  A split second later a high-nasal voice squawked in her ear. “Wilson and Huss Marketing.”

  “Yes. Erica…um…” Isabelle’s heart stopped. What was Erica’s last name? Resisting the urge to hang up, she hardened her grip on the mobile, thinking. Erica who? Erica what? Erica’s father…owns half the company. “Oh yes...Erica Wilson or Huss.”

  “Erica Huss is at lunch. Would you like her voice mail?”

  “No way.” Isabelle bit her lip. “I mean, when will she be back?”

  “One o’clock.” A sniff followed.

  Isabelle hesitated for a moment. She propped her elbow against the door and leaned her head in her hand, debating if she really had to do this.

  “Anything else, ma’am?”

  Isabelle coughed then inhaled. “Could I please have your address?”

  After donning sunglasses, Isabelle punched the information into her GPS navigation system. Charlie, you better appreciate this.

  Thirty-seven miles and fifty-two minutes later, she turned onto Guadalupe Avenue. Buildings of all proportions ran in a jumbled line down the street and met her view. Thank goodness she had her GPS. Otherwise, she might never find the place.

  Although if she hadn’t had her GPS—

  No, no. She tossed that last thought aside. She knew what she had to do.

  Traffic flowed smoothly, lighter than she expected. The frequent stoplights beaming a steady shade of green did not hurt either. No obstacles stood in her way, she noticed, except the growing apprehension in her chest.

  She drew in a breath and felt calmer. That is until a computerized voice alerted her that in one-tenth of a mile she would arrive at her destination. She pressed a hand to her abdomen to quell the butterflies swarming inside.

  Saying a quick prayer, she surveyed the parking situation. Not much to choose from. She drove around the building to the dismay of her GPS device.

  “Turn back around…Recalculating,” It relentlessly chanted. On the third go around she gave in and parallel parked in front of the building, a feat she hadn’t tackled since her driver’s test on her sixteenth birthday. She lobbed the car into park and turned off the engine.

  Once outside, she scanned the paper she’d scribbled the address on. Taking a couple steps back, she raised her eyes to the top of the building. Wilson and Huss Marketing Firm.

  Yep. This was it.

  She studied the broad structure and swallowed. Twenty minutes max. Maybe less. After a quick rendition of what she heard and saw, she’d get out of there and then head to the barn. No big deal. Isabelle slung her bag over her shoulder and strode into the building.

  At first glance around the lobby, she spotted a large reception desk to the right. She walked closer but didn’t see anyone.

  “Hello.”

  Her greeting met silence.

  A moment passed, then another. She moved a little closer and peered through the glass behind the desk. Nothing. She turned around to look for a directory. She assumed Erica’s name had to be there somewhere.

  “How may I help you?”

  Isabelle spun back as a middle-aged woman, balancing a cup of coffee in her hand, walked from the back office. “I’m here to see Erica Huss.”

  The woman plunked her coffee mug down and took her seat at the desk. “Do you have an appointment?”

  Isabelle hadn’t thought of that. This could put an end to her good intentions. Too bad. “No appointment.”

  “Name please.”

  “Isabelle Crafton.”

  The woman jerked her gaze up. “Isabelle Crafton, did you say?”

  Instinctively, Isabelle darted her gaze around the reception area, wondering if a SWAT team of employees waited to confront her. Had Erica mentioned her to her co-workers―warned them? Isabelle shouldered her purse that had slipped down to her elbow and a rush of heat filled her cheeks. “Yes. I’m Isabelle Crafton.”

  Eyeing her suspiciously, the receptionist gave Isabelle directions. Uncomfortable with the woman’s scrutiny, Isabelle hurried out of the lobby and down a long hallway to the specified elevator. Once inside, she pressed four on the keypad, her mind already racing to the task ahead. Hanson account. Calvin Hines. Embezzlement charges.

  She froze. Her day kept getting worse. Now her reflection, in the mirror-lined walls stared back from four different directions.

  Not good.

  She fished a compact out of her purse and powdered her face. She shook back her hair and moistened her lips with her tongue. Then studied her reflection again. Nope. Didn’t help. Her windblown hair still looked…well, windblown, and splotches of mud dotted her jean skirt. Using her fingernail she scraped off the dirt, then tugged her purple V-neck into place.

  The elevator pinged, and the door slid open. A tall, roundish woman standing on the other side smiled at her.

  “Well, aren’t you cute?” The woman pressed her hands together.

  Isabelle felt her stomach drop. She twisted, looking right, then left, half expecting to see someone tucked into a corner.

  OK, now she felt stressed.

  Isabelle turned back, debated then decided. “Are you talking to me?”she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.” The woman planted a hand on her hip and extended the other. “I’m Brenda, Charlie’s secretary.”

  Isabelle stepped out of the elevator and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you. But
I’m not here to see Charlie. I’m here to—”

  “Yes, yes, I know. Follow me.”

  Isabelle followed Brenda as she set out briskly down the hall, her hips swaying as she hummed some little ditty. Even if Brenda seemed a little odd, Isabelle squashed all judgment. Charlie’s secretary was the least of her worries.

  Brenda stopped at the end of the hallway, turned, and waited as Isabelle tried to catch up. But her feet didn’t like where they were headed. For the most part, her whole body didn’t either, and had it not been for that annoying small voice in the back of her head reminding her to do the right thing, she would have taken off in the opposite direction.

  “So what do you think of Erica?” Brenda asked when Isabelle finally caught up.

  Isabelle caught her breath, not sure how to take this woman. “I don’t really know Erica.”

  Brenda stared down at her, a slight grin on her face.

  OK. Apparently not the answer she expected. “Uh…what do you think of her?”

  Still staring at her, Brenda answered. “Let’s just say, she’s the loveliest of trust fund babies.”

  Huh?

  Brenda glanced over her shoulder then leaned closer and whispered. “She’s spoiled rotten. Pretty much worthless, if you get my drift.”

  Isabelle fought not to smile but couldn’t help it. Her anxiety calmed a little. She felt better having an ally in the building.

  But, another stab of nerves attacked when she heard Brenda say, “Good luck” just before she knocked on Erica’s office door.

  “Come in,” a poised voice answered.

  Isabelle opened the door and stepped into the room. “Hello, Miss Huss, I’m—”

  “I know who you are. Isabelle Crafton.” Erica rose from behind her desk. “What can I do for you?”

  Isabelle shrugged at her heated stare. “Well, actually I have a couple things to discuss with you.”

  “If this is about Mark and Kate’s wedding, I can’t help with anything.”

  Kate? Mark? “No, no. Nothing to do with Mark and Kate.”

  “Good. I’m not sure I’ll even make the wedding. So I can’t obligate myself to do anything.”

  “Of course.” Isabelle nodded, wondering what she thought Kate might ask her to do. “Actually, I need to talk to you about Charlie.”