Chapter Twenty-Five

 

 

The bell above the door chimed, and Isobel poked her head around the clothing rack as Sophie plopped a drink carrier filled with cardboard coffee cups on the front counter.

“Good morning.” Sophie began removing cups from the carrier. “How’d the photoshoot go yesterday?”

With a shrug, Isobel abandoned her work. “Okay, I guess.”

Sophie set a creamer and two packets of sugar on one of the coffee lids. “How long until the issue is out?”

“Not for a few months.” Isobel reached for the cup with the creamer and sugar packs.

“Izzy, I’m so proud of you.” Sophie pried the lid of her coffee. “I hope you get everything you could ever want from this.”

The words knocked into Isobel and sudden emotion piled in her throat. “I don’t know what I want.”

Sophie pursed her lips to blow on her steaming coffee. “We’re not talking about wedding dresses anymore, are we?”

Isobel shook her head. She swallowed convulsively. “He thinks I’m perfect.”

Laughter erupted from Sophie and rolled across the store in gusty waves. “I hate to burst your bubble, but he knows you’re not perfect.”

“Forget I said anything,” Isobel muttered.

Sophie wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of one eye. “No, I get it, Iz. I really do. You and I are a lot alike. It’s why we’re such good friends.”

“Well then, do you mind telling me? Because I’m freaking out a little bit.”

“You’re afraid of going through what you went through with your dad.” Sophie’s voice softened. “No one can blame you for that, but Shea isn’t your dad. Not only are they, literally, different people, but they are completely different kinds of men.”

“He left me,” Isobel said, but her statement lacked the heat of betrayal.

Shea hadn’t cruelly abandoned her. He lost his way, and for a time, he didn’t know how to return to her.

“Look, I’m an expert on overly critical people.” A teardrop of sadness hung in Sophie’s green eyes. “And while your dad may be one of them, your husband is not. He just isn’t.”

“But what if my dad was right?”

Confusion clouded Sophie’s features. “Right about what?”

“About me.” A pang of anguish struck Isobel in the center of her chest. “What if my dad was right and Shea is wrong?”

Sophie waved off Isobel’s words with a flick of the wrist. “Shea isn’t wrong. I’m not wrong. Your kids and Ava aren’t wrong. Half this damn island isn’t wrong. It’s not like there’s some list of traits and once you tick enough boxes you get to be loved. Love is an all-or-nothing thing and Shea loves you. The end.”

“My dad loved me. Until he didn’t,” Isobel couldn’t help but point out. “What if Shea changes his mind, too?”

“Have you talked to him about any this?”

A snort of disgust slipped from her. “God, no.”

“Why not?”

Isobel fiddled with a sugar packet, crinkling the paper between her fingers. “I was afraid to bring it up.”

A smile twitched at the corner of Sophie’s mouth. “Afraid it would ruin your marriage?”

Isobel’s watery laugh dissolved with her groan. “Something like that.” Leaning over the counter, she dropped her head into the cradle of her arms.

“So you’re not perfect. So what? Unless…” Sophie let the word hang like a threat. “It’s not Shea’s judgment you’re worried about.”

Isobel pressed her cheek against her forearm and glared up at her friend. “What does that mean?”

“There is one person I know who hates disorder and messiness and general imperfection more than anyone else I’ve ever met.”

Isobel’s spine snapped straight. “Don’t you dare.”

Sophie’s hands shot up, palms facing out. “I’m just saying.”

“You’re just saying what? That I let my marriage fall apart because I’m… I’m—I don’t even know what, intolerant?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m saying you let your marriage fall apart because you thought it’d save you from having to face the fact that you’re not perfect. You’re the one who can’t stand it. Not Shea.”

Isobel sucked in a sharp hiss of air. Was it true?

The answer came in the form of a vise clamping around her heart. She clasped her fist against her chest.

When her dad tossed her out, shame took root inside her. A dark, ugly shame that had twisted and warped, and started her on the impossible quest for perfection. If she were calm and confident, competent and serene, flawless, outwardly at least, then maybe no one would notice all the yucky stuff underneath. They’d believe she was more than a piece of trash her own father didn’t want. Shea would believe it. If she played at the game long and hard enough, maybe she’d even believe it, too.

So she’d turned herself inside out trying to become someone Shea had never asked her to be. Then she blamed him for letting her do it.

Sophie’s blonde curls bounced when she shook her head. “Seriously, I thought I was messed up.” She shot Isobel a pointed look. “You need help.”

Heat seared Isobel’s cheeks and a curse slipped from her.

“You know what’s crazy?” Sophie nudged Isobel with a soft elbow. “Your only real flaw is your perfectionism.”

Isobel narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want to be friends with you anymore.”

“Tough,” Sophie said, taking the threat as seriously as Isobel intended it. “You’re stuck with me.”

With the jingle of the door chime, Celeste breezed through the front door.

Her cell phone pressed to one ear, the sound of her tinkling laughter shattered the quiet inside the store. “Yes, yes, I accept their offer. I can’t believe this is happening. Okay. Uh-huh. Call me when they’re ready and I’ll stop by to sign them.”

Celeste disconnected the call and blasted Isobel and Sophie with a full-wattage smile. “Good morning, ladies.”

As one, Isobel and Sophie turned as Celeste floated by them and rounded the store counter.

“Celeste? Are you okay?” Sophie asked. “You look a little flushed.”

Celeste’s small shoulders lifted when she pulled in a deep breath and held it, as if to contain her excitement. “I have news.”

Sophie gasped. “Are we the first to hear it? Oh, please say we are. I’m never the first to hear any gossip on this damn island.”

Celeste drew in a deep breath, which then burst from her. “I sold the store.”

The announcement dropped like a sledgehammer on Isobel. “You did what? To who?”

A severe crease added wrinkles to Celeste’s brow. “Oh. I don’t know.” Her expression cleared. “Anyway, I had lunch with my realtor yesterday, just to talk about the idea and see what I needed to do to get the ball rolling. Just now, she called me with an offer. A great offer. Now, I can retire and not have to worry about my money running out before I die.”

“There’s our Celeste,” Sophie said.

“But… is the store going to stay the store?” Isobel’s heart pounded with wild, frantic beats.

Celeste’s beady eyes fluttered rapidly, as though Isobel had asked her for the answer to a complex math problem. “Oh. Um, I’m going to meet with my realtor later today. I’ll know more after that.”

Isobel gripped the edge of the counter to keep from being dumped off the side of her tilting world. With the store under new ownership, would she still have a job? Would the store remain a bridal store, or did the new owner have a new endeavor planned? A bitter slash of disappointment sliced through her to realize any chance she may have had of ever owning the store had likely vanished.

The line of Celeste’s thin mouth twisted with a regretful frown. “I wish I could go another twenty years, but it’s time for me to enjoy what’s left of my life.”

Isobel’s vision blurred. “I’m happy for you, Celeste. I am. It’s just that, you’re the only boss I’ve ever had.” She sniffled. “I’m going to miss you.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Celeste plucked a coffee cup from the drink carrier. “I’m not leaving the island. We’ll still see each other plenty.”

“Of course,” Isobel said, though they both knew it wasn’t true.

The first half of Isobel’s shift passed in a fog of heartsickness and worry for her future. She took no joy in the shipment of new dresses, barely noticing the quality and intricate details of each gown. When a young bride arrived for her fitting, Isobel only just managed to muster a whisper of fake enthusiasm for the woman’s once-in-a-lifetime moment.

By lunch, misery weighed her down.

Hoping some fresh air might clear away her dark mood, she ventured outdoors for a walk, but the menacing gray clouds hovering overhead drove her back inside after a short trip around the block. In the break room, she plopped down in a metal folding chair to wait out the remaining minutes of her break.

Whenever she’d experienced times of intense turmoil, thoughts of her mom often visited her, and they did so then as well. Isobel didn’t wish for answers to her questions or her mother’s advice. She simply wanted her mom close. She wanted time for them to be together, talking about silly things, or shopping, or working side by side in the kitchen. It was ridiculous, but after all these years, she craved a parent’s love.

Seeking distraction, she filched her cell phone from her back pocket. When she swiped a finger across the screen, a notification reminded her that she had an unopened voice message several days old. She tapped the screen to dial her mailbox, then followed the prompts to replay the recording.

A man’s voice crackled through the phone’s low-quality speaker. “Isobel, it’s Dad.”

Shock flew through her and her hand shot to her mouth.

“I want to see you. I… I’d like to see you, if you can bring yourself to see me.” In the long silence that followed, she could hear faintly the sound of his uneven breathing. “There are some things I need to say to you. Call me. Please. Okay, bye now.”

Isobel lurched to her feet, dropping the phone on the table with a clatter of noise. In the tiny break room, she paced.

What did her dad want? Did he want to talk about what happened eighteen years ago? Was he going to apologize? Or did he still blame her for bringing shame on the family?

Her hands shook so badly she rammed the phone into the back pocket of her black jeans.

What if he didn’t want to talk about the past? Should she bring it up?

Twisting around, she paced the other way.

But if he didn’t want to discuss what happened, why was he calling? Was something wrong? Was he sick?

She lunged for her phone. Fingers poised over the screen, she hesitated, wanting so badly to call her dad and at the same time not wanting to want to call him.

Not unlike the tangle of conflicting desires she experienced for her husband.

Why? Why was she so frozen with indecision? What was she so afraid of?

The adrenaline drained from her body and she collapsed in the metal chair.

What was she afraid of? Heartbreak. She wanted love, all of the love, but none of the pain that came with it, those inevitable hurts and wounds inherent in the act of opening up to others. She wanted all the reward but abhorred the risks.

Her fingers started tapping out a text message on her phone’s small screen. How’s it going? Everything okay?

She hit Send to forward the text to her sister, then resumed pacing. Ava would know whether something was wrong with their dad.

When the phone chimed a few minutes later, she opened the reply from Ava. Yeah. Why?

At the brief blow off, relief flooded Isobel. Nothing was wrong. Their dad wasn’t sick.

She typed hastily, then sent off her message. No reason. Just checking. Have a good day. xoxo.

The phone jingled right away. You’re weird.

Entangled in inner turmoil, Isobel had no memory of the rest of her work day or the drive home. When she entered the house through the back door near dinnertime, silence greeted her. She hitched her purse on a hook by the door and moved through the kitchen. Soft voices pulled down the hallway to Maisie’s bedroom door.

“I don’t want you to go.” Maisie’s plaintive plea pinched Isobel’s heart. “I want you to live here again. Will you?”

“No, kiddo, I don’t think I will.” Emotion thickened Shea’s gravelly voice.

“Because Mama doesn’t love you anymore?”

In the beat of silence that followed, Isobel’s heart shattered and crumbled to dust.

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Shea hedged.

“I can come live with you,” Maisie said, her little girl voice taking on a determined edge.

“You don’t have to do that, a stór.”

Isobel peeked around the doorjamb.

On the bedroom floor, Maisie sat in Shea’s lap and frowned down at the doll in her hands, the long sweep of her eyelashes dropping shadows on her chubby cheeks.

She laid her head back against his chest. “Well, if she stops loving me, too, then I will.”

The wall holding back Isobel’s tears dissolved.

“Ah, kiddo, your mom will never stop loving you.” Shea’s hand smoothed over her dark hair. “That’s not how love works. Your mom and I will always love each other, even if we’re not living in the same house. I don’t live with your uncles and I love each and every one of them.”

“Me, too.”

“They’re pretty lovable guys, aren’t they?”

“Yep.” Maisie’s small fingers worked a dress over the doll’s head.

“And there’s nothing in this world that could ever happen or that you could ever do to make any of us stop loving you. Not your uncles. Not your mom or your brothers.” Reaching around her, Shea tugged the fabric down to cover the plastic toy’s nakedness. “And definitely not me. I’m your dad. It’s a fact that I will always love you more than anyone else in the whole wide world could ever love you. That’s what it means to be a dad.”

“Oh.” Maisie craned her neck back to look up at her dad. “I’m hungry.”

Shea chuckled. “Well if you’re hungry, we should eat.”

As Maisie bounded from Shea’s lap, Isobel ducked into her bedroom and closed the door silently behind her. She pressed her back against the solid wood just as a sob escaped. She clamped her hand over her mouth.

Her fractured heart wept with the love pouring through her. Love for her children, and love Shea. So much love. She loved him for his stubborn pride and maddening overprotectiveness. She loved him for erasing any and all doubt in their daughter’s mind about his love for her.

Shea loved him, and yet…

Dammit, Noah was right after all. She’d done to Shea exactly what her dad had done to her. Her dad, who hadn’t spoken to her in eighteen years, hadn’t rejected her. Not exactly. Rather, he’d tried to block the pain, even if that meant blocking out the love as well. Which is exactly what Isobel had been doing these last two years and more.

With every fresh heartbreak she’d experienced, she had closed off her heart a little more, thwarting the flow of love in and out in a desperate attempt to protect herself against all of it, the joys and the heartaches. Somewhere along the way, she’d decided the love wasn’t worth the risk of loss and despair. Of disappointment and rejection.

So she’d locked herself inside a box, one with sharp corners and neatly delineated lines. Then she’d waited for Shea to show up with the key and rescue her. But Shea didn’t have the key. Hell, he couldn’t even see her stupid invisible box.

Trapped and alone, she’d forgotten that even the darkest moments had allowed her to love more. Through abandonment and divorce, she’d gained more than she’d lost. Even now, when all seemed lost, she had family that loved her. A husband that fought for her even until the very end.

She’d been a coward for so long, could she muster the courage to change? She could she open her heart to husband? Where did she even begin to make right all the wrongs she’d committed?

We’ll do it together. With our love.

Love is always the answer.

She’d do it little by little, every single day, until they’d forgotten when it was ever otherwise between them.

She pulled her cell phone from her back pocket and sank to the bedroom floor. Hands shaking, she punched the digits on the keypad. Each tap on the phone’s screen hurtled a shrill beeping sound into the quiet room.

She pressed the phone to ear and listened to it ring once, twice, before his gruff voice crackled over the connection.

“Hey, Dad. It’s me.”