Brant's Return

“Then I’d say you better go fix it before another minute passes.”

I breathed out a laugh. “I agree. I just don’t know where to go. May said she went to visit her parents but doesn’t have their information.”

My dad frowned. “Hand me the folder with her name on it in the second drawer on the left,” he said, pointing at his desk.

I retrieved the folder and brought it to him and he rifled through it, shaking his head. “This is her original job application, but she didn’t put any information in here about her parents. Paige and Aaron Singleton are listed as her emergency contact.” He handed me the piece of paper.

“Damn.” I frowned. “Okay, I’ll go call them.” I paused. “Thanks, Dad.”

He nodded, closing his eyes, obviously worn out—physically and probably emotionally too. But I smiled as I patted him on the shoulder and turned to leave. I still had a lot to work through regarding my mother and my turbulent feelings about who she’d been and what she’d done, but it felt like a weight had lifted from my soul.

I shut my dad’s door and turned toward the stairs then hesitated. Maybe there was something in Isabelle’s room that would give me the information I needed. An address book? Something? I opened her room door, the very faint scent of her making my heart speed up with longing. Isabelle. Vanilla and honey.

Home.

I opened the desk drawers but they were as empty as the first time I’d looked in there. Her dresser drawers were full of the clothes she’d unpacked. I picked up a nightgown and brought it to my nose, inhaling, groaning.

Isabelle. Please don’t give up on me yet.

The only other piece of furniture where she might have tossed an address book was the nightstand. I opened the small drawer and peered inside, everything in

side me stilling and then immediately quickening.

With shaking fingers, I picked up the plastic baggy, staring at the one word clearly seen in the tiny window on the enclosed test stick.

Pregnant.

Isabelle was pregnant . . . and she hadn’t called to tell me.

I sat down heavily on the bed.

God, why would she call me? And why would she ever consider giving me a second chance?

**********

I paced the office, my cell phone clutched in my hand as Paige and Aaron’s voicemail picked up again, the number that had been listed on Isabelle’s employment form. “Hi, this is us. We’re not home right now, but leave a message and we’ll get back to you.” Apparently Aaron hadn’t changed the outgoing message to reflect his newly single status. Apparently Aaron didn’t know that few people had home phones anymore.

I started to leave a third message when the line was picked up, I heard a man’s voice saying, “Hold on,” and then the machine was clicked off. “Hello?”

“Aaron? This is Brant Talbot. I’ve left a few messages.”

“Sorry, I just got home. What’s happened? Is Isabelle okay?” He sounded genuinely concerned.

“Yeah. She’s fine. But she went to her parents’ house, and I’m planning on surprising her but don’t have their address. I was hoping you might.”

He paused for a moment. “I don’t, but it’s possible Paige does. I’ll call her. She won’t be happy to hear from me, but I’ll do it for Isabelle.”

“If you give me the number where she’s staying, I can call her.” I paused. “Listen, Isabelle told me things got . . . physical between you two, and it’s probably better—”

“Physical?” He let out a short burst of laughter. “What the hell did Paige say I did to her?”

I frowned, uncomfortable. I only wanted the damn address where Isabelle was, and I didn’t want to be responsible for having a man who’d beat his wife contact her when she was just looking to be left alone. “I wasn’t there for the conversation. She told Isabelle you’d been angry, gotten violent with her.”

He swore under his breath. “Paige is a fucking pathological liar. She lies as easily as other people breathe. I didn’t know the full extent of it until recently. But let me assure you of this—I never laid a hand on my wife.”

Wait, what?

“Listen,” Aaron went on. “I’ll dig that address up for you myself. Give me your cell number and I’ll text it to you. And please tell Isabelle to call me when she returns.” I gave him my number, he repeated it back, and after a terse goodbye, the call was disconnected.