The Icing on the Cake (29 page)

I spent the rest of the day frenziedly making calls, getting interviews, and writing an article that came together like nothing I had ever written before.

You see, I had realized something while talking to Jacqueline and Amber. I had realized that during all my trips to La Bonne Violette, I thought I was getting nowhere on my article, but actually I had been discovering an incredible article-worthy story: the story of the people who were part of the restaurant.

So I took a risk. Using my Pink Notes as a jumping off point, I switched the angle of my article from the glitz and glamour of La Bonne Violette to the beauty behind all of that. The beauty in the people who worked there: Ethan and his story of perseverance, Jacqueline and Amber and their examples of family and love, even Jean-Pierre, who opened the doors of his restaurant for a piano recital where students like Angel uplifted others with their music and bright spirits.

Sure, I still included all of the important bits about the restaurant and Jean-Pierre, but to those bits I added something I felt was truly meaningful, something I thought could inspire the reader.

Before I knew it, I was sitting on my couch at home, smiling as I clicked Save on my laptop and watched as the little green light on the USB drive indicated that my article was being stored safely. Everything was finally going just right.

Well, except for one little thing.

Since I had decided to change the angle of the article, and the new angle was going to be a lot different than what I had previously discussed with the photographer, I needed to call the photographer and let him know. And, as I’m sure you remember, the photographer assigned to my article was none other than Isaac Matthews. Isaac Matthews who I hadn’t seen or spoken to since the day he told me it was over.

As I thought about the prospect of calling Isaac, a whole mess of emotions swirled around inside of me. I had successfully—well, almost successfully—buried the feelings inside of me as I immersed myself in my writing. But now they were all back: hurt, longing, anger, and yes, love.

Still, although I was feeling all of those things, I had to put them aside and do my job. I had to call Isaac and let him know I had changed the article. So, I would just act as if he were any other photographer. Yes, that’s what I would do.

With shaking hands, I picked up my cell phone before I could talk myself out of calling. I pushed the number three button, which was still programmed to speed dial Isaac’s number.

Isaac picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Uh, hi,” I said in a weird voice.

“Annabelle?” Isaac said, and I thought I sensed something in his voice. It sounded almost like gentleness.

“Yes. It’s Annabelle. I’m calling about the article. I just want to let you know that I have changed the angle of focus a bit. I’ll email you a copy of the article so you can see the changes. Well, see ya.” I moved to hang up the phone.

“My email has been down all day,” Isaac said quickly.

“Okay. Do you have a fax machine?”

“No.”

“All right then, I guess I’ll drop it off at your house.” I tried to sound professional, but inside I ached as I thought about the last time I had been at Isaac’s house.

“How about I come to you?” Isaac suggested. I wondered why he didn’t want me at his house. He probably took a whole bunch of photos of Rona Bircheck and had them all over the walls or something. Big, glossy photos in heart-shaped frames.

“That will be fine,” I replied, still trying desperately to sound professional.

“I’ll be there in about half an hour.”

We hung up and I started to feel anxious at the prospect of Isaac coming over. How was it going to be to have him at my home again after what had happened? Would we talk about it? Or would we just continue to act as if nothing had ever happened between us, good or bad?

I didn’t have much time to dwell on the thoughts though, since my apartment was in shambles. I hadn’t had time to clean it up all week, and it showed. My New Kids on the Block t-shirt and sweats were in a not-too-pleasant-smelling heap on the couch. Half-eaten bowls of chicken soup sat unwashed in my sink and in various places around the living room.

Then there was a box I had marked “Burn” when at one point my sadness had turned to fury and I had filled the box with everything that reminded me of Isaac. Not like I would ever burn it. But making the box had been, I don’t know, cathartic or something.

I wasn’t sure if Isaac would even come inside, but if he did, I needed to make the place presentable. So I began printing a copy of the article and quickly started tidying up.

I had just finished stashing the Burn box into the hall closet when my cell rang. I checked the caller ID, and it was Mom.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, hon, how are you doing?”

“Actually I’m feeling pretty good today,” I replied. “Thanks for all you’ve done for me lately.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Mom said caringly. “Do you need more chicken soup?”

I smiled. “No, I still have a little left.”

“Dad and I were wondering if you were up to coming over and playing a few games for family home evening. Unless you’re going to the singles ward FHE.”

Yeah right, like I was going to set foot at a singles ward activity.

“That sounds nice,” I replied. “But I’ll be about an hour. Isaac’s coming over.”

“For what?” Mom asked tentatively.

“Work stuff.”

“Oh,” Mom said. It was obvious she wanted to ask more, but she didn’t. It was like somehow she knew that I didn’t want to talk about it.

“Yeah, and this place is a mess, so I better go, Mom.”

We said our good-byes and I set the phone on the coffee table. I quickly went to wash the dishes in the sink and heard the phone ring again.

With wet hands I picked up the phone, after checking the caller ID. “Carrie, can I call you back?” I asked without a greeting. “Isaac’s coming over, and I need to straighten up.”

“Did you two—” Carrie began to ask hopefully.

“No,” I cut her off quickly. “But he’s still the photographer for my article. So I’m giving him a copy of my article because it changed a lot since the last time we talked about it.”

“Well, call me later,” Carrie instructed.

“Okay. You know, we should go to Shrimpy’s on Saturday.” Shrimpy’s is this great seafood restaurant that Carrie and I go to sometimes. They have quite a few dishes that Carrie likes and the best lobster I’ve ever tasted.

“That would be great,” Carrie said.

Carrie and I quickly made tentative plans to go to Shrimpy’s, and the second I hung up with her, there was a knock at the door. I ran and looked through the peep hole. It was Isaac. I grabbed the printed article and went to open the door.

“Hi,” Isaac said. He looked uncomfortable, and I wondered if he too was thinking about the last time we had been on the steps outside the door.

He didn’t look too eager to come into my condo, and the place was still a disaster anyway, so I didn’t invite him inside. Instead, I stepped my bare feet outside and let the door close behind me.

“Hi,” I said. “Here’s the article.”

Isaac reached out for the paper. “Thanks.”

But just as Isaac’s hand clutched the document, a strong gust of Monterey Bay wind tore it away from him, sending it flying to the ground. We both dove for the paper, and in the struggle to capture the flying article, we brushed shoulders. I felt a shiver at the physical contact. A slight flicker in Isaac’s eye made me wonder if he had felt something too.

Isaac finally got hold of the paper and gripped it tightly. He looked at me like he was about to say something, but he remained silent.

“Well, I’ll see ya,” I said briskly, afraid that if he stayed a minute longer I would not be able to stop myself from crying out, “I love you Isaac, please let’s work this out,” which would be pointless, because it was over. Isaac had told me so, and he had meant it.

Isaac waved weakly and started to walk away.

I turned to walk into my condo, and discovered something not too great: the door was locked. I jiggled the knob, sure that I hadn’t locked the door.

Just then, a vague, fuzzy recollection of Mom saying something about how she had adjusted the lock on the door so it would lock whenever the door closed, as a matter of safety, came to my mind. I hadn’t been listening to her when she’d said it since I was sitting on the couch, dazedly staring down at Donnie’s head on my New Kids on the Block shirt.

So now I was locked outside with no shoes on my feet and no spare key hidden in a clever little spot. I mean, I’ve always been afraid to hide a spare key outside. With my luck I would hide my key in the exact spot that a serial killer hides his.

I glanced to the left and saw Isaac walking down the walk. I began wiggling the knob and banging on the door as if someone were inside and would come and open it for me. Then, desperate, I threw my body against the door. Hey, I’d seen it work in cop movies. Unfortunately, though, it didn’t quite work out for me.

Isaac halted on the walkway. “Having problems?” he asked.

“Nope, everything’s fine here,” I replied with a too-bright smile. I rubbed my shoulder.

Isaac resumed walking. “All right.”

“Wait!” I hollered. “Do you maybe have a credit card or something I can use to try and open it?” Again, this idea was inspired by cop movies.

Isaac approached me, reached into his wallet, and handed me a gym membership card. I took the card and began trying to jimmy the door open. Isaac stood at the bottom of the steps, watching me try to break into my own home.

Amazingly, I got the door open in just a few minutes. “I got it!” I exclaimed when the door came open. And then I made a mental note to tell my landlord that I deserved a discount in rent since my condo was obviously terribly insecure.

“Thanks for letting me use this,” I said. I went down the steps to return his gym card. I felt a pang inside as I took a quick glance at him, all gorgeous-looking and no longer mine.

I moved to hand the card to Isaac and realized that I had pretty much destroyed the thing. “Uh, sorry,” I said. “I’ll pay for a replacement card.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Isaac replied.

“Oh, okay, bye.” I turned to head back up the steps into my condo.

“Why did you do it?” Isaac asked seriously.

I turned to face Isaac. “It’s not like I did it on purpose. It’s just kind of hard to get the card in the right spot, and . . .”

“No, I’m not talking about the card,” Isaac said, looking into my eyes. “You could have told me you’re seeing Patrique. You should have told me.”

“I’m not seeing Patrique!” I practically yelled. “Nothing is, was, or ever could be, going on with me and that slime!”

“Then why didn’t you want me to know he was here?”

I let out a long breath. “I was afraid. Afraid of what you would read into him being here. I didn’t want to ruin our evening.”

Isaac laughed humorlessly. “You didn’t want to ruin our evening, so you lied to me?”

“Stop saying that! I didn’t lie. I just knew this was going to happen. I knew you would think something was going on, and I wanted to avoid all of this craziness. So I panicked. People panic. But they should be forgiven for doing it and shouldn’t be called liars.”

“I really want to believe you,” Isaac said, his voice suddenly soft.

“You can, Isaac,” I said just as softly. “You know me.”

“But it’s all just kind of hard to believe,” Isaac said. “It really looked like something was going on.”

“Well, if we’re going on appearances, then something was going on between you and Rona Bircheck,” I said under my breath. I was sure there was no way Isaac heard it.

Wrong.

“Rona Bircheck?” Isaac snorted.

“Yes, Isaac,” I said loudly. “Rona Bircheck. I mean, let’s see, where do I begin? ‘Come to dinner with me, Isaac,’ ‘Come to a surprise place with me, Isaac,’” I imitated Rona unflatteringly. Then, to put in one last punch, I added, “‘Let me touch your arm, Isaac.’” I put my hand on Isaac’s arm and felt a shiver at the touch. I moved my hand away quickly. Then I imitated Isaac, “‘Okay, Rona, whatever you say.’”

“This is ridiculous,” Isaac said.

But I was on a roll. “And then, the day you end things with me, ‘poof’ Rona appears at your house. What an interesting coincidence.”

“She was returning something I left in her car,” Isaac said.

“Oh, something you left in her car, huh? That doesn’t sound good, Isaac. How do I know what was going on in her car? How can I believe you when you say it was all innocent? How do I know you’re not ly-ing?” I sounded like I was about five years old.

“Because it’s true—whether you believe it or not.”

“Hmm, sounds familiar,” I said snottily.

Isaac frowned. “It’s different.”

“Sounds the same to me.”

“It’s not the same, because Rona knew about our relationship, and more importantly, she respected it.”

Rona Bircheck? Respected our relationship? That’s a good one. Right up there with the one about the chicken crossing the road
.

“There’s a lot about Rona that you obviously don’t know,” I blurted, and soon as the words escaped my lips, I regretted them.

“So now you’re talking bad about your friend?” Isaac asked, surprised.

“Forget it,” I snapped.

“Fine by me,” Isaac snapped back. “I don’t even know why I bothered trying to talk to you. I’ll see you around.”

“Fine, see you around.”

Isaac walked away angrily and I stood in place just as angrily, but deep down inside of me there was a tiny bit of relief. After all, “I’ll see you around” was much better than “Good-bye.”

I
nervously played with the cherry red USB drive in my hand as I waited for George to return to his office. Gidget had let me inside after informing me that George had stepped out for a moment and would be back shortly.