Chapter 32 Beautiful Hearts
Might not be my lucky day, but Destiny’s friends think it’s theirs. Mom hires them to help in the shop while I lay low, and Lex says he’ll make sure to record snippets of them working for me. As bad as things are because of Darius, I like to imagine the group of teens goofing around, feeling important, and being able to fill their pockets. My only other distraction from the situation has been spending time on the phone with Bridget, who’s happy I’ll be seeing her doctor in a couple of months, and refuses to talk about whether she’ll call her sister. She does tell me random bits of drama going on at the hotel. I miss her, but don’t miss working there.
When Bernie and Issac walk through my door, there are no pleasantries, they’re straight to business. The Year of the Lotus is in two days and I hate that my problems are cutting into Issac’s time to get ready for it, even though he says everything is set. Last night, I called him back and he told me Bernie booked flights as soon as they saw the Instagram post. We kept the conversation brief. And now Bernie’s explaining how even without there being any other “evidence” Darius might try to release, the story has caught media attention and damage control needs to be done to ensure Issac’s reputation remains intact before the art exhibition.
“No one should know Issac’s here right now. I’ll take care of it alone,” Bernie says, and I can tell the way Issac’s gripping my kitchen island, knuckles turning bone-colored, that he’s not happy about having to hide instead of dealing with Darius himself.
My head is pounding, and I try to recall if I had my dose of lisinopril this morning. “What’s taking care of it mean, exactly?”
“I might have to pay the asshole,” Bernie says with a shrug, like this kind of thing happens often.
I watch Issac’s jaw clench and wonder if he wants to murder Darius instead. But then he looks me in the face for the first time since he’s arrived, and says, “What do you want to do about this, Laniah?”
For some reason, his use of my full name in this moment where I’m wondering what’s on his mind makes me falter for a few seconds. But Bernie explained earlier that filing charges at the police department would be slow justice and this is the quickest way to immobilize the situation before it gets out of control. I’m not even mad that he’s meeting up with Darius alone. I never want to see the man again and will happily pretend he doesn’t even exist after all of this. I turn to Bernie and say, “Just make it go away.”
“Alright.” Bernie shifts on his feet, looking from Issac to me uncomfortably. “I must ask again before I go. Are you positive there’s nothing more than sexy conversations between you and Darius? Anything else I should know about that I can make sure to get rid of?”
My stomach twists when I catch Issac’s eyes. He wasn’t comforting on the phone last night and the way he’s staring makes me wonder if I did something wrong. I clear my throat and focus on Bernie’s gaze instead. “We didn’t even have any sexy conversations. Not really. He’d say things, but I’d mostly play it cool, laugh, ignore him. That kind of thing…until the picture.”
Bernie nods and slides his hand over the tabletop. “That’s a good thing. Listen, I’m sorry this is happening to you, but I’ll do my best to make sure your name is cleared regarding cheating too. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He points at Issac. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Issac huffs out a breath. “As you wish, boss.”
I feel the sharpness of Issac’s sarcasm in my bones. Bernie groans and looks like he wants to pull out the little remaining hairs he has left on his head. After Bernie leaves, the room is full of Issac’s big feelings.
And he’s back to not looking at me, but he does ask, “Are you good?”
“Are you?”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Stop saying that.”
“It’s all I have right now.” Issac sounds as tired as I feel.
My chest tightens. What if his reputation is already being ruined? What if the people running the exhibit are worried that they let him be a big part of it? Was pretending to be with me a mistake? Will he become a bigger tabloid magnet if Darius doesn’t bite and Bernie can’t make this go away? The thoughts prick at my skin, seep down into my bones. I want Issac to tell me he’s not embarrassed of me. That he’s not worried about this being bad for his career. I want him to hug me like he did the first time Darius posted something.
But instead, he grabs my keys off the counter. “Do you think you can bring me somewhere?”
“Bernie just told us not to leave.”
“Bernie isn’t my boss,” he says.
“Where do you want to go?”
He sighs like he’s annoyed with the question. “I just have to drop something to Alice and Howard.”
“As in…the foster parents you’ve hardly spoken to in years?” He would see the confusion on my face if he bothered looking at it. “What do they want?”
“Will you take me or should I call an Uber?”
I walk over and snatch the keys from him. “Hurry up.”
The silence during the ride is suffocating, so when I pull the car around the corner and park in front of a cute house with a stone step walkway, I’m relieved. But only for a moment. As soon as Issac moves to get out of the car, I reach to touch his shoulder. He might not want affection right now, but I need to give it to him. This house is nothing like the house Issac lived in when we were children. There’s a ceramic bird bath at the side and red shutters and a large flower wreath on the door. A lump forms in my throat, bitterness building there wondering how many kids this couple has fostered just for the paychecks, if the money paid for their new house. Issac never speaks ill of them; always says he doesn’t know where he’d be if they hadn’t kept him all those years. He was already twelve when they took him in and at risk of being stuck at a facility because older children have less of a chance for adoption. I’m happy Issac had a house to live in, but it still breaks my heart thinking about the way they neglected his heart. They didn’t have to be physically abusive, pretending Issac didn’t exist was enough. They didn’t care about his good grades, his art, or even his hygiene. They’d sit in front of the television while Issac and the other foster kids had to fend for themselves. Mom felt bad for all the kids, I think. But she took special notice of Issac, the brown boy who’s been wearing the same shirt four days in a row, and started demanding he bring his dirty clothes over so she could wash them at the laundromat. My dad’s the one who bought him his first phone. When he started making YouTube videos and tried to show his foster parents, they brushed him off and called what he was trying to do silly while my parents were proud. Issac never felt love from Alice or Howard, and now the silly thing he was doing makes him the money they surely asked him for.
“You don’t owe them anything,” I tell him. “They seem to be doing just fine, anyway.”
Issac breathes out, then puts a hand over mine. The touch makes me sigh. His long lashes press into his cheeks, and he finally meets my eyes.
“Good and bad, they helped make me who I am,” he says.
“But they could’ve loved you better,” I insist. “They should’ve.”
A few seconds pass before he smiles just a little. “I didn’t need them for that. I had you and Dennis and Vanessa to love me.”
When he leaves, his words stay with me, and that thing stirs in my belly as he knocks on their door. I feel a pull to be at his side, holding his hand, but watch from the car as his foster parents come outside. Alice, a bit shorter now, Howard with a gray beard, don’t hesitate to hug him. I wasn’t expecting to ever see him in their arms, and the protectiveness in me rises to the surface. I wonder how Issac’s heart feels hugging them. He doesn’t go inside the house, but he smiles and nods and makes conversation. Then he takes an envelope from his pocket and hands it to Alice, who covers her face with her other hand and cries.
I wipe the tears from my own face as Issac gives her one last hug, then waves his goodbye. And I remember all the times I thought he deserved better, and realize that it never turned his heart ugly.