Family Of His Own

That was the year her father had dropped dead at the age of thirty-six from a heart attack. The doctors told her mother that he’d had an undetected congenital heart condition. Isabelle had helped her mother dress the younger kids for the funeral. She remembered half the town showing up at their little house off Main Street where there was barely enough room for all of them, let alone guests. Her mother’s friends brought food enough to feed them for weeks.

Within a week, Connie had applied for a position as a receptionist at an architect’s firm. A few months later she bought a used drafting table to tinker with blueprints in the evenings. A few months after that she signed up for night classes at Purdue University. By the time Isabelle was thirteen, Connie’s talent and training had landed her a job as an apprentice architect. Nineteen years after the sudden death of her husband, Connie was now a partner in the firm and had helped finance portions of each of her children’s postsecondary education.

Yet this had come at a cost. Isabelle had become the housekeeper, the nanny, the errand girl, the stand-in parent and all-around Cinderella to her younger siblings. Though Connie often expressed her gratitude for all that Isabelle had done during those years, she’d also told Isabelle that she’d provided her with invaluable preparation for adult life.

Isabelle wished she’d been a little less ready for adulthood, with more happy memories under her belt. Instead, she had spent her teen years worried about her mother working so many hours. Overwhelming herself with extra design classes instead of enjoying summer picnics at the beach. If Isabelle had missed out on a great deal of fun, Connie had had even less.

Isabelle pulled the red tablecloth out of the dryer and brought it up to the dining room. Earlier, she’d clipped an armload of fir, spruce, cedar and pine branches outside. Once she’d spread out the tablecloth, she arranged the pines in the center along with silver and gold beads, red votive candles and shiny red balls. She scattered a bag of cranberries along the length of the table then made the place settings.

From the den, she could hear her brothers shouting as their football team executed another touchdown. They clinked their beer bottles together and high-fived each other.

“It’s beautiful, Isabelle,” Connie said as she hauled a precooked glazed honey ham out of the stainless steel convection oven. It only needed to be warmed. Ironically, when Connie designed this house five years ago, after finding a secluded three acres surrounded by forest and fruit trees, she’d installed a massive, high-tech, cook’s dream of a kitchen.

The house was one story, with red barn siding. Isabelle loved the glass walls that surrounded this section of the house, which contained the kitchen, living and dining areas; the vaulted wood ceilings and three-sixty-degree view made her feel like they were living outside. The only paintings were Isabelle’s water nymphs: one above the fireplace on the south wall and one above the built-in redwood buffet on the north wall.

Connie knew her craft well.

“Thanks.” Her gaze veered to the den. “You’d think just once somebody could help me. Volunteer at least.”

“C’mon, let them be,” Violet said, opening a can of jellied cranberry sauce. Violet was twenty-three and would be graduating in June from the University Police Academy in Bloomington. “They never get to all be together anymore. Football is a male bonding thing.”

“I like football as much as anyone. What if I wanted to watch the game and not help with the food, set the table, do the laundry...”

“Oh, Isabelle.” Sadie walked into the kitchen. She was wearing a University of Notre Dame sweatshirt, her dark hair in a ponytail. Sadie went straight to the stuffing that Violet was making and pinched a taste. “Yum.”

Isabelle poured heavy cream into a bowl and turned on the mixer. “And where have you been all day? You could have been helping, as well.”

Sadie’s green eyes matched Isabelle’s spark and brilliance. Isabelle always had a hard time staying mad at Sadie.

“I was with a client,” she replied haughtily.

“What, how? You only just started law school,” Isabelle countered.

Sadie tilted her chin defiantly. “I have an internship already. A prestigious Chicago firm. Actually, the job doesn’t start until next semester, but I’ll be working on real cases.”

Isabelle looked at her mother. “Seriously?”

“Dylan arranged it. Apparently, he has a lot of connections. He’s so proud of Sadie getting into Notre Dame,” Connie gushed. She put her arm around Sadie’s shoulders and scrunched her to her chest. “We all are.”

“This is great news!” Isabelle was thrilled for her younger sister. There was no question. Sadie was smart and quick and honest. She would do well as a lawyer. She threw her arms around Sadie and gave her long hug. “They must have you on a very fast track.”

“I put me on a fast track. That’s why I asked Dylan to help. If all goes well, I can test out of more classes and finish up law school sooner than the three years I’d planned.”

Then Sadie leaned over and whispered, “I’ll save Mom a bundle. Then I’ll pay her back for everything.” She winked.

“Sadie, you are the best,” Isabelle said. Though her mother’s job paid well and Connie had garnered a stellar reputation throughout the Midwest for her design and structures, paying tuition for her children had strained her bank account. Her brothers had already paid Connie back, and Isabelle had never borrowed from her, even when she’d taken art courses at universities across the region. Still, Isabelle was in awe of her mother’s generosity, the way she always just “made it work.”

And as much as Isabelle admonished her siblings for not helping with chores, she wanted the best for them. She wanted them to succeed. Though she sometimes wished her childhood had been different, she also believed she was doing what her father would have wanted her to do for her younger brothers and sisters. And once they were all fully fledged, which wouldn’t be long now, she could finally focus on herself.

“So,” Violet said, scooping the stuffing into a pretty aqua serving dish. “Is Scott coming to dinner?”

Isabelle looked at her watch. “Yes, he said he’d bring ice. Nearly an hour ago...”

“Uh, oh,” Sadie teased. “You better watch it, Isabelle. Maybe he got a better offer.” She laughed and stole a Christmas cookie out of the white bakery box.

Isabelle sucked in a breath. Scott with another woman? Impossible. Wasn’t it? “No, he was at the shooting range with Trent and Luke.”

“Wow.” Violet was now placing parsley sprigs around the turkey.

“‘Wow’ what?”

“Trent Davis? He’s the talk of the academy right now. Before break, half the people in my class asked me to get a selfie with him. He’s a legend,” Violet said, respect and awe thrumming through her voice. “Hey, maybe Scott could introduce me. I’d love to talk to him. Pick his brain. Absorb.”

“I’ll ask Scott, if you want me to,” Isabelle offered.

“Absolutely!” Violet’s eyes filled with anticipation.

The sound of tires crunching against cold gravel and the slam of a car door signaled Scott’s arrival.

“That’s him!” Violet squealed and raced past Isabelle. “I’ll ask him myself.”

“Sure,” Isabelle said as the timer went off in the second oven. “The dinner rolls.”

Connie handed her a pair of oven mitts and then breezed past her. “Scott! How lovely to see you. And you brought the ice.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Isabelle saw her mother give Scott a big hug.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Hawks.” Scott handed her a gold foil-wrapped box.

Isabelle suspected they were chocolate turtles made by the confectioner who had just opened in town. They were the best Isabelle had ever tasted.

She took the rolls out of the oven and placed them on top of the stove. She waved at Scott as she took off the mitts.

Sadie shouted, “Isabelle! The whipped cream! You forgot. It’s probably butter by now.”

Isabelle reached over to the mixer and turned it off, took off the towel and inspected the firm peaks. “It’s fine. I’ll add the sugar.”

“Give it extra for me,” Sadie said, taking two casseroles to the table.

“Oh, Sadie.”

“Hey, Scott!” Dylan, Christopher and Ross got up from the game to greet him.

Isabelle moved the ham to the pineapple-shaped wood carving board. Dylan was less than a year younger than Isabelle, and when she was very young she’d liked telling kids at school they were twins. Now, Dylan was as immersed in his career as she was in her art. He never talked about his cases until they were over, but she knew his stance against the drug dealers that had infiltrated his district consumed him. He was passionate about delivering justice and keeping schools and streets safe.

Though Chris didn’t live far from town, it was amazing how little he got out to the country to see his mother. He spent even less time in Indian Lake. Honestly, if it weren’t for holidays and special occasions, Isabelle didn’t think she would see him at all.

Ross was the most private of the bunch, even though he lived here. Everything about him was top secret. He didn’t talk about work, and none of them knew if he had a girlfriend—or any friends, for that matter. Ross was observant, quiet and pensive. Isabelle often worried about him, though he assured her he was fine.