to say, why don’t we?”
He set his jaw.
“Kip… Please promise me, honey. Not a word.”
Just then, Isabel’s sweet voice called from the foyer. “Mom? Dad? Anybody home?”
“We’re on the porch, dear!” Trudy called. She brought her finger to her lips in a silencing motion, and Kip harrumphed.
A few seconds later, Isabel pressed through the kitchen’s screen door. “I have great news,” she said, her face full of sunshine. “My work’s been accepted at the opening!”
Trudy squealed and stood to hug her. “That’s wonderful, baby!”
Kip stood, offering a congratulatory hug as well. “Is this the art show you were after? The big one at the Smith Center?”
“The biggest one in town,” Isabel said with a proud grin. “What’s more, I get to curate the show!”
“What’s that mean?” Kip asked Trudy in a whisper.
“She gets to put it together,” Trudy answered back.
“That sounds very impressive,” Kip said, his chest welling with pride. “We’re so proud of you, sweetheart. When is the special day?”
“Next Friday,” she said with a smile. “And it’s going to be a really fancy affair. Cocktail dresses and wine. A caterer and everything.”
Trudy oohed and ahhed, apparently liking the sound of this.
“Of course, you’re both invited.”
“Will Robert be there?” Kip asked.
“Of course he will,” Trudy said, like that was the silliest question.
Isabel’s dainty face drooped in a frown. “Actually,” she said, “he won’t.”
“Why not?” Kip pressed.
“Oh, that’s right,” Trudy butted in. “Friday’s his night at the lab.”
“It’s not that.” She met her parents’ expectant faces. “He’s going out of town.”
“Out of town?” Kip’s deep tenor rose a decibel, and Trudy laid a hand on his forearm.
“It seems he has some kind of business in New York.”
Kip opened his mouth to speak, and Trudy tightened the grip of her fingers. Kip winced and zipped his lip. Totally against his better judgment, but to avoid fireworks with his wife later.
“We’re very sorry about that, dear,” Trudy said. “We know you must be disappointed.”
“Yeah,” Isabel answered. “I am. But I guess the timing couldn’t be helped.”
Robert walked Isabel home after they’d shared a late lunch. It was Thursday afternoon, and he’d be leaving for the airport soon. “I’m really sorry about missing your opening. If there was any way in the world to change the timing of my trip, I would.”
“But you can’t.”
“I’ve waited for this day forever. But, in all honesty, I didn’t get to pick it.”
“I wish you could tell me where you’re going.”
“New York.”
“I meant, why.”
As they approached her building, Robert stopped, taking her in his arms. “I hope you believe me when I say the why has a whole lot to do with you.”
“I want to believe,” she said, looking up at him.
“Then do.” He kissed her softly. “I’ve been through some stuff, Isabel. But my whole world is about to change, and when it does, I want you in it.”
“Then why won’t you tell me?”
“Because, Izzy.” He reached forward and thumbed her nose. “I don’t want to jinx it. Don’t want to take any chance of things going wrong. But when I turn them around, and everything’s right, you’ll be the first one to know. I can promise you that.”
“When are you coming home?”
“Just as soon as I can,” he said, pulling her close.
Chapter Seven
Isabel was nervous but excited. Her big night had at long last arrived. She’d managed to orchestrate this show highlighting an array of graduate students’ work, while speaking to a unified theme about preserving nature in the environment. The installations here were awe-inspiring and innovative, and Isabel was pleased she’d played a part in pulling the disparate—yet interesting—displays together. She hadn’t had much time to survey students in the department and canvass entries relating to her chosen topic. But it had all come together for her somehow. And the flash of inspiration had left her breathless at its outcome.
“Fabulous work,” her favorite instructor told her. “Inspiring.”
Isabel beamed from ear to ear as appreciative arts patrons flooded the main gallery. “Thanks for giving me this chance.”
“There’s no one who deserves it more than you,” Elizabeth said. “You have promise, Isabel, and a keen eye. Not just as an artist but as a curator too.”
Isabel hoped that was true. While she wanted to pursue her own art, she also understood she’d need to put bread on the table. Curatorial practices was not a bad field, and one to which she was establishing entrees from the likes of Elizabeth and several of her contacts, to whom Elizabeth had been kind enough to introduce her.
“Oh look!” she