Finding Isadora

by Fox, Susan

  “What?”

  “Nothing. That’s between the two of you.”

  “Tell me.”

  I shrugged. “It’s no big news, I’m sure. Richard’s problem isn’t with the work you do, it’s with the fact that you… I mean, that he felt as if you put your causes ahead of him.”

  He didn’t turn to look at me but, in the light from a streetlight, I saw his jaw tighten. “Diane was always there to look after him.”

  “He wanted you, too,” I defended my fiancé. “You didn’t even show up when he graduated from law school.”

  Now he did turn toward me, his expression flat. “Of course he’d have told you that.”

  “Why didn’t you attend? What was more important?”

  A light flared in his eyes. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “A welfare mother was arrested for murdering her abusive boyfriend. It was an emergency.”

  “Did you tell Richard that? Did you apologize?”

  He shook his head impatiently. “Apologies and explanations don’t do any good.”

  I gaped at him. “That’s not true. They help a person understand, and feel less hurt. Like right now, when you explained it to me, that changed my perspective.”

  “I explained it to you,” he echoed, under his breath. And then, even more softly, so softly I wasn’t sure I heard correctly, “Why did I do that?”

  Why did he? As I stared out the window, wondering, I realized we were nearing my apartment. “Turn left here.”

  “I’m no good at apologies or explanations,” he said.

  “You could learn.”

  “Old dog.”

  “Don’t try that one on a vet. Dogs, like people, are never too old to learn.”

  Too late, I realized I’d probably lost any hope of making my future father-in-law like me. But to my astonishment he gave a low chuckle. “Score one for the vet. The lawyer must be tired tonight.”

  I opened my mouth then closed it again, and we rode in silence until I said, “It’s just up here. The lighted entrance on your right.”

  The street was lined with cars, so he double parked. “Nicer than your parents’.”

  Was he accusing me of being too materialistic? “It’s only a studio flat. It allows animals. And I can walk to work.”

  “It wasn’t a criticism.”

  “Oh. No, of course not. Sorry. And thanks for the ride. And for helping Jimmy Lee.” I reached for the door handle. “And I’m sorry for acting so … weird. I’m normally pretty, uh, normal.” Could I sound any more idiotic? “I guess I’m just worried about Jimmy Lee.”

  I opened the door and the roof light came on promptly this time. As I was about to get out, Gabriel’s voice stopped me. “Weird,” he said reflectively. “Yeah, I guess I’ve been acting kind of weird, too. Sorry.”

  When I turned toward him I caught one of those intense, unreadable expressions on his face. Then he shrugged and said, more briskly, “I hope you make it to court tomorrow. It’ll help Jimmy Lee’s chances.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  The intensity had gone and he looked tired. And drained, with lines of strain around his eyes. I had the crazy impulse to lift a hand and touch his cheek. Instead I cleared my throat and said, “Thanks, Gabriel.”

  “Welcome, Isadora.”

  Outside the car, the night air was fresh and bracing, but I felt flushed and muddled as I hurried into the building. Inside my apartment I locked the door and dropped my bag on the floor. Then I sank down beside it, leaning my back against the door, dealing automatically with Pogo’s exuberant welcome-home kisses.

  Boy, was I in deep trouble. There was no denying it now. My feelings weren’t one-night nervous chemistry, and familiarity only made them stronger. I was seriously—but seriously—attracted to Richard’s father. Attracted in a gut-level, irresistible way I’d never experienced before.

  And it made absolutely no sense. Even if Gabriel hadn’t been Richard’s father, the man was everything I didn’t want.

  Well, I had no particular argument with striking good looks, sexual magnetism, and a charismatic personality. But other than those trivial qualities, everything about him was wrong, in terms of my values and priorities in life. Whereas everything about Richard was right.

  I hugged Pogo, then hauled myself to my feet and took him out for a quick pit stop.

  Back inside, I converted my second-hand couch into a bed. My studio flat and garage sale furniture were part of my plan to attain financial security. My job paid well, and Richard was an upwardly mobile corporate lawyer, drawing an excellent salary already. Whereas Gabriel took cases pro bono, and even when he did charge his clients and they paid up, it would likely be in pitifully small payments over months and months. The same way the parents of Grace’s special needs kids paid her.

  Chances were, Richard and I would end up supporting not only my folks in their old age, but also his father. Though it was hard to conceive of Gabriel as a dependent old man. He was so dynamic, so smart and talented…

  Making up a bed was not the best activity to be engaged in when thinking of Gabriel DeLuca. I’d just bet he’d be talented in bed. And those were not images I should allow into my mind.

  I went into the bathroom and washed my face, then rubbed in some lotion.

  My plan called for a mate I could grow old with. That was another thing in Richard’s favor. Although he was mature, he was younger than I. I stood a decent chance of not being widowed. Gabriel was much older. If he and I… But of course Gabriel and I would never be a couple.

  My mind spun on, regardless, like a hamster on a wheel that can’t slow its momentum. There were the issues of marriage and fidelity. No doubt Gabriel, like my parents, viewed those notions as archaic and absurd. I’d just bet he believed in sex, though. He was so darned sexy, he had to believe in sex. Probably the more women the better. Definitely not fidelity. He’d be a free-love guy, like my parents. A man like that would drive me insane.

  And then there was my strong desire for children, a desire Richard shared. Whereas Gabriel had already raised—or, rather, opted out of raising—a child.

  I stared at my reflection. Messy hair, a face that was nothing special, foamy mouth with a toothbrush sticking out of it. Not exactly the stuff of a sexy man’s fantasies.

  My absurd attraction to Gabriel was almost certainly one-sided. Yes, I’d seen a disturbing spark in his eyes on more than one occasion, but the most it could possibly be was a temporary case of lust brought on by bare shoulders and unbra’ed breasts. A man like him must have dozens of women to choose from. Sexy, intelligent women. To him I was a kid. My lapses into childish behavior would have confirmed it. Plus, I wasn’t beautiful, not brilliant, nor exciting, nor particularly sexy. I was no more hot than Richard.

  Richard. My fiancé. The man I loved. I groaned and dragged myself off to bed. Why was I going through this stupid exercise of disqualifying Gabriel as if he was some sort of contender for my affection? Richard was the man I’d chosen to spend the rest of my life with.

  Gabriel was … a minor annoyance.

  No, he was a test. With any luck, Richard and I would be married for more than fifty years. In that time, each of us would certainly be attracted to other people. Gabriel was a heaven-sent opportunity for me to learn how to resist that attraction. Starting tomorrow, when I saw him in court.

  As I clicked off the light, I realized I’d spent the last half hour fussing about Gabriel DeLuca and hadn’t spared a thought for my poor dad, spending this night in jail and facing an uncertain future.

  Firmly I shook my head. No, Jimmy Lee would be released from jail, and the whole mess would get sorted out and the charges would be dropped. Gabriel would see to it.

  Chapter 5

  When I’d rushed off to Grace’s, I’d left my cell plugged into the charger, and when I got home I was so upset that I forgot to check for messages. When I remembered, early the next morning, I found Richard had called. Feeling g
uilty because my distraction had been more about his father than my own dad, I dialed his number. He, like me, was an early riser.

  After I explained Jimmy Lee’s plight, he said, “That sounds awful, Iz. You’re sure he didn’t…”

  “I’m positive he’s innocent.” I was annoyed he’d doubt my dad, but then he barely knew Jimmy Lee and didn’t understand his unusual code of morality.

  “Gabe’s a good choice. If anyone can help your dad, he’ll do it.”

  “Do you know anything about arson, Richard?”

  “Sorry. I only took basic criminal law courses and I don’t remember much. It wasn’t my thing.”

  Probably because it made up a large part of his father’s practice. I could well understand why Richard would want to avoid criminal law.

  I’d rather have avoided it, too, but my parents’ lifestyle made that impossible. “I have to swap shifts with one of the other vets today so I can go to court and support my dad.”

  “Good luck, Iz. Let me know how it goes.”

  I’d just hung up when the phone rang. “Have you seen the paper?” Grace asked.

  Why hadn’t I realized there’d be a story? “How bad is it?”

  “Listen to the headline. Activist Values Animals More Than Humans!”

  “That’s outrageous.”

  After agreeing to meet her in front of the Provincial Court building, I hurriedly called Richard again and told him about the newspaper story. He hated being caught unprepared. Then I phoned Liz Chen, one of my colleagues at the Pet-Vet Clinic, and arranged to swap shifts.

  “Your poor dad,” she said on hearing the short version of the story. She’d met Jimmy Lee and, like most women, had immediately adored him. Though my dad’s charisma was a different kind than Gabriel’s, he had just as much of it. “How can the police think he’d do something like that?” she demanded indignantly. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed that everything goes well this morning.”

  I turned on my computer and found the article. My father’s face stared at me. All over town, people were looking at this face—online or in print newspapers. It was a police booking shot, but a benign one. He looked reflective, almost academic, with his glasses, bald head, and beard. The paper had paired his photo with one of Cassie McKenzie, the woman who’d been injured so seriously in the fire. She was a youngish brunette with a thin face and anxious eyes. The third photo was of the smoking ruins of the Cosmystiques building. I scanned the article but found nothing Gabriel hadn’t already told Grace and me.

  I took an impatient Pogo out, then hurried to get ready for court. Wearing my one suit and a pair of loafers that looked nice and were also comfortable, I walked the mile and a half to the courthouse at 222 Main Street.

  Grace was waiting outside, also wearing the one conservative suit she owned, her hair neatly pulled back in a knot. We fell into each other’s arms. When we pulled apart, she raised a folded newspaper and said grimly, “This does not look good.”

  “People who know him won’t believe it.” Like Liz Chen. And unlike Richard, who hadn’t been so confident of my father’s innocence.

  As we started into the building, Grace said, “I phoned Jimmy Lee’s office to let them know what’s happening. His boss is pissed off.”

  “He doesn’t think—”

  “No, he doesn’t think he’s guilty, but he says none of this would have happened if Jimmy Lee stuck to doing his job and forgot about the protests.”

  “Always nice to have your boss stick up for you,” I said sarcastically.

  “Yeah. I told him with any luck your father will be back on the job this afternoon.” She tossed her head. “He started to say that maybe Jimmy Lee ought to take an unpaid leave of absence, but I pointed out a few basic principles of law, like innocent until proven guilty, and he recanted.”

  “Good for you.”

  We checked the schedule to see which courtroom Jimmy Lee would be in, then made our way in that direction.

  I hated this, and for a moment almost sided with his boss. Why couldn’t Jimmy Lee stop rabble-rousing? Yet, without people like him, the world would be a darker, more dangerous place. Besides, asking Jimmy Lee to stop being an activist would be like asking a zebra to trade in his stripes for a clean white coat. It just wasn’t in the beast’s nature.

  And on the subject of coats, here came Gabriel in lawyer garb, striding down the hallway toward us, a battered leather satchel slung over one shoulder. If a man was ever going to look boring, it had to be when he was wearing a business suit. So, clearly, Gabriel DeLuca was never going to look boring.

  I could tell the charcoal suit was old, yet it fit him well and didn’t detract an iota from the potent air of masculinity. His jaw was smooth-shaven, his hair neatly ponytailed, but he was still dynamic. And sexy.

  This was a test, I reminded myself. Tests weren’t supposed to be easy. Besides, my father’s freedom was the important issue here, not my silly fascination with Richard’s father.

  Gabriel didn’t bother with greetings, and he looked at Grace not at me. “Seen the paper?”

  We both nodded.

  “Shitty headline, but it won’t influence what happens this morning. Just spoke to Crown Counsel. She’s going to argue against release but not too vigorously, just to keep the cops happy. Think we’ll be okay, but there’s never a guarantee.”

  “Still, it’s good news,” Grace said, giving him a bright smile.

  “Got Jimmy Lee’s passport?” he asked.

  She handed it over.

  “We’re in here.” He gestured toward a courtroom.

  Inside, Grace and I found two seats on a hard wooden bench and Gabriel moved past us to talk to a woman in a navy suit. I could see only her back—shortish, stocky, with dirty blonde hair in a tidy twist very much like Grace’s.

  A clerk called court into session and I dragged my attention away from Gabriel and concentrated on the Provincial Court judge, a petite, brown-skinned woman named Harminder Sharma. Grace and I watched how she dealt with the first cases that were called. “She seems fair,” I whispered to my mother, who responded, “I don’t know, she looks awfully conservative.”

  The clerk called Jimmy Lee’s case. Gabriel and the woman in the navy suit both rose and moved in front of the bar, taking seats at opposite tables. Obviously, she was the Crown Counsel assigned to the case.

  My father walked into the room, escorted by a uniformed Sheriff. Jimmy Lee wore faded jeans and a Grateful Dead T-shirt. His gray-brown beard and mustache contrasted with his shaven head. He winked at Grace and me, reassuring us he was okay, then shook Gabriel’s hand and sat down beside him.

  Grace grabbed my hand and squeezed it, and I squeezed back.

  Crown Counsel rose and said to the judge, “Barbara Hodgson for the Crown, Your Honor.”

  Gabriel rose. “Gabriel DeLuca for the defense.”

  “The Crown intends to show cause why the accused should be retained in custody,” Ms. Hodgson said.

  Grace let out a little hiss and I murmured, “Sshh.”

  “Proceed, Ms. Hodgson,” the judge said.

  The blond lawyer glanced down at her papers, then back up. “It’s the Crown’s position that Mr. Wheeler is both a flight risk and a danger to the community. He’s charged with arson with disregard to human life, an indictable offence carrying a maximum sentence of life in prison. The victim is in critical condition in the hospital and may die, in which case the Crown will seek the maximum penalty.”

  Grace moved closer to me until our shoulders touched.

  The lawyer consulted her notes again. “Although Mr. Wheeler was granted Canadian citizenship in 1985, he also retained American citizenship. He owns no property in Canada. In 1970, in Boston, he burned his draft card and fled to Canada. He has a clear pattern of running rather than submitting to the legal jurisdiction of the country of his residence.”

  “If this isn’t her idea of a vigorous argument, I’d hate to hear her when she’s really got it in for someone,”
Grace whispered nervously.

  “Furthermore,” the lawyer said, “Mr. Wheeler has been anything but a model citizen. He has been convicted of or pled guilty to more than a dozen offences since he moved to Canada. He’s a troublemaker and a clear danger to the community.” She stopped, checked her notes again, then sat down.

  Gabriel rose. “Mr. Wheeler does indeed have quite a record in our courts,” he said, speaking easily and less briskly than the prosecutor. “But he has never missed a court appearance, much less fled the country. He has a job as a social worker which he’s held for over ten years. His wife and daughter, both present in the courtroom today”—he gestured toward us and the judge’s eyes, behind wire-rimmed glasses, studied us intently—”live and work in Vancouver. He is not a flight risk and—”

  Ms. Hodgson jumped up. “He’s never been charged with anything so serious. He’s never faced years in jail.”

  “Charged being the operative word,” Gabriel said calmly. “Mr. Wheeler is innocent, as we will prove if the Crown decides to proceed with this case. And yes, he has never been charged with such a serious offence before, and that’s because the man is incapable of anything so heinous. He is a pacifist who’s had a considerable impact on making our society more just for all its citizens. And, I would point out that while Mr. Wheeler is a social activist, he, like Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr., believes in the methods of passive resistance, passive protest. He does not commit acts of aggression.”

  “Clever Gabriel,” Grace murmured, “mentioning Gandhi to an Indo-Canadian judge.”

  Crown Counsel said, “He has resisted arrest and used violence against peace officers.”

  Grace began to say something, but I hushed her so I could hear Gabriel.

  Voice calm, he said, “Only when the police officers themselves used excessive violence in attempting to arrest him. When someone sprays him with mace or clubs him over the head, he tends to get … excitable. Don’t we all?”

  “Violence is violence. He’s a danger and a flight risk.” Barbara Hodgson sat down.

  Gabriel remained standing, but didn’t say another word. He simply dropped his hand to Jimmy Lee’s shoulder. The judge’s eyes followed the hand. I knew what she was seeing. An aging hippie with a pair of wire-rimmed glasses like hers, looking absolutely harmless. It was an illusion, of course, to anyone who truly knew my dad, but I felt a surge of hope. I nudged my mother in the ribs. “I think Gabriel may win.”