Finding Isadora

by Fox, Susan

  When Jan and I sat down at my small dinette table, she was chuckling over the way my parents had taken in Alyssa. “Your folks don’t give a damn about rules. I could never be like that, but I kind of admire them.”

  “I admire that they’re so committed to doing what they think is right. I just wish it didn’t get them in trouble so often.”

  “That’s definitely the down-side of breaking the rules.”

  We shared other news, then she said, “I’m going to miss this when you and Richard are living together.”

  “Oh, he’ll still be away a lot of the time. That’s the main reason we’re moving in together, so we’ll actually see each other once a day.”

  “Hmm. But Izzie, don’t you want more than that?”

  “Eventually. We have long-term goals in mind, so we don’t mind some sacrifices.”

  “You’re so practical. Me, I’d want more romance.”

  The conversation was making me uncomfortable, so I changed the topic. “Weren’t you and Martin having coffee yesterday?” He hadn’t been working today, so I hadn’t heard how it had gone.

  “Yup,” she mumbled, head down as she loaded her chopsticks.

  “And?”

  She glanced up, her cheeks even pinker. “He’s a nice guy and I think I can help him.”

  “That’s great! Thanks, Jan.”

  “Mmm.” She chewed, seeming to take a long time about it.

  “So,” I prompted, “you suggested some books for him to read, or what?”

  “Loaned him some of mine.”

  “Oh?” I processed the few things she’d said, plus the fact she was being uncharacteristically parsimonious with words. “He went over to your place?”

  “Sure. We couldn’t spend hours in a coffee shop.” She sounded almost defensive.

  Hours? “No, of course not.” I studied her closely while she busied herself eating, pretending she wasn’t aware of my scrutiny. Something odd was going on.

  Finally, she looked up and glared at me. “What?”

  “Jan, you’re not, uh, interested in Martin, are you?”

  “Of course not! He’s a kid.” She helped herself to more rice from the serving bowl, even though she still had a pile of it on her plate, then glared at me again. “Well, no, he’s not a kid. But he’s a lot younger than me. Anyhow, what if I were? You’re the one who’s always saying what a nice guy he is, and how much you respect him.”

  “That certainly clarifies matters,” I teased. Well, how about that? Jan liked Martin. Did he feel the same way?

  For a minute or two we ate in silence, then I said, “Just to go on record here, I do think he’s a fine man. And normally I’d think a six year age difference is a bit much, but he’s way more mature than other guys his age. So, I’m just saying, if you ever did decide you’re interested, I wouldn’t think you were crazy.” But I couldn’t help wondering how she’d feel if she found out Martin had once turned tricks to finance his crack habit. Hopefully it wouldn’t matter, but Janice’s life had been more sheltered than mine and her parents were extremely conservative.

  “Hmm.” Another couple of minutes passed. “Does he date much?”

  I held back a chuckle. “He’s pretty busy with schoolwork, the vet clinic, and some volunteer work he does with First Nations kids. I’ve heard him talk about one or two young women, but it’s never sounded serious.” I also knew he’d spent a lot of time in therapy, trying to develop a healthy attitude toward sex and relationships.

  “Chinese and Cree.” She made a face. “My parents are still on my case to date nice Chinese boys. Guess there’s no way I could persuade them he was just a rather odd-looking Chinese guy?”

  “I think they’d figure it out,” I said dryly. “You’re saying you really are interested?”

  She groaned and buried her face in her hands, her black hair waterfalling around her. “No, yes, I don’t know. It’s too early to tell.” She lifted her head and narrowed her eyes in concentration. “But there’s this weird kind of … thing between us. At least it seems that way to me. Chemistry, or something. Even with Jeremy, although I was attracted to him, I didn’t feel that … thing. You know what I mean?”

  Of course I did. It was the same thing I felt when I was with Gabriel. “You think he’s hot. And you think he feels that way about you?”

  Another groan. “How the hell would I know, Izzie? Remember me? I’m the one with the jammed radar.” She picked up her chopsticks and tapped them gently against the side of her plate. “Maybe you could find out for me?”

  My turn to groan. “I swear, when I suggested you tutor him, I had no idea it was going to get this complicated.”

  She shrugged, then tossed me a mischievous grin. “Ah, but life’s only interesting when it’s complicated.”

  * * *

  On Monday, I found it hard to concentrate on work, wondering if Richard had spoken to his father.

  Late in the afternoon, Althea Fitzsimmons came in with Princess Anne. The woman was in black again, this time a pantsuit with a high-necked jacket. Her short gray hair was slicked back in the same mannish style she’d worn at the fundraiser. In daylight, I noticed her eyes were large and jade-green, fringed with dark lashes. They were the most attractive thing about her.

  The cat, on the other hand, was delightful: a silver Persian with blue-green eyes and the gentle, friendly temperament that characterizes the breed.

  “She’s lovely,” I commented, to which Ms. Fitzsimmons responded with a “hmph” sound that could have meant anything.

  “All right, let’s take a look at your friend. You mentioned some sores?”

  “Yes, on her head. I stopped using antiseptic and I’ve been treating them with antibiotic lotion but they’re not getting better.”

  “Poor Princess Anne. Let’s take a look.”

  The cat submitted graciously to my examination. The sores were roundish, scaly areas of hair loss. “It could be ringworm.”

  “Ringworm!”

  “It’s one possibility. Has she been in contact with another cat?”

  “We were at a cat show two or three weeks ago. But those were pedigreed animals, all very well cared for.”

  “Ringworm is contagious. All it takes is for one of those pedigreed cats to have contact with an infected animal. Anyway, I’ll have to run a test to be sure what’s causing this.” I collected a few hairs, explaining I’d do a fungal culture and let her know the results. “You can take her home and we won’t start any treatment until we know what it is.”

  “What if it is ringworm? How serious is it?”

  “Not serious at all, but you’ll want to deal with it quickly. I’ll give you some tablets to give Princess Anne, and a shampoo to use on her. It would be easier if you clipped her hair, but I imagine…”

  “No, not unless it can’t be avoided.”

  “Then you’ll have to be really assiduous about shampooing. And you’ll need to decontaminate your home. I’ll give you instructions on how to do that. I’m assuming there are no other animals in your house, or in regular contact with Princess Anne?”

  “No, there’s only the Princess and I.”

  “Uh…” I had to ask the next question; there was no way around it. “You haven’t by any chance noticed any scaly or inflamed patches of skin on your own body, have you? Itchiness? Hair loss?”

  Her green eyes widened in appalled shock. “Good lord! You mean I could have it?”

  “Humans can get it from cats.”

  Althea Fitzsimmons eyed her cat with a certain degree of horror.

  “If you’d prefer,” I said, “we can keep her here until I’ve made the diagnosis.”

  She hesitated. “No, no. Princess and I will deal with this together.” She reached out and rather gingerly picked up her cat, then relented and gave Princess Anne a warm hug.

  My own feelings for Ms. Fitzsimmons warmed significantly, too.

  I ushered her back to the reception area where she tilted her head and studied
me carefully. “Those earrings suit you better than the diamonds did. Still think you’d look good in amethysts, though.”

  Today I was wearing dragonflies with blue and purple wings. “I’m afraid my budget doesn’t extend to gemstones,” I said with a smile. “Besides, I like earrings with animal themes.”

  “Dragonflies are insects.” She turned and strode out the door.

  Of course dragonflies were insects. I’d been speaking generically, not scientifically. Then I chuckled. Althea Fitzsimmons wasn’t boring, I’d say that for her.

  I went back to the lab and began work on the fungal culture. Ringworm wasn’t at all uncommon among our animal clients, so the procedure was familiar.

  Suddenly Margarida, the Portuguese receptionist who alternated with Betty, shouted my name and I put everything down and dashed out to the front.

  “Gabriel!” My eyes widened, taking in the sight of him cradling a black, blood-covered dog in his arms. I could never have imagined Gabriel looking panicky, but there was no mistaking the expression in his eyes.

  “Isadora, thank god. I found her in the alley behind my office. Hit by a car, I think.”

  “Bring her in.” I turned to Margarida. “Could you get Martin or Marianna to finish up the culture for Princess Anne?”

  I hurried toward one of the examining rooms and motioned Gabriel to lay the dog on the table while I grabbed a fresh surgical gown and slipped into it, then pulled on a pair of gloves.

  The dog, a female, was probably a poodle cocker cross. It was hard to tell because the creature’s coat was soaked with blood. She whimpered pitifully and tried to raise her head, but otherwise her body didn’t move. I had a bad feeling about this.

  Tentatively I reached my hand toward her, then, when I realized she wasn’t going to snap at me, I stroked her head gently. “Steady there, baby, I know it hurts but I’m going to do something about that in a moment.”

  As I examined the dog, I asked Gabriel, “You didn’t see what happened?”

  “No. I was walking down the alley toward where I park, and heard her whining. Hit by a car?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “I didn’t know what to do. Just picked her up and brought her to you.”

  I glanced up, noting the blood that coated his denim shirt and jeans as well as his hands. “She didn’t bite you, did she?”

  He gave his head a quick shake. “Cringed when she first saw me, but then I guess she realized I only wanted to help.”

  Or she couldn’t run, or even crawl away. “How did you know where to come?” I asked him.

  “At the fundraiser, you told me where you worked.”

  And he remembered?

  “Is she going to be okay?” he asked.

  I carried on with my examination, hoping against hope I was wrong.

  “I think she’s a stray,” he said. “I’ve seen her before, rooting for scraps around the dumpsters. Friendly little creature. Miki—my assistant—and I give her leftovers from our lunch.”

  “No collar,” I commented. An abandoned animal, a friendly animal, and now… I drew in a shaky breath.

  “I can’t take her myself,” he said. “I’m never home, but Miki might. She has a little boy and—”

  He broke off as I straightened to look at him.

  He straightened, too, met my gaze, and swallowed hard. “She’s not going to make it, is she?”

  I rested my hand on the dog’s head and stroked her gently. Her whimpering stopped, as if my touch soothed her. “Her spine was severed. The good news is, it’s helped her from feeling too much pain.” I fought to keep my voice steady. This was the worst part of my job. “I’ll have to euthanize her, Gabriel.”

  “Damn.” He punched one fist into the other. “There’s no other option?”

  “We could keep her alive, but she’d have virtually no quality of life.”

  “Fuck. Did I do it? Break her spine when I lifted her?”

  I shook my head. “The car did it. And the driver left her to die.”

  “It was pointless what I did. Bringing the dog here.”

  “No, not at all. She’s suffering and I can end it. Besides, she would have died all alone in an alley. This way, she knows someone tried. Someone cared enough to try.”

  I stroked the dog’s head once more, then gathered my strength. “Would you pet her like this for a minute or two while I get what I need? Just touch her head. It’s the only place she has any sensation.”

  Gabriel’s throat moved in another hard swallow, then he came closer and reached out his bloody hand.

  I hated euthanizing animals, even when it was the humane thing to do. As quickly as I could, I unlocked the drug cabinet and got everything ready. “You can leave now, if you want. There’s a restroom down the hall where you can wash up.”

  His eyes met mine. Bleak, wounded eyes. He shook his head.

  I held his gaze for a moment. “You don’t know her name?”

  “No. Why?”

  “No animal dies nameless here. What shall we call her?”

  “You pick.”

  He probably thought I was foolish and sentimental, but this was important to me. Later, it might be important to Gabriel, too. I squatted down and peered into the dog’s brown eyes, trying to think of an appropriate name.

  “Valente,” Gabriel said.

  Surprised, I glanced up. “For a name?”

  He cleared his throat. “It means brave in Portuguese.”

  I touched the back of my hand to the dog’s hot, dry nose. “Hi, Valente.”

  To Gabriel, I said, “I do this in two steps. First, I sedate her. She’ll be at peace and we’ll keep stroking her. Then I’ll inject the drug that will euthanize her. She may go quietly, but it’s possible she’ll cry out, her head may move. She won’t be feeling anything, it’s just a reflex, but it can be disturbing to watch. If you don’t want to stay for that part…”

  He didn’t say anything, just kept stroking Valente’s head. I glanced away from both the man and the dog, trying to compose myself.

  I touched the dog’s face briefly, then murmured, “Go to sleep now, Valente. Dream of running along the beach, chasing seagulls.” Then I injected the sedative, just a little pinch like with a vaccination. Together, Gabriel and I waited as her head relaxed.

  “I’ll give her the other injection now,” I warned him.

  He nodded and kept gently stroking her head.

  I injected the drug and again we waited. Fortunately, the poor creature went peacefully. After checking for vital signs, I murmured, “She’s gone.”

  “Her eyes are still open.” His voice sounded choked.

  “That’s common.” I smoothed down her eyelids.

  Gabriel didn’t move for a while, then he gave Valente’s head one last, lingering pat and slowly removed his hand. “What now?”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of her.”

  He nodded. “Thank you, Isadora. I’ll pay for everything.”

  “There’s no need. She’s not your dog.”

  “Nor yours. I’d like to, okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  He lifted his hand and I saw it was trembling. He reached up and, before I could stop him, ran it across his cheek and jaw, leaving a smear of red.

  “Gabriel, no.” I reached for his hand, caught it in my gloved ones, and turned it palm up, showing him the blood.

  “Oh.”

  He glanced down at himself, seeming to realize for the first time what a mess he was. “I should clean up.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Sure.” He stared at his bloody hand. “Okay, maybe not. I’ve never watched an animal die before.”

  “No matter how many times you’ve seen it, it’s never easy. It shouldn’t be.”

  He gazed at me, eyes quizzical. “How can you do it?”

  I swallowed hard. “Because it’s kinder than the alternative.”

  He stared down at the stray dog. “Yes.”

  When
he kept staring, I said, “Gabriel?”

  He gave himself a shake. “Right, I should go.”

  “Wash up first.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  It was a role reversal. I’d always seen Gabriel as the strong, competent one, the person who was in control. Today he’d come to me for help, and was visibly upset. It only made him more appealing.

  I stripped off my gloves, caught him by the arm, and guided him out of the examining room. After I’d pointed him toward the restroom, I hurried to find Liz Chen, the other vet on duty. “I just had to euthanize a dog. Could you get Margarida to make the arrangements for her body? Her name’s Valente. She was a stray, no owner, but the man who found her will pay the costs. I know him and he’s pretty shaken up. I think I should drive him home. Can you cover for me for the rest of the evening?”

  “Go.” She gave me a sympathetic hug. “I’ll deal with everything.”

  “Thanks.”

  I tossed my lab coat in the laundry bin, scrubbed my hands, then collected my gear. When Gabriel emerged from the men’s room, I was waiting. His hands and face were clean, but he still looked dazed.

  “Where’s your car?” I asked.

  “Outside.”

  I went with him, and saw his Volvo in the loading zone in front of the clinic. The passenger door was wide open, and he didn’t seem to notice. No way was I letting this man loose in traffic.

  “Get in.” I gestured to the passenger seat. There was blood on it, but his clothes were already filthy so a little more wouldn’t hurt.

  He obeyed and I slipped into the driver’s seat, adjusting it for my height. “Keys?” I prompted, then I realized they were in the ignition. Apparently, his car wasn’t worth stealing.

  I didn’t drive often and I was clumsy at getting the car started and manipulating the standard gear shift. As we pulled away from the curb, I said, “Where do you live?”

  “East Vancouver. Not far from the Cultch.”

  Concentrating on driving through traffic helped distract me from thoughts of poor Valente. Gabriel didn’t say another word. When I glanced over, he was sprawled back in the seat with his eyes closed, his brown skin unusually pale. Fortunately, I’d been to enough theatre and music events at the Cultch—more formally known as Vancouver East Cultural Center—to know where it was.