Finding Isadora

by Fox, Susan

  “And you want to have children.” He said it as a statement, not a question.

  “Yes. Two.”

  He snorted. “A boy and a girl, of course.”

  “No. I’m not that, uh, structured. The gender of my kids doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference.” I glanced sideways. “I suppose you don’t plan to have any more children?”

  “Good god, no. Christ, Isadora, I’m forty-five.”

  I’d guessed right about his age, though he looked so much younger. “Lots of men have kids at forty-five, and even older. So do some women.”

  “Yeah, well, I fucked it up the first time around, so I’m not about to try it again.”

  Another reason not to have a relationship with Gabriel. As if I needed any more.

  Pogo finished his business and we all took off at a fair clip. Gabriel and I were silent for the first couple of blocks, perhaps wanting to distance ourselves from the conversation about children. It was chilly out, and I was glad for my sweater. He hadn’t even rolled his shirtsleeves down. “Are you warm enough?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. It feels good to stretch.”

  “I guess your job is quite sedentary.” And yet he was in fantastic shape. “You said there’s a gym in your apartment building?”

  “It’s basic but it’s got all I need. Weights. A few machines, couple of bikes. Though unless the weather’s awful, I’d rather go out for a run than sit on a bike. Helps me unwind when I finish work.”

  “I know what you mean. That’s something I love about walking with Pogo. It’s a great start to the day, and a great finish.”

  I stopped to smell a mauve lilac, in full bloom. Its perfume was heady in the fresh, damp air. Gabriel took a few steps past me, then, realizing I’d stopped, came back. “Smell good?” he asked.

  “Smell for yourself.” Cupping a bloom, I offered it to him.

  As he leaned forward to sniff, long strands of silky hair brushed my wrist, and the moment seemed to draw out forever before Gabriel finally raised his head and said, “Nice.” His voice was rougher than usual. He cleared his throat. “I’m not much of a gardener. What is it?”

  “Lilac.”

  He nodded and, when we started walking again, our pace was slower. Somehow we drifted closer together. Our arms brushed occasionally as we strolled past apartment buildings with lighted windows. It could have been peaceful if we were friends. Just friends. But I didn’t know what we were, and my skin was electric, each contact with Gabriel sparking through me like a miniature bolt of lightning.

  I knew I should move away, but I didn’t. And nor did he.

  “Talked to Jimmy Lee this morning,” he said abruptly. “Told him about our idea that Cosmystiques might be responsible for the fire.”

  He’d chosen a safe topic, and yet his arm still brushed mine and I didn’t feel safe at all.

  “Called the cops as well,” he went on. “They’re convinced they have their man.”

  “Damn. So they’re not even going to check into the financial situation at Cosmystiques?”

  “Likely not. But that’s not the end of it.” He sounded smug.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Keep a watch on the newspapers.”

  “You talked to a reporter?”

  “Passed along a few hints to an investigative reporter, yeah.”

  I smiled to myself. He really was a master of strategy.

  As we walked, exhaustion slowly overcame the electric energy until finally I gave a huge yawn.

  “Late night last night. You should be in bed.” His voice was husky and seductive—and, that quickly, I was wide awake again.

  I didn’t turn to look at him and was glad of the darkness that hid my flush. “We’re nearly back at my apartment.”

  “We are?”

  “We’ve been walking in a big rectangle. Didn’t you notice?”

  “Apparently not.” His voice held a hint of wry humor, and finally he stepped aside slightly so our bodies no longer brushed.

  He came with me to my front door, where the overhead light made me blink. He reached out and touched my ear. “Your earring’s slipping out. The one your parrot was playing with.”

  I could have fixed it myself, but I couldn’t seem to move away from his hand. My eyes met his, and held. My breath caught, too. If we’d been on a date, this would be the moment when we’d kiss.

  The thought broke my inertia and I jerked away just as he took a step back. Quickly, I pulled my keys from my pocket and, staring at them rather than him, said, “Good night, Gabriel.”

  “Night, Isadora.” Where my voice had been tight and high, his was husky and even more accented than usual as it lingered on every syllable of Eesadora.

  I nodded, still not meeting his eyes—scared to meet his eyes—then turned to unlock the door. As I stepped into the building, I thought I heard Gabriel mutter, “Hell.”

  As the front door began to close behind me, I heard a startled yip, and turned to find I’d almost left Pogo outside.

  Apologizing profusely, I took him upstairs where I did the food-and-water-and-goodnight kisses routine with my animals.

  Then I gazed around the familiar room, realizing something felt different. The air still hummed with Gabriel’s energy. I opened my purse, took out the little paper bag, and set the card with the cat earrings on my coffee table beside the home decorating magazines.

  He knew me. Richard bought me diamond studs, but Gabriel chose dangly cats with eyes that matched mine.

  When Richard sympathized with me over my insecurities about not doing enough in the world, Gabriel told me to get off my butt and take action rather than agonize over it.

  When Richard made my blood warm in a nice, satisfying way, Gabriel made it boil. Most uncomfortably.

  Sinking down on the couch, I buried my face in my hands. It was time to stop running from the truth and admit it. When I married, I wanted passion. And that meant…

  I couldn’t marry Richard. I loved him, but I didn’t feel passionate about him.

  I couldn’t marry Richard.

  The words sank into my heart and were received with an ache of acceptance. They felt right. And yet, so wrong. Behind my eyelids, tears burned. He was my fiancé. I’d thought he was my future. The tears escaped from between my fingers. What would my life be if I gave up that future?

  My dreams dissolved in the hot flood of tears. How could I lose Richard? Grief surged through me and I sobbed aloud.

  With tears streaming down my face, I slowly pulled my couch-bed open and dropped onto it, burying my face in a pillow and letting sorrow flood through me.

  Eventually, I lifted my head. Tears were supposed to be cleansing, but I felt grubby and feverish. Everything ached. Eyes, throat, stomach. Heart. Even my bones and muscles. I felt like I’d been steamrollered by a herd of elephants.

  I dragged myself to the bathroom and took a long shower. While I stood under the cascading water, I had second thoughts. If my decision made me feel so awful, then I’d better re-examine it.

  I wanted a man who had all of Richard’s wonderful qualities, and who I felt passionate about. Okay, fair enough, what woman didn’t? It wouldn’t—couldn’t—be Gabriel. I couldn’t hurt Richard that way, plus Gabriel wasn’t the kind of man I was looking for, anyhow.

  But … did the man I was looking for exist? Was I chasing after a fantasy, and in the process throwing away my future?

  Could I bear to lose Richard? I really loved him. Maybe not the way Grace loved Jimmy Lee, but it was a true, solid love. Was I crazy to even be thinking this way? What, after all, had changed? Nothing, between Richard and me. So why the hell wasn’t I satisfied with what had, only two weeks ago, made me so happy?

  Using Gabriel as the yardstick to measure my feelings for Richard was utterly insane.

  And yet… Was that really what I was doing? Or had meeting Gabriel merely opened my eyes to the realization of what was missing, had always been missing, between Richard and me? G
race had seen it. My mother, who had her own special wisdom, would approve my decision.

  But… What if I never found the right man? I could be alone for the rest of my life. With only my animals, and maybe never again a man to share with, to plan with. No lover, no husband. No children.

  When the tears leaked again, I cranked up the cold water. Self-pity, how utterly scummy. Here I was, about to shatter Richard, and I was all wrapped up in feeling sorry for myself.

  I turned off the shower and grabbed a towel. I had to call him, and he had to understand, to forgive me. We had to stay friends. I couldn’t lose his friendship.

  Wrapping the towel around me, I headed for the phone. Pogo almost tripped me and I leaned down to stroke him. “It’s just us, now, my friend,” I murmured. “Me and you and the cats and Owl.” I loved my animals, but they were no substitute for a man I could talk to, a man in my bed.

  Pogo reached up and tried to lap my cheek, and I realized I was crying again, the tears a quiet, persistent flow. I couldn’t phone Richard when I was an emotional wreck. Besides it wasn’t right to break this news over the phone.

  I needed to talk to someone—a human, not an animal—so I wouldn’t feel so alone. Janice or Grace would sympathize and comfort me. But no, that wouldn’t be fair to Richard. He should be the first to know.

  So I’d spend the next hours torturing myself, wondering how he’d react. But I deserved that agony. Every moment of it.

  * * *

  In the morning I felt bruised and fragile, a state I wasn’t used to. I’d spent much of the night crying, and a good part telling myself I would never find another man as fine as Richard. Yet, as I bathed my swollen eyes with cold water, I knew I wanted—needed—to stand by the decision I’d made last night.

  It was only six o’clock but Richard would be up. I took a deep breath then dialed his cell. When he answered, my heart did a flip-flop and my eyes teared up again. It took a moment before I could say, “Hi, it’s me. Does it work for you to get together tonight?”

  “The merger’s under control. I’m sure I’ll be able to get away.”

  I bit down hard on my bottom lip. Poor Richard, he’d definitely rather work than hear what I needed to say. I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “Why don’t you come over to my place for dinner?”

  “Because I’d like to eat meat and you don’t want to cook it. How about Indian? The buffet at India Gate?”

  Maybe being in a public place would help both of us deal with the bombshell I was about to drop. Richard wasn’t likely to dissolve in tears; in fact, I’d never seen him lose his cool. It was much more probable I’d fall apart. But I couldn’t let myself do that. I had to focus on helping Richard through the shock.

  “Are you sure?” I asked, knowing he couldn’t possibly give me a useful answer when the real question was: Where would you prefer to be dumped by your fiancée, at her apartment or in a restaurant?

  “Yeah, it’ll be good. See you there at seven. Gotta run, Iz.”

  I hung up slowly, feeling a new batch of tears threaten to spill over. He’d be stunned, hurt, angry. What if he never wanted to see me again? I couldn’t lose him; he was one of my dearest friends. Why hadn’t I had the sense, in the beginning, to realize that what I most wanted from the man was friendship? I had to make him understand I’d never meant to deceive him. That I loved him, even if it wasn’t the kind of love that made a good basis for marriage.

  Pogo trampled my feet in an impatient dance and I banished the tears, hurriedly pulled on yoga pants and a tee, and grabbed his leash. Fresh air and exercise, lots of exercise, that’s what I needed.

  We headed down to the seawall and, instead of taking our usual route along English Bay and into Stanley Park, I tugged him in the opposite direction. This morning I wanted the distraction of different sights. We headed east on the seawall path, under the Burrard Bridge and along False Creek. Attractive condos lined the walkway, interspersed with restaurants and the occasional convenience store and hair salon.

  I tried to concentrate on the scenery rather than my feelings, and traded good mornings with the dog walkers, joggers, power-walkers, and meanderers who shared the seawall path. Everyone seemed to be in a more cheery mood than I, which was hardly surprising.

  When I tried to figure out what I was going to say tonight, the words I came up with sounded phony, and I gave up. When I saw Richard, I’d blurt it all out in some fashion. Well, not all. No way would I tell him about my stupid obsession with his father.

  Sniffling back tears, I tried to reassure myself that Richard was both a caring person and a reasonable one. We’d talk, and he’d understand, and in the end we’d remain friends. I loved him. We had to remain friends.

  We passed under the Granville Street Bridge to the area that had once hosted the 1986 Expo, then been transformed into condos and parkland, most of it showing an Asian influence. A middle-aged Chinese couple performed Tai Chi moves, their serene grace in perfect harmony with the ocean behind. I envied them that serenity. Perhaps I should sign up for Tai Chi classes at the community center. Maybe I could get Janice to come with me. If she wasn’t too busy “tutoring” Martin.

  My throat clogged at the thought that, just while I was losing a boyfriend, Janice might be acquiring one. I was happy for her, but the prospect made me feel all the more lonely.

  As if to outpace my feelings, I walked a little faster.

  A tall, slim woman jogged toward Pogo and me at a fair clip. I nodded politely and was startled when she stopped, saying, “Dr. Wheeler!”

  Racking my brain for a name, I stopped too, and studied her. Her body, revealed by tight black running shorts and a sleeveless blue tee, was in at least as good shape as my own, though her short, tousled silvery hair and the wrinkles on her face suggested an age around sixty. Although she must be a client of the clinic’s, I couldn’t place her.

  Not until I noted the jade-green eyes. “Ms. Fitzsimmons!”

  Chapter 11

  Now that I’d recognized her, I couldn’t help but stare in disbelief. Who’d have guessed that behind the slicked-back hair and stark black clothing there was a fit, attractive woman? I caught myself gaping, then in the next instant saw she was studying me just as closely.

  “Are you all right?” she asked abruptly.

  Self-consciously, I touched a still-swollen eye. “My allergies are acting up.” I forced a smile. “So you’re a jogger.”

  “Between three and eight miles a day. Do you jog?”

  “No.” Why did the woman make me feel defensive? “It can be hard on the knees and back.”

  “Quite right. I stretch before and after, wear the proper shoes, get new ones every few months. Haven’t had any problems yet.”

  Trying to rise above my defensiveness, I decided there was no reason to hide my admiration. “It sure seems to be working for you. You look terrific.”

  Was that actually a blush on her thin cheeks? “Thanks,” she said brusquely. Then, with the tiniest hint of pride, “I have a home gym, too. Most days I work out for an hour.”

  “It shows. You have great muscle tone. It’s a pity—” Oops. I really wasn’t functioning well this morning; I’d let my mouth get ahead of my brain.

  “What?”

  “Sorry. Nothing.”

  She glared at me. “Say it.”

  I lifted my chin. After all, the first time we’d met she’d told me what color jewelry to wear. “It’s a pity you hide such an excellent figure under long sleeves and high necklines.”

  Her eyes widened, then she gave a snort that was at least half amusement.

  Encouraged, I went for broke. “And the blue top is pretty, but you’d look even better in green. To match your eyes.”

  She laughed. I hadn’t imagined it was possible, but she actually laughed. “I should be wearing emeralds, I suppose?”

  I shook my head. “Jade. That medium green jade, with lots of life and depth in it. Emeralds are too hard and edgy.”

  “Hard
and edgy,” she repeated, and, too late, I thought the words might be used to describe her personality.

  “How’s Princess Anne?” I asked quickly.

  “Much more comfortable already. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad. Let me know if you run into any problems, but otherwise bring her in next week and I’ll check her again.”

  She nodded, then gestured toward Pogo, who’d been sitting patiently by my side all this time. “Who’s your friend?”

  Realizing he’d become the center of attention, Pogo bounced to his feet and stared up at us, tail wagging. “His name’s Pogo.”

  Hearing his name, his tail wagged even faster and his mouth opened in a doggy grin.

  “He’s delightful.” She squatted down to stroke him and didn’t draw back when he licked her hand.

  Delightful. The woman with the pedigreed Persian had the perception to realize my three-legged terrier was delightful. I realized I was grinning. It felt like years since I’d smiled, and I was grateful to her for taking my mind off my worries.

  “Do the two of you live in Yaletown?” Althea Fitzsimmons asked from her squatting position by my feet, and it wasn’t entirely clear whether she was talking to me or to Pogo.

  I figured she wouldn’t get a useful answer from him, so I said, “No, our apartment’s near English Bay. How about you?”

  “Princess Anne and I have a condominium over there.” She pointed back in the direction she’d come from. “A view of the water, an excellent grocery store a block away, only a quick walk to work.”

  “It’s great living downtown, isn’t it? All the conveniences, plus the beautiful parks and scenery.”

  “I quite agree.”

  She gave Pogo a final pat and rose in a fluid motion with no creaking of knee joints. “I must carry on with my run or I’ll be late to the office.”

  “Give Princess Anne my best.”

  “Indeed.” She shifted from foot to foot then said, in a rush, “While you’re criticizing my appearance, do you have any other suggestions?”