Finding Isadora (30 page)

I went into the bathroom and smoothed lotion into my face and hands, and dabbed on lip gloss, telling myself it was because my skin got so dry at the clinic. Then I checked messages. Only one,
a text from Grace, saying she and Jimmy Lee had taken Alyssa to the hospital and both mother and daughter had dissolved in tears of joy.

When I went to find Gabriel, I saw he
’d settled in my reading chair with a purring Alice on his lap, looking far too much as if he belonged.

I reported the news from the hospital, then told him I
’d met Alyssa and she was a great little girl. “My parents have always done this. Taken in strays.”

“
Not like anyone else I know.” He gestured toward my feet, where Pogo panted up at me with a hopeful expression on his face.

I laughed, conceding the point.
“Between their stray people and my stray animals, our homes were always packed full. It took me some time to get used to living by myself with only a few animals for company, but I admit I like the space.”

Although Richard and I were planning to move in together. Why hadn
’t I told Gabriel that? Maybe because I was having so much difficulty envisioning it myself.

“
Not many people would consider this place spacious,” Gabriel said. “You could fit your whole apartment into the bedroom at my place.”

The word bedroom hung between us.

I took a quick step past him and said breathlessly, “By the way, the cat you’re petting is Alice. And did you say hello to Owl?”

My parrot was perched on a coat rack, and I transferred him to my shoulder, where he promptly nibbled on my ear. My short haircut made my ears highly visible and Owl could never resist temptation. I could feel one of my earrings swing as Owl nipped his way around its hook.

Gabriel stared at the parrot—or my ear—for a moment then surged to his feet. “Let’s walk the dog,” he said brusquely.

“
Right. I’ll get a sweater.” I transferred Owl back to his favorite perch and opened the wardrobe, a thrift shop purchase I’d painted off-white and stenciled with butterflies and birds. From it I took a cream-colored Irish fisherman’s knit sweater.

“
Nice,” Gabriel commented. “Used to have one of those myself.”

“
Thanks. It’s one of my knitting projects that actually turned out.” And if Gabriel was my man, my lover, I’d knit him one for his next birthday. But he wasn’t.

“
Christ, you made that? All those cables and diamonds and stuff?”

“
Just takes a lot of concentration.”

“
I’d never have the patience.”

Not about to let him get away with that, I said,
“Oh? And it doesn’t take patience to prepare a lawsuit like that medical malpractice one you were talking about the other day?”

He studied me a moment.
“You’re too damned quick, Isadora.”

And he was too damned disturbing, always watching me with that intense expression I couldn
’t—or didn’t dare—read. “Talking about patience, we’re straining Pogo’s. Let’s head out.”

Gabriel hadn
’t said a word about my apartment. As I locked the door behind us, curiosity made me probe. “Guess my apartment seems pretty cluttered after yours. You seem to like a, uh, sparse look.”

He gave a quick bark of laughter.
“Now there’s a diplomatic word.”

As we stepped into the elevator, he said,
“I don’t pay much attention to my environment. So long as it’s functional, that’s all I need.”

“
And yet you value art.”

“
Got me again, counselor. And you value plants and bright colors and of course anything to do with animals.”

So he had paid attention to my décor.

“It’s nice,” he said. “Your apartment suits you. It’s attractive, and functional too. Somehow I was expecting—”

The elevator door opened and we walked into the lobby.
“What?” I asked.

The corner of his mouth kinked up.
“Something off the cover of one of those magazines on your coffee table.”

Ah, so he
’d seen the latest set of home design magazines I’d borrowed from the library. “You see me that way?” I asked, desperately curious.

“
Not until you started talking about proper furniture last night. I’d never have figured Grace and Jimmy Lee’s kid for a woman who was into designer homes.”

“
I’m not,” I protested automatically, then remembered all the photographs that made me salivate. What, exactly, was my image of the perfect home? Did perfection have to do with designer rooms, or with creating my own warm, colorful living space? With financial security, or with love?

The latter question was an easy one. I wanted both: the love that had characterized the homes I
’d grown up in, plus the security of knowing the roof over my head was paid for and I could never be evicted.

Outside the front door, Gabriel and I waited while Pogo made good use of a telephone pole.
“The magazines give me ideas,” I said. “But I like shopping at garage sales and thrift shops. That’s how my friend Janice and I furnished our apartments, poking around and bringing home things we could refinish, paint, cover with pretty fabrics.”

“
Turning someone’s garbage into your treasure. That sounds more like you than reproducing some slick photograph.”

He was right. I realized that the glorious houses I
’d been drooling over were rich in furniture and appliances, but not, at least not obviously, in love. So, why did they make me salivate?

Thinking it through as I spoke, I said,
“It’s more what the photos represent. Security, stability. People with kitchens and living rooms like the ones in those magazines don’t rent, they don’t move every couple of years. Each child has her or his own room, and privacy.”

“
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. H
e 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 bro
ke 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 burn
ed. 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 sob
bed 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.