Finding Isadora(11)

He leaned forward, past Ms. Fitzsimmons. “Did you hear about the time I hauled your dad’s butt out of jail for chaining himself bare-ass naked to a logging truck over on Saltspring?”

“That was you? You defended Jimmy Lee?” I leaned forward too, elbows on the table, and grinned at him. “I heard about it, but Grace and I were out of town at the time.”

We had visited her parents in Boston, parents who’d never approved of her life choices or forgiven Jimmy Lee for existing, much less dragging her off to Canada. It had been strained, as all visits with the Deans were, but in the name of family we all worked at being civil.

“Wasn’t much to defend, since he was determined to plead guilty.” He shook his head ruefully. “But I did get him community service rather than more jail time.”

I gave a hoot of delight. “Planting trees. I remember. You weren’t his favorite person. When I talked to him on the phone he was grumbling about his sadistic lawyer. He said he was too damned old to plant trees, he’d rather be resting his butt in a comfy jail cell.”

“Well, if any butt would be familiar with jail cells, it would be Jimmy Lee’s.”

“Let me tell you, Grace was plenty relieved you got him out of jail. She always worries that—”

“Uh, Iz? Gabe?” Richard broke in.

I’d been so wrapped up in the conversation with Gabriel, I’d forgotten about everyone else at the table. Now, Richard’s embarrassed expression brought me to my senses. I jerked upright in my seat and yanked my elbows off the table. Gabriel straightened too, and crow-woman made a huffy sound.

Gabriel caught my eye and raised his eyebrows in a what can you do? expression, and I barely managed to hold back a giggle. I could actually like the man. Besides, he’d get along fantastically with Grace and Jimmy Lee. Suddenly, the prospect of being related to him didn’t seem too terrible. When I knew him better, knew him as a real person rather than a sexy across-the-room stranger, I’d stop feeling attracted to him.

The gray-haired Chair of the Board—whose name was Chambers, if I remembered correctly—said to me, “So you’re a tree-hugger, are you? That’s commendable. We’d have a lot more clear-cutting and extinct species without people like you.”

“I…” I ran a hand through my hair. Now these people thought I was an activist like my parents, and at least some of them admired me for it. I couldn’t rest on false laurels, so said, “I’ll tell my parents you said so. I haven’t been involved myself. I’m, uh”—I cleared my throat and said, a touch apologetically—”a veterinarian.”

Gabriel stared at me with a puzzled expression. “Thought you liked being a vet,” he muttered.

“I do.” Yet I knew that, on the scale of social worth, it didn’t measure up beside the work my parents and Gabriel did.

Fortunately, Mr. Chambers and the Center’s Director started talking about extinct species, and I could concentrate on eating my meal. Or, rather, my rice and veggies. I noticed Gabriel doing the same. Richard ate meat, but perhaps his dad was a vegetarian like me and my parents.

I’d just taken a spoonful of dessert—a rich concoction of fruit, meringue, and whipped cream—when crow-woman said, “You’re a veterinarian?”

“Yes, I am.”

“My Persian cat has a few sore spots. What might it be?”

If the gray-haired woman was a cat owner, perhaps she was less edgy than she looked. “I couldn’t say without examining … her?” When a nod confirmed the cat’s gender, I said, “Has she been to your vet?”

“Haven’t been impressed with the vet I’ve been using. Anyhow, I’ve been cleaning the spots thoroughly, using antiseptic, applying lotion. I thought they’d clear up.”

I nodded sympathetically. “I know it seems like a good idea, but unfortunately antiseptic can irritate, depending on what’s actually wrong. You really do need to have a professional look at her. I know you don’t want her to suffer.”

“Of course not.” She scrutinized me for a long moment. “Do you have a card?”

“I do.” I dug in my bag. “By the way, I have a Persian, too. They’re lovely, aren’t they?” Would wonders never cease? I’d teased Richard about schmoozing, and now I might acquire a new patient myself.

Or not. Although Althea Fitzsimmons tucked the card in her bag, her gaze was disapproving. “You shouldn’t wear diamonds. They’re too colorless for you. Amethysts would match your eyes.”

Even more startled, I blurted out, “My eyes are gray.”

“They’re mauve. Smoky purple.”

It was true my eyes did have hints of mauve, but I was astonished that this abrupt stranger had noticed, and commented. I had no idea how to respond and in fact I didn’t have to because she turned her back on me and addressed a question about the Center’s tax return to the Director.

Shaking my head, I went back to my dessert. With any luck, this evening would soon be over.

As I took the last forkful, the Chair stood up. “Duty calls,” he told us, then walked over to the podium.

He tapped the mike. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m Walt Chambers, Chair of the Multicultural Center’s Board.”

With any luck, he’d thank everyone for attending, announce the results of the silent auction, then we could all go home. I needed some quiet time with Richard after this disturbing evening.