Finding Isadora(2)

“You bet, Doc. I’ll call you if there’s any problem.”

Martin knew me well. Even though Felipe, the vet who was working evening shift tonight, was excellent, I liked following through on my own cases. Once I’d had my hands on an animal, done my best to heal it, I hated to turn the creature over to someone else. It was more than professional pride, and not one whit scientific, but I felt as if my spirit and the animal’s were somehow bound together. Having applied my professional knowledge and skill, now it was a matter of one spirit speaking to another.

This was a secret I’d confessed to only one other person, my mother. Grace understood such things. Martin knew too, I was sure, though we’d never discussed it.

I dialed Richard’s cell. When he answered, I said quickly, “Hi, sweetheart, it’s me. Change of plans. Can you pick me up at the clinic?”

He chuckled. “I could’ve guessed.” Then, in a worried tone, “But Iz, what are you going to wear?”

“You don’t think jeans would make the right impression?”

“Uh—”

I rescued him. Teasing Richard was fun, but I didn’t have time to indulge. “I brought good clothes to work.”

“Okay. I just left my place. I’ll be there in ten.”

“I’ll be ready.”

Ten minutes to transform myself into an elegant gala-goer. I hurried into the bathroom, then stared at my reflection and laughed helplessly. Elegant wasn’t in the cards. Reasonably clean and decently clad were the best I could hope for.

A shower—the shower I’d hoped to have at home—would have felt wonderful, but I had to make do with a paper-towel sponge bath. After, I slathered my body with lime-scented lotion, hoping it would be strong enough to overcome the antiseptic scent that clung to me at the end of a work day.

Carefully I eased into the fitted black cocktail dress that, along with a pair of strappy high-heeled black sandals, made up my entire collection of formal evening wear. My short, streaky blond hair was tousled as always, but nothing short of a shower and blow-dry was going to help it. I applied a dash of eye make-up and wondered if I should borrow a lipstick from Betty, the receptionist. A great-grandma, she believed no woman should go out in public with naked lips. Not me. I hated the taste of lipstick, and the mess it left on drink glasses, not to mention cheeks.

The dangly puppy-dog earrings had to go. I unzipped an inside pocket of my purse, extracted a tiny suede pouch, and slid from it my engagement ring and the matching birthday earrings. The stones weren’t ostentatious, but they were diamonds. Richard’s generosity was one of his great attributes, but the truth—which I’d probably never confess to him—was that diamonds made me squirmy.

I’d seen the expression on Grace’s face when I’d first shown her the ring. One tiny grimace, that was all. Jimmy Lee didn’t believe in wordless communication, so I’d heard far too many words from my father on the subject of immoral materialism, conspicuous consumption, and what an archaic institution marriage was.

I often disagreed with my parents—as I did strongly about marriage—but when it came to diamonds we were of like mind. Still, I understood Richard’s viewpoint. We wanted a conventional life, the opposite from that chosen by his left-wing father and my hippie parents. How did you begin a conventional life if not with the tradition of a diamond engagement ring? Even so, I couldn’t wear the ring to work. Not when I spent the day peeling surgical gloves on and off, and scrubbing my hands with antiseptic soap.

When Richard and I set a wedding date, we’d need to have a serious talk about rings. I wanted a simple band with no stones, something I could put on and never take off. A symbol of our undying love—not, as my unmarried parents believed, a brand that labeled me as a man’s possession.

Of course it didn’t help that Grace and Jimmy Lee weren’t particularly keen on Richard. Mind you, given how different my priorities were from theirs, if my parents had approved of him I’d have had to question my choice of mate.

I smiled at my reflection. No, I had no doubts about Richard. He was exactly what I wanted, and I loved him dearly. My life plan was firmly in place.

Somehow, I managed to wriggle into pantyhose without snagging them. When I stepped into my evening shoes, my feet and calves promptly reminded me I’d been standing for most of the last ten hours. Some women—like the lawyers in Richard’s office—wore power suits, pantyhose, and heels to work every day. How lucky I was to have a career where I could dress for comfort.

Leaving the bathroom, I checked my watch. Twelve minutes had passed since I’d spoken to Richard. As I pulled on my coat, I called, “Martin?”

He materialized silently.

“How’s our patient?”

“Woke up while the little girl was here, then fell into a natural sleep.” He gave me a thumbs-up. “Lookin’ good.”

Even if the cat was in no danger, I still wished I could stay here. At the clinic I was in my element; at the Fairmont Hotel Vancouver I’d be a plain brown sparrow amid a flock of peacocks. But Richard needed me. And relationships require compromise.

When I opened the clinic door I saw my fiancé’s pride ‘n joy Lexus, a law school grad present from his mom and stepfather, idling in the loading zone. He hopped out when he saw me, and we reached the passenger door at the same time.