Finding Isadora(21)

There was a roughness in his voice that made me wonder, for the tiniest moment, if I’d been on his mind, just the way he’d been on mine. But no, that was absurd.

“Well, I’m calling because, uh…” Belatedly, I realized I owed him an apology for cutting out immediately after his speech, and dragging Richard away. “Look, I’m sorry I had to leave early on Saturday night, but I had a splitting headache and Richard insisted on driving me home. Anyhow, I wanted to tell you your speech was wonderful. I could see the fundraiser was an incredible success, and I’m sure you deserve a lot of the credit.”

“You called to apologize?” Now he sounded confused.

“Well, no, but—”

“Then get to the point.” Now he sounded utterly frustrated. He really was a panther. At least he snarled like one.

Except I could have handled a panther more easily than I could deal with this man. I tried to tell myself he must be having a bad day. “I’m sorry, I guess you’re busy and—”

“Isadora! Why did you call?”

I gathered my wits and cleared my throat. “It’s Jimmy Lee. He’s been charged with arson and I wondered, uh…”

“You want me to represent him?”

“I was hoping that—”

“Damn it, Isadora, just come out and say it. You want me to represent your father.”

What was this man’s problem? On Saturday he’d seemed so in control. I hardly recognized this impatient, angry voice. I was so upset I was tempted to tell him to forget it. But Jimmy Lee really did need his help. “Yes,” I said firmly. “I do. I have some money saved and—”

“I thought Jimmy Lee figured I was a sadistic bastard.” His tone was hard to read.

Was that the reason he was being so negative? “Uh, well, he was just joking. I’m sure he really appreciated what you did for him. Anyhow, about your fees—”

“Arson?” he broke in. “What’s the deal? He’s been charged? You mean, this just happened?”

“Today.” Belatedly, I realized I should have gotten more details from Grace. “My mother says they arrested him and he’s in jail, and I guess he’ll be in court in the morning.”

“They didn’t release him?”

“No. They usually do, on an appearance notice or a recognizance.” When he was charged with disturbing the peace, the police always let him go on his own promise to appear in court at the appointed time. “But not this time,” I said slowly, again realizing the seriousness of the charge.

“Hmm. He’s been a royal pain in the cops’ asses for a long time, but I wouldn’t have thought they’d detain him. What the hell do they say he burned?” His tone was almost normal now and I sensed he’d already taken on the case.

I let out a quick sigh of relief. “A cosmetics lab. They use animals and—”

“Got it. Okay, I’ll talk to the cops and go see Jimmy Lee. Is Grace involved?”

“She hasn’t been charged but she says they were picketing there last week.”

“I’ll talk to her, too. Give me her number.”

I did, then he said, “Fine,” and the phone clunked down.

Gabriel was going to do it. That was all that mattered. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been nice—not even polite—to me. He was going to help Jimmy Lee. I pressed a trembling hand to my throat and felt my pulse thudding. It had been his abruptness that had set my nerves to jangling. That’s all it had been.

What was it that had put him so on edge?

I dialed my mom’s number. “Gabriel DeLuca will represent him. Remember, he’s the lawyer who got Jimmy Lee that tree-planting gig the summer you and I were in Boston?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard lots about him though I’ve never met him. He’s one of the good ones.”

And he was Richard’s father, a fact I’d yet to tell my parents. In fact, I’d never even told them that my fiancé’s dad was an activist lawyer. I’d wanted them to like Richard for who he was, not lament that he wasn’t more like his father. “He may want to talk to you. I gave him your number.”

“Okay. Hey, Isadora, can you come over to the apartment? I’m stressing over this.”

“You ought to be used to it by now.”

“I never get used to it. Jail isn’t a safe place.”

When my parents were in university in Boston, they and a bunch of other peaceniks had been arrested at an anti-war demonstration. By then, jail was almost a habit for their group, in fact kids boasted about their arrests as if they were badges of honor. But this time was different. Another prisoner, a Vietnam vet, no doubt suffering from PTSD, killed one of their friends.

In the decades since my parents had moved to Canada, Jimmy Lee had only been in jail a couple of times. The police here were more inclined to release on a promise to appear in court.

I remembered how worried Grace had been that time she and I were in Boston and Jimmy Lee’d been held in jail in Vancouver after chaining himself to a logging truck. Afraid that someone with a gripe against tree-huggers might go after him, Grace had been all set to fly home, then he called to say his lawyer had sprung him from jail. Gabriel. And he’d do it again.

But not until morning. Truth to tell, Grace’s anxiety was contagious. “Yes, I’ll come over.”