Finding Isadora(60)

* * *

Feeling as confused and conflicted as I ever had in my life, I let myself into my apartment. Pogo’s familiar warm greeting, Owl’s “bout time you got home, cutie,” and a soft ankle-wrap from Alice’s tail were all welcome.

I pulled my cell from my purse. I’d had it off when I was at work and hadn’t turned it on since I left. There were two messages. The first was from Grace, telling me news I’d already heard, about Cassie McKenzie’s recovery. The second was from Richard.

The moment I heard his voice, guilt ground through me and I realized my head was starting to ache. Normally I wasn’t prone to tension headaches, but Gabriel DeLuca had this effect on me. Gabriel, or guilt. Or perhaps they were one and the same.

Realizing I hadn’t actually listened to Richard’s message, I replayed it. He said the merger was going well and he hoped we could have dinner on Tuesday night. Tuesday. It was past midnight, so Tuesday was today.

I was so tired and frazzled I couldn’t remember my own schedule, and went to check. The sheet was clipped to the fridge door by a ceramic magnet made by one of the clinic’s young clients, supposedly representing Benjie, his beagle.

Today I’d be working the afternoon and evening shift. What a relief; I could sleep in. And a reprieve. I’d have more time to grapple with my troubling emotions before I saw Richard.

Rotating my shoulders to ease the ache, I wandered into the living room. The gift of time felt precious. How should I use it? A bath and some headache rub? A walk with Pogo? Or just a tumble into bed, with no thought of an alarm clock waking me?

I’d left my couch pulled out into a bed, and now I saw Peek-a-boo was fast asleep on my pillow. The sight warmed me. When Peek had first come home with me, he’d skittered out of the cat carrier and disappeared, not to be seen again for days. It had taken him a couple of weeks before he’d let me catch even a glimpse of him, a cringing shadow as he slipped into the kitchen after I’d put out food and retreated to the main room.

I dropped gently down on the edge of the bed and he startled awake, leaping to his feet and arching his back. “It’s okay Peek,” I murmured, “it’s only me.” I began to chant one of Martin’s Cree healing songs. Slowly the cat relaxed enough to lie down again, though he kept his head erect, eying me through slitted golden eyes.

Surprisingly, my headache had eased.

* * *

When I woke around eight, I took Pogo out for a pit stop then phoned Richard. For once, I was happy to get voice-mail. “I’m glad the merger’s coming along well,” I said. “As for dinner, I’m working tonight, but tomorrow would be good. Hope that works for you.” Should I mention his conversation with Gabriel? Should I let on that I’d seen his dad? No, not in voice-mail. We’d talk when we were together. “Love you, sweetheart.”

I did love him. A couple of weeks ago I’d had absolutely no doubts and my future with Richard had looked rosy. Now…

Sorting out my feelings was my top priority for the morning. I made the bed back into a couch, brewed a pot of tea, toasted a bagel, and went through my stack of CDs, looking for something that might inspire me.

My hand stopped on a collection of old Joni Mitchell favorites and I remembered someone had been singing “Both Sides Now” the night I met Gabriel. Closing my eyes, the exact memory came back. A husky female contralto lamenting that she really didn’t know love at all.

Did I? Did Isadora Dean Wheeler know love? I’d been sure of it until Gabriel came into my life.

More of Joni Mitchell’s lyrics came back to me, about the “dizzy, dancing” way that you feel when you’re in love. I’d never felt that way with Richard. But the words described, perfectly, the way I felt around Gabriel. Except that was lust, not love. I could never love a man who was so totally wrong for me.

The song went on about fairy tales becoming real. Well, Richard was my fairy tale prince, the man who offered me security, stability, the kind of love I’d always craved. Everything except that dizzy, dancing feeling.

Inexplicably, my eyes were wet. Why did that stupid phrase resonate so deeply, making me crave the one thing Richard and I didn’t have? Might never have? “He’s my fiancé and I love him,” I said defiantly, swiping a hand across my damp lashes.

“So you say, cutie,” Owl commented.

“Yes, I do say,” I told him. “Pogo,” I called, ignoring my neat couch with the tea and bagel set out beside it, “let’s go for a very long, brisk walk.”

We did, and he loved it, and I didn’t end up feeling even a tiny bit better.

When I went into the clinic, I checked the results on Princess Anne’s fungal culture. The cat did indeed have ringworm. I phoned to give Althea Fitzsimmons the news, and she said she’d send a courier to pick up pills and shampoo for her cat.

After putting together a package for her, I checked on the fate of Valente, whose body had been taken away for cremation. I asked Margarida, who was on the reception desk, to have the ashes delivered back to us, and gave her billing information for Gabriel.

“He is a fine man,” she said, her brown eyes lighting. “His mother was Portuguese, you know, like me.”

“Uh, yes, I did know that.” Though I’d learned it only last night. “You know him, Margarida?”

“I recognized him when he came in yesterday. From the Portuguese Club. It’s a community center on Commercial Drive, for immigrants from Portugal and their descendants. Sometimes I go there with my family. Mr. DeLuca, he goes too. Most often, with Maria.”