Finding Isadora(70)

My dreams dissolved in the hot flood of tears. How could I lose Richard? Grief surged through me and I sobbed 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.

Eventually, I lifted my head. Tears were supposed to be cleansing, but I felt grubby and feverish. Everything ached. Eyes, throat, stomach. Heart. Even my bones and muscles. I felt like I’d been steamrollered by a herd of elephants.

I dragged myself to the bathroom and took a long shower. While I stood under the cascading water, I had second thoughts. If my decision made me feel so awful, then I’d better re-examine it.

I wanted a man who had all of Richard’s wonderful qualities, and who I felt passionate about. Okay, fair enough, what woman didn’t? It wouldn’t—couldn’t—be Gabriel. I couldn’t hurt Richard that way, plus Gabriel wasn’t the kind of man I was looking for, anyhow.

But … did the man I was looking for exist? Was I chasing after a fantasy, and in the process throwing away my future?

Could I bear to lose Richard? I really loved him. Maybe not the way Grace loved Jimmy Lee, but it was a true, solid love. Was I crazy to even be thinking this way? What, after all, had changed? Nothing, between Richard and me. So why the hell wasn’t I satisfied with what had, only two weeks ago, made me so happy?

Using Gabriel as the yardstick to measure my feelings for Richard was utterly insane.

And yet… Was that really what I was doing? Or had meeting Gabriel merely opened my eyes to the realization of what was missing, had always been missing, between Richard and me? Grace had seen it. My mother, who had her own special wisdom, would approve my decision.

But… What if I never found the right man? I could be alone for the rest of my life. With only my animals, and maybe never again a man to share with, to plan with. No lover, no husband. No children.

When the tears leaked again, I cranked up the cold water. Self-pity, how utterly scummy. Here I was, about to shatter Richard, and I was all wrapped up in feeling sorry for myself.

I turned off the shower and grabbed a towel. I had to call him, and he had to understand, to forgive me. We had to stay friends. I couldn’t lose his friendship.

Wrapping the towel around me, I headed for the phone. Pogo almost tripped me and I leaned down to stroke him. “It’s just us, now, my friend,” I murmured. “Me and you and the cats and Owl.” I loved my animals, but they were no substitute for a man I could talk to, a man in my bed.

Pogo reached up and tried to lap my cheek, and I realized I was crying again, the tears a quiet, persistent flow. I couldn’t phone Richard when I was an emotional wreck. Besides it wasn’t right to break this news over the phone.

I needed to talk to someone—a human, not an animal—so I wouldn’t feel so alone. Janice or Grace would sympathize and comfort me. But no, that wouldn’t be fair to Richard. He should be the first to know.

So I’d spend the next hours torturing myself, wondering how he’d react. But I deserved that agony. Every moment of it.

* * *

In the morning I felt bruised and fragile, a state I wasn’t used to. I’d spent much of the night crying, and a good part telling myself I would never find another man as fine as Richard. Yet, as I bathed my swollen eyes with cold water, I knew I wanted—needed—to stand by the decision I’d made last night.

It was only six o’clock but Richard would be up. I took a deep breath then dialed his cell. When he answered, my heart did a flip-flop and my eyes teared up again. It took a moment before I could say, “Hi, it’s me. Does it work for you to get together tonight?”

“The merger’s under control. I’m sure I’ll be able to get away.”

I bit down hard on my bottom lip. Poor Richard, he’d definitely rather work than hear what I needed to say. I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “Why don’t you come over to my place for dinner?”

“Because I’d like to eat meat and you don’t want to cook it. How about Indian? The buffet at India Gate?”

Maybe being in a public place would help both of us deal with the bombshell I was about to drop. Richard wasn’t likely to dissolve in tears; in fact, I’d never seen him lose his cool. It was much more probable I’d fall apart. But I couldn’t let myself do that. I had to focus on helping Richard through the shock.

“Are you sure?” I asked, knowing he couldn’t possibly give me a useful answer when the real question was: Where would you prefer to be dumped by your fiancée, at her apartment or in a restaurant?

“Yeah, it’ll be good. See you there at seven. Gotta run, Iz.”

I hung up slowly, feeling a new batch of tears threaten to spill over. He’d be stunned, hurt, angry. What if he never wanted to see me again? I couldn’t lose him; he was one of my dearest friends. Why hadn’t I had the sense, in the beginning, to realize that what I most wanted from the man was friendship? I had to make him understand I’d never meant to deceive him. That I loved him, even if it wasn’t the kind of love that made a good basis for marriage.

Pogo trampled my feet in an impatient dance and I banished the tears, hurriedly pulled on yoga pants and a tee, and grabbed his leash. Fresh air and exercise, lots of exercise, that’s what I needed.

We headed down to the seawall and, instead of taking our usual route along English Bay and into Stanley Park, I tugged him in the opposite direction. This morning I wanted the distraction of different sights. We headed east on the seawall path, under the Burrard Bridge and along False Creek. Attractive condos lined the walkway, interspersed with restaurants and the occasional convenience store and hair salon.