In less than a minute, they were gone. Izzy smiled to herself as she made a sweep of the room, picking up trash and straightening chairs. Once upon a time, she’d been full of energy, just like those kids. Except that when she ran out of the classroom, her first thought hadn’t been about what party to go to or where she’d hang out with her friends. It had been about the latest dance position she wanted to master or bit of choreography she struggled with. For years, she’d gone straight from one school to another, trading classrooms with desks and whiteboards for those with mirrored walls and ballet bars.
Izzy shook her head. Where had that come from? She rarely thought about those days. Getting ready for Gran’s funeral must have stirred up the memories. Izzy had wanted so much to be like Gran, like the ballerina she’d seen in those old publicity pictures. And she almost was. She’d gotten so close.
With a sigh, she dumped into the garbage can the armful of litter she’d collected, then moved to the projector. Before she flipped the off switch, she took one last look at the Picasso portrait. Those prominent triangles really did remind her of flight. They transported her away from school and right back to her grandmother’s quilt. Which brought her right back to the man she was trying not to think about.
“Max.” Unthinking, she spoke his name on a puff of air.
“Who?”
Izzy spun around to see Barry Wilcox standing in the doorway. When had he come in? “Barry, you scared me.”
“Sorry.” He stepped toward her, cheeks slightly flushed. “Who’s Max? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“What? Oh, no, of course not.” Izzy knew full well that Barry had a crush on her. He was sweet, but after three years of teaching together she was no more romantically interested in him now than on the day they’d met. Playing up Max to be something he wasn’t could be her key to moving out of Barry’s sights. But it wouldn’t be very nice to lie to him. “Max is assisting me with my grandmother’s estate.”
He frowned and tugged on the bottom of his sweater vest. “I was so sorry to hear about your grandmother, Izzy. Is there anything I can do?”
Izzy smiled, just enough to let him know she appreciated his concern but not so much as to encourage more attention. “No, I’ll be fine.”
“OK.” He nodded and turned for the door. Then he stopped and looked back. “Can I walk you to your car?”
“You go ahead. I have a few things to do here first.”
Barry smiled and left. Izzy took her time gathering her books and folders. Then she pushed the projector cart back into the audiovisual cabinet and locked it. A motorized rumble came from the parking lot. She looked out the window in time to see Barry’s white VW Bug chugging by.
Snatching her bag off the desk, she gave the room one last look then rushed out the door and down the hall. If she hurried, she could get to the YMCA and fit in a good hour of water aerobics before it was time to meet her mother and brother at the church to go over the final details of Gran’s funeral.
Izzy steered her old Honda into a parking spot, braking to a sudden stop. Her chest jerked against the seat belt, which pushed her backward so that her head thudded against the headrest. Standing beneath a leafless tree in front of the door to the church office, Janice Fontaine uncrossed her arms long enough to lower her sunglasses and look over the frame rim at her daughter. She shook her head, lips tight and drawn together, then pushed the glasses back into position and recrossed her arms.
Izzy smiled through the windshield, but on the inside she scolded herself. She shouldn’t have taken the time to go to the Y. All the relaxation she’d felt after moving and stretching in the water was gone now, her muscles stiffening under Janice’s displeased stare. Izzy pulled back her now dry hair and secured it with the ponytail holder she’d kept around her wrist. Just once, it would be nice if Mom would cut her some slack. Especially at a time like this.
Snatching the file folder from the passenger seat, Izzy left the car and walked toward her mother.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Let me guess. You’ve just come from the pool.” That was it. No preamble. No greeting. Just the accusation.
Izzy nodded her head, fingers tightening on the edge of the folder. “I did.”
“If I’d known you were so drawn to swimming, I wouldn’t have wasted all that money on dance lessons when you were younger.” Janice looked in Izzy’s direction, and though she couldn’t see her mother’s eyes behind the smoked lenses of her glasses, Izzy was certain she looked past her, not at her.
“You know why I swim,” Izzy said. “It’s good for me. It helps my joints.”
Janice took a deep breath and her lips softened, the corners lowering and spreading out. “Yes, I know. I’m glad it helps you.” She pointed at the folder. “What do you have in there?”
Before Izzy could say, she was cut off by the roar of a high-performance engine. Looking over her shoulder, she saw a sleek sports car zip through the parking lot. With a squeal of brakes it came to a stop right beside her ten-year-old vehicle.
Her brother sure knew how to make an entrance.
“Brandon!” The exuberance in Janice’s voice left no doubt that she excused her eldest for his tardiness.
Izzy bit the inside of her lip as she watched her mother wrap her arms around her son. He was the favorite, without a doubt. Izzy had gotten to the point where she usually didn’t let it bother her. But today was different. Today, the three of them were together because Gran had died. Izzy had been Gran’s favorite, and vice versa. Watching her mother and brother interacting, knowing that Gran was gone, Izzy felt more alone than ever.
Brandon pulled away from their mother and put his arm around Izzy’s shoulders. “How are you holding up, Tiny Dancer?”
The childhood nickname brought a smile to her lips. He hadn’t called her that in years. “I’m OK. I miss her, though.”
Janice smoothed down the front of her skirt. “Of course you do. We all do.” She looked at the office door. “Now that we’re all here, let’s go in.”
She took one step and wobbled on the uneven pavement. Brandon rushed forward and offered his arm. Izzy shook her head as she walked behind them. Why Janice insisted on wearing those ridiculous heels was beyond her. They had to be five inches, at least.
“Are those new shoes, Mom?” She knew better than to prod her mother, but she couldn’t stop herself.
“Yes. And before you tell me I’m too old for shoes like this, don’t. Do you know who I sold a pair of these to just yesterday?”
“Someone important, I’m sure.”
Janice sniffed. “Only if you consider Meryl Streep important.”
“Seriously?” Izzy asked. “Meryl Streep walked into your store?”
“Don’t be silly,” Janice said with a wave of her hand. “Meryl doesn’t do her own shopping. But her assistant came in and bought a pair.”
“Huh.” The more Izzy heard, the less she thought her mother had all the facts. “So she came right out and told you she was Meryl Streep’s assistant?”
“No. But when she bought them, she said, ‘Meryl will love these’.”
Brandon chuckled. “You know, there are other women in the world named Meryl.”
Janice shook her head. “Not in Hollywood.”
Izzy opened her mouth to argue that it was much more likely the assistant to someone named Meryl just needed a new pair of shoes for herself. But the look Brandon gave over his shoulder shut her down. He was right. Janice considered it a point of pride that, although she hadn’t made it in Hollywood as an actress, she at least worked at an upscale boutique that catered to actresses. And their assistants. It would be a waste of time to point out that she spent entirely too much of her paycheck trying to emulate women thirty years her junior.
Thanks to her own sensible tennis shoes, Izzy jogged ahead of her mother and brother, grabbed the office door, and held it open for them. Since it was after regular office hours, Pastor Quaid greeted them by his secretary’s desk.
“Izzy, so good to see you.” He opened his beefy arms and she walked into his welcome bear hug. “How are you holding up?”
So much better now, she thought. “I’m good. Happy for Gran; sad for me.”
He stepped back and smiled down at her. “Of course. This entire congregation feels her absence.” He turned to Izzy’s mother. “You must be Isabella’s daughter.”
She removed her sunglasses and held out her hand. “Janice.”
“So nice to meet you, Janice.” He grabbed her hand and pumped it in both of his. “I feel like I already know you. Isabella talked about you all the time.”
A brief look of shock flitted across her eyes, one corner of her mouth lifting in a half-smile. “She did?”
“Yes. And I’d know you anywhere. You certainly take after your mother.”
Izzy cringed as her mother yanked her hand away, not at all happy to be told she resembled an eighty-seven-year-old dead woman. Poor Pastor Quaid. He’d been doing so well up to that point.
“Pastor.” Izzy spoke up, hoping to diffuse the tension. “This is my brother, Brandon.”
He and Brandon shook hands and exchanged pleasantries without incident. Then Pastor Quaid turned back to Izzy. “If you’re ready, we can go back to my office and talk about the service.”
Pastor Quaid obviously deferred to her since she was a member of his church. But Izzy knew better than to take the lead now. There were certain things about the service she wanted to make sure happened, but it was best not to act like she was in charge. It was a matter of choosing her battles, something Izzy was extremely familiar with.
“Mom.” Izzy turned to her. “Are you ready?”
Janice nodded. Pastor Quaid turned and led the way down the hall. Janice crooked her elbow so Brandon could thread his arm back through and offer support. They followed, looking like they were leaning on each other.
Izzy took up the rear. Alone.
4
You can’t be serious.” Janice perched on the edge of her chair, looking at Izzy as though her daughter had lost her mind. “This is a funeral, not Mardi Gras.”
Hands clasped tightly in her lap, Izzy was determined not to lose her cool. “ ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’ was Gran’s favorite song. She’d want us to sing it.”
“Oh, and you know that for a fact.”
“Yes, I do.”
“How?”
“She told me.”
Janice’s verbal assault came to a halt. She looked at Brandon, who shrugged. Then she looked back at Izzy, ignoring the pastor as she had through most of the meeting. “She told you what music she wanted at her funeral? That’s so morbid.”
“It’s only morbid if you think of death as the end of everything, but Isabella didn’t.” Pastor Quaid’s deep voice commanded the attention of everyone in the room, even Janice. “Isabella knew that death was the beginning of her real life. Her eternal life. That’s why she wanted her funeral to be a celebration.”
Janice frowned. “It’s just not dignified.”
Izzy looked down, catching a glimpse of her mother’s oh-so-unsensible shoes. The woman had an odd idea of what was dignified.
Now Brandon leaned toward Janice, and the folding chair that Pastor Quaid had brought in for extra seating creaked beneath him. “What difference does it make what we sing? Let’s just do what Gran wanted.”
“That’s just the thing. I don’t know what she wanted.” Janice’s hands fluttered in front of her as if trying to clear away a fog too thick to see through. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”
Izzy reached out and grabbed her mother’s hand. “You’re here because you loved her and she loved you. But if this is too much for you, I can take care of it.”
For the first time since they’d arrived, Janice looked at Izzy with something other than disdain or disapproval. “Really? You’d do that?”
“Of course. I just don’t want you to feel left out.” Izzy knew she was taking a chance by offering to take over. When they arrived the next afternoon for the service, anything Mom didn’t like would be Izzy’s fault. But it was a chance she was willing to take.
Janice stood up so quickly that her purse fell from her lap and landed beside the chair with a thud. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” In an uncharacteristic display of affection, she sandwiched Izzy’s cheeks between her palms and kissed her on the forehead.
“You’re welcome,” Izzy mumbled through compressed lips.
Brandon scooped up Janice’s purse as he stood, and looked at Izzy. “Since you’ve got this covered, I think I should take her home.”
“What about my car?” Janice asked.
“We’ll get it tomorrow.” He turned toward Pastor Quaid. “It’ll be safe here, right?”
“Absolutely.”
Janice gave her son a tender smile. “You’re so sweet to think of that. Let’s go, then.”
Brandon winked at Izzy before following his mother to the door. Izzy wasn’t sure if it was a conspiratorial gesture between siblings or a way to gloat that he’d gotten out of the meeting, too. Either way, she was relieved to see them both go.
As he opened the door for her, Janice said, “This has me so stressed out. I need to find a way to relax tonight. Maybe I’ll watch a movie on Netflix.”
Izzy nearly suggested Sunset Boulevard, but pressed her lips together against the impulse. Once the door shut behind them, she leaned forward, head in her hands, and let out a groan.
Behind his desk, Pastor Quaid laughed. “Are you sure you’re related to them?”
“Sometimes I wonder.” Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and counted to five. Maybe now she and the pastor could make some forward movement. When she looked back at him, he was smiling. “What?”
“You looked so much like your grandmother when you did that. Which reminds me …” He held up a finger then leaned over and pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk. When he sat back up, he had a small box in his hand. “This is for you.”
Izzy smiled as she took it. “Thanks. But you didn’t need to do this.”
“I didn’t. It’s from Isabella.”
She almost dropped the box. “From Gran? When did she give it to you?”
“Before she moved into the assisted living facility. She made me promise not to give it to you until after her death. The last time I saw her, she reminded me about it. Between you and me, I think she knew her time was coming.”
Izzy nodded in agreement, only half listening to what the man said. Turning the box over in her hand, she studied its plain brown wrapper tied with coarse yellow string. First the quilt, now this. Not only did Gran want her passing to be a celebration, she was turning it into a crazy backward scavenger hunt as well.
“Izzy, are you all right?”
She looked up at Pastor Quaid. His voice was gentle; his eyes brimming with genuine concern. A pang zinged Izzy’s heart. If her father were still alive, she imagined he’d be a lot like her pastor. And if Dad were still alive, Mom would be a totally different woman.
She sniffed and dabbed the corner of one eye with her knuckle. “I’m fine. Just the thought that Gran wanted to make sure I had this … well, it got to me.”
“I understand. Would you like some time alone to open it?”
“No. I’ll open it later.” She and her dysfunctional family had taken up enough of the pastor’s evening. He had a perfectly well-functioning family of his own to get home to. “Let’s get back to the arrangements for tomorrow.”
If Mom was irked about ending the service with “When the Saints Go Marching In,” Izzy doubted she’d be happy about the Christmas carols they’d be singing. But at that moment, Izzy didn’t care.
Gran wanted a party, and a party she would get.
Izzy frowned at herself in the mirror. She looked as if she were going to a funeral. Mom would be pleased, but Gran would hate it.
“What do you think, Bogie?” She glanced at a pile of clothes on the floor by her dresser, the
n grabbed a bright blue scarf that was draped around one of the tall bedposts. “Can I get away with a splash of color?”
The pile of clothes shuddered as the terrier poked his nose out from under her discarded pajama bottoms. He looked up at her, cocked his head, and barked once.
“I agree,” she said with a nod to her reflection. She folded the soft fabric in half, draped it around her neck, and pulled the two ends through the open loop. Then she fluffed and arranged the material until it had just the look of casual elegance she had hoped for. “Much better.” Gran would be proud.
Gran’s voice spoke in her head, clear as day. Of course I’d be proud. I’ve always been your biggest fan.
Izzy stooped down to pull the clothes off Bogie and tossed them on top of her bed. Taking his wire-haired little head between her hands, she looked into his melted-chocolate eyes. “We’re saying our final good-byes to Gran today. It’s just you and me now, buddy.”
He pushed his nose forward and tried to lick her face, but she was too fast for him. There would be time for cuddling later, after the service was over and it didn’t matter that he shed white fur all over her black dress. For now, she had to remain as presentable as she could.
As she stood up, her eyes fell on the small brown box sitting on her nightstand. She’d been so tired by the time she got home last night, she had decided not to open the present. Instead, she’d wait and open it before the funeral. But now, looking at her last gift from Gran, she wondered if maybe it would be better to open it after she said her good-byes.
A car horn blew outside, making the decision for her. “That’s my brother,” she said to the dog. “Are you a praying man, Bogie? If not, this would be a good time to start.” She dashed from her bedroom and headed out of the house, grabbing her purse along the way. Once outside, she pulled the front door shut, locked it, then turned. And froze on the porch.
A Wild Goose Chase Christmas: Quilts of Love Series Page 3
