by Darien Gee
“What? I’m saying it seems a bit too good to be true, you know?” Isabel has lived in Avalon long enough to know that even though the town is growing as retirees and small families move in, it’s still not a place where good-looking single men tend to flock to. “What did he say he does? For a living?”
“Some kind of family business. We didn’t have time to get into it.” Yvonne stirs her soup dreamily. “Anyway, one date won’t hurt. And maybe if it goes well and we decide to go out again, we could double date.” She looks at Isabel. “Hey, that would be fun!”
“Now I know you’re joking.” It’s bad enough that Yvonne is oozing giddiness like a schoolgirl, but Isabel doesn’t want to get roped in, too.
“I’m serious. Look at it this way: we double date, you can check him out, save me from certain disappointment. Unless, of course, he turns out to be as perfect as he looks.”
“Doubtful.”
Yvonne can’t be dissuaded. “You never know,” she sings as she scoops up Isabel’s almost-empty bowl.
“Hey, I wasn’t finished with that!” Isabel protests, spoon still in hand.
“We both need to be eating better,” Yvonne declares, dropping the bowls into the sink. “Let’s go out and get a salad.” She plucks the spoon from Isabel’s hand and tosses it into one of the bowls.
Isabel pouts. “In case it’s escaped you, I don’t have anyone I need to stay in shape for.”
“It’s not just what we eat, Isabel. I’m talking about making changes from the inside out.”
“Oh great. Next you’re going to tell me you’re a lifestyle coach.”
“I’m serious, Isabel. We’ve both been in a bit of a rut lately, kind of going through the motions with life. Maybe we should be doing more to feel better for ourselves.”
“I don’t want to do all that for some guy,” Isabel says. “I did that with Bill, and look where that got me.”
“We wouldn’t be doing it for some guy,” says Yvonne. She turns off the water then sits down next to Isabel. “We’d be doing it for ourselves.”
Isabel shakes her head, unconvinced.
“Look,” Yvonne says earnestly. “I want to feel good about myself …”
“From the inside out. I got it.”
“… so I can do more with my life. I got into the trades because I wanted to make a difference, and for some reason I’ve been so caught up in my day-to-day life that I forgot about that. This might be a way for us to connect with ourselves again.”
Yvonne is so earnest that Isabel bites her tongue, refrains from cracking another joke about breaking out the white sage or doing some weird dance in the moonlight. And it’s true that she stepped on the scale the other day and nearly toppled over. She’s been a rail most of her life, not lean and curvy like Yvonne, but she’s put on small pockets of weight here and there, and it’s been discouraging. And she used to love to cook—simple meals, at least, but her cooking was something that Bill used to love and compliment her on. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t bother anymore—she can’t stand being in the kitchen or preparing any of her favorite dishes that used to be Bill’s favorites, too. Isabel has been eating out for a long time, and could afford to continue eating out a little while longer, but she’s realizing that maybe she’s hungry for something else.
“Fine,” she says grumpily, because she’s not at all sure how this is going to go. She hopes it doesn’t entail any kind of schedule or calorie counting, both of which she has little interest in. “And by the way, if we were to double date, did it occur to you that I don’t have anyone to take on this alleged date?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Yvonne says blithely. She reaches for a pad of paper, starts making out a shopping list. “Guys like Hugh always have friends. I’m sure one of them will go out with you.”
“Gosh, thanks, I feel so much better now.”
Yvonne laughs just as her phone rings. She checks the display, then grabs Isabel’s arm. “It’s Hugh! Should I answer it?”
Before Isabel can say anything, Yvonne presses the receive button and composes herself. “Yvonne Tate,” she says, her voice a mixture of sexy allure and fake boredom.
Isabel watches as her friend goes through a round of animated conversation, laughing at something or other. So this is what dating looks like, Isabel thinks, feeling a twinge of envy. It’s been so long that she’s forgotten. Bill had been her first real love, and then they’d married. She hadn’t planned on ever being with anyone else. Unlike him, obviously.
This whole Ava thing would have been easier if there hadn’t been a child. The child was the wild card, the unfair advantage. Isabel, who’d had three miscarriages after years of trying and fertility treatments. Bill had wanted a family, and even though he swore the pregnancy was unexpected, it seemed a little too convenient. And now Isabel is alone, husbandless, childless, even ex-husbandless, with only Yvonne to count as a friend. What’s the likelihood there will be someone out there who will want to date her?
“Oh, Hugh.” Yvonne is giggling.
Isabel’s never gotten used to this, the banter that goes on during the courting period. She sees it all the time at work, can spot a blooming office romance a mile away. There’s the flirting and small private signals that people think no one else can notice but it’s the opposite—it’s so obvious you could set your watch to it. I’ll meet you in the break room in 5. XOXO.
“This is a bad idea,” Isabel says the minute Yvonne hangs up. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“You can’t change your mind, I’ve already started our shopping list,” Yvonne says calmly, holding up the piece of paper.
“The only thing you wrote on there is our names, Yvonne.”
“Well, it’s a start. Hey, do you want to know what Hugh said?”
Not really, but she knows Yvonne is going to tell her whether she wants to hear or not, so she shrugs and says, “Tell me.”
“He says that Toby missed me after I left.”
Isabel pretends to vomit. Yvonne swats her, laughing, just as Isabel’s cellphone begins to ring.
“Well, well. Isn’t this interesting?” Yvonne says as Isabel reaches into her purse. “Maybe someone’s calling to ask you on a hot date.”
“Ha-ha,” Isabel says, but it’s curious. Nobody other than her boss or Yvonne uses this number. Isabel looks at the display but doesn’t recognize the number.
“Tell him you like chardonnay and long walks on the beach,” Yvonne whispers as Isabel says hello.
“Isabel!” comes the screech. “I hope to God you’re not being a potato couch!”
A potato couch? What? Isabel checks the display again, then puts the phone back to her ear. “Who is this?”
“I’m at Madeline’s and we’re about to start our meeting, but I forgot to bring my pop-up glue dots. You’d better hurry.”
Bettie. Yvonne is leaning against her, curious, trying to listen. Isabel swats her away. “How’d you get this number?” she demands.
“The keys are under the mat, and the dots are in the large box on the shelf labeled adhesives.” There’s some mumbling on the other end and Isabel hears Bettie say, “Oh, thank you, Tess, but Isabel has it all taken care of.”
“Bettie, I’m not even home …”
“The girls and I will be waiting. It looks like we have a full house tonight. See you soon!” Bettie hangs up before Isabel can respond.
“Unbelievable,” Isabel mutters. She recounts the brief conversation to Yvonne, who listens with interest.
“Well, obviously you have to go help,” Yvonne says with authority.
“No way.” Isabel sits in her chair, arms crossed. “I’m not her lackey.”
“No, you’re not. You’re her neighbor.” Yvonne flicks off the kitchen lights, grabs her purse. “Come on. I’ll go with you. It’ll be fun to see everyone again.”
Isabel grumbles as she gathers her things. “And you know what else she said? She accused me of being a potato couch.”
“Yo
u mean couch potato?”
“She said potato couch.”
“I’m sure she meant couch potato. She’s probably got a lot on her mind, trying to get ready for the meeting while coming up with a solution for the Glue Dot Dilemma. What is a glue dot anyway?” Yvonne holds open the front door.
“Who knows. Some overpriced scrapbooking thing, no doubt.”
“The only thing worse would be the Case of the Dried Out Inking Stamps.”
“Or the Which Sequins to Choose Affair.” At the meeting in Isabel’s home, Mrs. Wingert had spent a full half hour deliberating on the right assortment of sequins for her project, fretting that she didn’t want to make the wrong choice.
“Fuchsia or teal?” Yvonne remembers, laughing.
It takes the women less than five minutes to drive to Isabel’s neighborhood. Isabel looks next door at her own home, dark and lonely, then turns up Bettie’s walk with Yvonne at her heels.
Isabel surveys the welcome sign on Bettie’s door. WARNING: THIS HOUSE IS PROTECTED BY AN AVID SCRAPBOOKER. She sighs and bends down, lifts a corner of the doormat and then the other.
“There aren’t any keys here,” Isabel says. She picks up the doormat and gives it a good shake. Bits of dirt and crushed leaves fall down.
Yvonne tries the front door. “Locked,” she reports.
The two women look up and down Bettie’s porch. There’s an old wrought iron bench, a few dying potted plants. A two-foot stone statue of an angel is tucked into the far corner, its nose chipped, and covered with cobwebs.
“I wonder …” Isabel says as she walks over. She sneezes when a cloud of dust rises as she rocks the angel from side to side. “This thing weighs a ton.”
“Look!” Yvonne exclaims, and then Isabel sees it. A glimmer of steel. A key.
Isabel picks up the key. “That’s an odd shape,” she says, frowning. “It looks too small.”
“Try it anyway,” Yvonne suggests.
Isabel tries to slip the key into the lock but it won’t fit. “Nope,” she says. She looks at Yvonne. “What should we do?” She puts the key back under the angel and wipes her hands.
Yvonne is chewing on her lip, a look of uncertainty on her face. “Well, okay. Here’s the thing: I can probably get us into the house but I’ll have to use some unconventional methods.”
“Does it involve a rock and a window?”
“Of course not!” Yvonne gives her an exasperated look.
“Okay, okay. Just hurry.”
Yvonne goes to her truck and comes back with her tool chest. She rummages around and then holds up what looks like a couple of wires. She turns to the door and starts to jimmy the lock. A few seconds later there’s a click, and Yvonne turns the knob and pushes the door open.
Isabel stares at her. “What are you, a thief? Do you have a record?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I studied to be a locksmith, too, that’s all. Learned a few tricks of the trade. Now come on.”
The women don’t get past the foyer.
“Oh my God,” Yvonne says, struck. “What happened?”
Isabel looks around, speechless. It’s as if a hurricane has come through and upended everything. The house looks ransacked—items strewn everywhere, books and mail on the floor, craft items spilling off the tables and shelves. “I don’t know,” she manages to say.
Yvonne reaches for her phone. “Should I call the police?”
Isabel shakes her head. “The door was locked, remember? Nobody broke in here.” She gingerly takes a step forward, then slowly begins to make her way around Bettie’s house.
Isabel has only been in Bettie’s house a few times, but it’s always been neat as a pin. Bettie is one of those organized people who keeps everything in well-labeled, matching boxes. But now everything is in disarray. In the kitchen, Isabel notices the dishes piled up in the sink, plates of half-eaten food scattered everywhere. Isabel has to pinch her nose to block out the stench.
“It wasn’t like this when I came here to fix her sink,” Yvonne says, bewildered. “What was that, a month ago? Something’s seriously wrong here.”
That much is clear. But Isabel doubts it has anything to do with anyone other than Bettie.
Her cellphone rings again and Isabel sees it’s the same number as before. “Bettie?”
“Isabel, where are you? Did you find the dots? We’re about to start the meeting, but there’s no way I can do my segment on ‘Scrapbooking Secrets’ if I don’t have them!” Bettie sounds indignant.
“I’m looking for them now,” Isabel says, gesturing to Yvonne to start looking. “But, uh, I’m having a little trouble finding them.”
“Oh for goodness’ sake. Are you in my craft room? It’s toward the back of the house, near the laundry room.” Bettie hangs up with a click.
“You’re welcome,” Isabel mutters.
They pick their way to the craft room, which is in marginally better shape than the rest of the house. After a few minutes, Isabel finds the box labeled ADHESIVES but finds everything except for adhesives inside.
“Maybe we should stop by the store and buy some,” Yvonne suggests.
“We don’t even know what we’re looking for,” Isabel says, opening every box. A few minutes later, she holds up a box labeled FIBERS triumphantly. “Pay dirt. Glue sticks, glue guns, instant decoupage sealer, rolls of washi tape and …” She reads off a clear packet filled with adhesive foam cut in the shape of circles. “Pop-up glue dots!”
Yvonne is gagging as she holds up a half-eaten package of powdered donuts dotted with mold before dropping it in a trashcan that’s already overflowing. “We don’t need to diet—I’ve officially lost my appetite. Forever.”
Isabel nods toward the door, still unable to make sense of everything around her. “Me, too. Let’s go.”
“The September meeting of the Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society is now in order. Please take your seats, ladies.”
Ava sucks in her breath. There are so many people here, so many women who look familiar, a few whom Ava remembers. She wishes she hadn’t said yes to Bettie Shelton, who had called to invite her to the tea salon for dinner. She had foolishly assumed that Bettie wanted to buy some inventory or get a few ideas, and she was so encouraged by the news that Margot had almost sold out of Ava’s jewelry that she had said yes without really thinking about it.
Max is covering his arm with stickers. “Look!” he says to Ava, who puts a finger to her lips.
“Shh,” she whispers, but smiles and pulls him onto her lap. Bettie had a small packet of stickers and paper ready for him when they walked through the door.
Ava hugs Max tighter to her. He’s excited to be out, has enjoyed being fawned over by the ladies of the scrapbooking club. She’s relieved not to be alone, and she’s planning on using him as an excuse to get out of there. Bedtime, she’ll say apologetically to Bettie the first chance she gets.
She waits impatiently as Bettie goes through the minutes of the last meeting, makes some announcements.
“Tonight I want everyone to think outside the album,” Bettie is saying. “Memories can happen anywhere. It’s not just the big events, but the small moments, too. Scrapbooking isn’t about making things pretty on the page, but about how you feel, about the details in life that are special, that feel good. Invite others to take an emotional journey with you. Using textures in your layouts is one of the fastest ways to get people there.” She frowns and scans the room, then mutters, “Isabel better show up with those glue dots soon.”
Startled, Ava looks around. Did Bettie mean Isabel Kidd?
“So, since we’re talking about texture today, I’m pleased to introduce our surprise guest, Ava Catalina. She’s the owner of Free Hearts, a bottle-cap jewelry company.”
Despite her anxiety, Ava feels herself flush with pleasure. Owner? Company? It sounds so official, so real. Bettie nods toward her and the women turn around and start clapping.
“And her son, Matt …”
“Max,” Ava co
rrects politely as Max smiles on cue. “Thank you for having me,” she adds to everyone. There are approving nods and smiles. No one seems to know who she is, and it feels good to be noticed in a way that doesn’t involve disapproving snickers or scowls.
“We’ll have Ava up after the break,” Bettie says. “I’m also pleased to announce that I’ll be hosting a beginner’s scrapbooking primer in ten minutes for you newbies. As for the rest of you, Madeline has given us full use of the sitting room and dining area, so find your work space and let’s start scrappin’!” There’s a bang as she hits a wood block with a decorated mallet, making Ava jump.
There’s a small cheer as the women stand up and quickly start arranging themselves. After the break, Ava thinks with dread. Maybe she can talk to Bettie, explain that unfortunately she won’t be able to stay so late because of Max’s bedtime.
“Don’t forget to use your punches!” Bettie calls out to everyone. “And make the most of your chipboard alphas—this is a great time to break them out if you’ve been holding back!”
“Oh my God,” Ava hears a murmur behind her. “Let’s drop this off and go.”
“Five minutes,” another voice begs. “Did you see those cute tags Bettie has in this month’s scrap pack? They’re embossed, Isabel.”
“I’m going to pretend we’re not even having this conversation,” comes the annoyed reply.
Ava gives a quarter turn, then freezes when she sees who it is. It is Isabel Kidd, and she’s with her friend. They’re a formidable pair, confident and pretty, though Isabel clearly looks put out. Ava shrinks in her chair, buries her face in Max’s hair as she tries to come up with a plan.
“FINALLY!” she hears Bettie say. “I thought you’d never get here! You can put them over here. And you brought Yvonne, how lovely!”
As the women walk away, Ava scoops Max into her arms and hurries toward the exit.
“Oh, isn’t he adorable?” A woman carrying a box of tea bags stops to give them a smile. Ava recognizes her as the owner of the tea salon.
“I’m Madeline,” the woman says. “And this is Connie.” She nods to the young woman behind her. Connie is holding a china platter filled with small pastries.
