“This is so typical,” Isabel complains as she stirs her tomato soup. She drops in a handful of croutons, wishing she’d thought to pick up some real food before coming over. Yvonne never seems to have more than soup and rice cakes in her pantry. “You find the only available guy in Avalon, and of course he’s a looker.”
“Make that with a capital L.” Yvonne is glowing.
Isabel shoots her an annoyed look. “But he does live with his mother,” she reminds her.
“Yeah, the jury’s still out on that one. But maybe he’s got a good reason, like she’s sick or something.” Yvonne’s brow furrows. “Although she looked pretty healthy to me. So that’s probably not it.”
“Maybe he’s gay,” Isabel suggests a bit too hopefully.
“Nice try. I don’t think so.” Yvonne is smirking.
Isabel points her spoon at Yvonne. “I got it. He’s the devil in disguise.”
Yvonne rolls her eyes.
“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.”
“You 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 corrects 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.
“I’m hungry, Mommy,” Max says, looking up at Ava. He wouldn’t eat when they first arrived, too enthralled by all the commotion. Ava had only picked at her food, unsure of what was happening, still reeling from the shock that her “dinner” with Bettie included thirty other women toting small luggage carts filled with paper.
“There’s still plenty of food on the buffet,” Madeline says. “I think the ladies plan on grazing all night. Help yourself.”
“We need to be going,” Ava says quickly. “But thank you.”
“I’m hungry,” Max says again, and there’s a hint of a whine.
“Here,” Connie says, handing Max a pastry, then looks at Ava guiltily. “Oh, sorry, I should have checked with you first. Is it okay that I gave that to him? It’s an apple dumpling.” They watch as Max shoves the whole thing into his mouth.
“Moruh,” Max says, his mouth full.
Ava sighs. “It’s okay,” she says.
“There you are!” Bettie exclaims, hurrying up behind them. “Ava, I was thinking that it would be so much fun if you could talk about how to use bottle caps in our layouts, or maybe as a separate do-it-yourself project with leftover paper scraps. I know the ladies would welcome your ideas.”
“Well, I haven’t had much time to think about it,” Ava says, wanting to get out of there before Isabel sees her. “And you know, Max is tired …” She nods apologetically at her son who’s reaching for another apple dumpling. He smiles at them, looking anything but tired.
“Oh, he looks like he’s having fun!” Bettie says, producing another package of stickers. “Look what I have, Matt!”
Max reaches for it and then says again, “I’m hungry.”
“Perfect!” Bettie cries. “Connie can take him to get some food, can’t you?”
“Actually …” Connie begins but Bettie gives Max a tickle and in the same motion manages to extract him from Ava’s arms and plop him into Connie’s while passing the apple dumpling platter to Madeline. Both Madeline and Connie have their arms full as Bettie drags Ava away.
“Now, I’m going to do a quick 101 for you and a few other new members.”
“I don’t scrapbook …” Ava begins.
“Exactly!” Bettie nods her head as if Ava has proved her point. “Everyone says that, but the truth is that everybody scrapbooks in one way or another—you just don’t know it. It’s my job to give you the right tools to make it easier to preserve those special memories. Don’t you want to have something nice for Matt?”
“Max …”
“They grow up so fast, and we’re all so busy these days. Scrapbooking a little bit here and there ensures that we remember the moments that matter most. It’ll be something he’ll treasure when he’s older.” Bettie smiles. “Don’t you want that for him?”
What a low blow. Ava hasn’t even put together Max’s baby book, doesn’t keep a journal of any kind. She’s been meaning to do something, but every time she begins to sift through the photos, it feels hard and overwhelming, incomplete. She doesn’t know where to begin and at the same time is afraid of leaving something out, knowing already that the biggest piece isn’t there.
“Now, you don’t have to worry about anything right now. Just listen and play—that’s what I tell everyone. Listen and play, and see where it goes from there. You’ll be amazed at what happens when you have pretty patterned paper and card stock looking back at you! It’s like something opens up inside. Come on!” Bettie tugs on her arm.
“Bettie, I can’t.” Ava untangles herself from Bettie’s grip and holds her ground. “I’m sorry, but I can’t go back in.”
“Why not?”
Ava hesitates. “Because there’s someone there who would be very upset if she saw me.”
Bettie stops and stares at her. “Who? I know every lady in there and I can assure you that you’d be welcome.”
Ava shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
“I’d stake my life on it,” Bettie declares. “Now who is it?”
Ava swallows. She can tell that Bettie won’t let up unless Ava tells her. “Isabel Kidd.”
“But why would Isabel …” There’s a long, drawn-out pause as Bettie stares at Ava. In the instant when Bettie puts two and two together, Ava can almost see the lightbulb go off.
She explains, “As you know, I used to work for her husband, Bill, in the dental office. We were together for a year before he died. Max is Bill’s son.” There’s a rush of heat to her cheeks when she says it out loud, but it’s freeing, too. A relief. It’s the first time she’s actually said what had happened, who Max is.
“Oh lordy lord lord lord,” Bettie mutters. She chews her lip as she shakes her head. “Well, of course! I have to say, I am gobsmacked. Didn’t see this one coming, no, I didn’t.”
“I’m sorry about the presentation,” Ava says. “Maybe I could leave some samples with you and—”
“Just when you think you’ve seen it all,” Bettie continues with a shake of the head. “It’s funny how life works, don’t you think? I certainly don’t blame you for not wanting to stay. If I were in your shoes, I’d certainly be tempted to run away, too. There’s no other solution, now, is there?”
Ava stiffens. “I’m not running away. I just don’t want to cause her any more unhappiness.”
Bettie pats her arm soothingly, as if she were a small child. “Of course not. Now let’s get you out of here before Isabel sees you. She’s all worked up for some reason or another—you certainly wouldn’t want to get in her way tonight!” She begins to steer Ava toward the front door.
“Wait, I have to get Max …” Ava begins when Isabel and her friend walk into the foyer.
“Yvonne, we’re going,” Isabel is saying darkly as her friend protests. She stops talking when she sees Ava.
Ava wants to run, but she can’t get her legs to cooperate. They’re like jelly, threatening to buckle.
“Well!” Bettie says, clearing her throat. “This is certainly awkward.” She looks between the two women.
Neither Ava nor Isabel respond.
Ava feels Isabel’s eyes boring into her, searching, accusing. Resentment and anger are shimmering from her like heat off a sidewalk. Unlike Isabel’s outburst in front of her house, this is worse. Much worse. Isabel seems different somehow, more prepared, more powerful, and Ava can sense every emotion running through Isabel’s body. Forgiveness and understanding, however, are nowhere in the vicinity.
“You,” Isabel says. She turns to her friend. “It’s her.” She spits the word out, like a threat.
Ava glances at Bettie, who seems both concerned and a little enthralled. The hubbub of women and activity continues around them as if everything were normal, as if Ava weren’t concerned for her safety and well-being. At the moment she doesn’t know what Isabel might do, she just knows she should get out of there before she has a chance to find out.
Isabel’s friend puts a hand on her arm and says in a quiet voice, “Come on, Isabel. Let’s go.”
“NO.” Isabel is rooted on the spot, her hands on her hips. Ava can almost picture Isabel wearing a cape, an avenging superhero, wind blowing in her hair as she’s about to take down a villain.
“Isabel,” Ava says. “I’m sorry, I—I didn’t know you were going to be here. But I’m leaving now.”
Bettie purses her lips but doesn’t try to persuade Ava to stay. Even Isabel seems satisfied with this, her glare a little less hostile, her stance softening a little, the tightness easing up.
For a second Ava thinks it might all be okay, that she might get out of there, when she hears Max’s laughter and the sound of small footsteps running up behind her.
“Mommy!” he exclaims, and launches into her arms. “I have a goody bag for us!” He holds up a brown paper bag tied with a ribbon. A yellow letter M is taped to the top. “It’s my Happy Meal! The M is for Max!”
Connie and Madeline appear behind him, smiling.
“He’s so cute,” Connie says. “He said he wanted to share it with you so we decided to fill a to-go bag. He found that ribbon and chipboard M on the scrap table.”
“Swap table,” Bettie corrects, then reddens when she remembers what’s going on.
Ava doesn’t look at Isabel, her cheeks hot. She says hastily to Connie and Madeline, “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Connie says.
“Max is a delight,” Madeline agrees. “He’s welcome here anytime.” She smiles pleasantly at Isabel and her friend. “Hello, I’m Madeline Davis.”
Bettie clears her throat. “This is Isabel Kidd and Yvonne Tate.” She blinks frantically at Madeline, like she’s sending Morse code with her eyes.
Yvonne shakes their hands but Isabel isn’t paying attention to any one of them. The bluster seems to have gone out of her and her face is drawn and pale.
“Well, goodbye,” Ava says, and begins to make her way toward the front door.
“This is Max?” Isabel asks. She steps in front of them, stopping them.
Ava clutches Max to her, turns him away from Isabel. She’s no longer scared for herself, her own fear dissipating and replaced by a new one as she realizes what this could mean. Bettie and Yvonne are holding their breath while Connie and Madeline look uneasy, aware that something awkward is taking place.
Max pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Hello,” he says.
Ava is holding her breath, too. If she has to, she’ll fight. Push back, push her out of the way. Burn the bridge once and for all.
But Isabel doesn’t even seem to notice Ava. Her eyes are on Max, and Ava can see them filling with tears.
“My God,” Isabel breathes. Her hand comes up to her mouth, her eyes wide and wet. “He looks just like Bill’s baby pictures.”
“Really?” Bettie squints and stares at Max. Connie and Madeline inadvertently look at him, too. “Even with those glasses?”
“Bill had strabismus as a kid, but he had surgery and got it corrected.” Isabel’s voice is a whisper. Ava feels her heart give a leap at this news.
Bill had it, too. Just like Max.
“Stra-bis-what?” Bettie asks, but Isabel is shaking her head, unable to answer.
“Strabismus,” Ava says quietly. “Misaligned or crossed eyes. Max’s isn’t too bad so he won’t need a procedure, but he has to do regular exercises to strengthen the muscles in his eyes.”
“It’s probably hereditary,” Bettie says, and then stops when she realizes what she’s said. “I mean …”
At hearing this, Isabel seems to jerk back to her old self. She straightens up and clears her throat, wipes her eyes. “I have to go.” She spins and leaves before anyone can say anything, almost bumping into someone walking into the tea salon.
“Isabel!” Yvonne calls, but she’s already gone.
“Let her go,” Bettie says, reaching out to touch Yvonne’s arm. “Give her some time.”
Yvonne watches her friend disappear, worry etched on her face, but doesn’t go after her.
Ava feels terrible. She isn’t quite sure what to make of this turn of events. It was her plan to leave, but Isabel beat her to it. She doesn’t know what to do now. Max wiggles in her arms, grinning happily, oblivious. She holds him tighter, still processing the information that Bill also had strabismus. She’ll have to tell Max’s doctor, not that it will make any difference, but it can go into the file as a note. Hereditary predisposition. One more thing that Bill and Max share, something Ava can’t wait to tell him once they get home.
“Excuse me.” The woman who just walked in stares at the cluster of women, at Bettie, Madeline, Connie, Yvonne, and Ava. “My name is Frances Latham and I’m looking for the scrapbooking meeting. Am I late?”
Bettie checks her watch and gives it a tap, grateful for the interruption. “You’re right on time.”