Fairytale Come Alive (8 page)

“No dessert. I don’t want Prentice to think I’m trying to make them like me,” Isabella answered.

Fiona closed her ghostly eyes.

Yesterday, after her beloved husband told off his hated ex-fiancée, Fiona had wished she could kiss him (not for the first time).

Today, she wished she could kick him (also not for the first time, however, it
had
been the first time since she’d died).

“You make a mean hot fudge sundae,” Annie said to Isabella.

Sally would love an American hot fudge sundae
, Fiona told her excitedly.
And Jason’s favorite food in the world is clotted cream ice cream. Make that!

“No dessert,” Isabella said softly but firmly in her weird authoritative voice.

Annie halted, Mikey halted with her and both of them glared at Isabella, Mikey adding a cross of the arms on his chest which made his glare far more effective.

“Okay, Debs was out-of-control yesterday. You shouldn’t be surprised about that, Debs was
always
out-of-control,” Annie stated. “And Prentice got upset with you but you shouldn’t be surprised about that either. First, you dumped him and never explained, which, I will repeat, for the five
thousandth
time, you should have. Or you should have let
me
explain it to him and Dougal and Debs and
everybody
. Something, which I will remind you, you refused to let me do, about… oh, I don’t know?
Five thousand
times
. Or you should have let Dad say something which he’s been wanting to do
for years
. And last, Prentice lost his wife and he’s on edge. He’s taking care of two kids, running his own firm, his best friend is blissfully happy and his ex-girlfriend is sleeping under his roof.”

“And who arranged
that?
” Isabella returned coolly and Fiona, floating beside her, nodded in invisible agreement because, especially for Annie, that was underhanded.

Though, Fiona was curious to know what there was to explain and why Isabella wouldn’t let Annie or Fergus do it.

Annie had the good manners to blush.

“I want all the people I love to get along,” she said quietly and Fiona lost her pique.

So did Isabella.

Even so, Isabella walked around the cart to her friend and grabbed Annie’s hand. “First, I think you know why I’ve never explained or let you explain.”

“I know why,” Annie returned. “I just don’t agree.”

“I don’t either,” Mikey put in.

Fiona floated closer.

“I know you both don’t agree,” Isabella replied. “But I believe, deeply, it’s better this way and I’ll ask, again, that you respect my wishes.”

Neither Mikey nor Annie looked happy about this but they didn’t respond.

Isabella continued, “And, I’m sorry Annie, but Prentice doesn’t have to like me. He doesn’t even have to get along with me. He has to put up with for me for one week. Then, sweetie, I’m gone. Don’t put this pressure on him, he’s got enough on his plate. Just let me...” Isabella stopped, her eyes got big, her usually remote face filled with pleasure, making her beauty radiant as it had been the day before when she’d smiled at Fergus then she practically did a small jump in her high-heeled, fancy, posh, brown boots and cried, “I’ve got it!”

Fiona stared, even Isabella’s soft voice had raised with excitement.

“Got what?” Mikey asked, staring at her avidly, a small grin on his lips. The look on his face and the attention he was giving his friend told Fiona he didn’t often see her like this and he was intent on enjoying it on the rare occasions she showed it.

But Isabella had raced back to the handle on the shopping cart and was pushing it with renewed vim and vigor, like she had a new lease on life.

“The food for the kids and Prentice won’t be from
me,
” she announced, her eyes searching the shelves, her hands reaching for a variety of biscuits and she studied them. “The sundaes won’t even be from
me
. I’ll tell Prentice that Annie went shopping with me and I’ll tell him
Annie
bought it.” She stopped studying the biscuits and looked gleefully at the stunned Annie and Mikey. “
He’ll never know!
” When she finished, she was almost shouting.

It was so perfect, Fiona nearly laughed.

Instead she shouted as loud (which was silent) as she could,
Chocolate fingers and custard creams!

“Chocolate fingers and custard creams,” Isabella murmured, Fiona just stopped herself from doing a happy, floaty cartwheel that somehow, on some plane, Isabella Austin Evangelista could hear her and Isabella put down the biscuits she had and reached for Jason and Sally’s favorites. “And ginger snaps for Prentice,” she whispered.

Fiona closed her ghostly eyes.

She remembered Prentice loved ginger snaps.

Fiona wanted to hate her but what woman who carried around pictures of a man she had to love with all her heart in a secret compartment of her luggage and wore his ring hidden around her neck and remembered for twenty years that he liked ginger snaps could be hated?

Not to mention that Fiona had caught her opening her door so she could hear the morning pandemonium in the great room.

Really?

Even his dead ghost wife who seriously
wanted
to think she was a deceitful bitch couldn’t hate her.

And anyway, she was finding excuses to put food in the house and giving Fiona’s children peas.

Fiona, too, had to put up with Isabella Evangahlala (Fiona cracked up every time Sally called her that) for a week and if she put good food in her children’s bellies and lime marmalade in the cupboard and ginger snaps in the cookie jar, she figured that would be a lot easier to do.

Clotted cream ice cream!
Fiona screamed

Isabella shoved the cart forward, mumbling, “Clotted cream ice cream.”

* * * * *

Isabella

Isabella was in her rooms in Prentice’s house when she heard Prentice and the kids come home.

She’d been there for a few hours, feigning jetlag after they’d dropped off the food and went back into town to do some shopping.

However, shopping in the village became not so fun when Isabella ran into a dozen people she knew and most of them acted like they didn’t see her, the others like they didn’t know her and one stared at her like she was singlehandedly responsible for famine in Africa.

Even though Annie had set aside that day to spend with her and Mikey before the onslaught of celebrations, both her friends saw the villagers’ behavior and they didn’t demur when Isabella lied and said she needed to rest.

Being in Prentice’s house without Prentice and the children and with time on her hands meant Isabella did something she knew she shouldn’t.

But she couldn’t help it.

She’d given herself a tour of his house.

Annie had told her that Prentice had left the firm he’d worked for five years ago and started his own. He had five employees and enough work that it was steady, busy and his family was comfortable.

He’d also designed this house.

And it was extraordinary.

The great room with its huge wall of windows, the large, rectangular gleaming dining table at the foot of the stairs, state-of-the-art kitchen with stainless steel appliances and an enormous American refrigerator was, in itself, phenomenal. The blond wood, open-backed (and sided) wide stairwell, the steps that seemed (because they were) suspended in midair was unusual and amazing. The upper floor fed off the side into the cliff that rose beside of the house, four bedrooms (one which was a playroom-slash-music room) and a full bath with the kids’ rooms having their own jack and jill bathroom. The master suite (which Isabella very quickly dashed through even though she really,
really
shouldn’t have) had a sitting room, bedroom, walk-in closet and bathroom with sunken tub.

Isabella noted that Fiona’s clothes and belongings were no longer in the room and, even though that made her heart contract, she was glad that Prentice had moved beyond what she suspected was a very difficult stage of the grieving process.

On her side of the house there was a study (obviously Prentice’s), a television room with a big, comfy sectional couch (there was no TV in the great room, or any other room in the house for that matter), a half bath, a large storage area and a mudroom-slash-laundry room.

There were balconies that faced the sea leading from the great room, Prentice’s bedroom and even a small private one in her rooms.

The rooms were huge, airy and full of windows. The blond wood floors, timber sashes and skirting boards were gorgeous. The unusual lines of the ceilings and quirky touches were extraordinary.

The entire house was magnificent.

It wasn’t decorated to Isabella’s taste (obviously). Isabella liked no mess, no clutter, clean lines.

But this was a family home stuffed full with books, picture frames and proudly displayed but poorly crafted children’s art. The fridge was covered in bits and pieces. The mudroom was filled with coats and boots and dirty laundry.

Even so, there was a flair to it that reminded Isabella of Fiona. It was comfortably appointed but decorated with a hint of fun and playfulness with bold and bright colors that would only be used by a woman who was confident in herself and her taste.

Exactly the opposite of Isabella who had hired a decorator to decorate her apartment and had very little hand in the choosing of anything, fabrics, colors, draperies, she didn’t care. She didn’t really even see it.

Her home was the place where she existed just as her life was simply an existence.

Once she’d finished her tour and dinner chores, she’d retreated to her rooms.

Now, to her surprise, she heard scrambling feet coming close and Prentice’s voice calling sharply, “Sally!”

The scrambling feet sounded on the stairs and Isabella whirled to the door she hadn’t closed.

She’d just finished doing yoga.

She’d asked her doctor to titrate her off the anti-depressants she’d been taking for years. He hadn’t wanted to but she didn’t want to be zoned out when Annie finally had her dream come true.

In fact, she figured she’d been zoned out long enough.

She’d taken her last pill two days before.

Isabella felt (and convinced her doctor) that she could deal with the dark thoughts and she’d created a variety of mechanisms to help her do it.

She had her journals.

She kept things ordered and tidy around her.

She used aromatherapy to help her sleep and other times besides, like now when she practiced yoga.

Before leaving the village that day, she’d bought four fantastic, homemade candles from Fern Goodacre’s cute little shop. One was in the sitting room, currently burning a calming scent of lavender, one was in the bedroom and two were in the wardrobe for use by the next guests, a small present for Prentice that he probably wouldn’t notice and didn’t have to enjoy himself.

She was wearing her roll-top, wide-legged, charcoal gray yoga pants and a plum colored, shelf-bra camisole. Her feet were bare and her hair was pulled in a messy knot secured by a ponytail holder on the top of her head.

Isabella was
not
in “company clothes” as her father called them and also demanded that she wear them at all times when “in company” which was, unless she was alone, pretty much all the time.

She had no choice. Before she could move, Sally burst through the door still wearing her school uniform with her pink and purple rucksack strapped to her back.

“We’re home!” she shouted as if Isabella was at the other side of the house not right in front of her.

Isabella couldn’t help herself, she smiled.

“I see that, honey.”

Sally took in all that was Isabella and the room including the yoga mat on the floor before she asked, “Whatcha doin’?”

Isabella leaned down to pick up the mat and started rolling it up when she heard adult footsteps on the stairs.

Her heart skipped a beat.

“Yoga,” Isabella replied, her hands moving quickly on the mat, unsure of Prentice’s response to Sally’s impromptu visit and wanting to be prepared.

Sally lost interest in her answer and danced to the candle.

“What’s
this?
” she breathed, getting close and staring at it as if she’d never seen a candle before in her life.

Isabella forgot to concentrate on the sounds of someone approaching and took a wide step toward Sally, putting a hand to her shoulder and gently moving her away.

“Careful, sweetheart, that’s an open flame.”

Sally beamed up at her.

My, but she’s a gorgeous child,
Isabella thought, her brain erasing of everything else.

She’d wanted children, badly. She could have borne dozens of them. She wanted a wild, happy house filled with photo frames of family snapshots and poorly crafted children’s art projects.

Unfortunately, she’d found she couldn’t have them. After years of heartbreaking tests, treatments and procedures she’d learned it was a complete impossibility.