His Other Life

Chapter 6

SIX

ISLA

Present day

Maverick’s last question still echoed in Isla’s mind as she got ready to do her deliveries the next day. It was the same question she’d asked herself over and over these past two years.

She and Jonah had gone to Bend for their anniversary weekend. She had looked forward to getting away. Had been eager to have some quality time together out of the house after almost a year of off-and-on quarantine that had left them both climbing the walls more than all over each other. Her last memory was of him pulling the car out of their garage while she locked the house. There had been flurries in the air, and a couple had landed on her bare neck, making her hurry, shivering and laughing, to the car as he opened the passenger door from the inside. “Get inside, ice princess,” he’d said. “Your ride awaits.”

Next she knew, she was in a hospital in Portland with Mom at her side. She didn’t remember either the drive south or the days they’d spent in Bend before the accident happened. Because her memory still hadn’t returned, she’d told herself it was best not to know. That it didn’t matter since nothing could bring Jonah back. The days when the dark abyss in her head took over, drew attention from her present, and shackled her to the house were her punishment, and a well-deserved one at that. Her husband couldn’t move on, so why should she?

There was also that one singular flash in the dark that she’d only ever told Louise about. Her online friends were a motley crew of bird curio collectors in a social media group she’d joined as a distraction six months after the accident, and perhaps because of their varied backgrounds, the conversations tended to range from the more relevant porcelain brands and flea market finds all the way to astrology, recipes, and travel recommendations.

Do you guys believe in life after death ? she’d asked a while back in the group. The responses had been varied, and eventually everyone but Louise had moved on to something else. That’s how the two of them had started messaging one on one and then talking on the phone. Louise was working as a journalist for her local paper somewhere in southern Washington, a collector of owls, and, it turned out, quite the connoisseur of tarot practitioners and energy healers. She very much wanted to believe, she’d said, since she’d lost a childhood friend not long ago, and consequently that was the first time Isla had admitted to someone else that “death” had not been silent. To her relief, Louise hadn’t found it the least bit odd that Isla had regained consciousness with the very clear and vibrant memory of her dead grandmother’s voice ringing in her head from beyond.

As comforting as the possibility was of there being more to life than she could see, it still didn’t retract a thing from that weighty unknown that Isla carried around daily. She’d tried to push it away, to accept the black hole in her mind, but its nagging was never far beneath the surface. And Mav asking the question point-blank hadn’t helped. It made the second bike ride to his place feel more uphill than the day before—and it wasn’t the fault of the gravy-laden meatloaf trays in her trailer.

I’ll be in and out in a minute , she told herself as she unloaded his food. She’d eat her sandwich with Mrs. Hauberman today. She’d replace Mav’s coffee jar, exchange a few cordial remarks, then take her leave.

“I bought cookies,” Maverick said in greeting as he opened the door for her. “I figured we could try again for some coffee?”

And how could she say no? He was a lonely old man after all.

Mav had already put the kettle on, so all Isla had to do was spoon instant coffee into their cups and not spill anything. That and take charge of the conversation.

“Tell me something about you,” she said, reaching for a chocolate chip cookie. “Where did you move from? Do you have family around here? And how did you get all of those?” She gestured to his tattooed face.

Mav stirred his coffee in measured circles, then he lifted his cup and peered at her over its rim. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask any more questions about Jonah.”

Isla’s mouth snapped closed, her cheeks heating.

Mav sipped the hot brew then set the cup down gently on its plate. “But if you really want to know…”

“I do.” Isla shoved half a cookie into her mouth, which made her “please” come out more like a sputtered “pweash.”

“I grew up in Seattle. Married late—I was fifty, she was forty-six—no kids. Lorraine and I got thirty wonderful years together.” His eyes twinkled as her name crossed his lips. “Best time of my life.”

“Do you have a picture?”

“I sure do.” He shuffled into the other room and returned holding a silver frame. “This was taken on her seventy-fifth birthday, before she got sick.”

Isla took the frame and angled it to get a good look. Lorraine was a petite woman at least a foot shorter than her husband, with a neat silver bob and a radiant smile. In the photo, they held hands, leaning into each other as if they’d just shared an inside joke, and it made something in Isla’s chest squeeze tight. “It’s a great picture,” she said. “You look almost the same.” He did, except for a slightly fuller face and thicker, darker hair back then.

“You flatter me.” Maverick held out his hand for the frame. “Oh, my sweet Lorrie.” He ran a fingertip over his wife’s face. “Do you know what she said the first time we met? She said, ‘I don’t much have the patience for reading, but I quite like the story your face is telling.’” He chuckled. “How could I not marry her after that?”

Isla smiled. “Agreed. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Mav waved her off. “Don’t be. I’ll see her before long.”

Isla had been about to put her cup to her lips. Now, she lowered it instead. “You will?”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those ‘this is all there is’ folks.” Mav set the photo down, adjusting it just so. “The hubris of the human race, thinking we know all there is to know.” He reached for a cookie. “But you know better than that, I believe.”

What’s that supposed to mean? Isla’s lips parted, ready to take the bait, but then she caught herself. Nope, she wasn’t going there today. “And now you’ve moved here,” she hurried to say instead.

Mav nodded once, not pushing it. “I needed to be by water again.”

“Again?”

“After Korea, I…” Mav’s lips tightened briefly into a line, then he sat back in his seat. “I took to the seas, you might say. Made a career of it working the cargo routes. There aren’t many harbors around the world that I haven’t seen.”

He was a sailor then. A globetrotter. “The tattoos are from your travels.”

“Indeed they are.”

Made sense. Isla was about to ask if they held any special meaning when her phone rang in her pocket. She pulled it out, ready to reject the call, but when she saw Western Washington University on the caller ID, she let two more signals ring out until Maverick interrupted her stupor.

“Need to get that?”

She knew what they wanted. Had already let two other calls go to voicemail. “Yeah. Sorry.” She got up and stepped into the hallway. “Hello?”

“Isla, you’re a tough person to get a hold of.” Dean Abbot’s deep voice came over the line followed by a rumbling cough courtesy of his penchant for smoking cigars.

She hadn’t spoken to her boss since last summer, but now here he was in her ear. “Hi. Yes, I’ve had some, um, cell phone problems lately. Got to get that fixed.”

“Mm.”

They exchanged a few pleasantries before the dean got down to business.

“What we’re all wondering over here is—how are you doing?”

How was she doing? Such a big question with all kinds of expectations tied to it. Not that she didn’t understand why he had to ask. This was her second full school year on leave, and while she wasn’t costing them anything, she knew it wasn’t a good look when the accident had happened so close after she’d made tenure. “I’m out of the brace. PT helped a lot,” she said, offering partial truths.

“That’s great.” Cough, cough . “And are you feeling, um, stronger? Generally I mean.”

Stronger . She hadn’t watched the wedding tape last night. Did that count?

When she didn’t respond, he continued, “The reason I’m asking, of course, is that we’re deep into preparations for next year. And what we’re very much hoping is that you’re planning on returning to us. What are your thoughts on that?”

Isla cleared her throat. Working. Focusing. Interacting with people who knew her before. Her skin felt suddenly clammy. “I’m thinking about it. Talking it over with my doctors. You know.” She closed her eyes at the lie.

“Right, right. And do you think you might have an answer for us soon?”

Isla kept her head down. “Yes. Yup. Pretty soon.”

“Great.” Cough, cough . “Okay. Well, you know where to reach me. Let’s touch base again next week or so, yes?”

“Sounds good.”

They hung up, and Isla sucked in a deep breath before returning to Maverick in the kitchen.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

Isla nodded, shoving her phone back in her pocket. “Work. I mean my old work. I’m an art history professor. Or I was. They want to know if I’m coming back this fall.”

“And are you?”

Isla shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

“Life usually is.” Mav held out the plate of cookies toward her, but she declined, remaining standing.

“I’m not… solid. Not like before. How am I supposed to prepare lectures, tutor, grade, do research when all I can think about is—” Her voice broke.

Mav got up from his seat and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I know, I know.”

“And it’s not only the job. Jonah’s sister, Katelyn, works there too, same department—also my fault incidentally—and I can’t imagine… I mean I wouldn’t want to…” A stubborn tear broke free of her lashes.

Isla was the one who’d told Katelyn about the opening in the department way back when. Ancient history now, but if she could have it undone… Her distress deepened at the ugly feeling because the truth was Katelyn had never been anything but friendly when they were both colleagues and sisters-in-law.

“There, there.” Mav handed her a tissue. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Isla sniffled. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry.” She wasn’t simply being polite. Something about Mav halted her usual self-consciousness. Not that she wanted to burden him. He was her client after all, not the other way around. “I should probably go.”

He didn’t press it, instead quietly handing her her purse. “Will I see you again next week?”

Isla paused in the doorway. She could say no. The point of volunteering was to do something nice for others, not to get something out if it herself. She had no claim on that. And yet…

“Looking forward to it,” she said.

And she meant it.

“Proud of you for not letting the call go to voicemail this time,” Louise said over the phone that evening.

Isla had just finished telling her about the dean’s call and his question while organizing her hummingbird collection. She lifted a colorful figure carved from wood and wiped it off, then moved to the next. It was better meditation than sitting cross-legged on the floor, that was for sure. “Thanks.”

“But you don’t know what to tell him?”

Isla turned a crystal hummingbird a few degrees so the light would catch the facets better. “I think it’s still too soon.”

“Well, you’d know best. But if you want some guidance, I’m happy to pull a card for you.”

“That’s okay.” Last time Louise had pulled a Four of Cups card and told Isla it meant she was stuck. Isla hardly needed a tarot deck to know that.

“I keep telling you not to knock it.”

Isla smiled and picked up the original Coalport hummingbird—the one Nana had given her for her fifth birthday. It was a green and purple beauty with its wings spread and its beak in a pale pink flower. “I checked earlier and mine is still the highest bid by the way,” she said, switching topics.

“How many days left?” Louise asked, knowing instantly what Isla was referring to. The auction for this bird’s sibling figurine.

“Twenty. I think the seller is hoping to build interest with this one.”

“Isla?” Mom’s voice cut through the house, interrupting them.

“Hold on,” Isla told Louise then stuck her head into the hallway. “Yes?” She could hear Nancy’s footfalls on the bottom stairs.

“I’ve made tea. Could you come downstairs?”

Isla checked her watch. Eight thirty. Usually, Mom was well on her way to falling asleep in front of the TV at this hour. She frowned.

“I have to go,” she told Louise. “Mom needs me for something.”

They said their goodbyes, and Isla placed the porcelain bird back in its spot before closing the curio cabinet.

If evening tea was unusual on its own, Isla was even more confounded when she got downstairs to find her mom waiting for her on the couch with the TV off.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

Nancy smiled and patted the seat. “Come sit. Let’s chat.”

Isla hesitated but then made her way around the couch. “Why do I suddenly feel like I’m fifteen again?”

“Don’t be silly.” Mom looked away. “Who were you talking to?”

“Louise.”

“More bird stuff?”

Isla reached for the mug on her side of the table. “Mom.” She leveled her mother with a pointed stare. “What’s going on? What did you want to talk about?”

Nancy brushed her shoulder-length silver waves back and adjusted her glasses. “The university called here earlier today looking for you.”

“I know; I talked to Dean Abbot.” Isla tried a careful sip of her chai.

“Oh.” Mom’s eyebrows jumped. “And?”

“And what?”

Her mother set her mug down and crossed her arms. Then she released them again and stuck both hands between her knees as she leaned forward. “Don’t you think it’s time, Birdie? To go back to work I mean?”

Isla took a deep breath. There must be something in the air today. “You know it’s not that simple.”

“But at some point, you need to start living again. Really living. You’re young. You have a life ahead of you.”

“Unlike Jonah.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Mom removed her glasses and rubbed at one eye, leaving crumbs of mascara on her cheekbone. “I know you think I’m nagging, but it’s been two years. And as much as I feel for you, the Jonah I knew wouldn’t want this for you. An idle life, a small life. Forsaking your career.”

Everything inside Isla tightened, and she stood abruptly. “Don’t tell me what he’d want. You don’t know. Maybe this is exactly what I deserve and he’s happy about it.”

Her mom regarded her calmly for a moment. “Sit down,” she said finally.

Isla huffed out another breath, still contemplating flight, but in the end, she sank back into the cushions.

“I need you to get your life back together again.” Her mom spoke slowly and articulately, her gaze not wavering from Isla’s.

“But, Mom?—”

“No.” Nancy’s eyes softened. “I know you’re still hurting. I know because I am too. Losing your father was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with, and the pain is there every day. But it serves no one to hide underneath that cloak of grief.”

“It’s not the same. And maybe you forget I lost Dad too.” Isla glanced up at the mantel where her parents’ wedding photo sat front and center. He’d been dealing with emphysema for almost as long as she could remember. In and out of hospitals her whole life. When the pandemic struck, he’d been one of the first to succumb. “You weren’t the cause of Dad’s death. You don’t have to wake up every morning and wonder what happened. Why you’re here and not him.”

“I know that.” Nancy brushed a fleck of dust off the table. “I know that,” she repeated, more quietly this time. “You lost them both, and it’s not the same.”

That’s right , Isla thought, breathing easier with the acquiescence.

“But that still doesn’t change things.” Mom looked up. Her back straightened, and she squared her shoulders. “What I really wanted to talk to you about tonight is that I need you to find a way to move on, because come this summer you’ll be on your own. I’m selling the house and moving to Arizona.”

And like that, the safety net that had caught Isla when she’d fallen, that she’d counted on for two years, was gone.