Turn this house into a home,
When I climb the stairs and turn the key
Oh, please be there, still in love with me
― Hal David
These Nights
The house seems so empty when Isabel isn't here―even my footsteps echo hollowly across the hardwood.
Fortunately, I have Frizzy to keep me company and she's charming me with all her kitten games. She stretches out like a ballerina and then reclines on her back, inviting me to pet her.
At the moment she's settled down a bit and is sitting opposite me giving me the slow blink. I'm not sure what it means but I think she's telegraphing she trusts me.
But from time to time, she gets up and searches the entire main floor making plaintive mews—I know she's missing somebody.
"I miss her too, Ballerina Girl ", I whisper to console her.
It's only eight and Izzie's working until midnight. It crosses my mind to tell her to quit until she can find a reporter's job, but then I think better of that plan.
She likes to be independent and I don't want to crush her spirit, as hard as it is on Frizzy and me, we just have to let her do her thing and endure her absence.
She'll be surprised though to find the security system installed and I'll have to walk her through how to use it, but if it keeps her and Frizzy safe, it's more than worth it.
As I walk by the foyer I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror.
I look different―calmer, more settled. I'm not sure I like the look. Fast-forward a few years and I might be a couch potato—what would The Boys say then?
I catch myself and realize how juvenile that sounds. Jake certainly doesn't look or act like a couch-potato and he has been 'settled' in a relationship for several years.
Old habits die hard, I suppose, along with stinking thinking and the rebellion that goes with it.
Chagrined, I'm back on the couch staring into flames again, but this time they aren't burning embers heaped on my head but the warmth of hearth and home.
Why am I still tempted to give any credence to what Mace Wells or The Boys might say? I've been down that road before and it leads straight to the Millhaven pen and I'm not going back there for anyone or anything.
I've done my time and finally found a home where I belong.
Later that evening, just before midnight, I'm waiting outside The Thirsty Cactus for Isabel to finish her shift.
It's snowing softly and the streets are soundless as if enveloped in cotton batten.
Isabel comes out spots my Prius and comes running.
"Did you miss me?" I smile as she gets in.
"Just get of here, Jonas, I'll explain on the drive home."
"Sure," I frown, worried by her pale face and tense expression.
Out on the road snowflakes are dancing in the headlight tunnels and the car glides down the highway as if on a magic carpet.
"It's lovely, isn't it?" I ask, trying to gauge her reaction.
"A guy was harassing me—I just needed to get out of there."
"What do you mean—was he acting threatening?"
"I mean if I told you, you'd probably go in there and fight him."
"You got that right," I hiss through clenched teeth.
"I don't want you getting into trouble with the cops trying to defend my honour. I can take care of myself."
"I know that, but he crossed a line. What did your manager say?"
"I didn't tell him."
"And why is that?"
"You ask too many questions—just drop it. If he comes back I'll tell Jeff."
"Can Jeff handle himself in that situation?"
"No, but he can ban the guy from the premises and call the cops if he persists."
I drive on in silence...a simmering silence. I want to do this guy some harm and she knows it.
"Are you going to talk to me tonight?" she whispers. "I missed you." She adds those words in her vulnerable way that I find impossible to resist.
"Yeah, I missed you, Iz—we both missed you. I got the security system installed. But I didn't think we'd need it this quick. You know I find it hard to stand down and do nothing."
"I know you do," she murmured, cozying up to me and leaning her head on my shoulder.
"I need you to be strong in a different way—not by using your fists."
What she said rocked me. It was almost verbatim what Jake told me.
Settle things with my words, not my fists. Am I such a hothead people have to remind me how to act in polite company?
Maybe I am fiery and brash enough to act out before thinking...
And maybe I spent too long in the pen to behave civilly out in society.