A. Colucci - Seeders

Isabelle looked across the room at Jules, a man who’d spent two years on the island with her family. She had been merely a child and he’d been twenty-two, but she thought he was brilliant and handsome, and she’d had a heart-wrenching crush on him at the time. Standing by the fire, he looked as though he hadn’t changed much. Still tall and attractive in an ill-fitting dark suit, although now he was much broader in stature and seemed more solemn than she remembered. A little gray at the temples. Isabelle couldn’t help feeling a twinge of attraction.

The elderly woman slammed a drawer, giving Isabelle a start. A friend of her father’s whom she’d met only once, Ginny looked to be in her late sixties, but quite fit and feisty. She was a diminutive woman with a pasty complexion, but her blue eyes sparkled and her even features implied that she was once quite pretty.

Her frilly lavender dress seemed more suitable for a party.

Isabelle watched Ginny approach Bonacelli as he opened his briefcase on the desk. She whispered something in his ear with a girlish expression and thrust her lip in a pout. The lawyer shook his head and walked to a cabinet, returning with a bottle of whiskey and discreetly pouring a shot in her teacup. She swayed into him, spilling a drop.

Isabelle put a hand to her mouth and smiled.

Luke and Monica came into the study and went straight for the fruit cake as Ginny watched with a scornful eye, gaping at Monica, who was dressed in the usual skimpy leather and black makeup.

It seemed as though the elderly woman was about to reproach the girl but instead she teetered toward Isabelle, scrutinizing her from head to toe. “My dear Isabelle, didn’t you turn out to be a pretty little thing? You look nothing like your mother.”

Isabelle swallowed hard. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“I’m surprised you even remember me, although I have aged quite well, don’t you think?” She didn’t wait for an answer but raised a gesturing hand. “Is that your son and… daughter?”

“That’s my son, Luke. Monica is just a friend.”

“Well. How lucky for your gene pool.”

Isabelle took a moment to respond. “I didn’t realize you and my father were close.”

“ Close? Why, we were lovers for thirteen years. George should have told you. Heavens, I hope there won’t be any feuding over the will. You should know George wanted to marry me.”

Isabelle wished she had the courage to walk away.

Then Ginny looked terribly sad and pulled a tissue from the sleeve of her dress, dabbing her dry eyes. “You probably don’t know this, but I gave that man everything I had. I financed his work and paid to keep this entire island running.” The expression of sorrow turned into an angry grin. “Bloody fool, I was. Now I’m practically destitute and my only hope is to recoup my losses from this estate.”

“It was nice of you to be there for him.”

“Well, his entire family left him. What else could I do?”

Isabelle watched Ginny teeter off, baffled by how George could have loved such a woman. Then she remembered her own mother, a far cry from courteous.

“Don’t mind her,” a voice spoke from behind.

“Oh, Dr. Beecher.”

“Jules. It’s nice to see you again, Isabelle.” He realized the circumstances and cleared his throat. “I mean…”

“Yes, I know. Do you have any idea…?”

Jules shook his head and gazed out the window. Isabelle was struck by the beauty of his face in the light, his soothing voice.

“It’s an awfully lonely island for one person,” he said.

“Did you visit at all?”

“No. You?”

She shook her head.

His chin gestured to Ginny. “She’s a pip, that one. Going on about her finances, how she funded George. I can tell you she pursued him like a starving cat after a defenseless mouse.” His teeth clenched in anger. “George was very good to her, far better than she deserved.”

Isabelle was puzzled by his ire and wondered if it was part jealousy. After her divorce, Isabelle’s mother made some scathing allegations about George and Dr. Beecher, although such rumors were hard to believe.

“Would you like some more tea?” Jules said, raising his empty cup.

“No, thank you.”

He excused himself and Isabelle watched him walk to the tea cart, thinking about the flurry of rumors that surrounded George and how they conflicted with the man she’d known and loved. To her best recollection, her father had radiated integrity and warmth. He had never been without a smile and almost everything he said was funny. Still, she couldn’t deny the frightening moments she witnessed in later years, his tendency to sink into bouts of depression and fits of rage. A drug habit that made him see things that weren’t there—dangerous, scary things that caused him to scream out at night. How could a ten-year-old possibly understand such behavior? It occurred to Isabelle that perhaps she’d never really known her father at all.

“This is gross.” Monica picked out tiny cubes of bright-colored fruit from her cake.

Luke sat beside her, sipping tea and playing Tetris on his smartphone.

“Hey, can you call Canada for takeout?” she asked him. “I’d kill for an egg roll.”

“There’s no connection from here.”

“What games you got?” She grabbed the phone, pressing all the buttons. “Probably a lot of brainy crap. Yep. I was right.”

Luke took the phone back, eavesdropping on a conversation between Jules and Bonacelli. He shook his head slowly. “I should have been British. They sound so—civilized.”

“You mean wimpy. Sure, you’d fit in.”

Ginny flounced by, swirling the hem of her dress and falling into a chair beside the couch. She smiled at Luke through sleepy lids. Then her gaze found Monica and she scowled.

“I think Mary Poppins just gave me the evil eye,” Monica whispered.

“Don’t start,” Luke replied.

Ginny turned up a penciled brow. “In my day, a girl was more appealing when she showed less, not more.”

Monica’s lips curled slightly. “You know, I bet I could learn a lot from you. My friend here was just saying, you’re a total fox in that dress.”

Luke closed his eyes, trying to disappear.

Ginny nodded and a grin stretched across her face. “I used to attract the local boys like horseflies. All it takes is the tiniest gesture; a slight lift of the skirt, a glimpse of the knee.”

“Think I’m gonna hurl,” Monica muttered.

Luke shushed her.

“You’re George’s grandson?” Ginny asked him with an alluring smile.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I see the resemblance. You have his lovely blue eyes and a quiet intelligence about you.”

“Thank you.”

Monica muttered softly, “She’s totally into you.”

“Have you started college?”

“No, ma’am. Not for three more years.”

“You have some aptitude for science?”

“Yes, ma’am. I enjoy science a lot.”

She looked pleased. “Good. There’s nothing that attracts a woman more than an intelligent brain.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Monica sputtered.

“Quality women,” Ginny clarified. She narrowed her eyes at the girl. “Does your mother know you dress like that?”

Monica reddened. “My mom spent, like, twenty years as a designer in Paris. This happens to be the latest in French fashion.”

Ginny’s eyes grew wide and she smiled. “So you’re of French lineage?” She nodded knowingly. “Now I understand. It’s that French-American mix that’s so… tawdry.”

Monica looked puzzled.

Ginny spoke to Luke. “You really should think about continuing your education at a proper university in England, like your grandfather.”