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.