“Even if you could alter someone else’s karma, can you do it when she isn’t physically there?” Izzy cut in. She hadn’t meant to interrupt, but the idea was so utterly bizarre, and the implications …
“She’s saying all the things I said!” Rhoda smiled at Randi, who offered an exaggerated pout and patted Izzy’s knee. “Back to resetting your karma, I see nothing wrong with old-fashioned bribery. Those new slippers came in gorgeous colors.”
“It’s a start. I was also thinking of hosting a brunch—for my whole family. Maybe try to sort of start over. Do you think that would be horribly awkward?”
Randi shook her head. “Better on your own turf, in your own space.”
Izzy nodded. She had the idea to do it in the garden, where she’d feel more grounded, less claustrophobic. She was also eager to show off her handiwork. In full-on nesting mode, she’d finally gotten her plants arranged—some perennials in the ground, and varietals in pots that could be moved inside for the winter. This weekend, she planned to clean up the gravel pathways, set up the patio. And she’d need to fix the broken gate in the privacy fence. Not only could animals get in and undo her work, but its banging in the wind was driving her crazy. “Do you happen to know where I can get a new latch for my gate?”
Rhoda nodded. “Come by tomorrow, and we’ll assist you with all your unterrible-ing needs.”
“You carry hardware?” Izzy grinned. “I mean, I remember Randi saying you had a lot of tools, but I didn’t realize…”
Rhoda burst out laughing, and Randi threw her empty cup at her.
“Is anyone allowed to live anything down in this town?” Randi said, her face twisted into a pretend scowl. “Anyway, too bad we don’t carry eligible bachelors too. See anyone you like, Izzy? We could introduce you…”
“Randi,” Rhoda chastised. “She doesn’t want to be set up. Come on.”
“Who said anything about setting her up? Introducing. Being open to possibility.”
Izzy found herself scanning the crowd. Why not? But the gathering was largely women, and most of the men seemed tied to someone.
“Maybe on the ukuleles?” Randi murmured. Izzy took in the two long-haired musicians, who weren’t bad-looking aside from the fact that they clearly hadn’t showered in days.
“Hmm,” she said. “Much as I love this field, maybe someone who isn’t quite so at home in it.”
Rhoda cackled. What Izzy needed was more of a cross between those guys and … well, someone like Paul. Handsome, troubled, buttoned-up Paul. She was surprised to find herself thinking of him, but decided it wasn’t an entirely bad thing.
Because for once her first thought hadn’t been: More like Josh.
“Randi!” A couple of women Izzy recognized from the meditation class were huddled around some kind of ceramic pot, gesturing wildly.
“Oh! They’re going to let me try this nursing tea. Be right back.”
Izzy and Rhoda watched her go. The music was getting louder now, and the row of shoulder rubbers had started harmonizing hums in the absence of lyrics.
“You know,” Rhoda said, “I dated one of Randi’s close friends before the two of us got together.”
“You did?”
“This may shock you, but lesbians do not flock to Ohio small towns in innumerable droves. Another of my exes married one of my cousins. A male cousin.”
Izzy’s eyes widened.
“My point is, when it comes to having feelings for someone who’s off-limits, it’s not so uncommon in my circle. I’ve seen some delicate situations that could have been handled better, and some handled better than you would’ve thought possible. But the important thing is, I’ve seen them handled.” She smiled at Izzy. “This thing with your sister—you’ll figure it out.”
“Thanks,” she said, touched.
A woman with a familiar dark cloud of curls ran past them, and they both whipped their heads around reflexively, craning for a better look. She was not Kristin. Not even close, really, aside from the hair. Izzy’s eyes met Rhoda’s ruefully.
“I thought she would’ve turned up by now,” Rhoda said, shaking her head.
“Yeah. Me too.” Izzy didn’t admit she had stopped following the coverage of the disappearance after the first week. It made her feel oddly disloyal to Paul to be gawking like some rubbernecker on the highway, and saddened to see the beautiful twins’ childhood reduced to a headline. When there was something to tell, she’d hear about it soon enough.
“Speaking of which…” Rhoda nudged her shoulder, and Izzy turned to see a uniformed police officer headed down the path toward the clearing. Detective Bryant. Shit. Were alcoholic beverages allowed out here? She could still feel the sting of the embarrassment at having had to admit to him that she’d drunk her memory clean on Kristin’s last night. She upended her wine in the grass, crushing the conspicuous cup in her hand, while Rhoda hissed, “For goodness’ sake, be cool!” and offered him a friendly wave.
The detective’s face broke into a boyish grin as he approached. “I’m not here to ruin anyone’s fun,” he told Izzy, and she flushed with the childish sensation of being caught.
“Of course not,” she said, laughing nervously, trying not to grimace as the remnants of the sticky wine oozed between her fingers and dripped onto the blanket.
“We try to let Yellow Springs be Yellow Springs.” She craned her neck up at him, nodding, wondering if she should stand. He gestured at the bonfire. “All our ‘official’ festivals get overrun by out-of-towners, but this is one of the few gems we’ve managed to keep secret for the locals. Glad to see you found your way here.”
Izzy flushed with pleasure at the thought of a real local—could you get more “local” than a small-town cop?—considering her one of them. Even if she did still feel like an outsider most of the time.
“Here to join us?” Rhoda said brightly, though it was obvious from his attire that he wasn’t.
He shook his head, his eyes still on Izzy’s. “Just a cursory checkin.” She smiled uneasily, wondering if he was checking in on how the festival was coming, or on what Kristin’s neighbors were up to.
“I’ve been wanting to thank whichever of your colleagues posted those signs about cracking down on shoplifting,” Rhoda bubbled on. “They seem to be helping.” She was indeed the queen of being cool, for goodness’ sake.
“I’ll pass it on.” He frowned. “If only the signs I created would have the same effect.” Izzy had seen them all over town, with that now familiar photo of Kristin and the twins at that summer picnic, bright eyed and innocent: Missing. If seen, please call … A few people nodded the detective’s way as he casually but methodically scanned the crowd, raising their hands in greeting, but most of them ignored his presence entirely. “Clara Tiffin here tonight?” he asked.
“She decided to stay home.” It was news to Izzy that Clara had thought of coming at all—but why was he asking about her? She looked from the detective to Rhoda and back again, trying to discern if she was missing something.
He nodded. “Well.” He tipped his hat in a gesture that fell somewhere between nervous habit and old-fashioned farewell. “Now I can say I came, I saw, I checked. Have fun tonight. Don’t make me look bad to the boss.”
His eyes met Izzy’s again. “Notwithstanding a refill of whatever was in that cup,” he said, giving her a wink, and she looked away quickly, her cheeks burning in the darkness.
“Poor Clara,” Rhoda said softly, downing the rest of her drink as they watched him go.
Izzy realized with a start how long it had been since she’d checked in with her neighbor. God, she’d been so self-absorbed. Clara must be feeling bereft with no signs of Kristin—and Thomas without his playmates too.
But still. Why not poor Paul?