Isabel and the Wolf: (Part 3) by Ariana Hawkes Page A

challenging to deal with when she’s like this,” he confided in a low voice.
    “She’s pretty lively, but that’s fine,” Isabel said. “Sometimes alcohol hits you way harder than you’re expecting.”
    “No, it’s more than that. She gets into these really hyperactive moods, and sometimes, to be honest, I feel like locking her into a room until they’re all over. And I feel terrible for saying that.”
    “How often does this happen?” Isabel asked, carefully.
    “About once a month. And before you say it must be a women’s thing, I have plotted the dates, but it doesn’t seem to correspond.” He looked down at the table and Isabel watched him, trying to gauge how much it would be appropriate to say.
    “Have you discussed it with her?” she asked.
    “I’ve tried. I really have, but, it’s like, at the time, she doesn’t see anything wrong with the way she’s acting, and afterwards she doesn’t recall that anything’s been different. So when I bring it up, it makes her anxious – like telling someone they were sleepwalking the night before, or something – and she gets really upset. It’s not worth it. It only lasts a day or two, so I guess I can deal with it.”
    Josie was back. She landed heavily on her chair and grinned at the two of them.
    “So what did I miss?”
    “Nothing much, we were just talking about Gila again.”
    “Hey, where’s your man?” Josie asked, as if she’d just noticed that someone was missing.
    “Oh he’s away for a couple of days.”
    “I didn’t know you were seeing someone seriously, Isabel,” Rob said.
    “It’s a little soon to say it’s serious, but things are going well,” she said, her cheeks warming with pleasure.
    “Tell us about him, Bella!” Josie said, and Isabel picked up something sardonic in her tone. She scowled at Josie.
    “He’s a really cool guy. He’s an artist too,” she lied, knowing Rob would ask about his career. “He does conceptual paintings. He has a Harley. He’s not from the US – he’s from Romania, actually.”
    “No way! Did you know Josie’s family is Romanian, from way back?”
    “No, I didn’t,” Isabel replied, catching Josie’s eye. It was too much to have told him that Peter was Romanian, but, after the way Josie had been acting, she didn’t care.
    As soon as Rob was away from the table, Isabel glared at Josie.
    “It was you who didn’t want me to mention Peter, and now you’re bringing him up!” she hissed.
    “Oops!” Josie said, sounding drunker than she could feasibly have been. “It’s just hard to keep him out of my mind sometimes.”
    “What do you mean by that?” Isabel asked, but she didn’t get an answer, and then Rob was back.
    After they’d left and Isabel was doing the dishes, she turned Josie’s behavior over in her mind, trying and failing to draw any new conclusions.
    *
    Isabel woke in the middle of the night. The clock told her it was 4am, but the moonlight was shining so brightly through her curtains that it seemed like dawn. She had an overwhelming urge to see the moon, unobstructed by glass. As she’d done weeks ago, she put her dressing gown on and went outside the house. With the grass tickling her bare feet, she looked up at it, huge and low in the sky, and a perfect round. She stared deep into its shadowy face, trying to find meaning. It felt benevolent, a gentle face, and, as she stood there for longer and longer, it seemed to be calling her, telling her to abandon her earthly possessions and follow its pure white iridescence.
    She had no recollection of going back inside, and was surprised to find herself waking in her bed the next morning, instead of spread-eagled on the lawn.
    *
    Tuesday couldn’t go fast enough, and on Wednesday Isabel worked relentlessly, putting the finishing touches to her woodcarving. She told herself that she wanted to have it ready to show Peter, which was true, but it was mainly to distract herself from thinking he wasn’t going to come