Isa & Nate

Isa and Nate Meet

"Isabelle Marita Perry was born not on a Greek island as one might expect a girl with such an exotic name, but in the small town of Blue Cove, Virginia where the closest thing she came to an island was a moss covered rock that"—Isa tapped the tip of her eraser to her lips—"Aunt Hazel what' a romantic word for protruded?"

"I haven't a clue." Aunt Hazel sniffed. "Like an old maid like myself would know anything about romance." She turned on the faucet, rinsed her coffee cup, and placed it top down on the edge of the sink. "Stop that nonsense and get ready for school."

"An autobiography is not nonsense. Besides, I'm ready."

Aunt Hazel jutted her chin into the air and sniffed. "Cat's litter box needs cleaned."

"How can you smell it? It's all the way in the basement." Isa couldn't help but be impressed with Aunt Hazel's power of smell. If only she'd use it for good and not bad. Smelling the first buds of spring—now that would be a good use of a sniffer like Aunt Hazel's. But the litter box? What a waste.

Aunt Hazel cleared her throat and looked pointedly at the basement door.

Isa tapped her pencil on the table. "I'll get to it. I just need a romantic word for—"

"Protruded. Yeah, I heard you the first time." She tugged on a piece of Isa's long hair. "I hate to break it to you, but I don't think there is a romantic word for protruded. Enough of this romance stuff. Go clean the litter box."

"Mama, God rest her soul, could have found a romantic word for protruded." Isa stood, but kept one knee resting on the kitchen chair. She started the staccato tapping of her pencil again.

Aunt Hazel placed a hand on Isa's arm, stopping her tapping pencil. "You're probably right, but that doesn't help us now with that awful smell creeping up the basement stairs."

Isa sighed as she started toward the basement. "Oh, Aunt Hazel how can you think of litter boxes on such a beautiful sun shiny morning?"

"Because it stinks." Aunt Hazel said, swatting Isa with the kitchen towel.

Isa flipped the switch to turn on the basement light and started down the stairs. Days like today reminded Isa of Santorini, Greece where her mama was born. Of course, Isa had never been there, but she dreamed of it all the time. And she knew deep within her heart that the sun must always shine on Santorini. Her dad was born right here in Blue Cove, VA. Nothing wrong with Blue Cove, but it wasn't exactly a Greek Island.

Isa's mom and dad died in a car wreck ten years ago when Isa was only five. Isa couldn't really remember her parents, but she imagined what they were like on a daily basis. Isa tried to imagine them with some flaws. It wouldn't be fair to her parents to remember them as perfect. Nobody could live up to that standard, not even in imagination. Aunt Hazel is her dad's older sister. And Isa couldn't have asked for a better second mom. Even with Aunt Hazel's overly sensitive sniffer.

She reached the bottom step and was accosted by the pungent smell of cat pee.

Seriously, Oscar. That's disgusting.

Oscar was an orange tabby cat that wandered into their yard one spring day five years ago. There was nothing to do but keep him. He was a skinny, scraggly kitten when they first found him, but now he was a fat, robust cat who spent his days curled in front of the fireplace—fire or not.

After the nefarious deed of cleaning the litter was finished, Isa washed her hands in the utility sink next to the washer and dryer. She started toward the stairs but stopped when she caught sight of a small slip of cream paper peeking from under a box of Christmas decorations.