This was my "NANO" project for November as part of the

National Novel Writers Month. I fell short of my goal by about

10,000 words (I wrote 40k for this story and another 10k for

another story.)

Anyhow...

Closer and closer to the opening of Don Juan Triumphant

As always, thanks so much for reading and for the reviews.

I really appreciate everyone taking the time to leave your

thoughts on the story.

I am hoping to have this wrapped up before the end of the year

And I hope to have another couple of Kire chapters posted in the next

few weeks too. They're written, but not edited.

Lots of stuff coming to light in the next few chapters. Hold onto your

seats!

CH 54

The lights were already dimmed by the time Elizabeth, Carmen and I exited the lobby and started to make our way to the middle of the orchestra section. With Carmen walking ahead of us, I grabbed Eliza by the arm and sternly whispered that I would not tolerate her being rude to Bernard.

"Do you understand, Elizabeth Elaine?"

"Uncle, he's just…"

"Just what?" I snapped.

She bowed her head. "He's frightfully ugly, like an ogre. And he talks like I imagine a troll would sound."

Lips parted in horror, I searched her face in the lightless theater. "Right now you are being far uglier with your actions. You will be quite fortunate if I don't bring up your behavior to your father."

Elizabeth gaped at me. "Uncle…"

"Is this how you would treat my brother?" I asked through my teeth. "Would you be unkind to him based on his appearance alone?"

"Of course not," Elizabeth whispered, her voice indicating she was on the verge of tears. "Uncle Phelan–"

"Not another word. Go to your seat. You have through the first intermission to prepare your apology and it had better be a good one or else..."

I left my thoughts unfinished and Elizabeth turned away from me. She sullenly marched toward the aisle and to her seat beside Carmen and I followed her down the otherwise empty row where I settled into my seat just as the orchestra began to play the overture.

Ballets were not my most favorite productions. I'd seen a handful over the years, but much preferred operas or plays to an entire evening where there was no dialogue as I found them difficult to follow, especially if my mind wandered and I found myself eyeing the opera box seats or another patron a few rows away.

Celeste, however, was quite enthralled, sitting forward in her seat, eyes pinned to the stage. She applauded before anyone else and leaned toward Bernard, whispering every so often to help him follow the story.

"I've thoroughly soaked your handkerchief with tears," Celeste said to Bernard as the first act closed and the lights came up.

"That's what it's supposed to be for," he said. "Besides, I brought extra just in case."

"Sorbets, anyone?" I offered. "The lemon kind is their specialty."

"I'll take one," Celeste said. "Thank you, Professor."

Bernard stood. "Anyone else? My treat."

I immediately turned my attention to Bernard. "I offered. You needn't pay for them."

"With all due respect, you ain't telling me what I'm paying or not paying for, Professor."

"Strawberry for me, thank you," Carmen said.

"Elizabeth?" I said.

"Nothing for me," Elizabeth said with her head bowed.

"Suit yourself," I said, fighting the urge to roll my eyes at her decision to sulk.

Bernard and I walked out to the lobby where the line of patrons stretched at least twenty people long with many others in line at the bar for drinks and cigars.

"I apologize on my niece's behalf," I said.

"For what?"

"For what? For being terribly rude," I groused.

Bernard shrugged. "She ain't being rude."

I scoffed at his words. "Are you so accustomed to being treated abhorrently that you don't notice?"

Bernard stepped forward as the line moved and shrugged, hands in his pockets. "I been told I don't come across as someone very likable."

"You are currently far more likable than Elizabeth, that's for certain," I muttered.

"She ain't a bad kid," Bernard said.

"She's far too old to be considered a child and her insolence is uncalled for," I replied. "She's sixteen and knows how to be polite."

Bernard didn't argue. We took several steps forward as the line swiftly moved toward the refreshment stand.

"I ain't offended or nothing," Bernard said.

"Well, I'm offended on your behalf."

"You don't gotta be." He rotated his neck and adjusted his collar. "I been snubbed plenty of times and I've heard everything before, every insult you can imagine. Dog, ape, monster…I been told I must have been such an ugly baby that my ma should have drowned me in the ocean. At this point, there ain't nothing left to say that's original."

I stared at Bernard for a long moment, appalled by his statement. Despite his tone, there was notable distance in his gaze and I knew that the comments affected him.

I thought of how Erik's life had almost been snuffed out moments after his birth, and I wondered if my brother carried the same heaviness and remorse as Bernard. Most certainly people had spoken to Erik in the same manner, telling him that he should not have survived birth, such was his appearance. One of those individuals had most likely been our own father, with whom Erik had been forced to live with for nine horrendous years.

"I don't pay attention to them no more," Bernard said, kicking the toe of his boot against the marble floor. "I hear somebody start up and I just keep walking. Don't got nothing to do with me and everything to do with them."

"You ignore them?"

Bernard sniffed and stared straight ahead. "Yeah," he answered, "yeah, I try."

"How often do you succeed?"

Bernard grunted. "Not often, to be honest, but it don't matter what they say. Words don't hurt, fists do."

"I would disagree on the first part," I said.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Bernard look me over from head to toe, his brow furrowed. "Who in the hell has ever called you ugly?"

"Personality, not appearance," I admitted.

"Well, that's a shit thing to say to someone."

The lady in front of us turned and issued a significant look in Bernard's direction for which he made no apology.

"As is telling someone they should have been drowned at birth by their mother."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Yes, absolutely," I argued.

The line proceeded to move forward and neither one of us spoke. I stared up at the high ceiling with its row of three glittering chandeliers above us and the paintings of clouds and cherubs along the gilded border.

"My brother," I started to say before coming to an abrupt pause.

I felt Bernard staring at me, silently waiting for me to continue.

"He was born with an affliction that altered his appearance," I said. "A terrible scar."

"Like on your arm?" he asked.

"Different," I said. Worse, I wanted to say. "It was…it was far more difficult to conceal."

Impossible, really. Not unless he kept his face covered at all times. I hated to think of my brother forced to hide his face in shame, afraid of how the rest of the world would react. I couldn't imagine how he had felt the first time someone had told him to conceal himself because they could not tolerate the way he looked when I had done everything I could to make him feel as though he were no different than anyone else.

"Where was the scar?" Bernard asked.

"It covered half of his face," I answered. "I can't begin to imagine what others have said to him in his lifetime."

"I can," Bernard said under his breath.

His words made me shiver.

"Elizabeth owes you an apology," I said firmly.

"I ain't going to make a big deal out of it and neither are you," Bernard replied as he elbowed me in the side.

I sighed, aggravated with my niece. "I have no idea why she is being intolerable. She knows better and has clearly forgotten her manners," I said more to myself than Bernard.

Bernard shrugged. "Sometimes that ain't what it's about."

Quite frankly I found her actions inexcusable, but didn't argue with Bernard.

"What's good?" Bernard asked, squinting at the menu board. "Lemon, strawberry, chocolate or mint?"

"Lemon," I answered as the lady in front of us received her sorbet and left the stand.

"Two lemons, two strawberry, and a mint," Bernard said to the young lady dressed in a white apron over a yellow dress.

I started to tell Bernard that Elizabeth was not eating a sorbet, but the server placed five tin cups on the table and handed Bernard his change.

We turned to leave the counter and found Elizabeth in front of us with her hands behind her back. I wondered how much of the conversation she had overhead.

"Monsieur Montlaur," Elizabeth meekly addressed the boxer.

Bernard briefly gazed at Elizabeth. "Eh, you mind a mint sorbet?" he asked. "I'll be honest mint ain't my favorite, but if you want strawberry flavor, I'll take the mint."

Elizabeth appeared stunned by his offer. "No, I don't–you didn't have to get me anything–you shouldn't have gotten me a sorbet," she stammered.

Bernard shrugged. "I didn't want to walk back to our row and leave you without one."

I absolutely would have denied Elizabeth a sorbet and considered a six month ban on attending any plays or operas as punishment for her rude behavior.

"May I speak to you?" Elizabeth requested. "Before the second act?"

Bernard turned his head to the side and held out both cups to Elizabeth, allowing her to choose. "Yeah, sure, but I don't know how much time we got."

"About six minutes," I answered.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, accepting the mint sorbet. "Uncle Phelan, would you mind if I…?"

I shook my head, understanding she desired a private conversation, and made my way toward the theater entrance. I lingered for a moment, watching as Bernard scooped out a spoonful of sorbet while Elizabeth stared at her feet and spoke. She grasped her skirts in one hand, the other clenching the sorbet bowl.

My disappointment in her remained, but I was happy that she had at least taken the initiative to approach Bernard and I hoped it would be to offer an apology that was sincere.

Still, I wondered how she would react to Erik, whose appearance was far more severe than Bernard's.

My initial opinion on Bernard was that he was troll-like in appearance, an observation I regretted as I had always attempted to avoid thinking of someone in terms of their physical qualities alone.

Montlaur wore a constant scowl, which made him appear quite standoffish, and I wondered if he realized that his hardened expression made him look angry or if it had become a habit. Given that he had encountered so much contempt, I assumed the expression was meant to ward off others before they could make hurtful comments, a mask in its own right.

Which made me think of Erik again. He had always been swift to smile and laugh, a joyful little boy who knew nothing but love and acceptance. I could not have shielded him forever, but I would have never turned my back on my own brother.

Bernard gestured to Elizabeth, who ate a spoonful of the sorbet. He shifted his weight and spoke while she ate. At last Elizabeth smiled and nodded, and Bernard did the same.

With three bowls of sorbet in hand, I left them to their conversation and returned to my seat, passing out the bowls to Celeste and Carmen.

Celeste took one bite and sighed. "Do you think they'll have sorbet for the second intermission?" she asked.

"From drinking chocolate to sorbet?" I questioned. "You've certainly consumed a fair amount of sugar today."

"Sorbet is quite healthy," she assured me. "A physician in Finland told me so."

"The health benefits associated with dessert is debatable."

Celeste wrinkled her nose. "I do believe you've had more coffee in a day than I've had sweets in my lifetime."

I chuckled to myself at her cheeky reply. "Perhaps we have both had our fill."

I turned to Carmen. "How are you enjoying yourself?"

To my surprise, she smiled back at me. "The ballet has been lovely," she said. "And the sorbet is magnificent."

"Have we seen this one before?" I asked. "I feel as though the story is familiar."

"We saw the first two acts when it came out ten years ago," Carmen answered.

I furrowed my brow. "Only the first two?"

Carmen glanced at Elizabeth's empty seat between us. "She was ill. We left early and the show closed before I was able to return." Carmen exhaled and shook her head. "That girl."

There was bitterness in Carmen's tone that seemed quite unusual for her.

"You seem displeased with Elizabeth this evening," I commented.

"No more so than usual," she said under her breath, looking past me at Celeste. I turned my head and followed her gaze as Celeste proceeded to scrape her spoon against the tin sorbet cup and lick it clean.

"You've befriended the girl from the opera house, I see," Carmen said. "The one always begging for change."

Celeste turned her head ever so slightly and I was certain she had heard Carmen's words, but didn't acknowledge her remark.

"I hired Celeste as my cleaning assistant for my studio. She's been quite helpful," I said, making certain my tone was loud enough for her to hear.

Celeste smiled to herself and happily took another spoonful of sorbet.

The lights dimmed and brightened several times in a row, signaling that the start of the second half was upon us. I twisted in my seat and looked toward the doors at the rear of the theater, seeing Elizabeth with Bernard a few steps behind her. Bernard met my eye and nodded, giving a thumb's up that whatever had transpired had apparently gone well.

Seconds after they were both seated, the lights dimmed for a final time and the music swelled as the second act began.

"May I speak to you later?" Elizabeth whispered, her minty breath warm against my cheek.

"Always," I whispered back, "my darling girl."

Elizabeth briefly squeezed my fingers with her sorbet-chilled hand and smiled to herself. "Thank you, Uncle."

oOo

"I don't know what the hell we just watched, but it was decent," Bernard said to me as we exited the theater shortly after ten in the evening.

"What was unclear?" I asked.

"There's a man, a bunch of dolls, another man falls in love with a doll, yeah?"

"If I had never seen a ballet before, I believe that would be my assessment as well," I replied.

"It's a doctor, Bern," Celeste groaned. "I told you he was a doctor."

"No, you didn't," Bernard insisted.

"And he's also an inventor," Elizabeth added.

"An evil doctor who is an inventor and who creates Coppelia and then Franz falls in love with her," Celeste clarified.

"How many occupations does this man have? And how does he have all the time to practice both?"

"Bern," Celeste said sternly.

"And another thing. He couldn't tell that Coppelia was a doll?" Bernard complained. "What kind of fool thinks that's a real person? She didn't move or nothing the whole time."

"A person who almost becomes a sacrifice for a spell to bring the doll to lie," I replied. "Not the brightest in the village, if you ask me."

"Is that what happened?"

"Yes, what did you think was happening?"

"I ain't got no clue, but how in the hell could you tell that from people dancing around the stage?" Bernard asked, throwing his arms in the air. "It don't make no sense."

"It's an interpretation," Elizabeth said.

"Yes, Bern, it's an interpretation," Celeste agreed.

"How do you interpret someone spinnin' around on the tips of their toes?"

Elizabeth and Celeste both giggled at his exasperated reaction and began explaining the story to him, starting from the opening moments where they took turns reiterating the story.

While the girls explained the plot. I helped Carmen into her coat as we walked out of the lobby and toward the drive where most of the other patrons stood awaiting their personal carriages or hired cabs.

"Better than sitting at home?" I asked while Celeste and Elizabeth continued to describe the ballet to Bernard, who looked quite skeptical with his arms crossed and brow furrowed.

"The sorbet was certainly welcomed," she answered. "I don't believe I've enjoyed one in a few years."

"The sorbet was good, but not the company?"

Carmen frowned at me. "The company was quite mixed," she said, eyeing her daughter beside Celeste and Bernard. "Where on earth do you find such people?"

"Good fortune," I replied.

Carmen chuckled. "Your idea of fortune is different from mine."

"You know, I never wanted a sister," I told Carmen.

Several feet away, Bernard must have said something that sent Celeste and Elizabeth shrieking with laughter to the point where Celeste snorted, making the three of them laugh louder.

"You've only ever wanted your brother," Carmen replied.

"Yes, and having a girl around sounded miserable."

"Given your reputation, I find that impossible to believe."

Her words were meant as an insult, but I refused to be baited into an argument.

"Well, I decided this when I was three and a half, well before I knew anything about girls," I admitted. "But even so, I couldn't imagine having a sister, until Val introduced me to you and then after a few months of courtship I hoped he would propose for my sake."

She eyed me skeptically. "Your sake?"

I stared straight ahead, hands in my coat pockets. "You made me quite certain that I very much indeed wanted a sister. And then for the last thirteen years it felt as though you were more content without a brother."

Carmen scoffed.

"I am ignorant to the reason, Carmen. If there is nothing I can do to repair what we once had, at the very least tell me what I have done. That is all I ask. Not for forgiveness, but for understanding."

Carmen remained silent, which didn't come as a surprise, but was disappointing all the same.

The carriage pulled up and Carmen practically fled toward the vehicle rather than stand beside me a moment longer. She spoke briefly to the footman, who nodded, and helped her inside.

"What was your favorite part?" Celeste asked Bernard once everyone was comfortably inside.

"When Franz almost becomes a sacrifice," Bernard answered. "He kinda deserved it, seeing as how he fell in love with a doll."

"I did feel bad for Swanhilda," Celeste admitted.

"See? This goes to show you that boys ain't nothing but trouble," Bernard said.

"As are grown men," Carmen said under her breath.

"I ain't going to argue with you over that," Bernard said. "Plenty of scoundrels out there."

I didn't have to turn my head to see Carmen staring at me in the dark.

"An unfortunate amount," Carmen agreed.

Celeste and Elizabeth continued to chat about the ballet, both of them talking about various dances and difficulty while Bernard sat back, his hand resting gently on Celeste's shoulder.

The carriage turned at the end of the street and continued toward my cousin's home, the theaters giving way to various shops and taverns. We passed by one of the parks and turned yet again, and I stared wordlessly out the window, recognizing the cityscape as it became more residential.

There was a more convenient route to take, which I assumed the driver was unfamiliar with as we passed down the street where Sterois was located.

"Did you want to…?" I started to ask Carmen, wondering if she wished to see Val finish his set. I glance at my watch, noting that he must have been done for the night and probably on his way home.

I stared out the window at the crowd of people smoking outside of the tavern and spotted Val at the corner, leaning against the lamp post with the singer who had joined him the previous week beside him.

He grabbed the woman quickly, arms sweeping around her torso, and drew her into his embrace where he leaned her back and kissed her quite passionately in front of the crowd, earning several cheers from onlookers.

I sat forward on the bench, blinking several times, scarcely able to believe that Val was tangled in the arms of another woman that was not his beloved wife.

"Do I want to what?" Carmen impatiently questioned.

"Carmen," I said softly. "Did you–"

She shook her head, dark eyes narrowed. "He envies you, as I said," she whispered. "He's always been jealous of you and your lifestyle."

Her statement left me speechless, and I kept my eyes trained on Val until the tavern was out of sight before I turned to Carmen, who refused to lift her gaze and look at me.

"How long?" I whispered, leaning toward her.

"Another time," she said, glancing at Elizabeth, who was far too engrossed in her conversation with Celeste to notice either of us.

I sat back, body thrumming with anger over Val's infidelity. Many married men had affairs with various women while their wives and children were home alone. Val was certainly not the first nor the last, but I had never expected my cousin to stray from Carmen.

She was far too good for him from the very start of their relationship from her family name and upbringing to her striking appearance. He should have worshiped the ground she walked on and did everything within his power to make certain she was content as he had never deserved a woman like her.

"Have you said anything to him?" I whispered.

Carmen's lips quivered. She clenched her hands, body rigid and eyes glassy. At last she shook her head.

"I will speak to him," I said. "Tomorrow morning, I will put an end to this."

"Is that what you will do?" Carmen asked, her tone mocking.

"Yes, of course. He should be ashamed," I replied. "He will be ashamed when I confront him."

Before I knew it, the carriage pulled up to my cousin's house. I walked Elizabeth and Carmen to the door and instructed Elizabeth to go inside since it was too cold for her.

"I'll speak to you tomorrow?" Elizabeth questioned. "After class?"

"You were told to go inside," Carmen snapped.

Elizabeth's lips parted. "Mother, I was simply asking–"

"Go," Carmen ordered.

"Tomorrow," I agreed, nodding at Elizabeth. "Sleep well, my dear."

With a peck to the cheek she disappeared inside and I grabbed Carmen by the elbow before she followed.

"I will speak to Val," I insisted. "I will make certain he ends things with that woman."

"Why? Why would you do that?"

"Why would I stand idly by?"

Carmen sighed heavily. "You needn't bother. We don't…we don't share much of a life together. Joshua's business is his own and I will not step in the way."

I furrowed my brow at her words. "In the way?"

"Yes, Phelan, I will not stand in his way."

"I have no idea what that means," I replied. "You are his wife. You live in the same house, raising the same daughter, how could you say that you don't have a life together? Your lives are each other. Isn't that how marriage is supposed to work?"

"What would you know of marriage? Other than fidelity is not an idea you would ever entertain?"

"What does this have to do with me?"

Carmen turned her head and swallowed.

Are you angry with me?" I asked.

Carmen looked up at me with the most listless expression. "I cannot give Joshua the life that he deserves and so he has looked elsewhere for years."

"Years?" I questioned. "He's been unfaithful for years?"

Carmen's mouth twisted. "Do not dare act like you are surprised."

I shifted my weight, feeling Carmen begin to shiver. I couldn't tell if it was from the cold or anger or quite possibly both. "You think I knew of his affair?" I asked.

Carmen didn't answer.

"Carmen–"

"This is hardly the first woman he has been with during our marriage and you know it."

"How would I have possibly known?"

"Because men talk."

"Val has never said a word to me and if he had dared to brag about cheating on his wife, I would have told him to end things immediately, not encouraged him to sleep with other women."

She looked away from me and shook her head.

Everything I had said to her outside of the theater was true: I had wanted Carmen as part of my family. I had looked forward to seeing her Sunday nights and during the week when she invited me to the theater. I had cherished the quiet moments spent together with Elizabeth draped over me as a toddler.

But she was not the person she had been when Val had first introduced us, not in appearance and certainly not in personality.

"Carmen, I have always cared for you, even after you no longer cared for me."

Carmen blinked away the tears. "I know. You care for everyone and everything even when those feelings aren't reciprocated. You and Joshua have always had your differences and yet the two of you find your way back together."

I took a small step back from her. "Is this why you stopped speaking to me? Because you thought I have been covering up Val's infidelity for years?"

Her expression hardened. "I find it impossible to believe you were not aware," Carmen said, lifting her chin. "He would tell me the two of you were out somewhere, meeting for dinner. You had to know, to have covered for him."

"Why didn't you speak to me personally rather than assume I was involved?"

Carmen searched my face. "I had one man lying to me. Quite frankly I could not bear two men betraying my trust."

My lips parted. "And so you preferred spending the last thirteen years ignoring me rather than confronting me for the truth?"

"How could I believe a man like you?" Carmen looked away. "Given your reputation of sleeping with hundreds of women, it seemed unlikely that you were not at the very least covering for Joshua or at the very most encouraging him."

"I have never once pursued a married woman," I pointed out. "And I would not entertain any woman that was not my wife if I were married."

Carmen huffed.

"If I chose to marry, I would honor my wife and the vows we exchanged," I said.

"In sickness?"

My eyes narrowed. "Sickness, health, richer or poorer. If I loved someone…I would be true to her."

"Phelan Kimmer ending his philandering ways?" Carmen replied, her tone mocking. "The day hell freezes over, perhaps, but not a day sooner."

"You still don't believe me when I say I knew nothing of Val's affairs, do you?"

Carmen shook her head. "I do not."

"Is there no way for me to earn your trust ever again? To prove to you that despite what you may think of me, I would never harm you on Val's behalf?"

Carmen pushed my hand away from her elbow. "There is nothing left for me to say to you, Phelan."

"Carmen–"

"You speak of loyalty and yet you would never bind yourself to anyone because you find it more favorable to warm the bed of any woman who looks at you. What a fantastic, flippant life you have made for yourself, sampling every single woman in Paris and from what I hear most of Europe as well. What could you possibly know of fidelity? The same as my husband, it seems."

"I know enough not to purposely hurt other people," I said.

"You?" Carmen scoffed. "The man who spent practically every weekend confined to a jail cell for fighting strangers on the street?"

"I am well aware of what I did in the past, but I have not done anything of the sort in years."

"You want me to believe you are reformed? Shall I nominate you for sainthood?"

"I cannot change who I was in my twenties."

"No, but you haven't changed much at all."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You were nearly taken away to jail two weeks ago for a fight outside of the theater and then you were struck in the back of the skull by that circus freak you invited to the ballet."

I inhaled sharply, speechlessly standing before her.

A look of satisfaction flitted through her gaze. "Or did you think we weren't aware of your suspension from the university? Or that you hired a street whore to be your assistant?"

"You do not know the first thing about Bernard or Celeste and I will not tolerate you speaking ill of them, is that understood?"

Carmen looked down her nose at me. "Enjoy the rest of your evening and the company of whomever you choose to take to your bed."

oOo

Celeste slept for the remainder of the trip to my apartment, arms wrapped around her frame and head resting on Bernard's shoulder. Her mouth was wide open, wisps of hair stuck to her lips as she snorted and grunted in her sleep.

"That's my kid," Bernard said lightly, pulling a strand of saliva-dampened hair from Celeste's face. "Like a snorting little angel piglet, ain't she?"

Circus freak and a street whore. Carmen's words were truly unforgivable, and whatever attempts I had made previously to placate her would not be done again.

"You good?" Bernard asked quietly, nodding at me.

"No," I answered with more honesty than I intended. "No, I am not."

Bernard frowned back at me. "You want to talk or just sit and wait until you're back home?"

I scrubbed my hand down my face. "I would rather scream like Elvira if I'm being honest."

Bernard stuck his finger in his ear and scratched as far as he could reach. "Well, if you start hollering like a big ass bird from the Amazon, that'd wake the kid and probably scare the hell out of the horses."

His attempt at humor fell on deaf ears and I crossed my arms, still furious with Val and annoyed by Carmen.

Bernard adjusted his legs, sitting further back while carefully holding Celeste's head in place so he didn't wake her and the ruts in the road didn't cause her head to roll forward.

"I hope it ain't nothing to do with your niece," he said.

"No," I assured him. "This doesn't involve Elizabeth."

Bernard rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek and nodded. "She's a good kid," he said. "But you already know that, yeah?"

"I used to think that she was wonderful," I answered. "After tonight, I'm not so certain."

"You should keep thinking she's a good kid 'cause she ain't bad."

I sniffed. "I assume she apologized during the intermission?"

"We didn't get that far."

My mouth dropped open, and I found myself thoroughly disgusted by my entire extended family. "If she made excuses for her behavior–"

"Professor," Bernard said sternly. "Relax. Take a breath."

Instead of inhaling, I exhaled past my lips, thrumming with agitation.

"Hey." He inclined his head. "Take a breath."

Finally I inhaled, held it, and slowly released it, but felt no better. "I told Elizabeth to apologize," I muttered.

"I know."

"And instead she did what, precisely?" I impatiently questioned.

Bernard sniffed again and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "She came up and said she wanted to say something, I asked if she was doing alright, she said she was and I asked if she was sure and she got real quiet."

I stared back at Bernard unblinking, harsh and unforgiving words on the tip of my tongue.

"You asked how she was doing after she was unimaginably rude to you?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" I snapped.

"Because like I said, sometimes it don't have nothing to do with me and everything to do with them."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means sometimes there's too much going on and nowhere to hold it, so it gets too overwhelming, spills over and turns into something different and uglier."

"That doesn't apply to Elizabeth."

"No?"

"No, of course not. She has no reason to be overwhelmed."

"Professor, I ain't trying to be rude, so respectfully, no sixteen year old girl is telling her uncle how she's feeling."

The conversation with Carmen had left me more than a little agitated and now Bernard threatened to push me over the edge.

"She doesn't need to tell me everything. I have known that girl since she was born," I replied. "I am very aware of the life she has lived, void of any true challenges."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes," I said firmly.

Bernard rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek and continued to look me over, which caused me to look away first.

"If there were something wrong–which I am certain there is not–she would have told me," I said. I felt less certain once I said the words aloud. "She would…she has always been open with me in the past."

Over inconsequential details, I reminded myself, small details and silly requests from a child. We did not have deep, philosophical conversations or discuss the world aside from the color of the sky and how caterpillars transformed into butterflies.

"You can know someone their whole damn life and not know what they been going through here," he said, tapping the side of his head. "I sure as hell didn't tell no one how I was feeling when I was sixteen."

"Yes, but as a man, it's…it's different. Harder, I suppose," I said.

"Yeah, I guess," Bernard said. "Society definitely makes it easier on the females," he said dryly.

Instantly I thought of Val, who on most days seemed like he knew nothing of me at all despite living together since we were young children. He had not once acknowledged how I struggled to cope with the loss of my brother–and I had been too ashamed of my mourning to say a word to my cousin, afraid he would think less of me.

In the end, I had sought an outlet that made him think I was nothing more than a troubled, violent burden with no future.

"What could a spoiled girl of sixteen possibly have gone through to warrant her actions?" I grumbled.

"I can't say." Bernard picked at his lip, which had almost healed. "But it don't seem like her ma is real nice to her."

"Elizabeth said that?"

"She didn't have to say it. Her ma made it clear all night."

The carriage slowed, and I couldn't decide if I regretted or welcomed leaving for the night and the end of the conversation.

"You are quite observant," I said.

"Yeah, sometimes." Bernard shrugged. "Tomorrow? Seven?"

"I'm always awake at four. I'll be at the university at five."

Bernard made a face. "You know how you stay asleep past four?"

I started to open the carriage door, but paused. "How?"

"Keep your damn eyes shut," he growled, grinning back at me. "I'll see you at seven. Be prepared to go a few rounds."

oOo

Rather than exhausted, I was quite restless once I returned to my flat and checked on Elvira, who was not pleased that I uncovered her cage and disrupted her sleep at the unholy hour of ten forty-five.

Leaving my fractious bird to her beauty rest, I sat in my chair, pulled out several sketchbooks, and flipped through the pages, hoping the burst of agitation would pass and I would find myself able to crawl into bed.

I was at my most prolific when my emotions ran unchecked, mind and heart involved in a marathon. An unhealthy combination of anger, sadness, and regret had fueled three days' worth of drawing and painting in Conforeit while I foolishly kept Bjorn company.

Those canvases would never see the light of day. They were tucked behind other paintings in my studio, stashed behind landscapes and portraits as if viewing them would release the demons that had prevailed while Bjorn lost his battle and succumbed to the beckoning of the devil.

Aside from the one painting Val had seen, the others remained unknown. My feelings were quite mixed as I had truly poured every bit of myself at that time into each brush stroke, putting all of my thoughts and feelings onto the canvas, the years of loathing and pain that had scratched deep into my insides, carving out ruts that remained voids of rot and regrets.

They were honest paintings, a mirror to all that I had felt and experienced, of loneliness and misunderstandings. Fear…so much fear of being alone at first, then choosing solitude over truly being with anyone.

And despite Val stumbling upon the most personal of all the paintings I'd created, he had no idea what he had viewed, the aching that had held dominion over my life for nearly thirty years.

No one would have looked at me on the street and thought I was incomplete. They would have seen someone well-dressed and well-groomed, walking with purpose from my apartment to the university, the park or to the theater district and thought I hadn't a care in the world.

And when I looked at Elizabeth, at my darling niece, I saw a young lady who should have been perfectly content in every way–at least on the outside.

Her mother, however, was bitterly angry and made several comments expressing her disappointment in her only child and her father had another woman in his arms. Surely Elizabeth was aware of her mother's feelings. I wondered if she knew of her father's mistress.

"Damn it, Montlaur," I muttered to myself, aggravated by his keen observations.

Hunched over my sketchbook, I turned up the lamp and began drawing Bernard in the hotel lobby from memory, the way he sat with his thick legs far apart, cigar caught between his healing lips.

He had looked tense before Celeste arrived, well before he began describing his beloved daughter, whom I had drawn on the previous page. His shoulders had been drawn up to his cauliflower ears, his features more pinched and eyes intense.

That was not how I wished to depict the boxer. I wanted Bernard to look as he had the more that he spoke, when he looked at Celeste and realized that despite how different the girls appeared, they shared a nose.

In that moment, when he saw a part of Beatrix that was familiar, he was no longer a scowling prizefighter. He was merely a father, a decent and loving parent desperately wanting part of his child back.

I took care in every line, every smudge of my thumb softening the edges, and as the clock chimed midnight, I tore out the page and placed Bernard's image beside Beatrix, reuniting them–if only as paper and pencil.

Satisfied with the drawing, I turned the lamp down, dressed for bed, and kept my eyes shut until six in the morning.