Ch 57
A knock on my apartment door startled me from my thoughts as I enjoyed a late cup of coffee and the stillness of being home for another hour with nothing to do.
"Phelan?" Val called, knocking yet again.
I released a heavy sigh that felt as if it deflated me.
"A moment," I said as I stood and secured Elvira in her place on her stand, knowing Val was far from her favorite person.
"Are you with someone?" Val asked.
"The love of my life," I said, giving Elvira one of the flowers from the previous day.
When I opened the door, Val looked past me at the empty room. "The love of your…? You mean to say the bird?"
"The bird?" I groused. "You know very well that her name is Elvira and she is the love of my life," I assured him. "How may I be of service to you?"
"No service needed," Val said. "I merely wanted to see you."
Why I wanted to ask, but refrained.
"How was the ballet?" Val asked, walking past me into the parlor.
"It was fine," I answered, feeling quite suspicious by his presence.
"Elizabeth said she had a wonderful evening," Val said. "And I was quite surprised when Carmen said you talked her into attending as well."
His tone was unreadable. There was no telling what Carmen had said once Val returned home for the evening. Given that she blamed her husband's infidelity on me, I assumed Val wished to discuss the details, but desired a bit of a buffer first.
"We used to attend theater quite often," I reminded him.
"Yes," Val agreed. "Carmen would say she intended to run away with you on the nights I worked late."
I felt my expression turn into a deep-set frown. "With my sister-in-law? You know I would never do such a thing."
Val chuckled to himself. "A jest and nothing more, Phelan. You needn't be defensive. You saved me the trouble of seeing some productions twice, for which I am forever grateful. Once was often more than enough."
"Always glad to cover for you," I said under my breath.
"I must say, I've been so preoccupied with work and the shows at Sterois that I'm afraid I haven't had much time to spend at home in recent weeks. By the time I return from the bank or entertaining the crowds, I'm simply exhausted. You have no idea how grateful I am that you took Elizabeth and Carmen out for the night. As you know, I had my reservations about it being a school night, but–"
"Think nothing of it," I said, annoyed by his words. "While you entertain the crowds, as you said."
"Hopefully in a few weeks everything will settle down," Val said. "And I will have more time with my family."
"Or your mistress," I said, unable to curb my temper or words a moment longer. "Is the woman you are seeing truly the reason behind the long hours spent away from Elizabeth and Carmen or are you honestly working late at the bank?"
Val looked sharply at me, but didn't deny my accusation. He thrust his hands into his pockets and inhaled. "I thought I saw you drive past last night, but wasn't certain."
"You're sleeping with the singer?" I questioned.
Val continued to stare at me for a long moment. "Yes," he said at last. "Yes, I am sleeping with Lynette."
His admission was worse than if he had merely denied his actions. I felt heat rise up the back of my neck and my jaw tense.
"Carmen knows," I said.
Val nodded. "Yes, she's known for quite some time."
I crossed my arms over my chest. "And she thinks I'm involved with covering for you. Why is that?"
Val exhaled. "She used to think that the two of us were out when…"
"When you were screwing a woman who isn't your wife," I crudely said. "You led Carmen to believe I was helping you sneak around."
"Years ago Carmen asked if you knew my whereabouts and I told her yes," Val admitted. "It was easier to say that you knew than I was acting alone, I suppose."
"And then Carmen, thinking I was involved in your affairs, abruptly stopped speaking to me," I said. "Without any explanation, she stopped acknowledging my existence."
Val remained silent for a long moment. "I wasn't aware that she was angry at you."
"Don't," I warned. "Don't act like you were so completely unaware of what happened in your own home. Carmen was my friend, Val, my sister. We enjoyed each other's company–or at least I thought we both had something in common. You have no idea what it felt like to be turned away by someone you thought was your friend."
Val shifted his weight. "I suppose that was my fault."
"You suppose it was your fault? It was absolutely your fault. I stopped attending your parties because I thought I'd done something wrong, but for the life of me could not think of how I could possibly offend Carmen to the point where she broke off all communication. We went from spending every Sunday together in the kitchen to me feeling as though I wasn't welcomed in your home by your wife. For the past thirteen years, I was treated like I was nothing by someone I considered not only family, but a friend. Because of you."
"You should have said something," Val said, "if it was something that bothered you so much."
I tossed my arms in the air. "What would you have told me? The truth? That you were unfaithful and your wife was under the impression I'd gone along with your plans to take a mistress?"
Val scoffed. "You are making this sound much worse than it truly is, Phelan."
"You are having an affair. Multiple affairs, for all I know, for the last thirteen years, if not longer. How much worse could I make it sound?"
"It isn't what you think."
"You are mad," I snapped. "You are absolutely out of your mind if you think there is a reasonable explanation or an acceptable excuse for your behavior."
"There is."
"No, Val, there is not," I said.
"Phelan," Val pleaded. "Carmen and I have an agreement."
I stared at him, my heart thudding against my ribcage. "An agreement? I don't think your wife agrees nearly as much as you think she does."
"You would not understand."
"You are correct. I do not nor do I wish to understand what makes you believe this is remotely acceptable."
"Carmen is dying," Val blurted out.
I was certain that I had not heard him correctly, that the words he spoke were somehow misinterpreted. Despite thinking she hadn't looked well the previous night, she didn't appear to be on Death's Door, either.
"Forgive me if I do not believe you."
Val took a seat without being invited to stay and cradled his bowed head in his hands. "She's had feminine troubles since Elizabeth was a toddler," Val said. "At first the physician thought the pain would go away with time, but when we…attempted intimacy…she would sob the whole time due to the pain she experienced."
Instantly I regretted Val offering an explanation, having no desire to talk about matters that were private in nature.
"Every night we made love was not loving. We tried repeatedly, attempting different…positions to see if something would be more comfortable, but nothing worked. It became impossible for me to enjoy being with her, so I sent her back to the physician, angry that we were not able to experience marital happiness. The physician informed Carmen that she had cervical cancer and that it would not be possible to continue intercourse without pain. We haven't been together in probably twelve years now."
"You have abandoned your wife for your own satisfaction."
"No," Val said. "No, I have not abandoned her. I provide for my wife and our daughter in every way. I have no intention of leaving Carmen and Lynette has no desire to leave her husband."
"You've found your perfect match, it seems," I sarcastically replied. "Two unfaithful people."
"As you are aware, there are needs that men have that women do not, and those needs must be satisfied."
"Needs that only men have?" I raised a brow. "You cannot be serious."
"I am being very serious. Men have far more needs than women when it comes to these things."
His words made me laugh louder than was appropriate. "If I may be so bold to inquire, what in the hell do you think happens if those needs you claim men have are not satisfied? Does something explode or fall off?"
"Do not be crass."
"You are impossible. If you truly loved your wife, you would not seek affection elsewhere."
Val glared at me. "Quite the statement coming from someone who sticks his pego into multiple women a week."
"I do not have a wife sitting at home wondering who I am with or what I am doing," I pointed out.
"No, you do not. Women know what you are good for and none would ever trust a scoundrel incapable of commitment such as yourself."
"Is that what you think I am? A scoundrel incapable of commitment?"
"Do you want to know what I think you are, Phelan? I think you are a grown man acting like a troubled youth fighting on the street. You refuse to let go of the idea that your brother is still alive when he has been deceased for decades. Decades, Phelan. He is not returning. He is not going to walk through that door and ask for a cup of tea. He is gone and you refuse to accept it. And for what? Why would you choose this? This–this despair? It's madness, complete and utter madness and it has made your life exponentially harder. Admit that Erik is gone and move on with your damned life. If he were alive, surely he would have moved on from you. Quite frankly, I think if he knew your past he would run in the opposite direction."
I exhaled hard, my lungs vacant of oxygen, my mouth dry and blood chilled. I was more shocked than angry and more hurt than I would allow him to realize.
"You do not know the first thing about me."
"I know you better than you know yourself," Val said. "And I am aware of the emptiness you have tried to fill with your poor decisions all these years."
"My poorest decision has been keeping in contact with you once I moved out of the flat we shared. If not for Elizabeth, I would have cut off all communication years ago."
"Perhaps it is time we no longer speak to one another, then," Val suggested.
"You are correct."
Val's lips parted. "Is that what you want?"
"Yes, that is exactly what I want. It is what I have wanted for years, to be rid of your condescending comments and the way you look at me as though I could never live up to your expectations. I am done pretending to like you."
"Pretending?" Val inhaled sharply.
"I will always care for you because you are family and Elizabeth's father, but I have not liked you since we were children. Perhaps not even then."
"Is that honestly how you feel?"
"It is how you have made me feel. Now get out of my home," I said through my teeth. "And do not ever come here or to the university ever again. Have I made myself clear?"
Val hesitated. He looked from me to the door. "Phelan–"
"And one last thing, Val. Women have the same needs and desires as men. If you had ever truly satisfied a woman, you would know this. Quite frankly I'm not certain if I feel worse for Carmen or Lynette."
Val started to storm past me but paused, and for a long moment we stood toe-to-toe. His eyes were filled with rage, a mirror of the apathy I felt for him. There had not been a single time in all of the years we had spent together that I considered lashing out physically at him, but if he raised his hand to strike me, I would undoubtedly hit him first, harder than he'd ever experienced before. And I wasn't certain I would stop at one blow.
"I used to feel sorry for you," Val said.
"You needn't feel anything for me at all," I assured him.
As Val stormed past me, I was certain we would never speak again, and it was fine by me to cut ties with my cousin for good.
oOo
Saint-Lazare train station was a good distance from my apartment, which I didn't typically consider walkable, but given my frustration, I was certain I could have briskly traveled there in under five minutes, every step fueled by rage.
Val truly left me fuming. I had always thought of him as an exemplary family man, one who adored his wife and child, but he had been nothing of the sort and I hated him for it.
"Bedtime or perch?" I asked Elvira.
Sensing my irritation, she squawked at me, beak held open in warning that she was aware of my mood and didn't want me to handle her.
Instantly I regretted my frustration and walked the length of the room, embarrassed that she was wary of me, her caretaker.
"I am not upset with you," I explained. "And I have never nor would I ever take out my anger on you. After all this time, surely you are aware of my intentions and they have never been ill."
She screamed at me, a blood-chilling sound that had drawn my attention to her years ago when someone opened her cage door and struck her with their cane simply to see the reaction of a featherless, terrified creature with no means of escape.
There were certain objects that triggered her defenses; when I swept she would shriek as if expecting me to poke at her as many had done in the salon. When I used a hammer to secure a nail into the wall, she'd plucked out half of her feathers in the following days. Sometimes raised voices from other parts of the building left her anxious while in other instances she was frightened for reasons I couldn't pinpoint. I was mindful of what she found upsetting and made every attempt to prevent causing her distress.
"I apologize for upsetting you," I said, "and as an offering for peace, I shall present you a snail instead of an olive branch. Do you accept?"
She remained with her beak open and leg out, warning me that she was not yet able to tolerate me handling her.
"I will give you your treat tonight, when I return," I promised. "And a walk tomorrow if the weather improves. Papa loves you, Elvira. I know you understand me even if you cannot put your thoughts into words. I'll return in a few hours, my darling."
She watched me grab my coat, hat, scarf and satchel, her body frozen in the same wary pose. I locked the door, put on my gloves, and waited outside in the hall for a moment to see if she would offer some sort of vocalization, but she was silent.
I hoped by the time I returned that she would forgive me, but sometimes it took a day or two for her to come around, such was the sensitivity of a macaw.
With nothing else to be done, I set off for the train station, and the moment I rounded the corner in search of a cab to hire, I spotted Gerard Boucher out on patrol with another gendarme. He spotted me as well, and I cursed under my breath, feeling as though my luck had severely plummeted.
Both gendarmes crossed the street to my side and waited as I approached, their gazes pinned on me.
"Good evening, gentlemen," I said to the two of them, attempting to be plesasant.
The unfamiliar man nodded while Boucher crossed his arms. "We best keep an eye on that one," he said. "He's up to no good."
I was in no mood for an altercation and had no desire to be detained, but I was aware that Boucher rarely needed a reason to stop me on the street. I could have been carrying orphans from a burning building and he would have found some reason to accost me.
Both gendarmes fell into step behind me and I took a deep breath, staring straight ahead, my heart beating rapidly as I waited for Boucher to tell me to stop for questioning.
"Do you see that?" Boucher asked the other gendarme.
"What am I looking at, Monsieur?"
"Phelan Kimmer," Boucher said. "I've taken him in more times than I can count."
"For what, Monsieur?"
"Disturbing the peace. You aren't letting him out of your sight, understood?"
"Of course, Monsieur."
I braced myself, hearing their pace quicken until they were on my heels. One of them grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around.
"Where do you think you're going?" Boucher questioned through his teeth.
"The train station," I answered, despite it being none of his business.
"Have you finally been run out of town?" Boucher asked.
"Paris would be lost without me," I answered.
"What business do you have at the train station?" Boucher demanded.
"You will have to explain to me why I am in need of providing details on my evening while merely walking down the street."
"Because you're a no-good bastard with a record longer than my arm," Boucher replied. "And because the last time I saw you, someone intervened. That isn't happening this time."
"You intend to detain me for no reason out of retribution for a previous encounter?"
A sickening smile spread across Boucher's face. "I intend to detain you because you just attempted to assault me."
"I've done nothing of the sort."
"Is that so?" He glanced at the other gendarme. "I have a witness."
"A witness? You have an accomplice if you wish to arrest me for something I haven't done."
Boucher shoved me up against the nearest building. "If I say it happened, it happened. Who will the courts believe? A man of the law or a degenerate who has no respect for authority?"
Adrenaline coursed through my veins, fueling my already foul temper. There was nothing I wanted more than to prove Boucher's accusation true and drive my fist into his face, but there was far too much on the line to risk him taking physical revenge.
"Hold him," Boucher instructed the other gendarme.
I adjusted the satchel at my side, moving the strap up my shoulder. With my arms held loosely at my sides, I waited for the other gendarme to shackle my wrists. Instead, he wrenched my arms back while Boucher lifted his knee. Instinctively I tightened my abdomen in preparation for the impact and pinched my eyes shut, bracing myself.
His kneecap hit me in the navel, the blow harder than I expected, and my legs threatened to buckle. By sheer will alone I remained upright, teeth gritted against every curse word in my vocabulary threatening to pour out from my lips.
"Gentleman," I heard a voice call out in the distance, unable to tell if it was male or female as my ears began to ring and I attempted to suck in a breath and refill my lungs. "What seems to be the issue?"
"Good evening, Madame Fabienne," Boucher politely said in return.
I managed to open my eyes and glanced around until I spotted Florine peering out from her carriage parked on the opposite side of the street on the corner.
"Must I repeat my question?" Florine snapped.
Boucher took a step away from me. "Disturbing the peace, Madame," he answered.
"Whose peace?" Florine impatiently questioned.
"The general peace," Boucher replied.
"Explain to me in detail what this man has done," she said, her eyes briefly flashing toward me.
Boucher frowned. "He's causing trouble, Madame–"
"Do you understand the meaning of the word 'detail'?
"I do, Madame."
"And have you provided any details at all, as I have requested?"
"You needn't worry about this one," Boucher assured her. "Franco and I have it under control."
Florine kept her narrowed eyes on Boucher for a long moment, each second more uncomfortable than the next.
"From where I sit, I see a complete lack of control," she replied. "I see a man walking down the street, minding his own business, when he's approached by two gendarmes. Gerard Boucher and another individual by the name of…?"
"Franco Lauren," the other man nervously replied.
"Lauren, what precisely did this man do to earn being kneed in the abdomen?" Florine asked.
The young gendarme's lips parted, jaw working in silence. "I'm not certain, Madame."
"Hmmm," Florine said, lifting a brow. "If this was your brother or your father, would you find the actions against him justified?"
"Franco's brother and father aren't criminals," Boucher blurted out.
Florine's gaze never left Franco as she spoke. "I am not addressing you at this time, Gerard. You may keep your comments to yourself unless I ask for your input. Have I made myself clear?"
Franco shifted his weight. "Madame, this man was going to strike my superior."
"You know this for a fact?"
"That is what Inspector Boucher said."
Florine appeared amused by the younger gendarme's words. "Do I live in a city where crimes are punished before they are committed?" she asked. "Or is Boucher some type of fortune teller who sees the future? Perhaps he is better off traveling with the circus than patrolling the streets."
"I don't believe he is a fortune teller, Madame," Franco replied.
"Then tell me what I just witnessed."
The younger gendarme wordlessly stared back at Florine, clearly unable to answer her question.
"I have lunch tomorrow with Madame Marie-Teresa Alonzo," Florine said. "It would be my absolute pleasure to ask her to relay to her husband everything I've witnessed in the fifteen minutes I've been sitting here."
I heard Boucher inhale in surprise.
"Yes, that's correct, Inspector Boucher, I've been sitting here the whole time, completely unnoticed while you rough up a man for no apparent reason. What a grand folly, wouldn't you say? I can't imagine Chief Alonzo would be pleased to hear what his patrolmen are up to on a Thursday night. Perhaps he will demote you, if there is anywhere lower for you to go."
For the first time in all the years I'd seen Gerard Boucher, he looked quite alarmed by Florine's statement. I doubted he would wish to jeopardize his years of service over me, and wondered what went through his mind as he took another step away.
"A misunderstanding," Boucher declared.
"There will be absolutely no misunderstandings when I speak to Marie-Terese. I suggest if you are able to retain your employment that you treat citizens along your patrol with more respect, Boucher, regardless of their past misconduct."
"Understood, Madame," Boucher mumbled.
"Pardon me?"
"I said I understand."
"Is that all?" she asked, arching a brow.
"Understood and it will not happen again. Good evening to you, Madame."
Florine watched Boucher and Lauren proceed down the street while I straightened my sleeves and brushed off my trousers. Awkwardly I turned away, my heart still hammering and hands trembling from the exchange.
"Where are you heading this evening, Phelan?" Florine questioned.
I was surprised she addressed me at all, let alone with an air of pleasantness and concern.
"Saint-Lazare," I answered.
She evaluated my words in silence for a brief moment. That's quite the distance," she commented. "Are you injured?"
"Not mortally," I replied.
"I'll take you to the train station," she said. "If you would care to join me."
Quite honestly I didn't much care to join Florine, but I was certain that before I reached the end of the next street, my abdomen would be aching and my head would be swimming.
I crossed the street and stepped into the carriage, sitting opposite Florine, who instructed her driver that there would be an additional stop before returning home.
"You pack lightly," Florine said, nodding at my satchel.
I inhaled and sat back, already feeling the effects of the knee to the stomach. "I'm not boarding a train, unfortunately."
"Oh?"
"I am seeing someone off this evening."
"Your friend the boxer?" she guessed.
"Bernard, yes. My friend the boxer," I replied.
"And his daughter?"
I nodded. "Celeste."
"She seems quite smitten with Marco."
"One can hardly blame her. Your son is very charismatic."
Florine huffed. "You know your boxer friend stole the tanager painting from me?"
I turned my head to the side. "Stole? I was under the impression he asked you to return it so that he could purchase it instead."
"It felt as though he stole it from me," she answered. "I had the perfect place in my home for that painting."
"I had no idea he intended to confront you," I said.
"Yes, I'm aware." Florine sat back and clasped her hands in her lap. "He made it very clear that you had nothing to do with his demands."
I couldn't tell if she was truly upset over the painting, and the conversation consequently came to an abrupt pause. I stared out the window as the carriage passed Boucher and Lauren.
"Thank you, Madame Fabienne," I said, "for taking the time to stop while out for the evening."
Florine inhaled. "Do you think I would have left you to suffer at the hands of Gerard Boucher? He is very high on my list of people I find unfavorable."
"I would assume I rank high on that list as well."
Florine huffed. "Top of the list."
Her words, though expected, were still unappreciated. "I am sorry to hear that."
"Are you?"
"Of course."
It truly pained me to hear those words leave Florine's lips given the time we had spent together. No matter what, I could not bring myself to think poorly of her. We had shared far too much, including a son.
"Well, I suppose that isn't quite true," Florine admitted. "Although you spent many years as my least favorite person, I don't believe you hold the top spot anymore."
I had no idea how to respond to her statement and chose silence over continuing the conversation.
"On my wedding day, I looked for you," Florine said suddenly. "In every pew at the church, every table at the reception, and in the hall on the way back to the bedroom with my new husband.
Wordlessly I stared back at her, unsure of why she shared details from so long ago.
"I didn't want to be alone with Baptiste once the festivities came to an end. I didn't want to be in the same room with the man I had been told I would marry," Florine said, "but once the vows were exchanged, I had no choice in the matter. Man and wife, as we had said. He was ravenous for his bride and I was repulsed by the sight of him clothed. When he undressed before me…" Florine shuddered. "He was old, nearly my own father's age. Limp in every way imaginable aside from…the desires of an old man for a young bride," She made a face. "I couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like to lie beneath him on my wedding night let alone the rest of my life."
I eyed her in silence, thinking of how I had agonized over her marrying a man twice her age, one whom she had only met a handful of times before they were set to marry. He was old and wealthy, she was young, beautiful, and from a prominent family. I had nothing, least of all the means to travel to her wedding and whisk her away.
"Thank God I was no innocent virgin," Florine said, "or perhaps it would have been better if I assumed all men were as sloppy and inconsiderate as my husband. He was not interested in my pleasure. He was not a decent lover or a gentle bed partner. He wasn't…" She looked at me and sniffed. "You."
"Florine," I whispered, taken aback by her words.
"I wanted so badly for you to steal me away like some damsel in a fairytale," she said. "I wanted to believe that you truly did love me and would walk to the ends of the earth to claim me as your own. It was such a foolish notion, such an immature fantasy on my part, but I hated you for staying away."
"You were married," I said.
"Unhappily, tragically, and against my wishes. Yes, Phelan, I was married and carrying your son in my womb while I was expected to satisfy the urges of a man I barely knew. Doesn't that sound delightful?" Her face crumpled. "I wanted you to stay, if only as my lover, but I dreamed of you taking me away."
"I couldn't provide for you or for your son," I replied.
"No, you couldn't provide financially and you couldn't provide emotionally, either. And yet still, foolishly, I loved you," Florine said. "I loved you like I've never loved anyone else and you could not say the same of me. You left me and went on to the next bed you could fill and legs you could spread."
"That is not true."
"It is true. You went on with the next woman who came sniffing around while I became a wife, a widow, and a mother. Do you have any idea how difficult my life became? How much I wanted the familiarity of my son's father?"
"People would have talked," I said quietly.
"For God's sake, Phelan, people did talk. They've been talking for years. My pre-marital condition was a rumor before I left Paris, and as Marco grew older it was obvious he didn't look like anyone on the Fabienne's side of the family, least of all Baptiste."
"And now that I want to be involved in Marco's life, you will not allow it."
Florine looked sharply at me. "You're meeting with him Saturday morning at Hugo Duarte's home, are you not?"
I blinked at her, finding myself once again stunned by her words. "Hugo mentioned he was painting–"
"My God, you have always been such a terrible liar, Phelan." Florine chuckled to herself. "I have heard that you will be attending."
"From who?"
"Not Marco," she answered, "but I have my sources."
I inhaled as the carriage slowed and turned down the street where the train station was located. "Do you want me to cancel?"
Florine studied me for a long moment, her blue eyes searching my face. "As much as I would like to govern every aspect of Marco's life, it is impossible at his age to watch his every move. Quite honestly, he has not wanted to hold my hand since he was eight and he's stopped telling me most things since he was eleven or twelve."
"I have not spoken to him."
"I know you have not. And I am aware that you wish to change that."
"Are you saying you would prefer it if I didn't attend Saturday morning?"
Florine turned her attention to the street outside the window. "I would have preferred never having this conversation at all. I would have preferred having you heart, mind and soul, but the first was unattainable."
"I am trying to rectify that, Florine. I understand you will never believe or trust me, but I am putting forth the effort to be a better person, to...to be more present."
"I have always wanted you to succeed. For years I wanted it to be for my sake, but now I want it to be for your own benefit. My life has not been easy, but at least I had my son." She looked me over again, her mouth held in a frown. "What have you had all of this time? Much less, I'm afraid."
It felt as though she looked through me, examining all of the empty compartments that should have been filled with joy, laughter, companionship, and love. The familiar ache within me became more prominent, more of an emptiness, like a draft through a house on a blustery winter night.
"I sincerely wish I would have done better by you," I said. "Both of you. To my last dying breath it may be my biggest regret."
Florine's expression darkened. "We both know that will never be true. Your biggest regret will never be your son or his mother, will it?"
My lips parted, her words like a dagger knifing between my ribs.
The carriage came to an abrupt stop and the footman flung the carriage door open.
"Good night, Phelan. I do hope you are able to find peace with the life and decisions you have made for yourself."
oOo
I spotted Celeste dressed in dark green and Bernard in a blue and black checkered suit with a matching hat the moment I walked into the train station.
For the hour of the night, the station was surprisingly bustling with travelers awaiting their departures, and almost every seat was taken.
"The hell happened to you, Professor? You look like a steaming pile of–"
"Bernard," I warned, seeing Celeste's eyes bulge from the sockets the moment he started to speak. "Language, sir." My brow furrowed. "If I may inquire, what happened to you?"
Bernard slouched in his seat, arms crossed over his barrel chest and fattened lip protruding. "Kid?"
Celeste pursed her lips and assumed the same posture as Bernard.
"Eh, what did I tell you?" Bernard said, nudging her with his elbow. "You got to…?"
"I have to tell him," she said under her breath.
"Tell me what?" I asked.
"We were practicing self-defense," Celeste said.
"And?" Bernard prompted.
"And Bern was the attacker."
"And?" Bernard persisted.
"And he said that we were done, but I took one last swing and…"
Bernard lifted a brow and nodded.
"I split his lip," Celeste said, her voice quivering. "It was an accident and I feel horrible for hurting Bern."
I nodded. "It seems Monsieur Montlaur is the victim twice today from two unruly students."
"I made her tell you 'cause she was mad as hell that you got me good on accident. I kept telling her these things happen. It's boxing. Someone is gonna take a hit and bleed or get banged up, but she was still ready to go a couple rounds with you to defend my honor."
I pointed at my chest. "Me? I refuse to step in the ring with Celeste. She would be quite relentless."
"I'd kick your–"
"Kid!" Bernard admonished. "Watch it."
"But you said it earlier," Celeste assured him.
"Well, you shouldn't, 'cause I ain't got the best language and I don't want you talking like me by the time we reach Wissant." Bernard turned his attention back to me. "So, what the hell happened to you?"
"Nothing," I said.
"Yeah?"
"I'm tired."
Bernard skeptically looked me over. "That's it?"
"I'm afraid so."
Bernard frowned. A man with a tall ladder on wheels used to change the arrival and departure times slowly maneuvered toward the board in the middle of the station. "Hey kid," Bernard said, nodding at Celeste. "Go check the times and see if our departure moved back."
Celeste leapt out of her seat. "They better not delay us again!" she exclaimed. "Or I'll scramble their eggs."
"Kid," Bernard grumbled. "Don't talk like that."
She scampered off, joining a handful of other people awaiting the changes.
"You wanna not talk about something?" Bernard asked.
I gingerly took a seat across from him, my abdomen tender from the altercation with Boucher. Bernard blatantly stared at me, but didn't ask questions.
"We stopped at the candy store after picking up all of her dresses from Abi. I may have let the kid have a few too many pieces of chocolate before we left," Bernard said. He reached into the breast pocket of his overcoat and pulled out cigarettes first, then reconsidered and grabbed the tin of chicle, which he offered to me.
"She certainly likes chocolate," I said, accepting a piece of chewing gum.
Bernard shrugged. "Who doesn't?" Again he eyed me. "I'm guessing you don't, yeah?"
"I've never been much for sweets," I replied, attempting to lean to one side and stretch. The pain was far from unbearable, but I felt increasingly uncomfortable.
Bernard didn't say anything in return. He sniffed and looked past me, chewing his gum with his mouth open.
"Is that a new suit from Abigail?" I asked.
Bernard looked down. "Not new, but Clarence made it years ago. I wasn't too sure about the pattern, but I do like it. You ever meet him?"
"A handful of times," I answered. "He was usually working when I stopped in. We didn't chat much."
"He was a decent fella," Bernard answered. "Hell of a tailor, good to his wife and children, gambled too much though. I ain't never asked, but I'm pretty sure betting got him killed."
"That's unfortunate."
Bernard shrugged. "Unfortunate for him. Abi seems to have found someone new. I'm happy for her. She's a real fine lady."
I blinked at him, air stilled in my lungs, evaluating his words. "I wasn't aware that she was involved with anyone," I said, attempting to appear disinterested.
Bernard scrunched up his face. "Jesus Christ, Professor, I'm talking about you."
"Me?"
"Yeah, you. You ain't that dumb and you're too good-looking to act like you ain't never had a woman make eyes at you the way Abi practically gawks when you are near her. She's head over heels, Professor."
"We aren't…"
Bernard lifted a brow. "Ain't what?"
"We're friends," I stated firmly.
"Yeah? I don't think she knows that."
"She does," I assured him.
"She said you're taking her to the opera tomorrow?"
"We're going to the gallery tomorrow afternoon and then dinner and an opera tomorrow evening."
"As friends?" Bernard incredulously questioned.
"Friends and nothing more."
"You two haven't…?" He turned his head to the side, eyes widening. "Not even once?"
My lips parted, but I wasn't sure how to respond, which provided answer enough for Bernard.
"Yeah, that's what I figured."
I started to sit forward, but paused, wincing.
"I wasn't going to ask, but you look a little green, so I'm just gonna get it over with and you can say yeah or nah or nothing at all. You get into a brawl on the way here or something?"
"No," I said. "I was not in a brawl." I hesitated, feeling as though I might be sick to my stomach. "I had an encounter with an inspector."
"He punch you in the gut or something?"
"He kneed me," I answered.
Bernard's eyes narrowed. "The hell he do that for?"
"Because we are not exactly friends," I said. "And he's never cared for me much."
"What'd you do?"
"Nothing," I answered.
Bernard studied me for a long moment. "You're one of the worst liars I've ever met."
"I'm not lying," I said defensively.
"Yeah, I can tell you ain't lying about that. You wasn't doing nothing and he socked you in the belly."
"What did you think I was lying about?"
"Abi."
I made a face. "I am being completely honest with you," I insisted. "We are friends and nothing more."
"Well, if you ain't lying, you're just dumb." He sat further forward. "And you better not break her heart or nothing 'cause she's like a sister to me and I'll come back to Paris just to kick your God damn ass, got it?"
Before I could respond, Celeste came bounding back toward us at full speed, abruptly stopping directly in front of us. "On time!" she breathlessly announced.
Bernard nodded. "Good," he said. "I didn't want to stay here another night."
"Can we get biscuits from Tilly's the moment we step off the train?" Celeste asked.
"Not if you don't wear off all the sugar you ate today. I ain't never seen anyone so hopped up on chocolate in my life. You're like a bee buzzing around."
Celeste grinned back at Bernard like some sweets-fueled imp and collapsed into the chair beside him. "I will sit quietly on the train." She sat up straighter like a demure young lady. "What are we discussing, gentlemen?"
"Taxes," I answered.
"Foot fungus," Bernard replied.
Celeste appeared appalled by both of our answers. "May I look at the brochures?"
"Yeah, fine," Bernard said.
Celeste was out of her seat immediately, speed-walking her way toward a rack of various brochures and posters advertising various shops and theater productions.
"I have the sketch for you," I said, patting my satchel. "It's in a tube for travel, so I would advise leaving it there so that it isn't damaged, but I also have a few others for you to choose from as far as my final portrait of your daughter if you'd care to look them over."
Bernard nodded eagerly. Train boarding was still a good twenty minutes away, allowing ample time to look over the sketches.
"These I will need to keep," I reminded him as I unlatched the satchel and pulled out the larger sketchbook containing the four smaller depictions.
Bernard initially had no reaction whatsoever, his expression blank to the point where I wasn't certain the sketches resembled Beatrix at all.
"Bernard?" I questioned.
"I don't understand," he said. "I don't understand how you ain't never met my little girl, but you made her perfect as ever."
"It's all you and your ability to describe her," I answered. "You clearly loved her and remember everything about her."
"Now I gotta choose one?" he asked.
"If you would like. Or I can offer my suggestion."
Bernard licked his lips. "I ain't good at choosing."
"I will give you these sketches as well, so every image of Beatrix will be in your possession. This is merely for the larger painting I intend to create."
Slowly he nodded. "If I get to keep all of them, then I pick…" He narrowed his eyes, examining all four sketches. "That one."
I assumed he would select the depiction of his daughter looking straight ahead, which was his choice.
"Can I ask for a second one?" he asked. "It don't got to be a big one, but just…"
"Of course," I said. "If time allows, I'll paint all four of them. It may take a few months to complete, however."
"Whenever they're done is fine by me," he said. "Whatever you can do I'd like to have permanently."
I sullenly nodded, understanding his heartache.
"When is your next match?" I asked, attempting to change the subject.
"Fifteenth of June," he answered. "Tuscany. Place called Massa."
"In Italy? If I'm not mistaken, that isn't far from Carrara."
Bernard looked at me with his familiar scowl. "What's in Carrara?"
"Marble," I answered. "I will be spending the summer there in the quarry."
"You're spending the summer in Carrara looking for rocks?"
His question made me chuckle to myself. "It's the best marble in the world," I replied. "The same marble Michaelangelo used."
"Is that a friend of yours?"
I blinked at Bernard. "A friend of mine? You've never heard of–"
"I ain't being serious, Professor." Bernard jiggled with a hearty belly laugh. "Of course I've heard of Michaelangelo. Seen that famous statue before too."
"Why Bernard," I said lightly. "You are certainly a man of many interests."
He scowled at me. "Took my Bea to see it when she was ten, but she kept staring at…" He made a face. "I guess I was staring too, if I'm honest. Can't help but look when there's a seventeen foot naked man made out of marble and his bits are right there."
I chuckled at his words. "I suppose the artist didn't expect juvenile humor some four hundred years later."
"Ain't my fault he didn't put trousers on David."
"I suppose not."
"How long are you in Carrara?" he asked.
"The whole summer," I answered. "The first of June through the middle of September before classes start. If you're free before or after your match…"
"Yeah," Bernard said with a nod before I finished my thought. "Yeah, I'd like that. I've got nothing planned before or after." He turned his head and watched Celeste peruse the brochures. She and another girl her age appeared to be comparing notes on places to visit in Paris while the girl's parents spoke to a ticket agent.
"I don't know what I'm gonna do with the kid during the match," he said. "I don't want her there in the audience, but I don't want her on her own, either. If something happens to her...I ain't coming back from that kind of loss again."
"You have plenty of time to make arrangements," I said. "And if I'm available, I can certainly keep an eye on Celeste."
Bernard took one final look at the four sketches. "You mind if I look through the other pages?" he asked.
"There's actually nothing else in that book," I answered, "but I have two more in my bag."
I pulled out the notebook that I'd drawn the original sketch of Beatrix, along with my notes for Celeste's parents, and handed it to Bernard, who flipped it open and began slowly turning the pages.
"Elise?" he said, holding up the book.
"Elizabeth," I said.
"She don't look like an Elizabeth, but I could tell that was her right away. I don't know how you do it, but you're real good."
"Thank you."
Bernard silently flipped through the pages. Other than Hugo, I rarely handed my sketchbook to anyone, feeling as though the rough drafts and swiftly created sketches were far too personal to allow anyone to view. Bernard, however, was the exception, and I sat back, hand clasped, enjoying his reaction.
He was almost to the end of the book when he paused and turned his head. "This has got to be your brother, yeah?" he asked.
My heart stuttered as Bernard turned the book to face me and I saw a very rough draft of Erik that I'd forgotten about from months earlier.
"It is," I answered, warily awaiting his reaction.
"Yeah, I thought so," Bernard smiled to himself. "You look like him."
If the comment had come from anyone else I would have suspected sarcasm, but I was certain Bernard spoke earnestly.
"That's the scar you mentioned, eh?" he asked. "From your old man or nah?"
"No, Erik was born with the scar to his face," I said.
Bernard's reaction wasn't what I expected. Rather than appear aghast or feign sympathy, he merely nodded and continued through the book as if Erik looked no different than anyone else in the world.
"I had an older brother," he said sudenly. "He died before I was born, though, so I never met him, but my parents said he was a real good kid."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"It's odd to talk about him," Bernard said. "Like I should feel grief 'cause he's gone, but I didn't know him, so I don't miss him or nothing."
"What was your brother's name?"
Bernard chuckled. "You ain't going to believe it when I tell you."
"Phelan?" I guessed.
Bernard laughed louder. "Now that would have been something, but nah. His name was Bernard."
I furrowed my brow. "You share a name with your brother?"
Bernard nodded. "My ma and pa loved their first Bernard so much that when I was born, they named me after him."
"How old was he when he passed?"
"Fourteen," Bernard answered. "He got real sick when he was ten and never recovered. Couldn't breathe right one winter, which turned into a cough that wouldn't go away. One day he just slumped over and that was it."
"That must have been awful for your parents."
Bernard nodded. "I never really knew what they went through until I lost my little girl. Even if I had another child, I wouldn't name her Bea, though. There was only one of her. No one will ever replace my daughter." He looked away, took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled. "Just like no one will ever replace your brother."
"I suppose you never felt kinship toward your older brother, considering the two of you never met."
"I didn't know him, but sometimes I felt like I did," Bernard told me. "The stories my ma and pa told me made it feel like our lives overlapped, and sometimes when I was walking through the woods or something, I'd get this feeling like there was someone with me. You believe in that kind of stuff? Like the dead can come back and visit you, maybe?"
"I would like to believe it's possible."
"Yeah, me too. Maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me, but I used to think it was the first Bernard keeping an eye on me, making sure I didn't get into no more trouble than I already did. I like to think in some of my matches he blocked a punch for me too."
"Is that how you referred to him?" I asked. "The first Bernard?"
"Yeah." Bernard smiled to himself. "First Bernard or Bernard Ambrose. I'm Bernard Arnold. Wished like hell I would have known him. Being an only child was kinda lonely."
I nodded in agreement. Everything after Erik had disappeared was lonely.
The station bell chimed, followed by the train horn and an announcement that the northbound train to Lille and Calais was departing in five minutes.
"That's us," Bernard said.
He groaned as he stood and I returned the notebook to my satchel, then handed him the tube with the sketch. Celeste ran up and retrieved her pack from the chair where she had been sitting and stood beside Bernard, hugging the leather bag to her chest.
"Ready?" Bernard asked her, tapping her on the head with the tube.
Celeste eagerly nodded. "I'm getting sleepy."
"Good," Bernard said. "You can take the bottom bunk or the top one."
"Top!" she exclaimed.
"That's what I was hoping you'd say 'cause I didn't want to climb up that little ladder." Bernard reached into his breast pocket and handed Celeste her boarding slip. "I'll be right behind you."
Celeste nodded. She paused briefly, looked at me, and smiled. "Good night, Professor."
"Safe travels, Cleaning Assistant."
With a simple wave, she disappeared onto the train where the conductor pointed her toward the train car reserved for their trip.
"Professor," Bernard grumbled, stepping out of the line.
"Pugilist," I replied.
He offered his calloused, meaty hand and nodded. "It's been a real pleasure the last few days." He paused, smirking at me. "Not the first couple of days. I didn't like you very much at first."
"Rightfully so."
"But you're a good one," he said.
"That is exceptional praise coming from a gentleman such as yourself."
Both of us paused, neither one of us willing to be the first to walk away.
"Well…" Bernard said.
"I'll see you and Celeste in Massa this summer," I assured him. '
Bernard nodded. Yeah, I guess we will see you in June."
He started to turn away and I took a step back, reluctantly preparing to leave the train station alone when he paused and swung toward me.
Without warning, Bernard engulfed me in the most suffocating bear hug I'd ever felt. I froze, startled by his impressive strength and the ability to completely pin my arms to my sides.
"I'm just gonna pretend for a moment that you're First Bernard," he said through his teeth, straining to speak as he continued to squeeze me. "I always wanted to give him a hug."
"I cannot take a full breath," I managed to say.
Bernard loosened his grip enough for me to be able to raise my arms and embrace him in return, and although I was absolutely certain Erik would never have been as burly as Bernard, I wanted to believe for a moment that if I closed my eyes, I could imagine it was my little brother.
The longer Bernard held me in his vice-like grip, however, the less inclined I was to think of Erik, instead appreciating Bernard for his kindness, affection, and ability to embrace another man in the most comforting and masculine way possible. If I had been blessed with an older brother, I would have wanted him to be like Bernard Montlaur.
Taking a long, deep breath, Bernard patted me on the back. "That was a good one, wasn't it?" he asked, tightening his grip briefly one more time. "A real solid hug, yeah?"
"Exceptional," I admitted. "The most solid hug I've involuntarily been a part of."
Bernard pulled back and squeezed my shoulder, grinning at me. "My apologies. I'll ask next time I see you before I force you into a hug."
We shook hands one last time. "Now that I know what to expect, I will be quite happy to oblige."
"Good night, Professor."
"Good night, Bernard."
ooooooooo
Saying goodbye to Celeste and Bernard for now :(