Hoping to have this *almost* wrapped up by next week, a year after the first chapter was published.
Thank you everyone for reading and for the reviews. Very much appreciated.
CH 58
Elvira forgave me by Friday morning after a night spent sleeping on her perch rather than her cage. She was awake by seven in the morning–which was quite early for her.
It had always amused me that while I was awake by four in the morning, she chose to sleep sometimes until nine, often having the audacity to scream at me if I uncovered her cage before eight as I prepared to leave for the university. If she wasn't uncovered by eight fifteen in the morning, she was under her blanket until the middle of the afternoon when classes were finished for the day and by that time she was cross with me for keeping her confined.
"Quite honestly, I feel certain that you would have fallen prey to a large cat or a monkey if you resided in the Amazon, you lazy chicken," I said as she chirped for her snails. "I have no idea how you are capable of sleeping so late."
I myself had taken a bit of advice from Bernard and managed to keep my eyes closed until six in the morning, which gave me an entire seven hours of tossing and turning.
"You know," I said as she crushed the first snail in her beak. The sound of the shell cracking made me shiver. "I must find something appropriate for the gallery this afternoon. What color should I wear?"
"Scarlet!" Elvira yelled.
"Can you picture me, head to toe, in all red? Pure madness. I could never wear something so garish out in public."
The only piece of red clothing I owned was a robe that was a gift from Elizabeth. It had gold tassels, gold lining, and a gold sash with a dragon embroidered on the back that I found hideous, but could never tell her that it was one of the ugliest pieces of clothing I'd ever seen.
It was, however, incredibly comfortable, and I lounged around my apartment in nothing but a silk robe with a dragon on the back while making breakfast.
"Five hours," I announced. "I have five hours until I see Abigail."
I sat heavily in my chair, my abdomen still sore from being kneed in the gut. The bruising wasn't as bad as I had expected, but it was still not a pleasant sight.
The encounter with Florine still left me feeling quite rattled. I regretted how our relationship had come to an abrupt end, that the woman whose company I had enjoyed was married off to a stranger whom I thought in time she could find happiness.
Even if her parents had not selected Baptiste Fabienne for their daughter, they would have chosen another man with the appropriate amount of wealth to care for Florine and her children, as I doubted Marco would have remained an only child if Baptiste had survived his illness.
There had been no place for me in Florine's life outside of being her lover, sneaking in and out of her home, attempting to avoid the eyes of servants and the gossip of her social circle. No matter what, I was certain that we would have parted ways even if I had been nothing more than someone lingering on the side of her life.
I thought of Elizabeth, who was still years away from marriage and a family of her own, and wondered if her parents would choose her husband for her or if they'd trust her enough to find love and financial security organically. I hoped for her sake that she could find the right person on her own, following her heart.
"Elizabeth," I said under my breath, imagining her disappointment when Val told his daughter there was not a chance in hell she'd be allowed to attend the theater with me Saturday as I had promised. My barbed words, despite being justified in my opinion, had undoubtedly caused an irreparable rift.
There was far too much on my mind and too many hours to entertain my myriad thoughts. I moved from the chair to the rug on the floor, found a comfortable position, and closed my eyes.
Bernard made meditation appear effortless, but I knew from the moment I sat in position that I would pick apart how I held my hands or bent my knees. No one was a worse critic of Phelan Kimmer than me.
I imagined Bernard sitting across from me, one eye closed, the other squinting open as he watched me struggle to sit still and simply breathe, something every single person on the planet had done since the moment of birth. Somehow, I overcomplicated the most natural of tasks.
Leave it beside you, Professor, I imagined him saying in his rough voice.
"It feels like my entire life has been swept up into a blizzard, little bits swirling around, blinding me," I said aloud. "Florine will never forgive me for as long as I live, Val will most likely never speak to me, and as much as I want to believe it's for the best, he's still my cousin and I do care for him. I have a full day planned with Abigail and that's eating away at my insides because I don't want to say or do something that ruins our friendship and right now I feel like I've done nothing but set fire to bridges.
"There is a chance that Erik finally sees the ad tonight. If he sees it and responds, then I will finally have him back in my life. If he sees it and decides to ignore it, then…then I suppose I will never know. Perhaps he has seen every ad I've ever placed and decided not to pursue a relationship with me."
I paused, feeling the overwhelming swell of emotion, the buildup of far more than I felt capable of handling. I placed my right hand against my left forearm, but didn't press down.
For Christ's sake, Professor. The hell kind of thought is that? You think your brother is just gonna ignore you?
The problem was I didn't know what Erik would do because I no longer knew him. We were strangers to each other now, over nearly three decades of being separated. For all I knew he was a cruel and heavy-handed man, an echo of our own father. Or he was a family man preoccupied with a wife and their dozen children who didn't want to add to his plate by answering a desperate ad from his needy older brother.
Breathe. Put it beside you and breathe. That's all you got to do.
I felt like I would suffocate. My mind raced faster than I was able to comprehend the thoughts warring inside of me. I closed my eyes, took an unsteady breath, and held it, imagining the vibration within me settling.
My fingers twitched as I loosened my fists, my shoulders relaxing as I became aware of how I held myself. I straightened my spine, felt my thighs become less tense, and mindful of how my tongue felt against the roof of my mouth.
This had been my unnaturally natural state since the age of seven and a half, since the moment I became aware of Erik missing. The softness of our relationship had been severed into a sharp, jagged edge, one that I had kept like a razor blade over the years, refusing to relax.
I imagined smoothing the corners into curves, gently rubbing away the harsh points until they were no longer a knife's edge. They were all stabbing at me constantly, these threats of being imperfect and incapable, the madness of the what-ifs and if-onlys.
Hugo had been correct: I was terribly cruel to myself, always demanding more. My father and uncle had seen nothing but disappointment in me, a burden of a life they hadn't extinguished, but had done their damnedest to keep barely able to survive. It was how I viewed myself; never good enough for them, never worth enough for anyone to love.
"I don't care enough about myself," I whispered. "And I don't know what to do to change that, to make myself more likable to me."
Elvira climbed onto my ankle and walked herself up my bare leg, her claws scratching my flesh. I held out my arm, inviting her onto my shoulder where at least I wouldn't have her nails digging into me. She accepted and perched herself beside my ear, grooming my hair and my beard, softly chirping as if attempting to comfort her listless shoulder.
"Papa loves Elvira," she said to me, nibbling my earlobe.
It was a phrase she used often as I had told her countless times that I loved her. Over the years I hoped that she would either understand the words I spoke or the tone I used as a sign of my affection for her. Truly and deeply I did love her, my constant companion, my feathered, insolent toddler with wings and a beak that often screamed and occasionally bit me out of frustration, who would show her displeasure when I was in a foul mood and her concern when my thoughts were heavy.
We didn't have the most reciprocal relationship; I was tasked with caring for her needs and she was somewhat parasitic, unable to communicate effectively, but I loved her all the same.
"You're like Erik," I said under my breath. "Perhaps that is why I love you so much. You remind me of what it was like all those years ago, caring for an infant who became a toddler that I never got to see turn into a boy, a teenager, or a man."
I turned my head and she made a kissing sound while she pressed her beak against my cheek, a gesture that always lightened my mood.
My love for her was infinite. I worried about leaving her alone too long when my days in the studio ran over. I hated attending functions on weeknights that were required by the university as I disliked her spending too many nights without me. The older she got, the more I wanted to make certain that she lived a worthy life, one that brought her joy and was fulfilling for a creature living in a city rather than a rainforest.
Caring for Elvira was not a duty, but a privilege, and I enjoyed spending time with her. There had not been a single moment in the twenty years we had been together that I regretted stealing her from the salon.
"I love you more than you will ever know," I told her. "I love you quite a bit more than I ever thought I could love anyone or anything and my affection for you is quite effortless."
Perhaps love was not as complicated as I wanted to believe. Perhaps it was possible to love someone else as much as I loved Elvira.
oOo
"I didn't think I would see you today," Hugo said as I busied myself tidying up his parlor with Elvira on my shoulder.
"There wasn't much to do at my apartment, so I hope you don't mind me intruding."
"Intruding? You could never intrude upon my home. I enjoy seeing you, Phelan, especially since it's just me here for the next month. You could move in if you'd like. Imagine the trouble the two of us could get into," he said with a devilish laugh.
"Dorthea is gone for a month?" I asked. "That is quite a lot of time for you to overthrow half of Europe. If you could find your way out of this parlor, that is. How in the world have you managed such a mess?"
Hugo was already surrounded by enough refuse where it was very possible he would be buried beneath heaps of trash without a maid to toss out whatever he thought was a treasure.
"Five weeks, to be exact. I'm glad she's taking a holiday. I need a holiday from all of her nagging, so don't you start with me, my darling husband."
"I intend to have this entire house in pristine condition for when Dorothea returns."
"Don't you dare throw anything out!" he warned.
I brought Hugo hot water for his tea and he thanked me.
"Why don't you hire another maid until Dorothea returns? Or ask your niece and nephew to help."
Hugo blew a raspberry. "Gregoire and Inez are worthless. Besides, I'm fairly certain my dear nephew I very disappointed I didn't die and leave him everything."
"That's horrible."
"That's family. He will certainly be surprised when my will no longer includes him."
"You would do that?"
"I've already done it."
I couldn't tell if Hugo was serious or not and sat speechless beside him.
"I spoke to my lawyer on Tuesday. My will shall be redrawn per my request, and since I have no intention of dying any time soon, it will be quite the surprise when they find out twenty years from now."
"Are you leaving everything to the University?" I asked.
"A small gift," Hugo answered. "The rest will go to my adoring husband."
I blinked at Hugo. "You cannot be serious."
Hugo corrected his posture. "I am absolutely serious. I can do with my money and property as I desire, Phelan, and since I cannot take my home, my bank account, or my villa with me when I pass-"
"Villa? You own a villa? Where?"
"Southern coast. I haven't visited in years and doubt I ever will again. It was a childhood retreat. You'd like it, I think. If you don't, it's yours to sell once I'm gone."
"As much as I appreciate your offer, I would prefer not thinking of you as deceased and I honestly believe we need to have a longer conversation about your will."
"What more is there to discuss?"
"Whether or not I should be your heir, for one," I said.
"I see you more regularly than anyone else in my family, Phelan. You have never asked me where I keep jewelry, to see bank statements, or rummage around searching for my checkbook or valuables when you think I'm not looking. You already know that I think of you as a son or dear nephew to me. Why would I not choose you as an heir."
"It is not that I don't appreciate your offer-"
"Good."
"But your family will not like your decision to omit them."
"Even better. The bastards don't deserve a single cent from me.
"Hugo-"
"We shall discuss the details at a different time. For now, you are my beloved friend and my heir and there is nothing more to say on the matter." Now, are you excited for the opera tonight?" he asked.
"The actual production, not really. The company, yes."
There was a twinkle in his eye. I took all of his laundry haphazardly scattered over chairs, the table, and dirty stockings flung onto the grandfather clock and put them all into a basket.
"Friends," I reminded Hugo. "We are only attending as friends."
"Good," he said. "You need friends."
I gave him a significant look. "What in the world is that supposed to mean?" I asked as I stood, gathering wayward cups, saucers, and several empty tins of biscuits. Dorothea had not been gone for more than a day or two and I was fairly certain she had simply given up and allowed Hugo to wallow like a pig in his sty.
"It means you could use more friends," Hugo replied. "Not an insult, merely an observation. You know a lot of people, but you don't have a lot of friends."
"That is more insulting than you realize."
"You have me, Jean and Bernard and Bernard is no longer in Paris, which gives you two close friends."
"How many friends do you have?" I asked.
"Back in the day, I was out every night with colleagues and people from the neighborhood. Now, I have you," he answered with a grin. "And I don't need anyone else at my age."
"Why do I need more friends at my age?" I reasoned.
"Because you're young and you should be out living. Go out to social clubs, smoke cigars, dance with beautiful women, and dine in the best restaurants. That's what you should be doing."
"That sounds miserable," I replied.
Hugo made a face. "Well, what would you rather be doing?"
"Sitting at home," I answered.
"How very boring," Hugo groused.
"Me in a nutshell," I said under my breath as I disappeared into the kitchen and placed the dishes in the sink and empty tins into the wastebasket. "Dullest person in existence."
"Oh, stop with all of that self-deprecation. You know that's hogwash. Besides, what about the game nights at your cousin's house? Or the shows at the tavern? That was great fun."
I rolled my tongue along the inside of my cheek, evaluating my words before I spoke. "Unfortunately Val and I are no longer on speaking terms."
"What!" Hugo exclaimed from the parlor. He tapped the wood floors with his crutch several times. "Come back in here and tell me what has happened."
"I would rather clean the dishes first," I said over my shoulder.
"Yes, but it's my house and you are my guest and should do as I say."
I chuckled to myself. "Or you'll write me out of your will?"
"No, I still intend to leave you everything."
I rolled my eyes. "Do you have any other requests? Or should I say demands?"
"Yes, be a good maid and put on the frilly apron Dorothea uses."
His reply made me laugh out loud. "You are mad, my darling wife."
"Would you come back into the parlor and tell me what on earth happened?" Hugo impatiently demanded.
I filled the sink with water and allowed the dishes to soak while returning to the parlor where I explained the situation.
"That is terrible news," Hugo said. "I am quite sorry to hear about Carmen's declining health."
"We've had our differences. Or I should say that she has her differences with me."
"Are you going to speak with her?"
"That is the part I've not yet started to process," I replied.
"Phelan, I am in no way attempting to be cruel or harsh, but there might not be much time to speak to Carmen. If she's been struggling for a number of years…"
"I know," I said.
"Will you speak to her?"
"I will," I said, looking from Hugo to the clock. "I suppose I could stop by in an hour while Val is at work. Otherwise I would assume that it would need to wait until Monday."
"Make amends," Hugo said. "Make your peace with her. And hopefully in time you'll be able to come to some sort of arrangement with your cousin as well."
"That's doubtful," I replied.
"You don't have to forgive him today, tomorrow, or next week," Hugo said. It wasn't a question, but an observation.
"No, I don't," I admitted. "I want nothing to do with him for the time being. Perhaps in a year or two or ten I'll feel differently."
"Family is not always easy," Hugo said.
"Mine most certainly is not."
"You must do whatever is needed to bring you peace," Hugo replied.
"I have no idea what I'd do without you, my friend," I said.
"You'd be down to only Jean, that's what. Quite frankly I have to be your friend or you'd have no decent ones left."
"You are definitely my most decent friend," I dryly agreed.
"And a better wife."
I looked around the parlor. "If you were a better wife, I wouldn't be forced to do all of the cleaning."
Hugo stuck his tongue out at me. "May I remind you I only have one leg."
"My apologies, my dear, but I still don't understand how you can make such a mess with only one leg."
Hugo grinned back at me. "Well, that's because most of the mess was there when I had two legs."
His answer made me laugh. "You are absolutely mad," I said with a shake of my head.
"Very much so."
oOo
Elvira was truly on her best avian behavior and earned herself a quick stop at the florist for a small arrangement to give to Abigail.
"For a friend," I stressed to Cassandra. "No roses or other flowers that would be considered declarations of love."
"Declarations of love?" Cassandra asked. "I'll do my best to make a bouquet that says the sender has zero romantic thoughts."
"Exactly what I am attempting to say with flowers."
"Don't you worry." She slugged me in the arm with her hand. "I have just the thing. Peruvian lilies."
"That sounds…" Expensive, I wanted to say. "Exotic," I said instead.
"No, no, Shoulder. They're very easy to grow. Clary! Come out here! I need to show Shoulder what a Peruvian lily looks like."
"Why don't you just have Shoulder come back here? I have a whole container of snails for him anyhow. Shoulder! Come on back. Fadda is here with me."
Elvira flapped her wings quite enthusiastically and would have flown off my shoulder if she hadn't been secured.
Out of all the ladies I encountered in all of Paris, all of the blushing, batting eyelashes, and giggles, Cassandra and Clary seemed completely indifferent to me. I'd never seen either of them risk a glance when I wasn't looking or do a full-body sweep. It was like having two younger sisters, both of whom were more caught up in themselves and amused by their own lives where they didn't notice me in the least.
I enjoyed our conversations void of flirtations and sighs, finding the interactions quite refreshing.
Cassandra practically shoved me into the back room while Clary held out both hands, one with a fistful of flowers and the other with a jar of incredibly large snails.
"Peruvian lilies," she said. "I'm certain you've seen them before."
I had seen them before, but would not have guessed they were from South America. Elvira, however, was quite interested in both items and screamed, ordering me nearer.
"Elvira, my love, be a lady," I groused.
"Why are you in need of these?" Clary asked her sister.
"Because I am making an arrangement for a friend of Shoulder's," she said. "And Shoulder wants to make certain his friend won't misconstrue the gesture as more than friends."
Clary sighed. "I do love a good Peruvian lily, the flower of love that transcends romantic notions."
Cassandra gasped and placed her hand on her chest. "Clary, I would give you an entire field of Peruvian lilies to profess my sisterly love for you."
Clary scrunched up her shoulders and gave the handful of flowers to her sister. "And Cassandra, I would give you the whole field back to my sister to prove my love."
The girls giggled as they passed the flowers back and forth until Fadda cleared his throat and made a disgruntled noise.
"Yes, Fadda," the girls said in unison as Cassandra motioned me back toward the front of the shop.
"I see the rose headboard is gone," I commented as Cassandra began scribbling down my order on her receipt pad.
"Oh, yes, picked up early this morning. Very early, actually, around five. Clary handled the transaction."
"Did she see the buyer?"
Cassandra pursed her lips as she finished the total and drew a line under it. "I didn't ask as Clary was the one to collect the fee. Surely it took two people to carry it out and load it into a cart and one could have been the purchaser, I suppose. Not that it was terribly heavy, but it was so awkward in shape and the wires kept pricking my fingers that I hope the purchaser brought an able-bodied assistant."
"There were two men!" Clary shouted from the back.
"Workers from the opera house?" I asked.
"Oh, no, they were too finely dressed to be workers," Clary said as she poked her head out from the back. "One was a bit older too, I think, Fadda's age."
"Eh!" Fadda protested. "Old?"
Clary grinned. "My apologies, Fadda, but you aren't getting any younger. Isn't that right, Shoulder?"
"None of us are, I'm afraid," I replied, hoping that it was a neutral response.
Elvira managed to slide down my shoulder far enough to grab hold of a sunflower in the rack near the counter and to my horror began consuming it before I could utter a word to stop her.
"Oh, let her have it," Cassandra said. "No one has been purchasing sunflowers this week anyhow. I'm afraid I'll have to throw out the whole bunch by Monday."
"I'll take the sunflowers," I said.
"Oh, Elvira! Aren't you Papa's favorite girl?" Cassandra cooed.
"These are actually a gift to my sister-in-law," I said as I gathered the five sunflowers from the container. Cassandra handed me twine to secure the bunch and a little paper cone to hold them in until they were safely in a vase.
"What time would you like to pick up the lilies?" Cassandra asked.
"Twelve-thirty?"
"Today?" Cassandra gasped.
"Is that unreasonable?"
"Cassandra, tell Shoulder it's already ten and we have three down more to make before close. Does he expect miracles?"
"Oh, Clary, it's fine! I am a miracle worker if there ever was one."
"Yes, you are, Cassandra. My apologies for doubting you. But you should charge Shoulder five francs more for short notice. He's a famous artist and such"
Cassandra rolled her eyes. "Good idea, Clary!" She leaned toward me and whispered, "I won't charge you extra for the rush, but the sunflowers are seven. That's quite a deal, mind you. They're normally fourteen, but since no one is looking at them…"
I nodded in agreement as she handed me the receipt for seventeen francs. Setting the sunflowers onto the counter, I counted thirty francs.
"For your miracles," I said.
"See you shortly."
oOo
Thankfully the sun was out, providing warmth for my mid-morning walk to my cousin's home. Elvira was in a wonderful mood, chirping in delight as she spread her wings and pretended to fly as I briskly walked down the street.
I hadn't realized how much the dreary weather with endless clouds affected my mood, not until I was basking in the light like a turtle on a log.
I hopped up the stairs and rang the bell, waiting on the porch for a long moment until the housemaid appeared.
"Is Carmen available?" I asked.
I rarely saw the maid as she was off-duty by evening, but she was a younger girl probably in her early twenties with black hair, a ruddy complexion, and coffee colored eyes who always looked annoyed despite being quite pleasant.
"She's resting," the girl answered.
"Is she accepting visitors?" I asked.
"Ginny, who is at the door?" Carmen yelled from the upstairs bedroom.
"It's Monsieur Kimmer," Ginny answered. "Your husband's brother. And he has a large bird on his shoulder."
I expected Carmen would instruct her maid to send me away, but after a long pause she finally spoke.
"What does he want?"
Ginny raised a brow. "What do you want?"
"A moment of her time," I said.
"He says a moment of your time, Madame," Ginny yelled.
The longer I stood waiting, the more certain I became that it would have been easier to seek an audience with the Queen of England than Carmen.
"Very well." Carmen sighed. "Send him up."
"Are you certain you are feeling up to a visitor, Madame?"
"Yes, I am certain."
Ginny stepped aside, eyeing me in silence as I managed to remove my coat and hand it to her while still keeping hold of Elvira. I walked up the stairs to the master bedroom where Carmen was in bed, propped up with the aid of multiple pillows, eyes covered with a damp rag.
"May I sit with you?" I asked, gazing around the room. The heavy curtains were drawn, extra pillows piled up at the end of the bed with two baskets on the floor, one with dirty linens and the other clean.
"If you want," Carmen said.
"I brought you flowers," I said. "Sunflowers to be exact."
"Twice in one week?" Carmen questioned. "What ever have I done to deserve this?"
Absolutely nothing, I wanted to say to her, but forced myself to remain civil as I had not come to argue with her.
"I thought you might need something to brighten the room," I said.
It was terribly dark, like a tomb, I thought, little fractures of light struggling to penetrate the curtains.
"Would you mind if I open the curtains and allow sunlight in?"
"Do what you like," she answered.
Her tone was somewhat condescending, but I ignored her and drew back both curtains, flooding the room with light and warmth. I hadn't seen the upper floor of the home since Val had made the purchase and given me a full tour, proudly showcasing the place where he and Carmen would raise their family.
"I spoke to Val yesterday," I said.
"He told me."
I paused, still holding the sunflowers in the little paper cone that was damp from the flower shop.
"Then undoubtedly my visit comes as unexpected."
Carmen inhaled. "Would you care to explain why you are paying a visit this afternoon?"
"Val said you were unwell," I replied.
Carmen remained still as stone for a long moment, her chest slowly rising and falling with each breath. The longer I sat at her bedside, the more uncomfortable I became, the sight of her confined to her bed reminding me of Bjorn. Panic began to stir within me, followed by a sense of dread in seeing another person's life leave their body before my eyes.
"Is that what he told you? That I am unwell?"
"Val said you've been unwell for a number of years."
"Did my husband tell you his wife is dying?" Carmen asked.
Despite the rag over her eyes, I still looked away from her and gripped the arms of the chair with both hands. Elvira, well aware of the change to my posture, bobbed her head, distracting me from my own emotions until I reached up and stroked the side of her head.
"Yes," I replied. "He said you had…"
"Cancer," Carmen finished for me, "of a reproductive nature."
Her verbal confirmation stole the breath from my lungs. Somewhere between Val's confession, my visit to Hugo's, the florist, and finally my cousin's doorstep, I had managed to convince myself that Val had told a vicious lie in an attempt to garner sympathy from me.
Carmen could not be dying, I reasoned. I'd seen her several times in recent weeks and she looked tired, but nothing out of the ordinary. As far as I was concerned, everyone was tired to a certain extent and Carmen was no different. It didn't mean her exhaustion was mortal.
"Isn't that what Joshua told you? Did he not share the personal details of our marriage? Or perhaps the personal details of what has dissolved our marriage?"
"Carmen, what he has been doing for years, behind your back, is wrong," I said.
"I am the one unable to perform the duties of a wife for her husband," she said.
"That should not matter," I argued.
"Why?" she asked.
"This is not an appropriate discussion."
"Do you think I am at a stage in my life where appropriate discussions matter? No, Phelan. I do not care about appropriate. I care about honesty."
"Fine, then if you desire honesty, it should not matter what you are able or unable to do behind closed doors because a husband should value his wife for more than physical pleasure."
"Would you forgo intimacy if it was your wife who was unable to satisfy you?" Carmen asked.
I clasped my hands and rolled my tongue along the inside of my cheek, considering her inquiry. "I would like to believe that if I had committed myself to one person for the rest of my life that I am an honorable enough man to be true to my word."
I stared at the windowsill and a suncatcher of a milky white dove surrounded by a rainbow of colors hung on a thin chain, the sunlight throwing reds, blues, and greens at my feet.
"And you would be content?" Carmen asked. "In a loveless marriage?"
Briefly I eyed Carmen, still lying on her back like a corpse in a casket. The sight of her was unnerving and I turned my attention elsewhere. "If there is one thing I know to be true, intercourse doesn't equal love."
"You have never loved a single woman you've taken to your bed?"
I huffed. "You truly have lost all desire for appropriate conversation, haven't you?" I said lightly.
"It's the best part about dying," she admitted. "I am no longer fearful of saying the wrong thing to the wrong person."
I smiled to myself. "I suppose that is a perk," I admitted.
"Have you ever loved any of the women you've been with? Surely out of the thousands one has created a spark within your heart."
"It has not been thousands," I said. "And my heart has never caught on fire."
"You are speaking lightly," Carmen observed.
"I suppose I am."
"Why? Why can't you be honest?"
"I am being honest."
"No, you are making jests."
"Yes, because I'm terribly uncomfortable speaking in this manner to you, but I am not being untruthful."
"Pretend I'm another man if you fear speaking in a course manner with a woman," Carmen said. Her lips cracked into a noticeable smile, an expression of old when we had been good friends and our remarks occasionally less inhibited by social expectations.
"The truth of the matter is that I have cared for every single woman whose company I have had the pleasure of sharing," I replied. "Does that answer suffice?"
"Then you don't love them?" Carmen pressed.
"I don't believe love was something they sought from me or I was able to give in return. It was based on physical pleasure."
"And nothing more?"
"Nothing more."
"But you believe if you were married, you would not seek out physical satisfaction in the arms of another?"
"Correct."
"How can you be sure?"
I sat back, took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled. "Because I know without a shadow of a doubt that if I were to go through courtship and pursue marriage that my heart would be content with that individual. It would not be a spur-of-the-moment decision, but a relationship cultivated over time.
"I can think of nothing more sustaining than returning at the end of the day to be with the person I pledged my love and faithfulness to for the rest of my life. That is what I would value. That is what I would honor. If we did nothing more than lie in bed beside one another, I would be satisfied with her company and know that as long as we were together, I would not have to face the morning alone. What could possibly be better than that?"
Carmen removed the rag from her eyes and turned her head to the side. "You really mean that, don't you?"
"Every word."
"But you've never found anyone, all of this time?"
I inhaled. "I suppose I've never looked."
"Why not?"
I shrugged.
"That's not an answer."
"Carmen, for God's sake, I didn't come to see you for an interrogation on my personal life."
"Why did you come here?"
I sat in silence, my eyes averted, collecting my thoughts as best as I could. "Because you have accused me of something that I didn't do that led to thirteen years of you not looking or speaking to me. Before the ballet Wednesday, I wanted to have a lovely evening out with my niece, whom I adore, and seeing you look so sullen, I wanted my sister-in-law who was once one of my closest friends, to accompany us."
"Just like old times?" she asked, quoting me.
"That was my intention. When Bernard was kind enough to drop you and Elizabeth off here at the end of the night, I was almost glad that I didn't know you any longer. You were not the person I admired thirteen years ago, that's for sure."
Carmen frowned at me, her bottom lip quivering.
"And then I spoke to Val," I continued. "He said you had cervical cancer and…"
I took a long, slow breath, resisting the urge to press into my left forearm and flood the nerves with pain to dull the emotions churning within me.
"You were correct when you said Wednesday night that I spent a lot of time in jail due to my actions. I am not proud of that. And yes, I was nearly jailed again two weeks ago when I had a verbal encounter with a pathetic excuse of a man preying on a child." I looked at Carmen again as she intently studied me. "Celeste Frane. The thirteen-year-old orphan whom you called a street whore. She's been out on her own for the last nine months, struggling to survive on the streets with no one batting an eye at her.
"But as some twisted form of fate would have it, the circus freak that struck me in the back of the head could either face jail time or teach me to box and I chose the latter. On a whim, I brought Celeste with me. Bernard refused to teach her at first, but he swiftly saw a little girl with her knuckles scraped and face bruised, not a body to use and discard.
"You may not be aware, but his own daughter was murdered two years ago. Despite how difficult it must have been to see a girl his daughter's age. he offered to be Celeste's guardian and teach her self-defense. You have absolutely no right to pass judgement on either of them. Celeste was hurting, Bernard was hurting and yet they still chose to be kind, gentle, decent people."
Carmen's eyes turned glassy, but she remained silent.
"I know what it is like to hurt. You are well aware that I lost my brother when I was a child and that loss has left me crippled in more ways than I want to admit or discuss. I have lacked grace and decency, I have spoken to others in ways I regret. I think of Erik every single day, knowing that I cannot speak of him to you or Val or Elizabeth because you think I am mad. The frustration I feel, the anger, the loneliness...in all of the years Val and I have been together, when I was at my lowest, most troubled self, he never once asked what I needed. Quite frankly I doubted it ever crossed his mind that I wasn't out causing trouble because I enjoyed spending Saturday night in a cell with eleven other men. I was there because I needed an outlet for everything that I couldn't bear to hold onto."
I bowed my head and clasped my hands. "Carmen, I know you are hurting. I know that you believe I am part of that pain that has been caused, but I am not. I swear to you on my own brother. I swear to you that I was never involved or suspected that Val was having an affair. I am here because I would like to ask you to consider the friendship we once had. I am asking you to remember that for years, there were never secrets between us." I forced a smile. "I once told you more than I told Elvira, and I tell Elvira everything, isn't that right?"
Hearing her name, Elvira groomed my beard.
Carmen looked at me for a long and silent moment, her expression unreadable. Slowly she reached out her hand toward me. I sat forward, placing the flowers on the bedside table before cupping her hand in both of mine.
"The paper was wet," I said apologetically, noticing her hand was ice cold to the touch and now wet because of me. "I should have dried it first, Carmen, my apologies."
"Phelan," she said quietly, her eyes lacking sheen, her face void of color. "For years I wished every bit of suffering upon you. I hoped you would spend the rest of your days searching for someone you could never find because I thought you deserved that. I thought you had betrayed me, and somehow my own husband's infidelity didn't hurt nearly as much as thinking you could look me in the eye and call me your friend while hiding such a terrible secret."
My throat unexpectedly tightened at her admission. Elvira touched her beak to my face.
"Forgive me for how cruel I've become," she wept. "Forgive me for allowing my anger to destroy our friendship and for searching for reasons to hate you. It was wrong of me to dismiss you rather than confront you for the truth." She placed her free hand atop mine, the tears freely falling down her cheeks. "And I apologize for what I said about your friend and the girl."
I nodded once.
Carmen pursed her lips, holding back her emotions until she could speak again. "You do not have to say that you forgive me. I understand that I haven't earned it yet, and I hate myself for what I have caused between us, but if you would consider–"
"I forgive you," I said.
She blinked at me. "Why? Why would you ever forgive me so swiftly?"
"Because I cannot bear to be any angrier or more wounded than I've been for years. And I don't think you can, either. I would like to make amends."
"Before it's too late?" she asked.
"Before more time is wasted."
Carmen sniffled. She closed her eyes and allowed her hands to rest in mine. "I've missed you," she whispered. "Thank you for allowing me this peace."
I heard the clock downstairs chime and knew I needed to leave for the florist in order to make it home and drop off Elvira before the gallery.
I started to stand, but Carmen clutched my hands tighter.
"Why have you never looked for a wife?" she asked. "Why have you never wanted to settle down? Have a family of your own?"
"That was not the life for me," I answered.
"Why?"
I inhaled and stared past her at the suncatcher. "Because there are too many broken pieces."
"Like that glass you're staring at?"
I huffed. "I suppose, but my broken pieces aren't nearly as beautiful as that dove."
"You're an artist."
I nodded in agreement. "Certainly not one who works with glass."
"No, but perhaps you merely need someone who can arrange the broken pieces for you."
I started to shake my head, but Carmen released my hands. "Everyone is broken," she said. "Some of those broken pieces fit together."
"It would be quite unfair to ask someone to risk cutting themselves for my sake."
Carmen closed her eyes again and returned the rag over her face. "The right person will find a way." She turned onto her side, her voice weakened from a long conversation. "Isn't that a lovely thought?"
I started to answer, but knew she was too close to sleep and instead placed the sunflowers onto the bedside table for when she woke.
"Stay a while longer," I whispered. "So that I may know you again, Carmen."
Her lips formed a barely noticeable smile. She didn't reply, but I was certain she heard me.