Possibly 12 more chapters for this story.

Ch 88

I left for the university at six, stopping first for coffee before I walked toward the campus, my mind still buzzing with so many treacherous thoughts that I found myself standing in front of the main building, having no idea how I had walked the distance without paying attention to my surroundings.

For a long moment I stared at the stone steps of the main building, feeling as though I had walked in the wrong direction or somehow became disoriented despite it being my normal route.

Brow furrowed, I patted my satchel, finding at least a bit of comfort in realizing I hadn't forgotten my lessons for the week. Something, however, was missing, but I had no idea what I'd forgotten.

I started to walk toward the art building, wishing I had been able to tolerate pressure of any kind to the heel of my hand as I needed to lift heavy objects and exert myself to the point of failure, but that would not be a possibility for at least another two weeks if not longer as the bruise was undoubtedly down to the bone, at least in the spots where I had been struck with Madame Giry's damnable cane. I could not risk putting any pressure on it at all until the bruise was healed completely and after that I would have to take care as I wasn't positive that the nerve damage wasn't worse from the new injury.

I was halfway to my building when I realized what I had forgotten.

"Lucille," I said under my breath as I came to a sudden stop, recalling that I had offered to purchase her coffee after she finished swimming.

I inhaled sharply, every muscle tightening while my gaze darted around in horror. Cursing quite loudly, I turned on my heel and ran toward the university pool building, hoping Lucille would still be in the water.

I raced toward the building, shoes pounding the stone pathway until I rounded the corner and skidded to a stop at the entrance where I nearly toppled into the bushes. I yanked on the door, which was locked, and fumbled with my keys, dropping them in the process.

"For God's sake," I muttered.

From the corner of my eye I noticed someone approach and did a double take before I realized it was Lucille rushing toward the building with her gigantic bag clutched to her chest.

She came to an abrupt stop several feet from where I stood, both of us wide-eyed and panting.

"I didn't forget," I blurted out.

"I'm not late," she replied, completely out of breath.

We stared at one another for a long moment, her expression unreadable at first. She drew her hand to her mouth, corners of her eyes creasing, shoulders drawn up nearly to her ears as she started to laugh.

I wasn't sure what she found amusing and awkwardly waited for her to explain her amusement.

"I overslept," she said, clearing her throat. "I'm an hour late. I thought you would arrive and think that I had decided not to show up this morning."

"I did the same," I admitted. "Overslept, that is."

To my surprise, Lucille smiled back at me. "Good, then I don't feel so bad."

"Nor do I."

"I believe we are both in desperate need of coffee with how our morning has started," Lucille suggested.

"You'll receive no protest from me," I said, sliding my keys back into my satchel. Unfortunately, as my luck would have it, I missed the outer pocket and the keys clattered to the ground.

"You may be in greater need of coffee than me," Lucille quipped.

"I may need the entire pot," I muttered under my breath.

"I must say, despite an hour of extra sleep, I didn't feel well-rested when I realized the time," Lucille said.

"What time are you normally awake?" I asked.

"By five on days I intend to swim," she answered. "Today I woke at six-thirty. How long did you oversleep?"

"I woke a little before five," I answered.

"You said you're normally awake at four?"

I nodded. "With the poor birds, as you pointed out," I replied.

"Why so early?"

I shrugged. "I've been fairly consistent at waking up at four in the morning for many years now."

"Yes, but for what purpose?"

"It keeps me disciplined, I suppose," I vaguely answered.

We were halfway across the campus when I realized Lucille struggled to keep up with me and was forced to maintain a trot in her heels.

"Would you like me to carry your bag?" I offered as it seemed to impede her ability to walk at a normal pace.

She clutched it tighter, chest heaving with each breath. "No, thank you."

Her physical reaction to my offer was amusing. "You do realize I have no intention of robbing you?"

"Yes, I realize that." She looked me up and down. "I feel like the tortoise attempting to keep up with the hare. If you are in a hurry, you can certainly walk ahead of me and reserve a table."

"I'm not in a hurry," I said.

"It feels like you are rushing."

She was not the first person to comment on my brisk pace, but she sounded quite annoyed. "If you allow me to carry your bag, the extra weight is sure to slow me down," I said, attempting to speak lightly.

"I do not need you to carry my bag," she said firmly, her tone indicating that she was not amused by the offer.

"My apologies," I said, feeling certain I had somehow offended her.

We approached the cafe across from the university campus–the same one that I had attempted to avoid Lucille at the previous week. Thankfully she made no mention of my folly and we found a table in the corner of the mostly empty cafe.

With our cups of respective caffeine promptly delivered, Lucille began digging through her bag. Something about her rummaging about, items clanging and clattering within the interior, heightened my sense of anxiety.

"What are you searching for?" I impatiently asked when the noise and digging became intolerable.

At last she pulled her hand out and produced a small tube with a yellow label.

"Arnica," she announced quite proudly.

I furrowed my brow. "Arnica?"

"Yes. For the bruise on your arm," she explained.

I blinked at her. "For me?"

"Yes," she replied as if it should have been obvious, holding out the tube for me. "The moment I returned home from the sandwich shop, I put it into my bag for you. Have you used it before? It will help with healing."

"One of my students had me apply it last week," I said, feeling terrible for becoming irritated with her searching through her bag.

"You can keep it," she said, hand extended further out until I accepted the small metal tube. "I have another at home."

"That was very thoughtful of you," I replied, surprised by her consideration after how the last week had gone.

"I have a bandage as well since the salve tends to be greasy," she said, shaking her bag as she began sifting through it yet again.

Rather than become increasingly irritated, I found her actions slightly more endearing.

"I could have gone to the pharmacy," I said.

"Yes, you could have, but did you?" she asked, looking down her nose at me.

"No, I did not."

"No, you did not," she said before she grit her teeth and swished her arm around the bag's interior, causing something to clatter to the ground beneath the table.

"What on earth is in that bag of yours?" I asked, reaching for the fallen object, which was a small hammer. I examined it for a moment before Lucille snatched it out of my hand.

"Everything," she answered, looking up from the bag to meet my eye. She smiled again, leaving the hammer on the table. "Everything I might need."

"May I ask why you feel compelled to carry 'everything' with you? Including a hammer?"

"No, you may not," she defensively replied.

That was not the answer I had expected, and I wasn't sure how to respond as she seemed irritated with my question.

"Are you going to make fun of me if I answer?" she asked without looking at me.

"No," I assured her. "I have no intention of making fun of you."

"Not even for the hammer?"

"Not even for the hammer."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

Lucille pulled out a small cloth bag containing the bandage, which she placed on the table and slid toward me.

I rolled my sleeve partially up and unscrewed the lid on the tube, squeezing out a pebble-sized amount of the salve, which I gingerly rubbed onto the bruise, fully expecting the slightest amount of pressure would burn.

"My mother left when I was six," Lucille said suddenly, keeping her voice low.

I glanced across the table at her, but remained silent.

"It was a very warm day in late June and she told me she'd be right back, so I sat on the steps and waited. My hair was sticking to the back of my neck and I desperately needed ribbon to pull it back.

"I looked everywhere, but it seemed as though she took all of my hair ribbons with her. And my doll as well, that I'd left near her bag. It was raggedy and stained and the hair was frayed yarn, but I loved that doll. And the ribbons. I went inside to wait, then up to my room as it was getting late, and by morning, there was still no sign of my mother, the ribbons, or the doll."

I found myself studying Lucille in silence, quite familiar with waiting for someone who had left to return. Our situations were different, but I knew what it felt like to wait, to want someone back. I would never stop wanting my brother to return.

"My father promised he would find my mother and bring her home, along with the ribbons and the doll, which I had stressed I needed back," Lucille said, "but he left one day and didn't return, same as my mother. It was a week before Cecil informed me that they were never going to return."

"Did you ever find out why they left?" I asked.

Lucille swallowed. "A few years later Cecil told me there was a note, but he wouldn't tell me what it said. While he was at the university, I found it in his desk drawer." She paused. "Before you ask, yes I was searching for the note."

"I believe I would have done the same."

Lucille frowned. "I wish I'd never looked. Our father said that they only wanted a son. They did as much as they could for me, but being a girl, they felt I was too much responsibility and were not financially prepared for a second child, much less a girl."

Rejection was etched into her features, her dark eyes filled with pain that echoed from childhood well into her adult years.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said, squeezing another pebble-sized amount of salve onto my arm. "That was unfair of them to leave you like that."

"I barely remember them any more," she replied, squeezing the bag tighter.

"Did you and Cecil live with other family members?" I asked.

Lucille shook her head. "No, it was only the two of us. Our aunt and uncle on our father's side made certain we received the funds to survive until Cecil was offered the job at the university, but it was just us in the house."

"How old was Cecil at the time?" I asked.

"Eighteen," she answered.

My eyebrows shot up. "Eighteen? I didn't realize he was that much older than you," I said. "I thought he was closer to my age."

"How old are you?" Lucille asked.

"Thirty-five," I answered. "Thirty-six in July."

"Cecil is thirty-six," Lucille said.

"You're only twenty-four?" I asked, attempting to not sound as shocked as I felt.

Lucille's eyebrows raised. "How old did you think I was?"

That was not a question I was about to answer, which made Lucille laugh.

"You thought I was older," she said.

"Not elderly by any means, but closer to my age."

She inhaled, her eyes locked on mine. "You didn't realize I was twenty-one when we–"

"No, I did not," I said before she finished.

And I definitely would not have looked twice at her if I'd realized she was so young. Or if I'd known she was Cecil's much younger sister.

"To be fair, I didn't realize you were so old," she said.

I grunted. "Shall I apologize for being in my thirties?"

"No need. I already feel quite sorry for you in your elderly state," she teased.

"That was unnecessarily harsh," I replied, matching her tone.

"Here," she said as I unfurled the bandage. "If you will allow me."

I was fully capable of applying the bandage and in truth would have preferred doing it myself as the slightest accidental touch was bound to hurt, but I handed the bandage over to Lucille.

"An act of charity for a member of Paris' vulnerable elderly community?" I asked, brow raised.

"Yes, now hold still, old man."

Lucille took great care in wrapping my arm, making certain she put no pressure along my forearm. Despite her care, however, it looked as though a toddler had been tasked with wrapping a pretend injury.

"That looks uneven," Lucille said once she finished. "Do you want me to do it over again?"

"No, it's fine."

"Are you certain?"

"It's perfect."

Lucille eyed me. "You needn't spare my feelings. I can see that I've done a questionable job."

"The bandage came from your magic bag. It's absolute perfection and I appreciate your concern."

"Magic bag," she mused. At last she gave the faintest smile, her eyes fixed on the interior of the bag still hugged to her side. "If I were still six, I would have the doll, ribbons, and my mother and father inside of this bag. But I am not six, so I carry everything else I don't want to lose and I do not care if you think I am mad. Your opinion means–"

"Lucille, I don't think you are mad at all," I said before she finished speaking.

Her expression softened. "I am being defensive," she said quietly. "I apologize for speaking to you in a less than acceptable manner. As you said, I've been rude to you repeatedly. I will be more conscious of my words before speaking going forward."

We both sat in silence for a long moment, Lucille with her cup of cortado clutched between her hands, me rotating my empty coffee cup on the saucer. It wasn't particularly enjoyable silence, but not altogether uncomfortable.

From the corner of my eye I saw her look at me several times between sips. I could not enjoy her company, even if it was nothing more than a platonic relationship. Given her age and her relation to the dean of students, I could not continue to see her at all. It was better that I gave no personal details, to decathect before I gave her the wrong impression.

I stared at the bag. The bottom was patch in several spots, the shoulder strap frayed and fabric stained. It appeared that the bag had been used for quite some time to haul personal belongings she feared leaving behind.

"If I could have kept someone in my family safely stowed within a bag…I would have done it," I said, eyes still fixed on the bag. "And perhaps I would have him here with me today."

"May I ask who you are speaking of?" Lucille asked.

No one, I wanted to tell her. We could not have this conversation, this mutual understanding, this connection of mourning and loss and a sense of rejection. I would not hurt her in that way. This type of pain I reserved for myself.

I looked up and met Lucille's eye, finding she looked at me differently than she had before, in a way that I couldn't quite describe.

"My brother," I answered.

She nodded, silently waiting for me to elaborate.

Neither of us spoke until it was time to leave the cafe and go our separate ways.

oOo

Elizabeth met me at the door Wednesday afternoon, dressed in a white and blue pinstripe skirt and matching blouse.

The fabric was identical to the athleticwear I owned, which tickled her to no end that we had somehow ended up looking as though we'd purposely intended to wear matching outfits.

"Do you own a tennis racket? Is that what it's called?"

"I do not," I replied, stepping through the front door. "If I did, don't you think I would have brought it?"

"When are we leaving?" she impatiently asked.

I exhaled, issuing a very stern look in her direction. "After I say hello to your mother."

"You should wait until Father is home."

"Relax, Eliza, it's a five minute walk and we have twenty-five minutes."

"It's a five minute walk for you," she pointed out. "It's a ten minute run for me. Let's go now and then you'll have more time to visit afterwards."

"No."

"Uncle Phelan–"

"If you are in such a hurry, then perhaps you should start running now," I said. "I have every intention of speaking to your mother first."

"But–"

"You are being very inconsiderate, Eliza. Not another word."

Elizabeth scoffed and I turned to fully face her, annoyed by her selfishness.

"The boy can wait, do you understand?"

"Yes, but–"

"I am not arguing with you. Your parents are correct. I do spoil you far too much."

Elizabeth's face crumpled like a spoiled toddler denied a toy. She bowed her head and followed me into the parlor where Carmen was fast asleep, slumped over in her chair. The stained glass made her face entirely blue, which was alarming despite me being fully aware that it was a trick of the light.

"Carmen," I whispered, placing my right hand against her cheek.

Her breathing seemed more shallow than it should have, but her flesh was warm to the touch.

"Carmen," I said a bit louder when she didn't wake the first time.

She inhaled sharply, eyes slit open as she stared blankly at me.

"Who are you?" she rasped. "Where is my husband?"

Her words caught me by surprise. "It's…it's Phelan," I answered. "Joshua's cousin. Your brother-in-law."

She stared at me still, a look of alarm as though a stranger stood in her home, hand on her face. I wasn't sure if I should pull away and excuse myself or wait for her to register who I was and that I would not harm her.

"Phelan?" she questioned.

I nodded.

"What happened to you?" she whispered, grasping my wrist. "You look so different."

"Do I?"

She made the barest nod. "Yes, you look as though you've aged fifteen years."

"How old should I be?" I asked, attempting to remain calm. I feared the slightest move on my part would be upsetting to her.

"Twenty, of course," she said. "Shouldn't you? My God, you've aged since yesterday."

I glanced at Elizabeth, who stood off to the side, and Carmen followed my gaze.

"She's still here," Carmen said weakly.

"Of course," I replied. "She's your–"

"Maid," Elizabeth answered. "I'm her maid. Would you care for another pillow, Madame Kimmer?"

Carmen closed her eyes and inhaled. "No, no, I'm fine. How is my daughter?"

"Sleeping, Madame," Elizabeth said. "In her crib upstairs."

Carmen exhaled, her face held in a grimace. "She's stealing from me, Phelan, nasty little thief. Get her out of here and do not allow her to take my daughter, do you understand?"

I furrowed my brow and looked at Elizabeth, who stood with her lips pursed and eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"I said get her out of here," Carmen demanded. She lifted her hand as if to strike me and I stood, stepping back from her. "Worthless as ever, I see, just as Joshua always said. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, but I see he was correct. Now do what I say, do you hear me?"

"Of course, I'll send her out now," I said, nodding to Elizabeth.

"Thief and a whore. Don't listen to a word she says. She's sleeping with my husband. She will try to tempt you as well."

Elizabeth was in tears before we left the parlor, and the moment I turned to her in the foyer, she put her arms around me and buried her face against my shoulder.

"We need to call for a physician," I said.

"He's already been here twice," Elizabeth said.

"What is he doing for her? She needs attention right this moment."

Elizabeth sniffled. "He said there is nothing to be done. It's just a matter of time waiting now and keeping her comfortable."

My breath hitched. Eliza locked onto me, hands gripping my shirt, hot breaths against my shoulder. I held her closer, for her own sake and my own as I found myself in disbelief of the situation. Carmen had been fine three days earlier. Not in perfect health, but she was at least coherent and aware of herself. I didn't care if she failed to recognize me, but the way she addressed her own daughter was devastating.

"Do you want to leave or do you prefer staying?"
I asked her.

"Would you be angry with me if I wanted to leave?" Eliza wept.

"No, of course not."

I imagined Elizabeth wanted to run away for good considering how her mother didn't recognize her, calling her a thief and a whore.

"Here," I said, offering her my sleeve as I had no handkerchief on me. "Dry your eyes at least before we walk outside."

"I have one," she said, reaching into her pocket. "I cannot be without one for the time being. Not until…until it's over."

I exhaled, my heart breaking on her behalf. Grasping the back of her skull, I drew her toward me and kissed the top of her head.

"Eliza…"

"May we leave now? Please, Uncle Phelan, I would like to leave. Once Father is home, it's easier."

I nodded and guided her out of the house and down the front steps, keeping her arm in mine until we reached the tennis club where I paused and looked her over. She looked more grown up than I wanted to acknowledge, and I feared Carmen's final days would force her to grow up even further.

"What is it?" Elizabeth questioned.

"Eliza, I'm sorry," I said.

Her bottom lip began to tremble. "Why are you apologizing?"

"I'm sorry I accused you of being selfish," I said.

"I tried to tell you…"

"I know and I regret how I treated you. That was wrong of me."

"I didn't think this was how it would be," Elizabeth said. "I thought Mother would welcome my company, but she cannot stand the sight of me."

"She doesn't know what she's saying," I said quietly. "And she doesn't recognize you."

"She thinks I should still be an infant."

I nodded and frowned at her. "I have no idea why this is happening, Elizabeth. I wish I had an answer for you."

"The physician said it's most likely due to an infection that has reached her brain," Elizabeth said. "It came on very suddenly. He said sometimes this happens when a patient has had ailments lasting a very long time."

I looked past her at the sign for the tennis club. "Are you certain you wish to see Anthony?"

"I want to hit a ball as hard as I can," she said.

"I'm not sure that's the point of the game, but it certainly can't hurt, can it?"

Elizabeth seemed in higher spirits once we walked through the gate and to the tennis lawns where we spotted Anthony almost immediately.

He greeted me first, then Elizabeth, who brightened the moment he looked at her.

"Have you both seen tennis matches played?" Anthony asked.

Elizabeth and I both shook our heads. I had seen one match years earlier, but wanted to appear as a novice for Elizabeth's sake.

Anthony went through a brief verbal explanation before he had the two of us stand together on one side of the net, which was stretched between two poles and only came up to Elizabeth's hips. He handed us both rackets and took his place on the other side of the net, explaining that he would hit the ball toward us and we would then hit the ball back to him.

"Toward you?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes, for now, and then once you've had enough practice I hope we can play an actual game," Anthony explained.

He lobbed the ball toward my half of the court and Elizabeth took off running, dashing in front of me where she swung the racket and hit the ball directly at Anthony, who was forced to use his racket as protection to keep the ball from hitting him in the groin.

Anthony looked shocked by Elizabeth's speed and agility.

"Don't hit the ball so hard," I whispered to my niece.

"Why not?"

"Because we're practicing, not trying to turn him into a eunuch."

Elizabeth gasped. "Uncle!"

"If I were him I'd make you sit out a round for aiming for him like that."

"I wasn't aiming," Elizabeth protested.

"Well, be careful," I whispered. "That's your future husband, isn't it?"

"Uncle!" she whispered loudly.

Elizabeth's cheeks flushed and she returned to her side of the court, racked clutched in both hands and an intense look on her face.

As expected, Anthony lobbed the ball toward me and I was able to reach it before Elizabeth.

"Stay on your own side," I warned her.

"I'm faster than you," she said.

"This isn't a race. We're on the same team."

The ball was once again hit to my side, and I returned it with ease.

"Well done, Monsieur Kimmer!" Anthony exclaimed.

Elizabeth stood poised and ready for her turn while Anthony bounced the ball several times.

"Nice and easy, Elizabeth," Anthony reminded her before he hit the ball into the furthest corner, forcing Elizabeth to give chase where she barely managed to return the ball over the net.

Anthony hit the ball to me, I returned it to him, and he leisurely hit the ball toward Elizabeth, making certain it landed as close to the line as possible so that she was forced to chase it.

"Magnificent!" Anthony bellowed.

"In heeled boots and a skirt, no less," I commented.

Despite being labeled as athletic wear, the uniforms for women desiring physical exercise didn't seem practical and I was amazed by how swiftly Elizabeth was able to move across the court.

Anthony bounced the ball a few more times before allowing us to keep the ball in play for several minutes. The friendly game ended when Elizabeth hit the ball so hard that it sailed over Anthony's head.

"You honestly need to stop treating the ball like it's insulted your entire family," I said to Elizabeth.

She was breathing hard, her forehead slick with sweat. "Why?"

"Because you are Anthony's guest and he is teaching you," I said, whispering in her ear as I guided her toward the back of the court.

"I'm a swift learner."

"That may be true, but allow him to teach you rather than showing off."

"Why? He should be pleased that I've caught on this fast."

"The point of the game is not to strike the ball as hard as you can at your opponent," I said. "And you should be a more respectful student because us men appreciate feeling like we are good at something."

"What if I'm better than him?"

I turned my head to the side. "Allow Anthony to strut around like a peacock and show you his skill."

Elizabeth's shoulders dropped. "Ugh, fine," she groused.

"That's definitely the proper attitude," I sarcastically replied.

Thankfully Elizabeth settled into a rhythm where we both took turns hitting the ball back and forth to Anthony, who ran back and forth across both sides of his court until he was red-face and out of breath.

"Would you care to play a game against one another?" Anthony asked.

Elizabeth readily nodded. Before I stepped to the other side of the court, I took her by the arm and whispered, "Do not hit the ball toward me like you are firing a gun, understood?"

"I was doing good!" she protested.

"Yes, you were," I agreed. "Just don't start up thinking you need to best me, Eliza. I'm very sensitive."

She gave me a strange look as if trying to decide if my words were meant lightly or not. "You are not amusing," she said with a shake of her head.

I lightly tapped her on the top of her head with my racket. "I absolutely am," I said.

"Anthony! Did you see what he did? Points off for my uncle."

"On what grounds?" I asked, jogging to the other side of the net.

"On the grounds of acting like a child," Elizabeth grumbled.

"Your uncle has a splendid sense of humor, Elizabeth," Anthony said. "I wish my uncles treated me as kindly as yours does with you."

"Would you like to exchange uncles?" I asked Anthony.

Elizabeth issued the most murderous look in my direction while Anthony chuckled to himself.

"Sixty day swap?" I suggested. "I suppose I'm not willing to give her up entirely. I'm quite fond of Eliza."

"Eliza," Anthony said, fondness in his voice. "We have attended the same school together since we were five, haven't we? I've never heard anyone call you by that name."

Despite her cheeks already crimson from tennis, Elizabeth turned a deeper shade of red. "Uncle Phelan is the only one who really calls me that."

"It's very pretty," Anthony said.

"You may call me Eliza if you like," Elizabeth said.

"You don't mind?"

Elizabeth pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "No," she answered with a shake of her head. "I like the way my name sounds when you say it."

"Eliza," Anthony said, his cheeks turning red as well.

The two of them blinked at one another as if they had suddenly taken notice of each other for the first time in their eleven years of knowing one another. It was still very much an innocent look, but one that brightened Elizabeth like sunbeams illuminated her from within. Considering what awaited her at home, I wanted her to enjoy herself for as long as possible.

"Anthony, if you would not mind, I will play against Eliza if you keep her from trying to kill me with the ball. This girl is positively lethal."

"Certainly," Anthony agreed, walking toward Elizabeth while I took his side of the court. He took a deep breath and showed her where to stand to serve the ball.

"You are extraordinarily light on your feet," Anthony said to Elizabeth. "It must be from all those years in ballet."

Elizabeth did nothing more than giggle in response.

"Now, a nice soft lob over the net for now," Anthony said. "As your uncle said, you aren't trying to kill him."

"Not yet, at least," Elizabeth teased. "Perhaps the next lesson?"

"Eliza!" Anthony admonished. "Be kind to your uncle!"

"Yes, Eliza, be kind to your uncle," I parroted.

"If you will recall, Uncle Phelan struck me in the head with his racket," Elizabeth pointed out.

"That was an accident," I replied.

"You are not amusing, Uncle," Elizabeth scolded.

"I do believe Anthony would disagree."

Anthony made a face. "I don't want to get involved if you don't mind," he politely said.

"Because you side with me," Elizabeth said with a nod.

Anthony looked horrified. "I can't choose sides."

"No need, Anthony, my offer still stands. Ninety day swap, my niece for you."

Anthony grinned back at me. "I shall consider it, Monsieur Kimmer."

"That's Uncle Phelan to you."