CH 80

The father and son who owned the hardware store nearest my apartment had gotten to know me quite well over the years.

Not only was my studio in need of occasional maintenance that didn't require contacting the landlord, but students had a myriad of mishaps from door handles falling off to leaks that threatened to drown the entire building, whether it was their apartments or dorms.

For reasons that were unclear to me, I had become the art department go-to when anything broke. In all of my years teaching, I'd never seen building maintenance pay a visit to our part of the campus despite being near the main building, and rather than submit tickets to the secretary in hopes that someone would show up to replace a window crank or keep the door from groaning when it opened and closed, I did it myself.

Unfortunately, I didn't consider myself particularly good at repairs, but I was terrible at saying 'no' when asked how to fix something and took it upon myself to learn.

Instead of attempting to figure everything out on my own and botch the job, I had no qualms about soliciting advice from the hardware store, where the father and son owners knew how to fix just about everything in the city. I found that being humble enough to ask questions was faster than attempting to fix things I knew nothing about and potentially making them worse. Therefore, I was the repair person for everyone who stepped foot in my studio, six years running–including Monsieur Raitt's studio.

I also imagined that was part of the reason nearly every student accidentally referred to me as their father, papa, or Uncle at least once. I was getting to the age where I was old enough to be their parent and probably had a similar skill set.

The hardware store was near Abigail's shop, which officially had a for sale sign in the window when I passed by after leaving Hugo's home. The sight of the sign solidified my fear that Abigail would not return, much as I desired to believe otherwise. I wasn't sure how to process the finality of her absence. Her disappearance had ripped an unexpected hole in me, one that I wasn't sure how to close. Everything we had shared, everything I hoped to share, seemed to have sunk to the bottom of a very deep abyss, beyond my ability to retrieve.

"The University Handyman!" Tomas, the father, said as I walked into their shop.

It was one of my most favorite places in the entire city, based completely on how every single item was neatly organized in little glass bins, wooden boxes on shelves, or dangling from hooks. The wall of tools was delightfully symmetrical, so much so that I almost shed a tear over the sheer beauty the first time I'd walked inside to look around.

"Just Phelan," I reminded them. "They don't compensate me nearly enough to be called the official handyman."

"What are you fixing this time?" Thelonious, Tomas' son, asked.

They were two of the hairiest men I'd ever seen in my life, both of them with wildly thick brows, beards that grew like weeds, and wiry chest hair poking out from the collars of their shirts. They also displayed thick arm hair like fur at the ends of their rolled up sleeves. At first I imagined they were both werewolves barely under disguise of being men, but they were both as pleasant as could be and invaluable with their knowledge, and I couldn't ever think poorly of them.

I produced the faulty wheel bearing and all of the other parts I'd removed from my pocket, much to their delight.

"A wheel! Great fun!"

They were truly giddy with excitement, and their response was contagious.

"Another one," I said. "I feel like I've replaced at least thirty at this point."

"Yes, we've done a lot of these and I'm confident we will have this fixed in no time." Tomas nodded in approval.

I appreciated not only his enthusiasm in the matter, but the way in which the father and owner of the shop took it upon himself to be included in the project and triumph of success even when he technically did nothing more than sell me the parts and jot down helpful tips. We, however, would succeed.

At first, when I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, Tomas had guided me with a bit more diligence, sometimes having me remove and replace the doorknob in the rear of the shop or replace the wheel to their chair in the back office to make sure I was capable of handling it alone. Neither my own father or uncle had ever done anything of the sort, and Tomas' undivided attention and encouragement had been a response I never expected when I first began asking questions.

Both father and son were exceptionally experienced, with Tomas and his brother, whom I had never met, owning a plumbing business previously. I had felt more than a little intimidated my first time stepping foot inside and asking how in the world I replaced a water pump for the studio sink.

Tomas had been beside himself with glee, and I could tell immediately that he greatly enjoyed the satisfaction that came with passing on his knowledge. A few years in, hundreds of purchases later, and I'd earned his trust, which was quite satisfying given the respect I had for him and his son.

"How have you been?" Tomas asked. "We haven't seen you in a month or so."

"Well, actually. Nothing has fallen apart, I suppose."

"That's a shame. We like seeing you. How is life outside of repairing the university?"

"I suppose it's noteworthy to mention I just closed an art show Sunday," I replied.

"An art show?" he asked, his voice filled with surprise.

"My first real one," I answered.

"You didn't invite us?"

"I wasn't given invitations."

Tomas shrugged. "Next time, Monsieur Fix It?"

"You'll be on the top of my guest list," I assured him.

He raised a fist in celebration. "Thelonius! He's famous now!"

"Hurray!" his son shouted from the front of the store. "A famous artist in our store. That's a first!"

Tomas proudly walked me around the aisles, and I collected all of the needed parts in a small basket that I brought to the counter for Thelonius to total up and hand me a receipt.

"When are you going to draw a picture of our store?" Thelonius asked. "It's a very beautiful store, isn't it?"

"There is nothing better in the entire city," I agreed. "And I actually have a sketch of the outside and inside at home," I answered.

I'd drawn many of the shops around the neighborhood, including both the hardware store and floral shop. They were little more than practice sketches on a Sunday afternoon when I wanted to stay busy, but I was pleased with them.

Father and son grinned at me, both of them insisting that I bring it with me the next time.

"That will be your most famous drawing," they both proclaimed.

I chuckled at their response, flattered that two individuals whom I saw on a somewhat regular basis were so pleased by my first success as an artist.

"What are you doing to celebrate?" they asked.

"I…uh…I haven't given it much thought," I answered honestly.

They stared at me in horror, and I wondered if my insistence on honesty was actually worse than being untruthful.

"How have you not given it much thought?" Tomas questioned. He swatted me in the shoulder and shook his head in dismay.

"I've been a bit preoccupied in recent weeks," I answered.

My reply hardly satisfied them.

"No," Thelonius said sternly.

He was a few years older than me with meaty hands and large forearms. The sight of him was a bit intimidating and I couldn't possibly disappoint him or his father. I'd have to find an entirely new hardware store to frequent and that would not do at all.

Thelonius shook his sausage-like finger in my face. "You give it thought right now. Do you hear me?"

They both stared at me and I sighed, humoring them. "Fine," I said. I took a deep breath and looked at a distant point, thinking of the gallery show, the paintings I had sold, and the talk I had given Sunday afternoon. Bernard had purchased a drawing that would be in the Louvre over the summer and I had drawings of Elizabeth that I'd never thought to show anyone being sold to the toy maker's daughter.

Years and years of creating art with not even a ripple of interest and now I was facing tidal waves. For most of my life I had thought once I had interest in a painting, I would be on my way to success. Once I had a piece of art displayed in a gallery, I would be satisfied. Once I sold a piece of art to someone other than Jean, I would be an artist who sold his work. All of a sudden, I had achieve all of that and more.

At last I could call myself an artist, a true artist selling art. It felt like I was dismissing the greatest dream of my life while focused on Erik. I didn't regret putting my brother first; he had been the focal point of my life from the moment I had first held him, and despite how long it had been since we were together, despite all that had happened at the Opera Populaire, he was still important to me.

But for once, I wanted to place a small portion of my thoughts onto myself, onto a great success I was in danger of letting pass by unnoticed.

I was an artist. I was selling art. How could I have allowed myself to dismiss such a monumental achievement?

"See? That smile means he gets it," Tomas said, grabbing me by the shoulder and giving me a shake. "Congratulations, Monsieur Fix It. Or shall we refer to you as Monsieur Artist?"

"Phelan. Only Phelan. And my sincerest gratitude as you have brought me back to my senses," I said. "Something I never thought I'd find in a hardware store."

"We fix everything around here," Thelonius said.

His father nodded in agreement. "Hey, since you are here, did you see Soward's Sewing is for sale?" he asked me while his son placed everything into a paper bag.

"I did," I replied, my mood in danger of slipping. "It was quite unexpected."

Thelonius shrugged. "Her brother said she's been thinking about moving back home for years."

"Years?" I questioned.

"Yes, since her children have been without a father."

I furrowed my brow. Abigail had never indicated anything of the sort to me, but there was a very likely chance that it was because I'd taken so little interest in her life and had not told her much about me in return.

"I didn't know she was unhappy here," I said. It felt like something I should have known, even if she didn't say it ourright.

"Homesick is all," Tomas said with a shake of his head. "Losing Clarence was quite the ordeal for poor Abigail."

I had not known Abigail prior to her husband's death and had no true indication that she had been homesick or unhappy. Either she had done a fairly good job of masking her true emotions or I was beyond daft and lacking all skills when it came to observing others.

"I think she has been in a state of mourning ever since she lost him. It will be good for her to be back," Thelonius added.

"And be married again," Tomas mentioned. "For her sake and the sake of her children."

"Married?" I questioned, attempting to not sound nearly as surprised as I felt. "Has she been seeing someone?"

"Oliver Betrum," Tomas said. "He is quite the fortunate man to be marrying such a fine woman like Abigail."

"Forgive me, I have never heard Abigail mention him previously."

"Her brother told us about him just last week, didn't he?" Tomas asked his son.

"Yes, that's correct. Oliver and Abigail grew up together. Apparently he was quite jealous when Abigail married Clarence. Howard made it sound like the two nearly got into a duel over Abigail's hand some twenty years ago."

"Fascinating," I said.

It was not at all how I felt. I wasn't sure what would be the appropriate emotional response. Betrayal? It felt like betrayal, despite me having no relationship with her to justify my feelings.

None of what Tomas and Thelonius revealed was familiar to me. I felt as though I knew nothing about Abigail at all.
"You were a frequent customer," Thelonius said to me. "We would see you walk down to her shop and stay for a couple of hours. I'm surprised she never mentioned Oliver Betrum to you."

"I'm surprised the two of you weren't courting," Tomas said. "I thought she fancied you."

"Yes, I thought so too," Thelonius added.

We hadn't been talking, I wanted to say. Nor had I been intelligent enough to court someone like Abigail. We had been together in a way that seemed far less intimate than conversation, ways that led nowhere. Somehow two men at a hardware store, neither of whom I would have thought Abigail knew well, apparently had more information on her private life than I ever did.

I thought of what Lucille had said to me regarding my lack of familiarity with her after a night spent together: Isn't that strange? Or is that how you prefer it?

The emotional distance I'd kept now felt like a mistake, as if I'd barred myself within a prison that allowed no visitors. Nothing would assuage my regrets now that they were lined up in front of me.

"Do you need anything else?" Tomas asked me.

I shook my head. "Not for the time being. Thank you."

oOo

Joshua's final performance at Sterois was played to a full house, every seat and table packed, the air heavy with smoke and the heady smell of beer as well as plenty of spirits passed around the tavern.

Hugo and I arrived early, which meant we had our selection of tables, and sat toward the front at a round table that had been lovingly etched with several initials and a very impressively endowed and quite erect appendage directly in front of me.

Claiming he was famished, Hugo ordered far too much food, which we both ravenously dug into before the performance began.

"How are you?" Hugo asked, dipping bread into a small pot of warm cheese, of which he had ordered several varieties.

I shrugged. "I'm not sure."

He regarded me for a moment, his expression unreadable. "I suppose sometimes that's how we all feel. Nothing wrong with that."

"At least I feel something, I suppose," I muttered.

"There you go again acting like you are immune to emotions," Hugo said.

My gaze slid from the candle in the middle of the table to Hugo. "I don't act like I'm immune," I argued.

"You act like you are incapable then. Quite frankly, I don't know the difference."

I sighed, finding myself irritated by his evaluation. "Are we arguing this evening?"

Hugo smirked at me. "Will that light your passion later?"

I gave in to his sarcasm and wagged my eyebrows. "If you want the truth, I prefer not arguing this evening," I replied.

Hugo looked me over. "I haven't upset you, have I? That was not my intention."

"No, you have not. It's just that…I am trying to have a good week."

Hugo nodded in approval. "Well, that's good to hear. And thus far are you succeeding?"

"Mostly," I answered.

That seemed like a fair assessment. I hadn't expected perfection, but I also had not anticipated running into Lucille multiple times or discovering Abigail had returned to Canada to wed.

"Do you care to discuss?" Hugo offered.

"Which part?"

"Isn't it always the bad news first? Give me the bad news first."

I shrugged. "Do you honestly want to sit here and listen to me complain?"

Hugo leaned forward and laced his fingers together. "What is a wife for, if not to support her husband in good and bad times? Besides, I like hearing your voice. You have a very soothing tone."

"While I'm voicing a list of grievances?"

"You do it very well. It makes me tingle."

"You are a complete menace, you know that? A feral beast I've taken out in public."

"Better than a stuffy old coot with one leg. I take all of that as a compliment."

At Hugo's insistence, I told him first about Abigail's departure and fiance waiting for her across the sea, which still immensely bothered me.

"She never mentioned him?" he asked.

I shook my head, knowing for certain if she had mentioned an engagement I would have never pursued a physical relationship. It was doubtful I would have pursued a friendship as I doubted any red-blooded man would desire his fiance or wife to forge a friendship with a former lover.

"Strange," Hugo replied. "Perhaps she was not aware that she was being married off once she returned."

"Well that is certainly cause for alarm. Why would you say that?"

Hugo made a face. "I didn't mean to make things more complicated. Forget I said anything."

"That is unlikely," I muttered.

Joshua thankfully stepped foot onto the stage, greeted by deafening applause as he took his place behind the piano. A woman came out to sing with him, whom he introduced as a special guest. It was definitely not the same woman he'd been sleeping with, which made me hopeful that he'd broken off the affair to focus on his family.

My cousin stood once the applause continued, his gaze sweeping through the audience. Our eyes met briefly, then he paused and looked at me again, offering a broader smile and nod.

"I cannot thank all of you enough for attending my final show," he said. "For the time being, I should say. Eventually I will grace this stage if they'll have me back again."

Joshua played for almost an hour straight, entertaining the crowd with stories while people shouted their requests and filled the tip jar three times over. He gave a handful of banknotes to the bartender between songs shortly before his first break and proclaimed that drinks were on him, which went over splendidly with the crowd.

Joshua was bombarded with guests during his break and remained by the stairs, smoking a cigarette while refusing the majority of drinks he was offered. The crowd swarmed him, making it impossible for him to step foot outside of the tavern or into the back. He eyed me briefly, forcing a smile, before he was pulled away by people who wanted to speak to him.

I started to turn back to Hugo when he leaned forward first and tapped me on the arm.

"You have an admirer, it seems," he said. Before I could ask what he meant, he drew nearer. "Don't make it obvious, but she's sitting behind you."

Quite frankly I had no desire to look at all, but inhaled and looked toward Joshua, who was slowly making his way through the tavern, guided by a throng of people. He would provide a good enough excuse to stand and see who was at the table behind us.

I stood and walked toward my cousin, my gaze trained on him as I weaved through the sea of people and tables crowded together, making it nearly impossible to pass through to the other side.

Joshua shook his head at me, mouthing 'Are you staying?'

I shrugged. 'Probably?'

'I'll come to you.'

At least that was what I thought he mouthed as I was not a good lip reader. With a nod, I turned back toward the table where Hugo sat blatantly staring at the table behind ours, the most absurd grin on his face.

"For Christ's sake," I muttered under my breath, gaze sweeping from Hugo to the table behind ours.

My self-proclaimed good week dangled by a thread. The person threatening to cut the string stared directly at me.

OoO

Of course Lucille La Behr was at Sterois on a Wednesday night. Naturally she had found a seat a table away from mine. And undoubtedly, it was my terrible fate to be staring directly at the woman who hated me more than any other being in the entire world.

I had to navigate my way through the room back to my table, all the while eyeing her while she shot me looks and engaged in conversation with three other women seated at her table.

She seemed slightly alarmed when I passed my own seat and approached where she sat, having every intention of being true to my word. If she didn't want me to avoid her, so be it. I would be a perfect and cordial gentleman.

"Good evening, Lucille," I said jovially, disrupting her conversation.

The whole table went silent, four sets of eyes blinking, eyelashes batting, as they stared at me in silent disbelief. Judging by their collective expressions, I was certain my name had at least been mentioned and unfavorably at that.

Lucille lowered her gaze and sniffed. "Twice in one day," she said.

I couldn't tell if she was attempting to be snide and chose to ignore her comment. "How are you this evening?" I asked.

She looked up at me, her expression not what I had anticipated. I expected annoyance or outright mortification, but she appeared almost amused, and I wasn't sure what to make of it.

"I'm very well," she said, feigning a pleasant tone. "And you?"

"Wonderful," I answered.

"Wonderful? Truly? Do I have that effect on you?"

I wasn't sure what to make of her words or her tone. If I said she had absolutely no effect on me whatsoever, I was automatically going to be branded a terrible louse by every single person at her table.

And if I agreed?

That was a different type of trouble I didn't want to invite.

"I beg your pardon?" I said. "I don't believe I heard you."

Lucille's expression faltered and she looked away. "Never mind," she said under her breath, reaching for her drink.

Her friends were still staring at me, but in a far more scrutinizing way.

"A pleasure to see you as always. Enjoy the performance," I said before I returned to my seat and Hugo, who looked at me in the same way as Lucille's female friends.

"What was that about?" Hugo asked.

Nothing, I wanted to tell him. But it was something that had gone on for far too long.

"Not the best part of my week," I answered.

"How could that lovely thing possibly be a bad part of your week?" Hugo asked.

I inhaled, wishing I had something stronger than tea at my disposal. An espresso would have at least given me enough caffeine to focus on my heart threatening to explode.

"I'll explain later," I promised.

Hugo merely shrugged and pushed one of the cups of cheese toward me. "You must eat this before I do."

Joshua thankfully took to the stage again, and the crowd around us raised their glasses in appreciation.

OoO

The smell of alcohol became unbearable shortly after Joshua returned from his break. Thankfully the doors were opened, allowing the smoke to clear and the smell to lessen a bit, but my stomach was still uneasy and I found myself breathing through my mouth.

I kept my gaze trained on the stage while assuming the table of women seated behind me attempted to burn a hole in the back of my head.

My revulsion to alcohol was not always consistent. There were university functions I was forced to attend where drinks were practically overflowing and I felt indifferent to the smell. Other times I would catch a whiff in a theater lobby and felt the overwhelming desire to retch in the lavatory.

The smell would forever be associated with Alak and Bjorn. My uncle was not a violent drunk, but he consumed hard liquor to the point of not being able to walk and had frequently passed out at the table in the middle of a meal or in his chair. I remembered him falling out of his chair at least twice, the hard thump of his body and the moment that followed where I was certain he had dropped dead.

Despite how he had treated me, I hadn't wanted him to die, and when he slumped over, I immediately found myself in a panic, far more so than Joshua, who merely sat him upright and patted his father's face until he was awake again.

Seated beside Hugo, my thoughts were not of Alak, but of Bjorn. The crowd was rowdy, voices raised as people shouted their requests and playfully argued with each other. I had a very vague memory of looking through the window late at night as a toddler, probably weeks before Erik had been born, and watching Bjorn stumble home through the trees surrounding the house where I had been born. I remembered the feeling of dread, of knowing he would be angry after leaving the pub in the village and either take out his drunken rage on me or my mother–possibly both of us. I remembered trying to protect Gyda and her enormous, round belly, unaware that inside was my brother. I remembered being tossed against the wall, of being cornered and desperately trying to defend myself, biting and kicking when I had no chance of being victorious.

Overwhelmed, I swallowed and abruptly stood, reaching into my pocket where I pulled out a twenty franc banknote and pinched it between my thumb and forefinger. The breeze from the doorways that were open on opposite side of the building placed me directly into a cool crossbreeze, which made me shiver as I was damp with perspiration on the back of my neck.

Joshua reached the end of his song and sat back, looking at me as I approached. "Phelan," he said, keeping his voice low. His smile turned to a look of concern. "Are you…not well?"

Of course my cousin noticed I was swept up in my tumultuous thoughts. As much as I had always believed we were not close, in that moment he proved otherwise.

"I'm fine." I placed the folded banknote into the jar, which had been emptied.

"That isn't necessary," Joshua said.

"It is. I have a request," I said.

"What is your request?"

"Something original," I replied.

Joshua looked down his nose at me. "Ladies and gentleman," he announced.

"Do not introduce me," I whispered, having no desire to be put on the spot, not when my stomach was still very much in knots. "Please."

He appeared disappointed that I didn't want to share the limelight, but nodded. "As you wish."

I walked back to my seat and ran my thumbnail through my beard, scraping back and forth along my cheek. I felt slightly better being out of my seat with my blood circulating through my veins and hoped the worst of the sensation had passed.

Joshua tapped on the piano keys. "I have a request for an original song from a gentleman that wishes to be anonymous."

I felt the eyes of the crowd turn to me briefly and my stomach tightened. Instinctively I looked away from the stage and saw Lucille from the corner of my eye observing me. Twisting my torso, I looked directly at her and she raised a brow.

"At the risk of boring every single one of you, does anyone besides this anonymous fellow wish to hear something I wrote?" Joshua asked.

The crowd erupted in applause and Joshua looked taken aback by the unanimous response. He looked at me, eyebrows both raised, mouthing something I couldn't quite make out.

"Very well, then," Joshua said. "One more song you all know and then I'll take a brief break and delve into something that will leave you all in silence for about three and a half minutes."

I took great pleasure in hearing Joshua perform. It wasn't because he was the most skilled in singing or a technically gifted pianist, but it was evident how much he enjoyed being able to perform. He paused halfway through a song, asked the audience to clap, and had the majority of people on their feet, stomping with such gusto that the floor vibrated beneath our tables.

"I am taking a break in the back," Joshua announced as he stood up from the piano. He looked at me and nodded, then tilted his head toward the curtain that led into the back of the tavern behind the stage.

"Go speak with him," Hugo said. "I'm perfectly content here with three bowls of cheese."

Without protest I stood and walked toward the stage and into the back of the tavern where there were stacks of tables and chairs. Beyond that was another set of curtains, parted in the middle, where Joshua stood lighting a cigarette.

"You've done it," he said.

My heart stuttered, his tone giving no indication if I'd done something positive or negative. "What have I done?" I warily asked, shoving my hands into my pockets.

Joshua took a long drag from his cigarette, his mouth held in a crooked, almost boyish grin. "You've given me the push to play my own music. Never in a thousand years would I have guessed that anyone here would want to hear me play a song I wrote."

"You underestimate yourself then," I replied.

With a nod, he beckoned me nearer and I followed him into his dressing room. I looked around the small space where his coat and hat hung, finding that behind the stage wasn't nearly as glamorous as I had expected. There was a small desk with a square mirror chipped at the bottom and multiple sheets of paper strewn about, some of which had fallen off the desk and onto the floor, most likely from the breeze.

Once we were alone, Joshua shut the door and quickly advanced on me. I froze in place, half-expecting him to swing at me, but instead he threw his arm around me in a one-armed hug that took me by greater surprise than if he'd attempted to strike me.

"Phelan," he said, teeth clenched in a smile. "I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to look into the crowd and see you sitting there," he said, patting me on the back.

His words filled me with unexpected elation. Erik would always be on the top of my list, however, directly below the desire to see my brother again was the need for a relationship with the only other person in my family that I knew existed.

I hugged Joshua back fiercely, drawing him toward me rather than pushing him back. For the first time since I'd been a boy, it felt like we were truly family.

"It has been a pleasure seeing you perform again."

"I know you cannot stay much longer," he said. "You will be awake far earlier than me, and on a school night, no less, but I am beyond pleased to have you here tonight. Once you are on your way home, I have every intention of telling the audience that the Phelan Kimmer was in attendance tonight."

"There is going to be a significant chance that fewer people have heard of me compared to your original music."

"I will not stand for this self-depreciation. I give it six months and you will be the most famous painter in Paris."

I smiled back at him, despite wanting nothing of the sort when it came to being famous. "You have much higher expectations than me, Joshua."

He regarded me for a moment, smiling to himself. "This," he said, "this is how I've always wanted it to be between us. Brothers."

We are not…

I held my tongue, considering my words with care, acutely aware of the precarious edge where we stood. One misstep and we would throw each other off.

Joshua looked expectantly at me. Ever since we were children, I had adamantly disagreed with him on referring to each other as brothers. Erik was my brother. Val's brother, Alak, had perished at a young age, somewhere between the ages of two and three, from what I understood. My younger brother was missing; his was dead. That didn't make us brothers, it made us cousins who had both lost siblings.

He would be angry with me if I corrected his statement, angry that I continued to deny the connection he wanted for reasons that now seemed trivial. Accepting Joshua as my brother in no way negated my love for Erik. If anything, perhaps if we were all brothers it would deepen the relationship the three of us could form.

"Brothers," I agreed.