To address something from the previous chapter, Carmen's change in demeanor was based on a real life situation where there was an infection that spread from someone's lungs to their brain and made them hallucinate/become paranoid while also changing her personality.

CH 89

Carmen was thankfully sleeping when I brought Elizabeth back home shortly before supper.

"Did you have a good time?" Joshua asked Elizabeth the moment we walked through the door.

"Splendid!" Elizabeth said. "Uncle Phelan is the greatest uncle in the world."

"That is certainly high praise coming from a girl your age." Joshua kissed Elizabeth on the cheek before she went straight upstairs to change out of her athletic wear and into something more suitable for the dinner table.

"She did very well," I said. "And Anthony is a patient teacher."

"I saw his father on my way home," Joshua said. "Anthony has been talking about lessons all week."

"Good because we've scheduled another one for Friday afternoon, with your permission."

Joshua inhaled, his gaze distant. "Yes, I will allow Elizabeth to go with you again."

"She needs it," I replied. "At least I think she does."

"You are correct," Joshua said sullenly.

"I will see you Friday then."

"Stay with us," Joshua requested, his voice filled with urgency. "We have plenty of food and Carmen will not be eating this evening."

"If she wakes later…" I started to say.

Joshua shook his head. "She isn't interested. The physician said not to force her to eat or drink anything." He looked away from me. "He said that it is a sign of her being close."

There was nothing else my cousin needed to say.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"As am I," Joshua replied.

"She didn't recognize me or Eliza this afternoon," I mentioned, both of us refusing to look at one another.

Joshua frowned. "That happened Monday night and yesterday afternoon as well."

"I wish I'd known that she was ailing in this way," I said. "I wasn't prepared."

Joshua was slow to reply. "I should have told you," he said, his tone apologetic. "Quite honestly, I didn't know what to say. I still don't know what to say, Phelan. Everything happened so fast and the physician was of no use aside from increasing her laudanum to keep her more tranquil." Joshua licked his lips. "I suppose I am lying to myself if I say this came on suddenly. Carmen has been sick for so long that I suppose I took the time we had together for granted. And now there is no time left as I have squandered it."

I shoved my hands into my pockets, needing to focus on something other than my forearm and the temptation of physical pain. Emotionally I wasn't sure how much I could tolerate. I felt both angry and saddened for the time my cousin would never get back with his wife.

"Elizabeth said there is nothing else to be done?"

Joshua shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. We shall ride out the worst of this storm as a family."

"Forgive me for asking, but how long does the physician think Carmen has left before…?"

"Before she dies?"

I exhaled. "I am trying to be polite. I know this is difficult for you and I don't want to make it worse."

Joshua nodded. "My apologies. The last three days have been pure hell and I am not coping as well as I thought." He paused for a long moment and sniffed. "Ten days at best, a few days at the worst. That is what I was told, but quite frankly I think Dr. Corin has it backwards. Ten more days would be the worst possible scenario. For Carmen's sake and Elizabeth's sanity, I hope it is only a matter of days. I cannot bear to see my wife and daughter suffer in this fashion."

I thought of Bjorn writhing in his sick bed, covered in his own filth, which drew flies into the house that I thought would be impossible to remove. The amount of insects drawn to him had made me sick to my stomach, aware that they were drawn to infection and impending death, like black messengers from the underworld waiting to claim their prize.

No one ever said how long Bjorn had been confined to the house, bedridden and awaiting his own demise. Given how emaciated and dehydrated he was when I arrived, I was quite surprised I hadn't discovered a rotting corpse.

And yet still he remained breathing for three more days, unable to do me the simple courtesy of apologizing for his sins before he drew one last breath and descended into hell where he belonged.

Carmen, I hoped, would have a swifter and kinder farewell, one surrounded by her family. I hoped she would have a moment of clarity at the end, to look at her daughter one last time and her husband at her side and know that she was loved.

"I worry for Eliza," I said. "It wasn't intentional, but Carmen was very cruel with her words this afternoon."

"Carmen thinks Elizabeth is the maid and that our daughter is an infant," Joshua said.

"Not just a maid, but a thief and…something far worse, which I will not repeat."

Joshua's expression darkened. "I know. The way in which Carmen spoke to Elizabeth was unexpected. I didn't know how to react other than to ask Elizabeth to go to her room as if she needed punishment."

"I know you think I spoil her, but if there is anything I can do for Eliza, anything at all, say the word."

My cousin nodded and gripped my shoulder. "Stay for supper. We will both be glad for your company."

I nodded. "May I see Carmen?" I aske, adding swiftly, "I won't wake her. I just…I just want to sit her for a moment."

Joshua thought for a moment before he nodded. "By all means."

With his permission, I walked up the stairs to their bedroom and found Carmen with her eyes open, but gaze distant.

She watched me walk the length of the room and sit at her bedside.

"Carmen," I whispered. "It's Phelan. I am your brother-in-law."

"I know," she whispered back, reaching out from beneath the covers. "I know your face."

I took her ice cold hand in mine and forced a smile, grateful that she recognized me.

"Why do you look so sullen?" Carmen asked.

"Isn't this how I normally look?"

"You look worse than usual."

Her comment made me laugh out loud. "Well that is brutally honest. I would hope that you would spare my feelings a little, Carmen. I'm a sensitive artist, after all."

"Sensitive and lonely. You need someone in your life," she said. "And not Celeste Guin."

I inhaled, surprised by her comment. "Isn't she one of your friends?"

"She is. That's why I know you do not need to see her."

I grunted. "Is she harboring some deep, dark secret? One that will bring France to her knees?"

"I do believe Celeste is the one typically on her knees, isn't she?"

I huffed. "That's not a question I feel needs an answer."

Carmen searched my face. She laced her fingers with mine, holding fast to my hand.

"I know how much you cared for Abigail," Carmen said. "And I know how much Abigail cared for you. I am truly sorry for how things ended between the two of you. And please, do not insult me and my intelligence by saying the two of you were just friends. She was different. You cannot deny that in your heart, Phelan."

These were not words I desired to hear. I looked away from Carmen, the aching inside of me unbearable.

"Phelan, look at me. Please. I want to tell you something, and I want to see your face."

I forced myself to meet Carmen's eye, feeling more concerned with losing another moment with her over the sorrows I harbored.

"I love you," she said, her voice trembling. "My most favorite brother."

My throat tightened at her unexpected words, a sentiment I hadn't heard for well over a decade. We had exchanged words of adoration at the end of the night, after Elizabeth was asleep and the party wound down. In the back of my mind, I could still remember the night when Carmen had stopped speaking to me, when I had lingered in the kitchen staring at her for a long moment, waiting for her to tell me goodnight and that she loved me so that I could say it back to her.

"I love you, my most favorite sister."

Carmen lifted her hand and pressed her palm to my cheek. For a long moment I studied her features in silence, knowing that I could not speak for fear of sobbing in front of her.

"Promise me you will stop sleeping with every woman who looks in your direction and find someone that will share their life with you."

Carmen ran the pad of her thumb against my cheek, brushing away the tear I hadn't been able to stop from falling.

"Fall in love, wed a wonderful woman, and start a family, Phelan."

"That is not the life for me."

"The life you're living isn't the correct one for you, either, is it?"

I swallowed back the lump in my throat. "You know I truly despise when you want to discuss my life."

"I know. Because you realize I am correct." She slowly lowered her hand from my face.

"If I agree with you, may we speak of something else?"

"Yes, but it has to be sincere. Promise me you will stop sleeping around."

"I will be more selective," I said.

Carmen scoffed. "I should have expected that answer from you."

I grinned back at her. "Yes, you should have. Can you imagine me as a priest?"

"I don't want to imagine you celibate. I want to imagine you happily married."

"I am more likely to become a priest than a husband."

Carmen sighed in disgust. "FIne, I will stop nagging you since you cannot accept the truth and insist on being combative."

"Neither of those are true. I am a delight."

"Your sister wants what is best for you," Carmen whispered. "Please, Phelan, tell me that you at least understand that."

"I do," I assured her. "And I will take your words into consideration."

Carmen seemed less than satisfied, but didn't argue. "Where is Elizabeth? Did you take her to her tennis lesson?"

"I did."

"Does she still want to marry Anthony?"

"I believe she does," I said.

"At least someone has the sense to desire a proper marriage." Carmen smiled tightly back at me.

"Amusing," I dryly said.

"You're going to have to make sure she doesn't marry him until she's at least twenty. Promise me you'll keep an eye on her."

"I shall oversee her every move and make sure she doesn't marry until she's thirty, at the very least."

"And Joshua," Carmen said. "You'll need to keep an eye on him as well."

"You know he will not allow that. He doesn't take me seriously."

Carmen inhaled. "And I know you will still try because that is what you do."

"You have my word."

"But not to a proper marriage?"

"I will consider it. That's the best I can do."

Carmen suppressed a yawn. "I will accept your word that you will put forth the effort." She offered her hand to me again.

"Do you want me to shake on it?" I asked, amused by her display.

"Yes, I do. I want you to be a man of your word."

I took her hand in both of mine. "I will put forth the effort, but cannot promise it will lead anywhere."

Carmen scoffed. "Promise me, Phelan."

I frowned at her. "I promise."

I heard footsteps behind me and turned my head, seeing Elizabeth in the doorway.

"Come sit with us," I said. "Give your mother something to talk about other than me."

Eliza rushed to her mother's bedside as I kissed Carmen's hand and stood, offering my seat to my niece.

"How was tennis?" Carmen asked.

Elizabeth took a breath, and for the next five minutes, spared no details on her tennis lesson, her tennis instructor, or teasing uncle, savoring each moment of clarity her dying mother had left to spend with her only child.

oOo

By some miracle, I managed to complete the cards and file the artwork for the spring art show with time to spare, a true first for me as the event truly brought out my inner procrastinator.

With the show still weeks away, the artwork would be carefully stored in the back room until it was time for everyone to gather their canvases and framed sketches and walk them down to the main building for display.

As I did annually with my students, as well as Monsieur Raitt's class, we marched across the campus and to the main building where we discussed the layout for the event, taking into consideration that the gallery would open at five on a Friday and run for a week.

It was exciting for my students and thrilling for me as well to see a year's work put on display. Students were in charge of providing refreshments to the patrons as well as putting together three minute speeches discussing one particular piece on display for the attendees on opening night.

For the next few weeks, they would take turns speaking in front of each other and become comfortable with fielding questions.

Or at least I hoped they would. I had already proven that some people were not good at being on display beside their art.

"How is the arm?" Ink asked me as my students spread out, taking turns discussing the commons area layout and lighting.

I rolled up my sleeve to the middle of my forearm to show him. "Better, I think."

Ink took a long and scrutinizing look. "What caused this darker color? Did you fall?"

"I hit my arm," I said, which was, in a way, not totally false.

Ink sucked in a breath through his teeth. "You need to be more careful. And you also need more arnica," he said. "I'll bring some tomorrow morning."

"I have a tube at home," I said.

"Good," Ink replied. "Use it three or four times a day to see faster results."

I nodded. With no instructions, I'd applied the salve before bed and wrapped my arm overnight.

"I appreciate your concern and suggestions, Dr. Lincoln," I said before I started to walk away and dismiss the class.

"Professor," Ink said quickly, keeping his voice low. "Did I hear correctly that you are now in charge of the Carlyle Club?"

"In charge? No, absolutely not. I attended a meeting last week," I replied.

Ink smiled. "This is excellent news."

"Do you attend?" I warily asked, unsure of how I felt being involved with a critique group with students as members.

"I've been to a few meetings," he said. "It's terribly disorganized and a fistfight broke out once…"

"Between Vincent and Sebastian?"

"Yes, I believe so. Red-haired Dutch fellow with a temper and a Frenchman who is quite passionate, which I suppose is a polite way of saying he also has a temper."

I inhaled. That certainly described the two of them. "If that behavior continues, I am not returning," I said, feeling quite resolute in my decision.

"That would be a shame, Professor," Ink said. "They are good artists."

"Have you seen what Vincent and Sebastian have produced?"

"Yes, I have. Vincent is very talented. Sebastian…struggles."

"I see."

"But I believe Sebastian could be a wonderful artist if he had a better group of artists supporting him. That's truly their downfall, Professor. They are in desperate need of someone with patience and the skills to manage their spirited personalities."

"That doesn't describe me one bit," I replied.

"Of course it does. You're the best professor at the whole university."

"How many other professors do you know?" I asked, turning my head to the side.

"I've had fifteen other classes outside of yours, so I know quite a few of the professors. You're the best one."

"Your grade is high enough already, Daniel, you needn't flatter me."

"I am being honest," he assured me. "Will you be there tonight? I might stop in if you are there and I know the group will run a bit smoother."

"I will be there, but I cannot guarantee anything will run smoother," I said.

"I shall see you there and hope for the best."

oOo

I stopped home and took Elvira out for the afternoon after my classes, allowing her to enjoy the outdoors while I wished to drive a nail into my sinuses to open them up as they were quite uncomfortable.

We sat at the cafe, thankfully finding Mona was working and well-versed in Elvira's temperamental ways.

"How is your little niece?" Mona asked as she topped off my cup. "Celeste, I think she said?"

"Celeste? She's in Wissant," I answered.

"Wissant?" Mona lifted a brow. "Where is Wissant?"

"North," I replied. "She's with her father."

I wasn't sure what to call the relationship between Celeste and Bernard, but father sounded better than guardian and seemed quite a fitting title.

"I was wondering why I haven't seen the two of you together. Did I meet your brother? I don't believe I did."

"No, he was here with us, but not when you were working," I replied, deciding not to correct Mona. Bernard had swiftly become like a brother to me and I didn't mind her thinking of Celeste and Bernard as my family.

"Oh! I have something special for you, Professor Kimmer," Mona said. "I will return in a moment."

"What do you–"

"One moment!"

With a sigh, I watched her return back inside of the cafe, having no idea what she could have possibly had, but assuming it was her heart-exploding special blend of espresso, which I would have to politely decline as I could not attend the Carlyle Club meeting with my bloodstream containing fifty percent caffeine.

Instead, she returned with an enormous almond croissant.

"It's the last one," Mona said. "No charge for my favorite professor."

"You are too kind, Mona."

My former student grinned back at me before she was called to another table.

I picked off a part of the croissant, saving one of the almost slivers for Elvira, who was already making her best attempt to get to my food.

"Stop it or I'll eat you when we return home," I threatened, jostling my shoulder.

She had the audacity to scream in my ear.

"I swear, if you do not behave yourself while we are out in public–"

"Is that Elvira?" a feminine voice asked.

I fully expected to see Clary and Cassandra addressing Elvira, but when I looked up, I was pleasantly surprised to see Lucille, her giant magic bag hugged to her side.

"Lucille," I said. "You remember her name?"

"Yes, of course," she said.

"Your memory is astoundingly flawless."

"You are being astoundingly generous." She smiled back at me while Elvira attempted to walk down my arm, curious about the new company at the table.

"Elvira is not able to leave my shoulder," I assured Lucille. "If you want to sit, she won't be able to bite you."

"Ah, yes. 'Careful, she bites.' I do remember her saying that quite a few times."

"She hasn't bitten anyone in years," I said, standing to pull out the chair. "Aside from me."

Lucille looked from me to the chair and I immediately had the realization that she intended to say hello as she walked past, but not sit and chat.

"I suppose I should not have assumed you wanted to join me," I said under my breath.

Lucille chuckled to herself, and to my surprise, took the offered seat.

"Almost croissant?" I offered.

"My second favorite type."

"Chocolate first?" I asked.

Lucille's eyebrows shot up. "Yes, that's correct."

With a knife, I split the croissant in two.

"Why does Elvira bite you?" Lucille asked, studying Elvira, who continued to reach out with her foot. Lucille took a bite of her half the pastry while I continued to nibble on mine.

"Because she's like a toddler with feathers and sometimes cannot decide what she wants, so she sometimes chooses violence," I answered.

"So it's completely random?" she questioned.

"It used to be," I said. "Or at least I thought it was random, but the more I have gotten to know her, I understand what makes her defensive."

"The people at the salon were cruel to her," Lucille said. It wasn't a question; it was a fact that she had remembered me telling her three years earlier.

"They were awful to her," I said. "Poking her with canes, rattling the cage…she was terrified."

"Yes, you told me that. The people at the salon saw you take her, didn't they?"

"Elvira put up such a fuss with her screaming that people on the other side of the city must have thought I was butchering her."

"Did Salon Vive ever ask for her to be returned?" Lucille asked.

Again her question caught me by surprise. I had no recollection of what had been discussed, but apparently the conversation had revolved around Elvira at least in part, including the salon where I had stolen her years earlier.

"No, they did not, and I would not have returned her unless the gendarmes came knocking at my door. Even then, I think they would have sided with me if they'd seen the condition she was in for the first six months after I took her."

"A plucked chicken," Lucille mused.

"She's about to be a plucked chicken again if she keeps yelling at me."

Lucille pursed her lips, eyeing Elvira in a way that made me certain I knew what she would ask next.

"Do you think she would let me touch her?"

The question came as no surprise. Everyone was tempted to pet an exotic bird.

"Probably not," I said.

Lucille turned her head to the side and smiled at Elvira. "You look like such a pretty girl. I think you would let me."

These were the moments that made me most nervous, when Elvira appeared docile and curious. Several times in the past she would reach out to unsuspecting people as though she would climb onto their arm and be their best friend when in reality she gave a false sense of security. With her foot extended, she seemed quite gentle before she reconsidered at the last second and started screaming.

On at least one occasion, Elvira nipped at some unsuspecting person who truly thought they had earned her trust, thankfully missing her target. After that, I forbid anyone from touching her as a precaution as I was afraid of what would happen to both of us if she managed to sever a finger.

"I would not reach out," I warned.

Lucille didn't argue or protest. "Next time, then?"

I wasn't sure why she thought there would be a next time. Or why I hoped there would be one.

"Doubtful."

"One day," Lucille said, keeping her hands far from Elvira's reach. "We will be friends, won't we, Elvira?"

I studied Lucille while she made clicking sounds at Elvira, who responded by initiating the same noise while bobbing her head.

There is not going to be a next time or a 'one day'. I should not have offered you a seat and you should not have accepted. We cannot keep meeting like this. You are far too young and innocent, I am far too experienced and out of an acceptable age range to ever…

I started to reach for my satchel, fully intending to excuse myself from the table.

"Can you whistle?" Lucille said suddenly. She whistled a short tune and Elvira whistled back, stepping back and forth on my shoulder as if she wanted to impress our guest.

"She looks happy," Lucille said.

"She is happy," I replied.

To my surprise, Elvira was unusually jovial, particularly with a female as she often responded poorly to women, which I attributed to jealousy on her part.

Lucille appeared quite pleased and whistled again, earning her another song from Elvira as if the two of them had decided to play a game together.

"See? She likes me already."

Elvira did seem quite fond of Lucille and had not shown her usual signs of unpredictability. Against my better judgment, I reached into my pocket for two slices of dehydrated sweet potato, one of which I broke in half. Elvira immediately noticed her snack and leaned forward, making a sound like someone smacking their lips together.

I fed Elvira half the sweet potato and clutched the other half in my palm.

"Here," I said to Lucille, holding out the sweet potato. "Place this in your hand and then your hand over mine and try giving her a piece."

"My hand over yours?" she asked, sounding a bit skeptical.

"Elvira should be more accepting if she thinks it's from me," I explained, hoping that she didn't feel as though I wished to hold her hand, which I did not.

"Alright," Lucille agreed. "And if she bites me?"

"Then I owe you an even bigger apology and a false hand to replace the one you're inevitably about to lose."

"My entire hand?"

"Unless you prefer a hook, although I can't imagine you could swim with a hook."

Lucille returned a close-lipped smile. "A nice wooden hand," she said, "like a paddle."

"Paddle hand it is," I said, unable to stop myself from smiling back at her and the utterly amusing and ridiculous conversation. "Ready?"

Lucille's hand rested in mine, soft and warm, her fingers slightly curled.

"Flatten your hand a bit," I suggested. "More of a plate than a bowl so she doesn't mistake your fingers for food." I smiled to myself. "Literal finger food."

Lucille rolled her eyes, but still chuckled at my comment. "I shouldn't laugh. I will only encourage you."

"I truly need no encouragement."

Lucille inhaled and held her hand out flush with mine, the tips of her fingers to my wrist.

"Better?" she asked, her voice more breathy.

"Yes, but how do you hold anything with those tiny hands of yours?" I asked. "I shall make sure your paddle hand is twice as big as your regular one."

"Your hands are already paddles," she teased. "How on earth do you hold a delicate paintbrush with those gargantuan hands? You're practically a primate."

"A primate?" I questioned, taking offense.

"Have you never seen a gorilla? Massive hands."

"I'll have you know I'm exceptionally good with my massive hands," I groused.

"Oh?" Lucille looked across the table at me, her face turning bright red as her lips parted in surprise.

"With a brush," I said, scoffing at her.

"Are you assuming my thoughts again?"

"Judging by the color of your face, I know your thoughts. Now, are you ready?" I impatiently asked.

She gave a single nod, appearing quite confident while I clenched my jaw and hoped to God my fractious avian companion behaved appropriately.

"Ready," Lucille said.

She lifted her hand before I expected and presented the treat to Elvira, who was more polite than she'd ever been with me.

"Aren't you a sweetheart?" Lucille cooed. "See? I knew you would like me. I bet you remember me, don't you?"

Elvira bobbed her head several times, giving Lucille quite the show. I'd never seen Elvira react to anyone else in the same manner, and for the life of me, had no idea how she had reacted when Lucille had been in my apartment.

"May I feed her another piece?" Lucille eagerly asked.

"Need you ask for my permission?" I questioned, rubbing my forehead.

"She's your bird…"

"Yes, and we were supposed to feed her together. You ignored my instructions and could have gotten that paddle hand."

Lucille ignored my tone and blew a raspberry. "Nonsense," she said as she broke the other sweet potato in two, feeding one half to Elvira before she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and waited for Elvira to imitate the sound.

"Nonsense indeed," I grumbled, amazed by how Elvira behaved. "You've clearly enchanted my feral bird."

"She's very lovely and tame," Lucille said, glancing at me before she gave Elvira her full attention. "You aren't the feral one, are you? No, you are perfect."

My breath stilled, eyes locked on Lucille, mystified by her gentle demeanor. Clearly Elvira was not the only one enchanted by Lucille. I cleared my throat and looked away.

"How old is she again?" Lucille asked me.

"I estimate around my age. With proper care, I hope she lives another fifteen years or more. At least that's how I feel most days."

"What about the other days?"

"The other days I think about what she would taste like in a creamy lemon sauce with asparagus on the side."

Lucille gasped. "I don't believe that for one minute. In fact, I am certain if she survives on your mutual adoration, Elvira will live forever."

Elvira bobbed her head again. "Papa loves you," she said.

Lucille's dark eyes widened in either surprise or horror. I couldn't tell which one for certain.

"She's repeating what I say to her," I explained before Lucille asked why my bird was attempting to flirt with her. I turned my face toward Elvira and kissed her beak. "Isn't that so? Who loves Elvira?"

"Papa loves you," Elvira said.

"She calls you 'Papa'?"

I shrugged. "She doesn't comprehend the words, but she imitates the sounds well. Her vocabulary was a bit…colorful…when I first took her. Since then, she is more polite in public and reserves her choice words for screaming at people on the street from the comfort of her window perch."

"She's a naughty girl," Lucille said. "Takes after her father, I see."

"I am more prone to biting than Elvira, I assure you."

"Then I suppose I won't be feeding you by hand," Lucille said lightly.

I couldn't tell if her tone was meant as flirtatious, but given the overall nature of the conversation, I looked away again, feeling as though in the figurative sense I was already eating out of her hand, which would not do at all.

"It was lovely to see you, Lucille," I said, pushing my chair back. "Enjoy the rest of your day."

She blinked at me. "Oh. I apologize, I didn't realize you were leaving so soon."

"I have an appointment."

"Of course. It's just that I thought…"

I paused, guessing what she would say if she finished her sentence.

I thought we were having an enjoyable time.

I thought we would walk down the street together.

I thought we would make plans for another day.

I thought your bird was correct. Do you love me?

I had no intention of leading Lucille on. The longer I sat with her, the more she would have the wrong impression. It was better to walk away than hurt her yet again, to minimize the damage before the situation was out of control.

"A pleasure seeing you," I said, leaving two francs on the table for my coffee before I briskly walked away, forcing myself to stare straight ahead rather than glance back and see Lucille's disappointment.

Elvira squawked in protest of leaving the table.

"Calm down," I said under my breath. "We can't see her anymore."

"Papa loves you!"

"Elvira! Enough" I scolded.

She paid no mind to me and continued her tantrum all the way to my apartment, voicing precisely how I felt inside the moment I left the table.

oOo

Hugo left his front door unlocked, so I let myself inside before heading to the Carlyle Club. If anyone would agree with me regarding how problematic it was to keep seeing Lucille, it would be Hugo.

"Phelan?" he questioned as I burst into the parlor. "Oh, thank God it's you. I thought I was being robbed."

"I've apologized to Lucille, on multiple occasions," I blurted out.

Hugo stared back at me. "Good. Did she forgive you?"

"I believe we are on good terms."

Hugo nodded in approval. "This is excellent news."

"And I cannot see her again."

Hugo furrowed his brow. "Oh, for Christ's sake. What on earth are you talking about now?"

"I mean precisely what I said, Hugo. I cannot keep running into her."

"Running into her? What do you mean by that?"

"I mean literally seeing her all over the place. I wanted to use the university pool and she was there, you and I were out at Sterois and she was a table away at the tavern. I took Elizabeth out to a play and Lucille walked into the sandwich shop. I went to meet my cousin at lunch time and she was there at the restaurant across from the university… And then for reasons that are completely irrational. I invited her to stop by my studio and then asked her meet me for coffee."

"Did she agree?"

"Yes."

Hugo's face lit up. "But the rest were fated encounters," he said. "My heavens, the stars align in unusual ways, don't they?"

"Fate and the stars have nothing to do with it. We most likely live in close proximity."

"But you've not seen her in three years until now?"

I knew what Hugo was attempting to do and refused to acknowledge fate and stars, as he had put it.

"I probably walked past her a thousand times."

"Or perhaps you did not. Then how would you explain these chance meetings?"

"I have no intention of explaining them. But it must stop."

"Because you don't care for her?"

My lips parted. What I wanted to say and what I had to tell him were two very different answers. "I can't care for her. You know that I cannot."

Hugo exhaled and shook his head in dismay. "Back to that very predictable answer, I see. How utterly disappointing."

"You made it very clear the last time I saw you that you don't want me involved with Lucille," I pointed out.

"I said I don't want you to hurt Luci," Hugo corrected me.

"Seeing her and hurting her are one and the same."

Hugo's expression turned pensive and he rubbed his hand down his face. "Phelan, it doesn't have to be," he said at last. "And it sounds like you are aware of what you want, but can't admit to yourself."

I remained quiet for a long moment, aggravated that Hugo didn't wholeheartedly agree with me that breaking off all communication with Lucille was the correct course of action.

"She's too young," I said as if I needed to make a list of all the reasons why bumping into Lucille on the street was a disaster waiting to happen.

"How old is Luci again? Twenty-two?"

"Twenty-four."

"She's an adult," Hugo pointed out.

"You are supposed to be agreeing with me that she's far too young, not attempting to reason me into thinking she's not."

"Explain your reasoning. I am failing to see how twenty-four is practically an infant to you."

"She's not an infant, but she's barely an adult."

Hugo made a face at me. "In terms of her maturity level?"

"No, in terms of her actual age. I'm ten years her senior."

"And that makes you feel old?" Hugo asked.

"No, it isn't that I feel old, but…"

Hugo eyed me. "But?"

I took a breath, unprepared to voice a well thought-out reply as I didn't have one.

"Bjorn was twice the age of Gyda when he made her his bride and a mother," I blurted out.

Hugo's expression softened. "From everything you've ever said of your father, I can honestly say you are not like him, Phelan, and neither is this situation."

"I'm not different enough," I muttered. "I inherited his combative nature, his temper, womanizing..."

Carmen's words flitted through my mind. Perhaps I was better off a priest.

"Why don't you come and sit with me for a moment? I hate when you linger by the door like that."

With a sigh I walked the length of the parlor and sat beside Hugo, fully aware that he had already planned his rebuttle.

"She is too nice of a girl for someone like me," I said.

"That's your next excuse?" Hugo asked. "Too young and too nice? I had no idea you were most attracted to cruel old hags. I could set you up with the widow next door if you'd like. She's at least eighty and mean as the devil. It would be perfect."

"I regret sitting with you. I want you to know that," I half-heartedly grumbled.

Hugo smiled back at me in his devilish way. "How many times have I said I hope you find a nice young lady?"

"Too many," I answered.

"Not enough," he disagreed. "You know, last year I almost asked Cecil if I could introduce Luci to someone I thought would be well-suited for her. I'd seen the two of them out a handful of times, but she was never with anyone but her brother. And you know how Cecil can be." Hugo rolled his eyes. "Lucille is like the sun being followed by a rain cloud."

I shrugged. Despite being the dean of students, I rarely saw Cecil and didn't feel as though I knew him well, however, judging by his windowless office at the university, being described as a rain cloud seemed fitting.

"Why didn't you ask him?"

Hugo inhaled. "I didn't see you nearly as often last year as I've seen you in the last month," he answered. "You were rarely at the salon meetings and stopped by two or three times."

I stared at him for a long moment, mulling over his words for multiple reasons. It was true that I hadn't stopped by more frequently to visit with Hugo and the realization that we'd spent so little time together over the previous year made me feel like a truly awful friend to him.

"You're right. I should have come by more frequently," I said.

Hugo shrugged. "You have a life outside of me and I was never angry with you. But you know what, my dear husband? I missed that handsome face of yours and our conversations. My biggest regret was that I couldn't introduce you to Luci."

"You thought I was well-suited for Lucille?"

"I did, yes."

"Why?"

"You had your life together," he said.

Before I could disagree, Hugo gave me a stern look that kept me from arguing.

"You were gainfully employed at the university–which you are wonderful at, I might add. You were improving with your art and I was certain you were months away from being discovered. And of course it had been years since you found yourself in any sort of trouble. Plus you managed to keep that bird of yours alive. Why would I not want to introduce a fine young lady with such a fine young man?"

"Because I…"

I don't deserve to be happy. And I definitely don't deserve someone like her.

I was better suited for someone who took love and deeper affection out of the equation, someone whose absence from my life didn't hurt nearly as much as Abigail's departure or the thought of never seeing Lucille again.

"Phelan, tell me why without saying something detrimental about yourself."

"I don't think I can answer you then," I said under my breath.

Hugo sniffed and folded his hands in his lap. "Have the two of you...?"

It took me a moment to realize what he implied. "No," I scoffed.

"Then you enjoy her company for reasons other than amorous fulfillment."

"No," I protested. "I don't enjoy her company, I..."

Hugo looked down his nose at me.

"I do enjoy her company, but I can't," I said.

"Because she's too young and too nice?"

"Because I can't and I don't owe you an explanation," I said through my teeth, becoming more agitated.

Hugo sat back. "You're right, you don't owe me an explanation, but perhaps you owe one to yourself. And perhaps you owe Lucille one as well."