“Fine,” she said.
“Good.”
“Awesome.”
“Beyond awesome.”
She grinned.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re Catharsis.”
“What?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I read this journal and another that was in the box. You’re Catharsis. When your dad showed me his poems, and I use the term his poems very lightly, when he showed me them, I had my doubts.”
“Okay.” I didn’t know where this was going, but I refused to say too much.
“You wrote the poems that your father gave me. Right?”
I nodded. “True, but it could be dumb luck that I was able to emulate Catharsis.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Your father got his millions from the ground up. You were classically trained in all the arts. You always beat me in our poetry reciting challenge. You’ve got all of the greats memorized.”
Still not confirming her guess, I said, “When I was a kid I used to sit next to my bedroom window, hold a favorite poetry book open, and do my best to memorize every last line. I started with Poe, then ventured on to Yeats.”
“Why?”
“Why Yeats after Poe?”
“No, why memorize poems?”
“It was the only way I could get my mother’s bloody body out of my mind.”
“Oh.” She paused for a few seconds. “Nick told me that your mother...committed suicide, but did you find her body?”
“A gas station attendant found her. I read the news articles. As a kid, I imagined what my mother looked like dead.”
“Poetry helped you get that image out of your mind?”
“It helped. Words healed me. It’s why I named myself Catharsis when I secretly published my work. Catharsis is the process of releasing strong or repressed emotions. That’s what poetry did for me.”
“That’s amazing.”
“You must keep my pen name a secret.”
“Okay.”
“Right now, only you and Dad know.”
She placed her hand on the table. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. I’ve never had a woman in my life to tell. I think you’re that woman. That’s why I shared them with you.”
“I feel honored, but—”
“I know. I’m just telling you why I left the poems at your door.”
The staff brought several dishes out. We both remained quiet until they finished and left the dining area.
Usually, a crystal chandelier bathed the whole room in light. Tonight, I asked the staff to turn everything off and surround the room with candles. They’d done their job. At least fifty were spread out all over the place—on the table as part of a floral centerpiece, near the serving trays, and on every polished mahogany windowsill.
I looked at the window for a few seconds and tried to regain my composure. Carmen had changed into a sundress that mirrored the moon. It was a creamy garment that hugged her body and glowed around her. It brought out the smooth brown of her skin, and I yearned to tear it away to see what lay underneath. Outside, the trees rustled in the wind and ripe fruit dangled, begging to be picked before all of the juices dripped and evaporated.
I turned back to her and noticed the interesting earrings she wore tonight—long roped pearls that fell to her shoulders. When she moved her head just a little, they probably tickled the skin on her shoulders. I’d never been so jealous of jewelry. I breathed her in, inhaling her fragrance of roses mixed with the vanilla aroma rising from the candles.
“Will Dad be joining us this evening?” I asked.
“Nope.” She scooped up a little pasta and set it on her plate. “Apparently, he and his son, Adrian had a busy day at the office. You both are currently rushing off to eat a quick meal and then hurry back to finish more work.”
Dad is slipping. That means he’s done with her. He’s not even taking the time to cover his lies with me.
I stared at her in a daze. “So... ”
“So what, Adrian?”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to finish eating and then pack my bags.” She added roasted duck to her plate. “We can look at this as sort of a goodbye dinner between us.” She grinned. “The last supper.”
I froze. My face probably wore a horrified expression because when she looked up at me, she stopped filling her plate.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your dad is a douchebag.” She returned to filling her plate than stopped. “Oh wait. You know what? I’m sorry. That’s not right to say that to you.”
“Trust me. I’ve known from the beginning that you were more than my dad deserved.”
She raised her eyebrows. “And why’s that?”
“Because you’re...,” I sighed. “Everything about you appeals to the true me. Not the Adrian who’s discussed on celebrity gossip blogs. You complement the real me.”
“You don’t even know me.”
I thought about all the weeks I watched her. “I know you more than most.”
“Prove it,” she snorted.
“Your mother wasn’t a crack whore that sold her body to get by. She’s actually an affluent family therapist.”