Are you sure?

Artemisia

He would speak to me. I'd made sure of that.

Even he would have some rudimentary measure of polite behaviour. I forced myself to smile and walk forward as though I were happy to greet the handful of people coming through the front doors. 

To my surprise, it wasn't even ten minutes after I had hung up the phone that Nis was among them. Sexy, unreadable Nis. How must he be taking the whole scene in front of him in. I wonder if there were time to still leave, chiding myself for such foolish thoughts. I was the owner, my staff few. 

Too late, I saw another patron walking toward me. Her hand outstretched as though she were led by its trajectory. She introduced herself, and my mind blanked. 

"You called, remember?"

I blinked. "Yes!" 

Another of my father's many mistresses, by the looks of her cheap clothes and extensive perfume.

"I got your name from father's book. He would have wanted you to have this." 

"Oh." Her mouth twisted upward into a worried look. She had not seen or heard from the man for long. "I think you may have me confused with someone else. I've never been, nor would have ever..."

"He specified that you should have it in his will." 

The woman had the good sense to look shocked. "He's... he's..." I had to give it to her. She looked visibly shaken.

"Yes. I'm terribly sorry you have to find out this way, but couldn't rest until I had passed on what he requested be given to you." I passed over the velvet box. A white gold ring laden with precious gemstones lay upon the velvet inside; it's worth in the millions. 

I watched as she took it, noticing with some interest her hands shook. Real tears seemed to be in her eyes. She must have thought he loved her or something. Maybe she did have her confused with someone else. 

Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see Nis speaking to a few patrons, his eyes on the door and on his watch. He hardly looked like a police officer and even less like one of her father's goons. 

Dimly aware that the woman in front of her had kept talking, she caught snippets of conversation about the promises her father had made and for once in his life evidently kept to this women out of many. 

I flinched as the woman reached out to touch my arm. Old habits from former beatings had my hand in the air, clutching her hand, only to release it as we met eye to eye. 

"He loved you, you know. I know he didn't love many, but he always held out the hope that you would do what he couldn't." She said softly. 

"He wasn't capable of such." 

"That's not true, these last few years... It seems he never got to have the conversation he hoped to have with you after all. We'd discussed how he'd do it. He wrote the words out, and tried several times."

"Just exactly who were you to my father?" I said, wondering now how they'd actually conversed about anything other than the usual trappings of their world.

"I was his therapist." She chuckled.

"What!?" My mouth dropped. Her words couldn't have shocked me more. My mouth is getting the better of me, "The horizontal kind or the in-your-office kind." 

Her laughter trilled, "He said you had a delightfully blunt way of expressing yourself that always let him know where he stood."

"That still doesn't answer my question," I said, thinking of the item in the box. "Oh sweetheart, I'm a certified clinical psychologist. I'll let you figure out the rest." 

In her hand, her business card was offered up like it was something I'd need in the future. "Come see me when things get too hairy. Confidentiality lasts beyond the grave, but I have an insight into how you became who you are on account of your father. I have some time a week for now if you think you're ready to face the real demons in your life." 

I shook my head. Only in an art gallery, mere hours after they laid my father to death, would a shrink show up and invite me to get my head examined. The irony wasn't lost on me. 

"Lady, maybe it's you who needs a shrink, considering all things. The invite seems a bit self-serving, don't you think?" 

"I may never see you again. I have to make every second count. It's what your father had resigned himself to in his last days. Fix what you can, bury the past and make as many new memories as he could before he left the earth."

Overwhelmed by this new bit of information, I felt a new emotion surface that I hadn't felt in such a long time. Grief.