She told me, looking dubious about it, that she would. 

She made us tea, something I'd never even seen her drink, and we sat at her cute little dining room table and stared at each other. 

"I don't know what to say," I told her.  "I'm still not sure why you're doing this for me."

She stared at me, and while she did look awful, her gaze was more lucid than I'd ever seen it.  Perhaps it was being terminal, but she seemed more human, more normal than I could ever remember. 

"I owe you some words.  I ain't good with words, but I'll try to explain myself.  Bear with me."

I nodded because she seemed to expect it.

"I've been homely my whole life," she said.  "You see me.  Homely and awkward.  All the pretty girls at school always loved to make fun of me.  I was an easy mark.  Mean enough but no good at articulating it. 

"And then one day, when I was fifteen, the most beautiful boy in town, his name's Verne Hawn, set about seducing me.  I fell for him in about a second flat, but two weeks after he got me on my back, I heard the real story.  He did it on a dare.  He made fifty bucks to sleep with the ugliest girl in school, and I got a broken heart and a baby out of it.

All my life pretty people been tormenting me, and all a' sudden, there I was raising one.  She was a sassy little piece, too, always knew she was better than me.  Then she runs off soon she can, leaving me with her own pretty baby.  And I took it all out on you.  It wasn't fair, and the only defense I got is that the horrible things I said to you, the ways I brought you down, in my own twisted way, a lot of it was just my way of trying to guide you, to keep you from being like me."

It didn't make it better.  It didn't even make it okay.  But it helped.  At least now I had an explanation.  At least now I knew that the way I'd been treated wasn't all me and my own defectiveness. 

"And about that cop."  She wasn't done talking.  "I didn't know.  I just didn't know.  But at the very least I should have been the one to protect you.  This is my way of making that right.  That I didn't do my job."

And still she wasn't done.  It was the most I'd ever heard her talk in my entire life.  

"I been off the drink for a while now," she continued.  "It helps.  Well, on some days it helps.  I ain't as bad as I was. 

"I know what I am.  I know what I did to you.  I'm an unpleasant, bitter woman.  No one understands this more than I do.  I was a terrible mother, and my daughter hated me for it.  That hate made me cruel, and I took much of it out on you.  I didn't mean to, but that's no excuse.  You don't want anything to do with me, and I don't blame you for that.  I'm doing this because it's the right thing, and for once in my miserable life, I want to do the right thing.  Please don't try to take that away from me.  And please consider letting it make up for some of the harm I've caused you."

I had no clue what to say to that, but unbidden tears welled up in my eyes, and I'd never been so shocked as I was when I saw twin tears building up in hers. 

"I have no right to ask anything of you, no right at all, but I just want you to know that if you ever wanted to visit me in these few months I have left . . . it would mean a lot to me.  It doesn't have to be a long visit.  I won't talk your ear off every time like I did just now.  I just want to look at your beautiful face, to hear your voice and even . . . get a chance to tell you I love you a few more times." 

"I can do that," I told her slowly.  "I'd like that," I amended.  It was strange, us being nice to each other, but I was certainly on board if she was.  "And thank you for doing this." 

"To be honest, I'm looking forward to the break.  I'm sick of cleaning that rich bitch's house."

We laughed hard.  I tried to recall if she'd ever made a joke before and couldn't come up with any.  Still, it was a good start. 

*****

"One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life:  That word is love."

~Sophocles

DANTE

Scarlett straightened my tie.  "You're so decorative.  Arm candy.  I'd take you over any bag."

"Well, that's reassuring," I said wryly and she looked up and smiled. 

I wanted to kiss her, head to toe, starting with her lush pink mouth, but I knew better than to screw up the makeup she'd just had painstakingly applied.

She properly interpreted the look I was giving her and made a little noise in her throat. 

It didn't help.   

She took a step back, biting her lip.   

It was an effort, but I kept myself from going after her. 

My phone dinged a text at me, and I checked it surreptitiously.  And smiled. 

Good.  The night was going to be perfect. 

The surprise hadn't been hard to finagle.  The owner of the casino that housed the Kink and Ink tattoo parlor was an old family connection, generations deep.  I'd even met the famous James Cavendish several times, and we got along quite well.  We had lunch whenever we were in the same city, as a rule.   

I'd passed the invitation to Frankie Abelli through James, and her response had come swiftly: a resounding yes. 

She was a huge fan of Stuart Whently and only too happy to attend one of his movie premieres. 

And Scarlett, being Frankie's biggest fangirl (she'd recently made me marathon watch the entire show with her) was going to lose her ever-loving mind.  I couldn't wait.