She thought Ísa was as surprised by that as anyone else. Ísa wrote poetry because it was part of her psyche and it gave her peace. That her words had resonated with hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands of people around the world was somewhat of a joyful shock.

But Ísa also loved to teach, and her students adored her. The sabbatical would, however, give her a solid block of time to work on a project she’d been playing with for a couple of years. “You still intend to focus on that long-format piece?”

Nodding, Ísa took a sip of her tea. “Sometimes I feel like that old joke about how do you eat an elephant?”

“One bite at a time.”

“Yes. Except I’m trying to build my elephant.” She put down her teacup. “It’ll be good to dig into it though.”

As they ate, they spoke more about Ísa’s work and about Catie’s upcoming meets. But Ísa wasn’t Catie’s big sister for nothing. “What is it, Catiebug?” she asked gently after their plates were cleared away. “Something’s gnawing at you, and it’s stealing your sparkle.”

Catie swallowed hard. “I don’t want to dump on you.”

“You know I’ll just worry if you don’t tell me.” Ísa patted her cheek. “You’re saving me from my own anxiety. I think of you like my own kid, you know.”

“I know.” And it was messed up that Ísa’d had to take on that role, but she had, and she’d made sure Catie always had a strong pillar on which to anchor herself. “I’m scared of messing things up with Danny.”

Then she let it all out. Her fear about her own ability—or lack of it—to allow anyone in that deep, her worry that she was too scarred on the inside to be a good partner… and most of all, her fear that he’d forget her.

Ísa listened to it all, then touched Catie’s hand again. “Oh, sweetheart. I wish Clive had been a better father, a better man.”

“Yes, but he is who he is.” She’d accepted that long ago and knew Ísa was one of the few people who truly got it—she’d had it even worse in many ways. It didn’t matter that Ísa’s father was a high-flying CEO. He still hadn’t been present in his daughter’s life. “I shouldn’t complain. You didn’t have anyone, and I always had you.”

But Ísa shook her head. “No, Catiebug. Don’t minimize your hurt that way. I might’ve had absent parents, but neither one is a roving gambler. I know how much Clive hurt you.” Fierce love in her voice. “Have you spoken to Danny about this?”

She shrugged. “Not really, but he knows, you know? He’s been around me long enough to have figured Clive out.”