Beatrice left the building on the Financial District, her heels clicking on the sidewalk. She wanted to get home soon. If she was really honest to herself that outfit was not comfortable, and neither was the sensation of vulnerability of being out on her own, even if the sun was still high in the sky.
She would get home and lock those papers in the bottom drawer at the study so she could consult them later, when the children were in the library, entertained. Bertrand would prepare lunch, while she changed into more comfortable clothes. She would meet him in the kitchen and the children would ask how was the reunion, to which she would answer with a vague description that gave away nothing. Under the table her legs would now and then rub against each other like they did when she felt bad for lying. Her husband would hold her hand. The children would change the subject before she could worry about accidentally removing the makeup covering her tattoo.
A drop of water fell on her face, then another. Violet had told her to take an umbrella, but Beatrice forgot it at home. She held her bag closer to her body, as if that could keep the papers inside safer. The bag is waterproof, she reminded herself. But it made her feel better. She needed a taxi.
Not a full second after she thought that, a taxi did stop right on her side. When she was a child, she was told never to enter a taxi she didn't call, unless the driver met certain requirements. She wasn't a child anymore, but some things stick to the mind like gum sticks on a wood plate to form a warning.
The car was much older than the taxi Beatrice had taken to arrive in the Financial District, but it was in good conditions overall. There weren't many taxis like that one left in the city. The back door opened, and a voice said a quick, emotionless "get in".
Beatrice knew that car down to its license plate, and she knew that voice. She didn't need much to know that driver met all the requirements she was told years ago. Still, she hesitated.
The driver was looking at the street, but Beatrice felt like her eyes were on her, watching, judging.
She entered the car.
The seats had been renovated. By the sound of the engine, it was still as cared for as in the old days. Beatrice let herself be nostalgic for a moment, just a single one, before returning to the present. The driver still hadn't turned at her. She had no idea of where they were going.
"What with this sudden rain, huh." Beatrice said in an attempt to break the awkward silence.
The driver took a moment to answer.
"Ten years." She said, voice harsh. "Ten years with no news, no reply to any of my letters and no answer to any of my phone calls, and the first thing you tell me is about the weather?"
Beatrice bit her lip. Part of her wanted to pretend she had not noticed so much time had passed, but she could not lie to herself. It had been a little more than ten years, actually.
But she could not apologize. If she apologized she would have to tell her reasons for doing so, and if she told them she would have to apologize again, and then she would have to admit a few more things that would bring questions she didn't want to answer. She could lie, but not really, not to Kit.
"Things have changed a lot." She simply said instead.
Again Kit didn't answer immediately. Beatrice couldn't take that. That small pause was enough for her to come up with a hundred scenarios, one more worrying than the other.
"I would say you have changed. You and your husband."
There was something in the way Kit said the word "husband" that didn't sound right. It was like she didn't like using that word. Like maybe she still hadn't accepted it.
"I hope so." Beatrice said, out of stubbornness. "We are parents now."
That's not what she wanted to say. She didn't want to bring up the subject of her children, not in that taxi, not to that woman.
The taxi took a sharp turn, and Beatrice realized she had said the wrong thing in more ways than one.
"Please tell me, what part of parenting requires you to abandon your friends?" Another sharp turn, and the speed only went up. "Did your children ask you to leave behind all your ideals?" One more, and Beatrice couldn't see it well but she was sure it was illegal. "Changing diapers is so hard that you can't even take the time to write a letter?"
Kit's voice grew louder at each word, and the taxi went faster, and they were indeed going the wrong way.
"Kit, please, you will kill us!" Beatrice shrieked.
Kit kept accelerating, and almost crashed when she had to get out of the way for another car to pass.
Beatrice couldn't do much but to hold on to her seat. What could she say? She couldn't have this talk, not in this taxi, not with this woman, not at this speed.
And then, as if nothing had happened, the taxi took one more turn and started slowing down. She couldn't see Kit's face but something told her she regretted her irresponsible actions just now.
"If you are going to give me an excuse, at least give a good one, Baudelaire." She said, parking the taxi in front of a park.
Beatrice sighed in relief, feeling much safer with the car parked. That was a way to delay her answer for a few seconds. It didn't feel enough.
"What do you want me to say? I am doing what's best for my family."
"Your family. Fancy words. There was a time your family was much bigger." Kit said, coldly.
She was right. There was a time Beatrice had parents and uncles and cousins and grandparents. And then there was a time she was alone, and from there she built a family. She let herself be nostalgic for another moment, thinking of these days when they were all friends and happy and alive and there weren't things such as sides separating them. The moment became two, then three, then she stopped herself before she started crying.
Beatrice never wanted to abandon any of them. She didn't want to hate or be hated by any them. She didn't want to attend the funeral of any of them. But that was not how it went.
"I must protect my children. They need me." Beatrice said. "They need me alive. They need me not putting them into unnecessary risks."
She knew it was the wrong thing to say before she finished it.
"Unnecessary risks? So everything you have done so far is justified, but when it's convenient for you, you can simply label it 'unnecessary risks'?"
"We did a lot of mistakes-"
"No. They were not mistakes. They were calculated plans with a goal in mind. But you seem to have forgotten."
Those were not mutually exclusive. And she hadn't forgotten. Beatrice could still feel the figurative blood on her hands.
"And just what did we achieve?" Beatrice challenged. To that Kit did not have a fast answer. "Alright, they were calculated plans and we knew what we were doing, but it doesn't make it right. It doesn't make it good. It doesn't make it safe!"
"Is it really about safety?" Kit asked. "You were in no greater risk with us than you are with this work you are doing."
"What do you know about my work?" Beatrice asked, defensive.
"What else would an actress be doing in the Financial District?" Kit answered, but it didn't answer the question of how she knew where Beatrice would be. "And your family's rising wealth? Everyone knows about your work."
Beatrice pulled her bag closer to her body.
"You are a thief, Baudelaire. That is your work. Despite what you say, you are still working for the organization and you are still doing morally questionable things. You are still being a bad example for the children and you are still putting them in danger. Is it really about it?"
Beatrice felt like she was slapped on the face. She needed to defend herself, but she couldn't find the words.
Kit sighed.
"You and your husband," still not sounding right, "got a good deal going on. Found a position that can get you paid."
"That's not it."
It was not, really. They simply wanted a position in the organization that didn't require going on missions or leaving home for long periods of time. They wanted to be there for their children.
Dealing with VFD's finances just happened to be convenient.
"And you are hiding like two rats."
"We are not!"
They were not, really. Just a little.
"You both live in that pretty mansion, do your paperwork, throw your little parties. Just the perfect traditional high class family. Everything in your lives is just perfect." Kit turned so she could take a look at Beatrice. "That's what you want, right? A perfect model life. So you are throwing away anything that doesn't fit it. Your past, your goals, our goals, not to mention everything we went through together."
"That's not how it is, Kit."
"Then tell me, why couldn't you contact me? Everyone knows where you live, Baudelaire. Would it really put your kids in danger if you wrote me one letter?"
Beatrice opened her mouth, then closed it. Maybe that was how it was.