I continue to tell Lenny that I'm not feeling too well and manage to lay out of work for the next week, but soon the bareness of my fridge can't be ignored. When I manage to get to the office, Rhonda, Lenny's secretary, looks at me with wide eyes, "You look like you've been hit by a truck."
I look at her plainly, "Thanks."
She looks me up and down again once more, "I'm not trying to be rude or anything, it's just that you look like you haven't slept in a month." More like a week. She pushes her thick glasses back up and nose and glances at her computer screen, "Anyways, what can I get you?"
I shake my head and look around, "Something easy. I don't feel too up to chasing a runner. Maybe a pregnant lady? Old grandpa with a cane?" Rhonda chuckles and clicks away at her computer.
"Sorry, fresh out of grandpas and Jimmy just knocked out the pregnant mass murderer," we both laugh a second, imagining buff Jimmy taking down a preggers, "but I do have a lady who stole a ring and didn't show up on her court date."
I knit my eyebrows together, "A ring? Like something shiny from a jewelry store?" Rhonda shakes her head, "No, from some guy. Ex-fiancé I think."
The printer makes some loud clanking noises as she prints out some papers and hands me the manila file, "Name's Betty. Betty Johnson." I glance down at the picture of her. Blonde hair that falls in voluptuous waves to her shoulders, hazel brown eyes. She looks slightly like a stripper with her skimpy shorts and a shirt that makes her prominent breasts stand out even more. Not to mention the fuck-me red lipstick. I thank Rhonda and head out the door into the breezy afternoon.
The sun shines down on me as I slide into my bug. I open the file once more and look at the address, which isn't too far away.
MYEVILREGAL MYEVILREGAL MYEVILREGAL
When I pull onto Concord Avenue, the change in house value is very noticeable; mansions soon start to take over my view and I start to wonder if I'm the right place. Green hedges surround property lines and azalea bushes furnish plastic-looking grass. I look down at my paper again to double check the address. 504 Concord Ave. Yes, this was most definitely the right area.
I look at prim mailboxes sitting at the end of driveways, searching for house numbers. I'm in the low 400's, but soon it jumps up to 500. I scour the mailboxes for the particular 504, but soon I'm passing 516. Had I missed it? Surely I hadn't. I pull into a driveway, get a dirty look from a gardener, and back out to turn around. By my third time around the block I'm about to give up, but I spot a white driveway barely peeking out from behind a thatch of trees. I pull in. This had to be it; it was the only house that didn't have a mailbox.
The driveway leads up to the top of a small hill, where the grandest house of them all sits. The white mansion has pillars that I find reminding me of a slightly less grand version. In Maine. On Miflin street to be exact. I pull up next to a shiny black car that looked like it cost more than I would ever make in a lifetime. If I were a doctor and a lawyer combined. And an anesthesiologist on the weekends. Stupid rich people.
My bug makes a loud clunk as I put it into park and I smile grimly. When I reach the door, I'm surprised to not be greeted by a butler of some sort, but by Betty Johnson herself. She looks slightly surprised to see someone at her house. Her hair is askew and her plush robe is slightly hanging open, revealing her short grey slip. She doesn't seem to notice the robe and takes a second to finally say something, "Can I help you?"
I watch her, looking for any signs or thoughts of running as I say my piece, "I'm from the bail bonds office. You didn't show up on your court date and I'm here to collect you." I leave out my 'gotcha sucker!' smirk that I usually use, because the woman already looks like she's somewhat in a daze. She looks me up and down for a moment before smiling slightly, "Would you lit to come in for a drink first? I'll go, but I would really love a drink first."
I quirk my eyebrows, "I'm not sure that's such a good idea.""Please?" She gives me another small smile and for a moment I can see a glimpse of something in her eyes. She looks slightly detached and broken. I look back at my car and then at her. My super senses don't detect that she's lying about just wanting a drink. Before I know what I'm doing, I slowly nod, "Fine, but I won't have anything."
She sighs with relief and walks into the house. I follow her into the lavish foyer and notice that it smells like vanilla with a hint of cinnamon. The musky smell makes me inhale deeply and smile. It brings back memories of when Mary Margaret would make us hot cocoa on the stove. My heart wrenches a bit, but I ignore it and follow the blonde deeper into the house.
Eventually, after quite a bit of twists and turns, we end up in a sitting room of sorts. She motions for me to sit on one of the leather chairs and I take a seat. She turns and gets a wine glass and a bottle from a cabinet against the wall and looks at me, "You sure you don't want any?" I nod and she sets the glass back down on the table. To my surprise she opens the bottle and takes a large swig. I can almost see the liquid ease its way down her throat and suddenly a drink doesn't sound too bad. As she sits in the chair next to mine, I reach out my hand. She looks at me a moment before handing me the bottle. I take a sip and appreciate that way it settles in my mouth. I hand it back over to her and she doesn't hesitate to take another gulp.
We sit there a moment, feeling the aftertaste of the wine on our tongues before I look at her, "So, what did you do? I mean, I know there was something about a ring, but.."
She glances at me but her gaze soon falls to the bottle in her hand, "Bill was always sweet to me. He would shower me with gifts and the like, but he would've never settled down," she swallows thickly, "he promised we would, but as years passed, I realized that it was going to be later rather than sooner- if at all. I loved him so much, and I know he loved me." I notice how she used a past tense when talking about this 'Bill' and suddenly I feel some worry settle in my stomach.
"I left Bill a month back; it was rash and foolish and I was getting impatient. I took the ring he had always promised me, but never officially gave me," she fingers the supposed ring on her left hand, "it was my last piece of him. I wanted him to love me as much as I loved him," she sighs.
"When I heard that he had passed away- drug overdose- I was so depressed. I still am depressed. I would do anything to have him back. I regret every day that I was away from him." She looks around the room, "I just can't shake the feeling that maybe I could've stopped him."
A tear rolls down her cheek and I begin to wonder what to do. Should I pat her on the back? Tell her everything was okay? I almost felt like a therapist in that moment. Was this what a doctor-patient moment was like? I gently rest my hand on her shoulder as she drinks some more wine. After a few minutes of composing herself and wiping her eyes she looks to me, "What about you? What's your life like right now?"
I look at her plainly, "Look, lady. I'm not really into digging deep into my personal life," she sadly looks at me, "but considering you just opened up to me, I guess I'll return the favor."
She waits for me to continue but I take a moment to collect my thoughts, "Well to sum it up, my life really sucks. I live alone, my ex-fiancé broke off our engagement, and I spend my days catching little crooks who have nothing better to do than rob gumball machines and graffiti cars- no offense or anything." I add the last part as she makes a face about the 'crooks' bit.
"Not to sound all 'whoa-is-me' or anything, but you know, sometimes life does suck, and there's nothing we can do about it. We just have to choke down whatever life gives us and do it with a smile, because that's how we move on. We pretend it's all better until eventually we believe our own lies."
She blinks and sets down the wine bottle, "You're right…"
Silence fills the room but soon enough I hear her whisper, "Tell me about him."
I turn and look at her, "Who?"
"Your ex-fiancé."
I become silent and look at my hands. She gives me a sidelong glance, "You don't have to.. I prefer not to say too much about Bill because it brings up memories, so if you would rather not talk about him you don't have to."
How could I talk about Regina? The woman who had ripped out my heart then repaired it just to stomp on it some more? The woman who filled my thoughts and dreams. Who had made life seem livable and then not. Who had made me complete but then snatched herself away. How could I talk about her? But then again, how could I not? She was my muse, my inspiration. She was my conscience and my guide. She was the reason I woke up each morning. I look at Betty a moment before simply stating, "Her name is Regina."
The blonde starts to apologize, but I quickly stop her, "Don't- it's fine." She appears as though she is selecting her words carefully as she continues to speak, "What is she like?"
I chuckle, how could I describe her in words? "She's like.. Everything you'd ever hope for. She's graceful and elegant. She's so intelligent and bright. She knows how to speak well in front of crowds, but once you get her alone she falters at being social," words continue to tumble out of my mouth without my consent. Why am I telling all of this to a stranger? Maybe because she didn't know me. I didn't have to live up to my reputation of being tough. Soon my eyes are tearing up because of these emotions that overflow as I describe every detail of the brunette woman.
I recall how I met her on that chilly night long ago. I pour out how I had asked her out and how I eventually fell in love with the mayor. I told her of our love and then our breakup. Details of the previous year fill the air and soon I am up to our last meeting. When I am finally finished, tears threaten to spill and Betty looks like she's close behind.
A weight is lifted off my shoulders after completing my tale. It feels so nice to finally tell someone- anyone- about all of this. I inhale deeply and bat away moisture from my eyes. She produces a tissue from a drawer in a stand next to her chair. I take it with a watery smile and swipe at my eyes. I unsuccessfully try to put my walls up, suddenly feeling insecure and uncomfortable at being so vulnerable in front of her.
Silence encases us as she sips out of the bottle. She offers it to me and I shake my head, "I have to drive." She looks confused for a minute before remembering the reason why I was there in the first pace. She nods and sets the bottle down. As we approach the door she grabs a jacket from her coat rack.
I stop her before she puts it on, "You don't have to come with me if you don't want. I- I know if I was in your position I would rather not be escorted to a police station."
Her blonde curls bounce as she shakes her head, "I might as well go; they'll come for me eventually and I'd prefer going with you than someone else."
I give her a sad smile and continue to walk to the car. We get in and it seems that in mere seconds we're pulling into the station. Before she gets out, she looks at me, "Emma. Can you do me a favor?"
I nod, "Yeah. Of course."
"Go see Regina. Go back to her," I look down, but she continues, "I regret every second I wasn't with Bill. Life will end, and we all need to spend what time we have with the people closest to our heart. I know what love is, Emma. And from what I can tell, you and Regina… you have it." I look at her and nod.
She climbs out of the car and before she leaves, she dips her head in the window, "And Emma? I don't care what she says: Just know that she wants you there. She will always want you there."
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