Ch. 8: Bent or Broken?
Emma walked back down the hospital corridor in a semi-daze, dodging the occasional doctor, nurse, or patient. As she got closer to her mother, her steps slowed. One of her earliest "court lessons" was about the importance of thinking through her decisions. She needed to plan. The Evil Queen might have spies around her father. She couldn't just run into his arms.
She paused in the doorway to look at her mother. Emma watched as she paused near one of the patients to stroke the woman's hand and bent her head to listen attentively. Did her heart know, at all, that her True Love was only blocks away? Emma knew she needed to convince her mother to see her father, but she needed to do it in a way that wouldn't invite questions or speculation. She straightened her skirt and walked sedately over to her mother.
"Emma," her mother smiled. "Did you deliver all your decorations and cards?"
"Yes," said Emma simply. "I think they were all very pleased."
"Good," her mother gave her the bright smile that warmed Emma down to her toes. Mary Margaret clapped twice sharply, and her students immediately gathered around her. "Alright children. Please gather your things, it's time we returned to school."
Murmuring quietly the children obediently followed their teacher out the door. Emma casually fell in step with her mother. "Miss Blanchard?"
"Yes, Emma?"
"I think the patients here really liked what we did today."
"I think so too," her mother's proud gaze included the other students.
"Are there other sick or hurt people we could help?" Emma asked in a casual tone.
On the other side of her mother, Janie Peterson bounced eagerly. "Oooh, are there, are there?"
Excited chatter broke out among the other children.
Emma's mother let the chatter continue around her. Finally, one of the boys tugged on her sleeve. "My grampa was at a place when he broke his hip. He had to stay there for a couple of months. There wasn't as many people there as the hospital though."
"That shouldn't matter," piped a little girl with dark braids. "Everyone needs cheering up."
There was a general agreement amongst the children.
Mary Margret glanced around at her students. Teaching compassion was not required, but she thought it was one of the most important lessons she could impart. "Do you know what that place was called, Brian?"
Brian paused, his little face scrunched in thought. "Echo something?"
Mary Margaret looked at the expectant faces. "I'll see what I can find out. We will have to work hard and make sure we get all of our lessons done though."
Eager little heads nodded as they anticipated another opportunity to leave the monotony of the classroom. Miss Blanchard was a great teacher but field trips were the best part of school. Everyone knew that.
Emma let a smile break across her face. That had been even better than she thought. She had thought she was going to have to take many more steps to lead them to Echo Glen. Either luck or magic was with her.
When they returned to the school, they began a math lesson. Emma was careful to look like she was paying attention, but she spent most of the time making notes in the composition book that her mother had provided her with earlier.
At the end of the day, Emma helped her mother straighten up the classroom. Mary Margaret graded papers in the quiet atmosphere.
Emma finished cleaning the board and cleared her throat quietly. Her mother glanced up, blinking to refocus. "Yes Emma?"
"Maybe I could look up that place in the phone book? The one Brian mentioned today?"
Her mother looked around, as if just recalling the conversation. "Oh, I suppose so honey. But we won't be going there anytime soon."
Emma felt her spirits plummet. "Why?"
"I have to talk to the facility about whether they'd allow us to visit, request permission from the principal, send field trip forms to the parents…" she looked at Emma's bemused face and amended her speech. "Grown-up matters that you shouldn't worry about."
Emma couldn't bear the thought of spending one more day away from her papa. The idea of waiting days or weeks was disheartening.
Her mother left her desk to sit beside her. "What's wrong Emma?"
Emma shrugged helplessly. There were not enough words to describe this situation. She sighed instead. "I guess it just makes me sad to think of people being alone and hurt."
Her mother curled her arm around her shoulder and gave her a hug. "You have a generous spirit sweetheart."
Emma soaked in her mother's warmth. She felt her mother patting her back gently, thoughtfully.
Mary Margaret gave a small sigh. "I suppose we could go there, talk to the director and at least discuss the possibility today."
Emma straightened up so fast she nearly knocked her mother over. "Really!?"
"Yes. If you let me finish up my grading and complete the math you didn't finish this afternoon."
Emma looked at her mother in surprise, then lowered her head in embarrassment. "How did you know?"
"That you weren't paying attention? I have eyes Emma."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
Her mother frowned. "It's your first day. I saw no reason to embarrass you in front of the other students."
Thus illustrating that her mother's compassion and not disappeared with her memories. Emma gave her a quick hug. "Thanks," she said simply.
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Although grateful her mother had refrained mentioning her inattentiveness to the class, Emma found it extremely difficult to complete the math assignment. Her fingers tapped impatiently on the notebook and the pencil made a nervous tattoo on the table. It seemed like forever before her mother had made a few calls and finished her grading.
When her mother finally nodded towards the door, Emma nearly catapulted out of it. Mary Margaret casually reached out and grasped her hand on their walk to the extended care facility. Emma couldn't tell whether the grasp was to comfort her or keep her from running. Emma chattered to her mother about inconsequential things, trying to keep the nervousness from overwhelming her.
When they reached Echo Glen Emma felt her stomach tighten further. Her mother went into the office with the administrator, Mr. Stevens but not before giving her the strict instructions to stay in the small office area.
As soon as the door closed, Emma slipped off the couch and out the door. She gazed around the hallway. This place wasn't nearly as big as the hospital. It wouldn't take long to find her father. She glanced carefully into corners and up at the ceilings to note the absence of cameras. Relieved she skimmed the hallways at high-speed. Emma found her father on the second floor, room fifteen.
The instant she saw the outline of his features, she recognized her father. She felt her breath catch as she walked into the room, taking time to glance around cautiously. As she neared her father, her sense of caution disappeared and her emotions took over.
She reached out to gently touch her father's face, stroking the scar her mother had gifted him with on their first meeting. "Papa," she whispered, voice breaking.
Emma remembered the last time she had seen her father, the sorrow in his eyes as he kissed her good-bye, the emotion in his voice as he entreated her to find them…tears slipped from her eyes and she leaned her head against his chest. A little sob broke and she clambered into bed with him and lifted his arm so it fell heavy around her shoulders. She nestled into him, her sobs coming in small, staccato gasps. It felt like scant minutes before she heard the door open. She thrust herself from her father's side and landed hard on the floor.
"Emma?" she could hear the remonstrance in her mother's voice. "I have been looking all over for you. What are you doing?"
Emma rubbed her sleeve across her face, trying to wipe away all traces of tears.
Her mother, of course, spotted them immediately. She bent down towards her and lifted her to her feet. "Emma honey, what's wrong?"
Emma couldn't answer. Instead she wrapped her arms around her mother and buried her face in her stomach.
"Emma?" her mother entangled herself to look at her face. Her eyes flickered over to the bed and her forgotten husband.
Emma followed her gaze. "Do you know who he is?"
Her mother didn't hesitate, "no," she said with an accompanied shake of the head.
Emma couldn't help but feel disappointed. "They don't know who he is," she said rapidly, remembering the story the old man had told her. "He can't wake up. They call him John Doe."
"That's very sad Emma, but what are you doing here?"
Emma pulled her over to the bed, making sure her mother's gaze fell fully on him. "Are you sure you don't know him?" her voice was laced with pleading. True love should be able to transcend the curse, shouldn't it?
Her mother paused for a moment, studying his features, a faint frown forming. Her voice sounded far away when she said "no, I don't."
Emma could feel her hopes being crushed into dust.
Her mother turned to her, took her hand, and squeezed. "We should leave Emma." She must have seen Emma's crestfallen expression because she gave her an encouraging smile. "But I have good news. Mr. Stevens says they would be delighted to have our class here."
Emma gave her a tremulous smile. "That's good. So we can come back here soon?"
"Yes."
Her mother began pulling her gently out of the room. Emma paused in the threshold of the door and looked back. Her father lay, unmoving. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine her love as an arrow, and flung it towards his heart.
When the door closed with a soft catch, John Doe's hands twitched.
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That night Emma had trouble sleeping. Her parents were so close. Why couldn't they feel one another? Why did her father still sleep? Love was supposed to be the greatest magic of all. Why wasn't it working?
She crept downstairs with her flashlight and rummaged around the apartment aimlessly, hoping to find something that would help her sleep. She found herself poking around in her mother's book shelves. There was a lot of children's books. Unsurprising since her mother taught young children. Fondly Emma paged through Cat in the Hat and Runaway Bunny. Emma had loved to be read to. Her parents would read her as many stories as she would ask for. Her favorite story in the Enchanted Forest was The Errant Knight. When her father read it, he used funny voices for all of the characters. To this day, Emma couldn't decide whether she had really loved the book so much, or just him. Emma poked further and found a book with a half-dressed man on the cover. Hmmm. She shoved it under some other books. No need to embarrass her mother. She reached further in and her hands grasped a large, leather-bound book. She pulled it out. "Once Upon a Time," she whispered. She opened the book to the middle and gasped. It was her parents. Clinging together in what looked like wedding finery. Rapidly she paged through the rest of the book finding numerous pictures of life and people in the Enchanted Forest. Where had it come from? Why was it here?
"Emma?"
Emma dropped the book and flashlight simultaneously.
Her mother walked over to her. "Emma, it's in the middle of the night. What are you doing up?"
"I couldn't sleep," whispered Emma. "I thought I would read for a little bit. I didn't mean to disturb you."
Her mother lifted her to her feet gently. "Reading helps me too. What book did you find?"
Emma clutched the book to her chest. She didn't know if she wanted to show her mother the book. There was something about it…
Her mother was already reaching for it. "Looks like a good book. Would you like me to read a little to you?"
Emma nodded shyly as her mother led her back to her bed. Emma clambered in with her mother and after a hesitant few seconds, lay her head on her mother's shoulder.
"Which story should we start with?" her mother asked, paging through the book slowly. Emma felt her throat tighten and small fingers led them unerringly to the right page. "This one. The one where the princess is born."
Emma closed her eyes as she listened to her mother's voice as she read the story of her birth.
After several stories, Emma felt her head grow heavy, and she could no longer keep her eyes open. She was unaware that her mother had slowly been falling asleep as well. In her dreams, Emma thought she heard her mother speak.
"Emma. My baby."
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The next morning, Emma noticed there was something different about her mother. It was in the way she moved, it was the inflection of her voice. Emma decided to take a chance. "Can we visit Mr. Doe this afternoon?"
Her mother paused in between scrambling some eggs and pouring juice. "I suppose so. Yes. We really should." She spoke in that distant way, as though she wasn't quite sure what she was saying.
Emma's hand crept over the binding of her new favorite book. "Maybe we can read to him," she suggested innocently.
Her mother smiled gently. "That sounds like a splendid idea."
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That afternoon, when they reached Echo Glen, her mother disappeared into the administrator's office perfunctorily to announce their presence and to tell him that they were "scoping the place out for decoration placement."
She popped out minutes later, wearing a smile. Today she seemed as eager as Emma to visit the stranger on the second floor.
Emma tried to clamber on the bed with her father but her mother gently removed her. "You have to be careful Emma. You don't want to hurt him."
"I won't hurt him," said Emma earnestly.
She carefully made her way to one side, and nestled next to him. She took one of his large hands in hers, tracing the lines with her fingers.
Her mother chose a more sedate position, in a chair near the bed, her knee touching Emma's.
Emma dragged the book out of her knapsack and handed it to her mother. "Find the story where Snow White and Prince Charming meet for the first time," she said, nearly bouncing in her excitement.
Her mother laughed as she saw the picture. "A rock? These aren't the fairy tales I remember."
Emma looked at her curiously and wondered what kind of cursed story-memories she had. If Regina had her way, the stories certainly would be twisted.
As her mother read the story, Emma gazed intently at her father, hoping the fierceness of her gaze would pierce the darkness he inhabited.
Without seeming to realize it, her mother lay her palm over Emma's so her hand was sandwiched in between her parents.
"…for it was here, in the shadow of the Troll Bridge that their love was born. Where they knew, no matter how they were separated, they would always…"
Emma gasped when she felt her father's hand clench within her own. She looked at her mother with delight, only to find her slumped forward, with her eyes closed.
"Mama?" whimpered Emma in fear. She looked at her father who didn't seem to wake further. "Papa?"
She tried to blink away tears as she held their hands desperately in hers. "No. You can't both leave me. You can't leave me again. Please. Please. You can't." The overwhelming dread in addition to having what she had craved for so long, from her, made logical thought impossible.
She brought their entwined hands to her mouth and kissed them. Without warning, a wave of light burst through their encircled hands, knocking Emma flat to the bed.
There was silence, and then she heard her parent's voices chime together, as if there had been no separation, no years or worlds between them. "Emma?"
