Chapter 11

Summary: Who the hell is this Nick that Belle keeps talking to on the sly? And why won't she confide in Callum?

The next morning dawned cold and misty. Winter came early to northern Maine and the mid-November air was frigid. Reaching for Belle in bed, Callum awoke to find her missing—again. He checked the clock on his nightstand—it was only five o'clock. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. If Belle couldn't sleep, why didn't she wake him so he could comfort her and fix her a cup of tea?

Retrieving his cane from the corner and donning his robe, he hobbled downstairs to seek her out. She wasn't in the den or the kitchen. Peering out the frost-covered kitchen window, he caught a flash of blue and wind-whipped curls. Belle was standing on the back lawn in boots and a thin nightgown, her mobile phone against her ear.

Why wasn't she talking in the house, he wondered, putting the kettle on for tea. Was she afraid to wake Bae? Or did she have something to hide? Feeling guilty, he cracked the kitchen window open to eavesdrop on the conversation. Her telephone companion seemed to be doing most of the talking, but he did catch the word "operation" and the name "Nick."

Nick? The same bloke she was talking to the day she took off at the park? She had said he was an associate in the book business, but now Callum wasn't so sure he believed her. He shut the window with a sigh and went upstairs to shower and dress.

xoxoxo

After a tiring morning spinning several spools of thread in a rainbow of colors and selling a nineteenth century vase to Ashley Boyd, Callum opened the brown bag lunch Belle had packed for him this morning. He guessed that the peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich, juice box, and scribbled napkin note: "Good luck on your math test, Bae! Love, Papa and Belle" were not for him.

He imagined Bae wrinkling up his nose at the chicken salad intended for his father, and chuckled as he ascended the front steps of Storybrooke Academy to trade lunches with his son. He swapped bags with the school secretary and walked back down the quiet hall. Rounding the corner, he was brought up short by Belle slamming a locker closed and heading in the opposite direction.

"Belle! Belle, wait." He hobbled quickly after her, calling her name.

"Callum…hi." She seemed unpleasantly surprised to see him, but she rallied quickly and kissed his cheek. "What are you doing here?"

He gave the bag of food a small shake. "I was going to ask you the same thing. Bae and I took the wrong lunches today. I didn't think he would appreciate chicken salad and sparkling water with lime. What did you say you were doing, again?"

"I didn't say," Belle said.

"So, tell me," Callum encouraged.

"Tell you what?" Belle seemed confused.

"What are you doing here at the school?" he asked patiently.

"Oh. That. I'm reading to Bae's class after lunch," she said brightly.

"Really? I thought you were meeting Ariel to make plans to rebuild your shop." He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"She cancelled," Belle fired back quickly, crossing her arms.

"Ok," he conceded, backing down. "What are you reading to the kids? Since it's Bae's class, I hope you brought a comic book with you. Captain American? Iron Man? Black Widow?" He forced a laugh, trying to cover his mounting anxiety.

"Uh, I actually forgot my book," Belle stammered. "I'm sure Mary Margaret has something I can read to them."

"Belle," he whispered, stroking her jawbone with his knuckles, "What's going on, sweetheart? Talk to me."

His soulful dark eyes reflected both compassion and sorrow. Belle couldn't bear it. "I can't, Callum," she said on a strangled breath, begging for understanding. "Please…just trust me."

"I want to—so very much, Belle. But how can I?" he asked sadly, "How can I live with you and love you when you won't be honest with me?"

"I know," she said softly. "I'm not being fair and I'm sorry. I'll pack my things and be gone by the time you get home. It's for the best." Covering her mouth to stifle her sobs, she fled, leaving him standing there with a breaking heart and a soggy brown paper bag.

xoxoxo

Back at his shop, Callum couldn't get his mind off of Belle and her strange behavior. The hushed phone calls, the explosive discs Bae saw the day of the fire, and her evasive, defensive behavior at the school just didn't add up to former ballerina turned bookstore owner.

Now she was leaving him.

Her choice, he reminded himself. He hadn't asked her to go; he'd only asked for the truth. With his stomach in knots, he considered closing early and heading home. But what would be waiting for him there? Nothing more than an empty house and his worried thoughts, he mused bitterly.

He was in the back room working with lanolin when he heard the unwelcome peal of the bell: a customer, damn. He was in no mood to play the part of the cowering shopkeeper, and cursed himself for not locking the door.

His unwelcome visitor was none other than Zelena Greenlea.

"Miss Greenlea," he greeted, forcing himself to be polite to the only woman in town he truly despised. He hoped the putrid scent of the sheep lanolin would send her scurrying out his door in record time. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"It stinks in here, Gold," she retorted coldly, her blue eyes hard as ice chips. "Tell me, are you still consorting with that little strumpet? The one with the bookstore that burned down. What's her name again?"

"Belle French," he answered stiffly.

"She must be quite desperate to align herself with the likes of you." Zelena twisted her blood-red lips into a smirk.

"Funny," he hissed, forgetting himself. "Since you yourself seem so anxious to align yourself with the likes of me." His anger at Zelena's implication of Belle's character burned white hot, even as he himself was questioning her integrity. But this harpy had no right. "Not that I owe you any sort of explanation, but Miss French is a lady and I won't see her reputation suffer because of some vicious rumors. I have opened my home to a friend in need and we are doing nothing untoward."

"Perhaps," Zelena parried, nastily. "Too bad you lack the charm and courage to hold her, Gold."

"Belle's happy with us," he gulped, sounded unconvinced even to his own ears.

"For now," Zelena conceded. "But this dalliance won't last. You may have caught her but you'll never keep her. Just like you couldn't keep Milah." She studied her manicured nails, painted the same vile shade of red as her mouth.

"You don't know anything about me," he scoffed with far more bravado than he felt.

"Don't I?" she countered. "I was Milah's best friend. She talked often about your many…shortcomings. I always thought you were fascinating and that you and I would make a lovely couple. But you've spurned me over and over." She pouted. "I don't take rejection well. Now it's too late."

"Is that a threat, Miss Greenlea?" His tone was cutting and cold.

"Consider it a warning, Gold." Zelena smiled cruelly. "Have a pleasant afternoon."

xoxoxo

Gold dreaded the moment Bae would arrive for his daily after school visit to the shop. Normally he looked so forward to the precious father-son moments when they would review homework, read comic books, and laugh and chat about the day. After all, childhood was fleeting. But today? Today he had to tell Bae that Belle was moving out. The boy was terribly attached to Belle and he was going to take this news hard. Almost as hard as Callum himself.

Maybe he should give her another chance to explain?

But no. Callum's primary allegiance was to his son. It had to be. And Bae deserved more than someone who kept secrets and flitted in and out of their lives. So did he, for that matter. Ironically, Belle had been the one who taught him that.

His mobile phone rang and he screened the call. Belle. In a moment of weakness he was tempted to answer but elected to let it go to voicemail. Another call. Belle again? She wouldn't call twice if it wasn't important. Sighing, he picked up the phone.

"What is it, Belle?" he asked tiredly.

"Callum!" Her voice was urgent. "Is Bae there? With you?"

"No, Jefferson's due to drop him off here any minute now. Why?"

"Oh, no!" She moaned. "Pick me up at home! Bae's missing!"

"Missing? What do you mean, missing?" he shouted into the phone, rushing to the Cadillac as fast as his bad leg would allow.

"I'll explain everything on the way. Just get here fast," she urged and hung up.

Up Next: Will the real Belle French please stand up?