Chapter Two
Storybrooke, February 1997
In the three months since their last conversation, Regina would have been lying to herself if she said she hadn't missed the messages from her nameless young stalker, just a little. Life in Storybrooke was monotonous at best, and it got to her more than she'd expected it would. As annoying as the messages were, they were at least something different in her daily routine.
She wondered if maybe she shouldn't have been so quick to put a stop to them.
Then again, she was sure they probably would have stopped, regardless, upon this foster mother receiving her phone bill, so perhaps it was for the best.
There was, however, one thing that the girl had said that Regina had yet to be able to get out of her head: I don't wanna get kicked out of another foster home.
It was the 'another' that Regina found most troubling. How many homes had this girl been kicked out of, to elicit such a panic? Storybrooke didn't have a foster system, but Regina had gained enough knowledge of this world through her curse to know that the system had its glaring flaws, and many children slipped through the cracks. She couldn't help but wonder if that was the fate of this poor young girl.
Regina thought about that voice on the phone more than she'd expected she would, which is why when her phone rang late one Friday evening in snowy mid-February, and she saw an unfamiliar number with a Minnesota area code, she decided to answer.
"Hello?"
There was a long pause - long enough that Regina had to wonder if this was a whole new type of prank calls starting up - and then, finally, a tiny "hi."
Regina smiled to herself, as she settled back against the sofa where she had been sitting in front of the fire with her wine, a warm afghan covering her legs. "Hello, dear. I really didn't expect to hear from you again, since our last conversation."
"Yeah, sorry," the girl responded, but didn't elaborate any further.
Regina sighed. She was glad to hear from the child again, but she'd prefer it if she'd actually say something. "Are you planning on telling me why you're calling? Or were you hoping to get the machine?"
"I was kind of hoping to get the machine," the girl admitted. "But I wasn't going to leave a joke message."
"No? What were you planning on saying then? Whatever it is, you may as well just say it to me now."
There was another pause before the girl spoke again, and Regina wondered if she was trying to find the courage to say whatever she wanted to say. Regina knew she was intimidating on a good day, but she found she had no desire to frighten this girl.
"Um… I uh… I ended up getting kicked out of that foster home anyway," the girl said, finally. "Not because of the phone calls or anything, but um… I just… I just wanted to say thank you, I guess."
"Thank you? For what, dear?" Regina asked.
"For trying to help me out, when my foster mother called you. You didn't have to lie for me, and, honestly, asking you to was kind of a long shot. It's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. So, thank you."
Regina drew in a sharp breath, and felt a stinging pain in her heart. How on earth could that have been the nicest thing anyone had ever done for this girl?
"You're welcome, dear. And I'm sorry you got kicked out of your home," Regina said, trying to keep her voice even, in an attempt to not betray her emotions. "Aren't you worried about making long distance calls where you are now?"
"Nope! This new family has a long distance plan, and they said I can use the phone. I mean, I'm thirteen, so I guess they kind of expect it. I just said I have a friend in Maine, and they said that's fine."
"A friend in Maine?" Regina repeated with a small chuckle, before realizing that this girl's attempt to cover up who she was calling likely meant that she intended call again. "What about your real friends, dear? Friends your own age."
"Don't got any. I don't stay in one place long enough to make real friends. And most places don't really give me phone privileges, so…"
"I see. So does that mean I can expect more calls from you?" Regina asked, before she realized what she was actually saying. Once she'd said it, however, she realized she really hoped that the answer was yes.
"Oh, um, I hadn't really thought about that. Would that be okay? Like, you won't get mad?"
"I won't get mad as long as you aren't leaving prank messages on my machine while I'm at work," Regina replied, still smiling in spite of herself.
"Oh. Then yeah, maybe I'll call you again. I don't really have people to talk to, you know?"
"What's your name, dear?" Regina asked, realizing suddenly that this girl knew her full name, from the answering machine greeting, and Regina knew nothing about her, other than her age.
"I can't tell you that! You're a stranger," the girl replied, with an unmistakably challenging lilt to her voice.
"I'm hardly a stranger when you know my full name," Regina countered, her smile turning into a grin as she took another sip of wine, fully aware that this was the most interesting conversation she'd had with anyone in years.
"Well… I can't tell you, but you could try to guess," the girl offered.
Regina shook her head, chuckling again. "I see. Will you tell me if I guess right?"
"Maybe."
"May I have a clue?"
"It's a girl's name."
"That's helpful. May I have a useful clue?"
"Ummmm…. it's starts with a vowel."
"Emily."
"No."
"Astrid."
"Nope."
"Evelyn."
"What? No!"
"Elenor."
"Seriously. Are you even trying? Do you want another clue?"
"Yes please," Regina said with a grin.
"It also ends with a vowel."
Regina sighed, knowing that that really didn't narrow down the options all that much.
"Amanda."
"Nope."
"Alyssa."
"No. You have one vowel right and one vowel wrong."
"Which one is right?"
"Uh uh, this is like the Price is Right. You only get to know one is right and one is wrong, not which one is which."
Regina rolled her eyes. She'd never actually watched the Price is Right, but she thought that the odds were likely best that the 'a' at the end was the correct vowel. That was the logic she planned to go with, anyway.
"Ella."
"Ooooh so close."
Regina smiled, knowing that unless this girl was named after Etta James, she was fairly confident her next guess would be right.
"Emma."
"Ding ding ding, we have a winner!" Emma said, with a laugh.
"Emma," Regina repeated, again. "That's a very pretty name."
"You think so? It's the only thing my birth parents ever gave me, before they gave me up."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Emma."
"It is what it is, right?"
"I suppose…"
Emma sat cross-legged on the bed at her new foster home. She shared with two other girls, both of whom were older than her, and out on a Friday night. She didn't mind, since it gave her some privacy to do the one thing she'd been trying to work up the courage to do since November.
And now that she was on the phone with Regina Mills, listening to her guess name after name, Emma wondered why she'd waited so long to finally call.
"Emma."
Emma's heart skipped a beat when she heard Regina's voice saying her name. She couldn't help but laugh as she informed her she'd finally guessed right. She wasn't sure exactly what normal thirteen year old girls were supposed to do on a Friday night, but she was quite content exactly where she was. And Regina had said it was okay to call again.
"Emma. That's a very pretty name."
Emma wasn't sure exactly how to tell Regina that it only sounded pretty when she said it. She also wasn't sure how to tell her that she thought Regina was a pretty name too, without sounding like a total weirdo. So she deflected.
"You think so? It's the only thing my birth parents ever gave me, before they gave me up."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Emma."
"It is what it is, right?"
"I suppose…"
Emma bit her lip. She hadn't meant to drag this conversation down so quickly, but that tended to be what happened whenever she brought up the topic of her birth parents. She couldn't help it; even after thirteen years, it was still raw, and she knew it must come through in her voice.
She needed to change the subject.
"So, ummmm…. are you married?" she asked, thinking this was probably as normal a question as any to ask an adult, though in her own mind, she'd already decided that Regina Mills was not married, due to the lack of a husband's name on her answering machine greeting.
"No."
Emma smiled to herself, proud of herself for getting that one right. "Kids? And don't say 'no, because I'm not married' because I know how these things work."
"I'm sure you do. No, no kids."
No husband. No kids. Emma was pretty sure she could figure out why Regina didn't mind her calling now. She was probably lonely, a feeling Emma knew all too well.
"How come? You don't want them?"
"I… It's not that I don't want children. I'm just not so sure a child would want me."
"Why? You seem alright…. you're not like, crazy or something, are you?"
Regina laughed again. "If I was, do you think I would tell you?"
"Uhhh…"
"I'm not crazy."
"Yeah, sure. That's what a crazy person would say," Emma pointed out.
"Is it now? What might a sane person say?" Regina asked.
"I dunno. Never met one."
"Well, my dear, I think you and I may have that in common," Regina said with a small laugh.
Emma found she kind of liked being able to make Regina laugh. It was rare that she ever held anyone's undivided attention, let alone the attention of an adult, so it was refreshing to know that Regina seemed to be enjoying the conversation as well.
Emma was certain she would be calling again. And probably often.
"So tell me, Emma, what was it that got you kicked out of your previous home?"
Emma sighed. She hadn't exactly wanted to get into that, but then again, she never really had anyone to talk to about these kinds of things. She had her case worker, but she was overloaded with cases and didn't always have time for her.
"Well... most of these homes, they treat kids like me as a meal ticket."
"Kids like you?"
"Yeah. Older kids. The ones that are never gonna get adopted. They take them in, get some money from the government, and then when they're too much trouble, they send them back. My file says I have 'behavioural issues', so that's a red flag. I don't really stand a chance anyplace I go, you know?"
"Behavioural issues? Like making prank phone calls?"
Emma grinned. "No, that was a special thing, just for you."
"Well, I'm honoured," Regina said, laughing again.
"Behavioural issues in that I sometimes lie, and I run away, and…" Emma let her voice trail off, not wanting to mention petty theft in the list. She didn't particularly want Regina to decide she wasn't worth it and hang up. "And sometimes get in fights. Those kinds of issues."
"I see. I had a stepdaughter once, about your age. Those things don't sound so much like behavioural issues as they do normal child behaviour, from my experience anyway."
"What happened to your stepdaughter?"
"Nothing," Regina said quietly, almost sounding disappointed, though Emma couldn't guess why. "My marriage to her father… ended, and she and I were never close. She was a spoiled little princess."
"I know the type," Emma said, nodding her understanding. "Her loss, I guess."
"I suppose. Tell me dear, do you not have a bedtime?" Regina asked, glancing at the clock on her wall. It was after one a.m. in Storybrooke, which meant it was past midnight in Minnesota.
"I guess, but no one is home so no one's here to make me go to bed," Emma replied, proudly.
"They leave you home alone?"
Emma shrugged. "It's not like I'm a little kid. I can take care of myself. The other girls are supposed to be home, but they snuck out after the parents left. They're sixteen and seventeen and they don't want me tagging along with them, so yeah, I'm home alone."
"Well, since apparently I've just become the only responsible adult in your life, I'm telling you it's time to go to bed."
"Oh yeah?" Emma said. "How are you gonna make me? You're not even in this state."
"Don't underestimate me, dear."
Emma chewed on her lip, wondering if she should challenge this woman further, or do as she said. On one hand, she wasn't too keen on following instructions, but on the other, she didn't really want to make Regina Mills hate her after one phone call.
"I'm not tired," Emma said, finally.
"I doubt that. You're thirteen, which means you had school today. It's time for bed. And if you want me to pick up the phone the next time you call, you'll do as I say, understood?"
Emma drew in a sharp breath. That was enough to snap her right out of her challenging mood. "Okay, yes, I want you to pick up the next time I call!"
"Good. Now put the phone down, brush your teeth and get ready for bed, and then come back and say goodnight to me."
Emma smiled. "You really were a mom," she commented, as she set the phone down.
Regina held the phone to her ear, listening to the silence as she waited for Emma to return to say goodnight. She was still in slight disbelief at how quickly this whole conversation had evolved, but there was just something about this girl, and the little she'd told her already, that made Regina think she desperately needed someone to care about her.
And, if Regina was being honest, she desperately needed someone to care about.
"Okay, I'm back!" Regina heard Emma's voice through the phone again. "Teeth brushed, pajamas on!"
"Good. Then I will answer the next time you call. Good night, dear."
"Wait… um… can you tell me a bedtime story?"
Regina shook her head, rolling her eyes. "I'm afraid I don't know any stories."
"Everyone knows stories!" Emma insisted.
"Good night, Emma."
"Sing me a lullaby?"
Regina paused for a moment, catching on to what was going on here. "You don't want to go to sleep alone in the house, do you?"
"No. Sometimes I have bad dreams," Emma admitted.
"I see. How about this: you say good night now, and hang up the phone, and if you have a bad dream, you may call me back."
"What if it's three in the morning?"
"Whatever time, you may call me."
"And you promise you'll answer?"
"Yes, dear. I'll leave the cordless phone by my bed, alright?"
Emma paused again. "Um… okay. Deal. And even if I don't have a bad dream I can still call you again sometime?"
"Yes, dear."
"Okay. Okay, good night."
"Good night, Emma."
Regina waited until she heard Emma hang up on her end, not wanting to hang up on the girl incase she spoke up again. And then she sighed, leaning back into the couch again, remembering the countless times she'd gone to sleep without anyone to tuck her in, because she was 'far too old to be coddled like that'.
Maybe a tad more coddling, from someone, and she would have never gone down the path she'd gone down.
Either way, it was too late for that now, but maybe it wasn't too late to do right by someone.
And maybe she could start with a girl from Minnesota...