Chapter 3: The life they got
"You hungry?" he asked, after the two of them woke up from their nap.
"A little," she answered, rubbing her eyes. "What do we still have?"
"I don't know... Think you can grab my pants?" he nodded towards the chair near her side of the bed.
"Your pants?"
"Yeah. I need to check my pockets."
"Don't you tell me you've been hiding candy from me," she smiled, raising an eyebrow.
"Here," he said, giving her a crumpled 10-dollar bill as he reached for the in-room dining menu on the nightstand. "Choose... whatever you like."
"Neal!" she was looking at him in utter disbelief. "I'm sure we still have-"
"We should have a hot meal," he added, before she finished her sentence. "It's a special day."
Her chin trembled a little, and she couldn't help but smile gratefully. They could save that money for a rainy day; that would be the wise thing to do. Whatever job it was he had gotten that money from, it didn't sound right to spend it all at once just because it was her birthday.
"Go ahead," he whispered, forcing the menu into her hands. "Ten dollars."
She flipped through the pages, and settled for a cheese egg roll. She still felt guilty about spending his money like that, but he seemed to be enjoying every single minute of their day, almost as much as her or maybe even more than her – she no longer knew.
All she knew was that she would never forget that day. The best birthday of her life.
"Yeah, and can you send a… uhm…" she heard him say over the phone, "a blueberry cupcake as well? Ok. Oh, do you have candles?"
She shook her head as he spoke, and then rested her chin on her knees, watching him.
"Oh… ok. Yeah, matches will do," he shrugged when she looked at him with a frown. "Ok. Thanks."
In the meantime, she grabbed his pants on the bed to put them back on the chair, but in the process a crumpled piece of paper fell from his other pocket. When she unfolded it, her eyes went wide.
'Students' Names: Cassidy, Neal & Swan, Emma. Modality: Ballroom Dancing. Level: Beginners.
Please present this registration sheet on your first day of classes.'
"Neal," she whispered. "What is this?"
He raised his eyebrows and swallowed, faking a careless smile after clearing his throat.
"I… I signed us up for… dancing lessons," he said, chuckling as soon as Emma herself burst into laughter. "Yeah, I know, I know… What the hell was I thinking?"
She kept laughing, because she felt that it was either that or crying again, and she didn't want him to feel bad for her again. The truth was that she had lied when she told him that dancing was ridiculous. She was just too ashamed of herself to give it a shot. But if the man by her side, the legendarily stoical Neal Cassidy, the one that was proud to announce to the world that he lacked artistic skills but made up for it in other much more important departments, was willing to give it a try, then everything changed… And she knew he was, again, doing it because of her.
And so, she kept laughing, even though by now her eyes were full of tears.
"Do you think we can go there tomorrow?" she finally managed to say, after her laughter subsided and she wiped her happy tears away with the back of her hand.
"Well… The classes are on Tuesday and Thursday so… I guess we can go on Thursday."
They exchanged a brief glance, in which his lips curled into a little smile.
"Why didn't you say something?" she asked.
"I was going to but…" he scrunched up his face as he spoke. "I dunno…When you said it was ridiculous I kinda chose not to, you know?"
"I'm sorry…"
"Hey, don't be," he said, resting a hand on her knees. "Wait 'til I start dancing, then… Then you'll be sorry. And very, very embarrassed."
She shook her head again, moving to kiss his hair with a smile on her lips.
"Do we have to wear anything specific?"
"Oh, I… I actually hadn't thought about it," he replied, with a frown. "I think you will need a dress, won't you?" he asked, his gaze distant as he spoke. "We could go to Goodwill tomorrow… I forgot all about it."
She placed a hand over his, giving it a squeeze as she watched his thoughtful face.
"I won't need a dress."
"You're not thinking about wearing this… are you?" he whispered, tugging at her nightie with a smirk. "Because, just so you know, I do not approve it… unless it is a private class."
She pulled him closer for another kiss, and had the two of them been not interrupted by a soft knock on the door, they would very soon engage on a… private class of their own.
After they shared the cheese egg roll and watched the news like any regular couple would do, it was time for her birthday cake.
Or rather, cupcake.
The two of them kept staring at the tiny, less than impressive little cake placed on the bed between them, looking at it as if it was some sort of good luck charm. Maybe, next year, he would be able to buy her a real cake. Maybe, next year, she would be able to get him a pumpkin pie for his birthday.
He raised his eyes first, smiling at her as a lot of other silly things for the future filled his mind.
"Happy birthday, Emma."
She returned the smile, tilting her head to look at the man in front of her.
"I don't deserve any of this, you know."
He lowered his head, and his smile lost some of its happiness.
"You're right, Emma. You don't..." he whispered, as he remembered that tomorrow they would be back on the road, swiping shelves at grocery stores, sneaking into other people's hotel rooms, making love in some city park bench. "You don't deserve to be living in a car... Or to be stealing food... Or to... Sneak into motel rooms to take a shower..."
"Neal..."
"No, listen. Just... Just listen."
For the first time that day, it was his eyes that filled with tears, even though he was able to blink all of them away far too fast for them to be noticed.
"Things will get better, baby, I know," and then, he smiled again, licking his lips as he looked at her. "There is... There is this job opening at the post office on Main, I'll apply... And if I get it, we can save some money, find some place to stay, just 'til we have enough to go to Tallahassee..." he squeezed her hand, soothing her skin with his thumb. "Hmmm? We just... We just have to hang on a little longer."
She pressed his forehead against his, and let her fingertips run through his hair as she spoke.
"I'll be fine living in a car for as long as I have to... As long as you're with me."
Again, he had to swallow a lump in his throat. He knew she would, and he also knew that there had to be a better life than the one they were living. And there was no way he could simply allow her to spend her days running… just like he had done his whole life.
"But you won't have to. I... I won't let you," he whispered. He would get that job. Maybe she could go back to school when they moved to Florida. Things would get better. "I promise, Emma... You'll have the life that you deserve."
Her chin trembled at his words, and she was quick to correct them.
"We'll have the life that we deserve."
He closed his eyes, and kissed her for very long seconds before opening his eyes again.
"Come on now," he said. "Make a wish."
She kissed him once more, and then closed her eyes when he lit the match and held it on top of the cupcake. What could she possibly wish for? For the first time in her life, she felt she had everything she wanted, everything she needed. If anything, the only thing missing in her life now was her past… She thought, for a second, that it would be really nice to find out who her parents were, or are, if only to introduce Neal to them. Not that two people who had left her on the side of a road would be that interested, but still…
One could dream.
As soon as she blew out the flame, she opened her eyes to stare at the starry sky of Tallahassee.
One year had gone by.
A single tear rolled down her face as she put the cupcake down by her side, her mind taking her back to that same day one year before, when they were still in Portland making plans for the future as they celebrated her birthday. And then, it was all over. The morning after had ended with Neal returning from the post office with a wanted poster instead of a job offer, and the next thing she knew she was at the train station… taking the watches… then running to the bug… and then…
She had to bite her lip not to burst into tears again. Then he was gone. That was the last time she had seen him. She could still remember the officer's face as he arrested her, the coldness she had drowned in when he said that her boy had told them to take a look at the surveillance footage at the train station.
Her lip trembled as she remembered her first night in jail, and then the next, and the next. She remembered feeling nothing, saying nothing, eating nothing, thinking nothing. Nothing made sense. She couldn't believe he had left her behind to take the fall… And she couldn't believe he hadn't done it either.
And then, when she started feeling again, she wished she hadn't. When she regained her ability to think, it was only to find out her only thought was of a dark, dark blur of a man she had trusted with all her heart fastening a watch around her wrist, the last words he said echoing in her ears, mocking her, and at the same time giving her hope.
Why would he have left her the bug if he didn't care? What if something had gone wrong? What if he was waiting for her… waiting for her there, where they had planned to start a life together… waiting for her so that he could explain what he had done… so that she could explain what she had done as well?
She buried her face in her hands, her head falling upon knees she was holding close to her chest.
How would she tell him about their baby?
She tried to stifle her sobs when the sound of a newborn baby's cries after hours of labor filled her ears… Ten fingers, ten toes, it's a boy, he's well, look at all this dark hair, would you like to hold him?
No.
She raised her bloodshot eyes to the sky again, feeling her heart break as she saw the nurse take him away, the first rejection of his life… There was nothing that she wanted more than to hold that child in her arms… There had been moments during those nine months when she saw herself dressing him for school, taking him to the park to watch him play on a swing, then him growing up and introducing her to his friends, because yes, unlike her, her kid would have friends… And he would find his passion in life and she would support him and she would never let him feel like he was not wanted, because even though she had not planned on having him, he had been the best gift she had ever gotten… And she loved him the moment she found out she was pregnant, and they would be friends and he would have a great life, because that was what he deserved, and she would do whatever she could to give him his best chance in life.
And his best chance in life was not with her.
It was a cool night in Tallahassee, and now she realized: it was actually rather cold. Her mind had gone blank again, and so had her heart, the two of them working together to keep her from collapsing. She rubbed her arms, grabbed the cupcake by her side and took a bite of it as she studied all the unfamiliar faces walking past her as she sat on the bench near the city hall. Why, anyway, had she thought she would find him there, of all places? She should have tried the bars, the stores, the parks. And she would, tomorrow. And then the day after tomorrow, and then the next.
She knew she would find him, sooner or later.
Later, it would be even worse.
He was almost freezing when he reached the liquor store, rubbing his hands together as he tried to protect himself from the cruel Canadian weather. And it was still early, which meant he was far from the coldest he would face when looking for a place to sleep that night.
It would get so much worse. It always did. It never stopped.
Maybe this time he would go down with pneumonia or something of the kind. It was not as if he was making an effort not to. His hauls lately had been pathetic. His day trading barely gave him enough to buy food, and when it did, he would prefer to save it to buy alcohol strong enough to dull his senses, especially that night.
"Hey," he muttered, as soon as he reached the counter. "Gimme the… strongest stuff I can get with," he paused to empty his pockets of all crumpled 1-dollar bills and coins he had, "eight dollars and fifty-six cents."
The man behind the counter cast a suspicious glance towards him, and disappeared behind a door, only to return a minute later with a bottle in his hands.
"This looks more expensive than eight dollars," he whispered, studying the label and all its foreign words.
"It's on the house," the store owner said, pushing the money over the counter back to him. "You are a loyal customer."
"Calling me a drunk?" Neal Cassidy asked, with a sneer.
"You've been coming here almost every day."
"It's October, man..." he whimpered in response. He had his reasons to find that particular time of the year difficult, but maybe sharing it with the man in front of him wouldn't be the best thing to do. "Winter's coming," he muttered instead, looking away.
The store owner raised his eyebrows, probably considering that winter was still a good two months away.
"Sounds legit," Neal heard him say, with a shrug. "But go easy on that stuff," the man went on, pointing at the bottle, "or it'll end up killing you."
"Is that a promise?" Neal asked, leaning forward as he tilted his head.
"It's a guarantee. Anyway, I might have a job for you."
"What job?"
"Nothing too difficult. You thinking about going back to the US?"
Neal's heart raced at the mere thought. Of course he had been thinking about going back to the US. He had been thinking about going back since the day he left.
"Where in the US?"
"East Coast," the other man replied. "I need help taking some… stuff to a cousin of mine."
"Will I get paid, at least?"
"Generously."
He didn't know exactly why he was so eager to leave Canada. There was nothing, and no one to go back to, not after what he had done. Still, he couldn't help himself…
"Count me in," he replied, as he pulled his hood up and prepared to leave the store to face the cold weather outside.
"Good. Stop by next week and I'll give you the details."
He simply nodded and walked away, the bottle firmly secured in his hands. It was raining outside, but it was not the kind of comforting rain people like to listen to when they are in bed. It was some kind of intermittent drizzle, mostly a silent mist that only helped dampen people's moods, including his.
His feet were taking him for another walk around town. Getting lost, after all, was a never a problem, not when there was place to call his own. Every night was an adventure: he never knew exactly where he and his backpack would end up at the end of the day.
Before he knew, he was staring at a small studio across the street, his mind yelling at him to turn around and walk the opposite direction while his heart compelled him to cross the street.
Of all things to torture him on that day, destiny, once again, had to choose the one that was likely to pluck his heart out of his chest. Unable to stop his feet and mentally blaming the masochist streak in him for that detour, he approached the dance studio and stopped, looking at the people dancing inside.
He remembered it had all happened on a Wednesday. He did not remember much, though: what he was wearing, where he slept that night, if he had slept at all... there were whole parts of his conversation with August missing, most likely a protection his mind had carefully built as if to make sure he would not fall even further into that pit of regret.
But he remembered, with blinding clarity, that when everything seemed lost after August W. Booth had told his tale, that he had said there had to be another way, even though he knew there wasn't. There wasn't, and he had to choose; choose between the life she could have if she stayed with him, and the life she would have if he left… with her family, with parents who loved her and who were waiting for her.
He was given one hour, and even if he had been given one hundred, he doubted he would have had time to get used to the idea of giving up the only good thing in his life. The only person that made him feel real, that gave him a purpose. In one hour, there would no longer be Tallahassee. In one hour, he would let Emma Swan go so that she could have the life that she deserved.
Even if it did not include him.
One year later, he was still waiting for the day when doing the right thing would hurt less.
Maybe next year, who knew? Maybe ten years from now, he would finally forget; forget that the woman he loved had ended up in jail because of him; that maybe he could have done things differently, but was not able to think of how that night in Portland; that she had trusted him to protect her from harm, and that he had failed; that she was probably waiting to hear from him, to get an explanation... An explanation August had made him swear he wouldn't give, so that he, her stupid Guardian Angel, could do things the way they were supposed to be done.
He grabbed the bottle still wrapped in its brown paper bag, breaking the seal at the cap and downing some of whatever it was that he was drinking, feeling it burn his throat to the point of making his nostrils hurt.
One day, he would forget everything. But because it was October 22nd, and he was standing in front of a dance studio, he knew he was about to relive every single moment he had spent with Emma Swan on her birthday, exactly one year ago...
'When we dance you have a way with me… stay with me, sway with me…'
He was gazing past the window, but without really seeing anyone inside anymore. What he kept staring at, instead, was the two of them laughing as she uselessly tried to get him to move his feet in the right tempo, without stepping on the tip of her boots. Because Emma Swan would dance with her boots on: that he was sure of. And a jacket, maybe a striped dress, tights. Even now that he knew she was a princess, he couldn't actually see her dressed like one, at least not with all those glitzy gowns and tiaras and crystal shoes.
'Other dancers may be on the floor… dear, but my eyes will see only you…'
The music kept playing around him, and he was not sure if it was only inside his head or inside the studio as well. All he knew was that he and Emma Swan were supposed to go dancing on a Thursday, and that Thursday never came. Thursday had just been one of the many plans they had made together, and that now would never come true.
He clutched the bottle under his arm as sadness filled him, and took a final look at the window.
The last two couples dancing had put on their coats and were now moving to the door. The music no longer played, and the only sound coming from the small studio was the click clack of the ladies' heels. He saw female fingers slide along the wall, probably flicking a light switch before one of the men locked the door behind them.
And then there was only darkness.
