Part II, Chapter XIV
April 13, 1902
Brooklyn, New York
They had walked for blocks in Brooklyn in the dead of night, and just before the sun came up, Spot arrived at a small inn he had frequented too many times right after Emma left. A full-figured, frizzy-haired woman opened the loosely boarded door. Her face at first wore a cranky expression, until she recognized Spot.
"Well, look who it is," she said, her tone similar to the way a relative would greet the family drunk.
"Mornin' Rosie." Spot smiled, almost shamefully, yet a smirk was hidden in his face.
Rosie took a look at Emma, who stood with her face buried in Spot's arm lovingly. Rosie nodded and ushered them inside.
"Been a while, Conlon," said Rosie quietly as Spot passed her in the narrow hallway, and she raised her eyebrow.
"Ah, ya missed me." Spot smirked and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.
Rosie led them down the cramped passage. Spot kept his eyes ahead, refusing to look into the rooms and possibly recognize one of the girls inside, powdering her face, rubbing coal heavily onto her eyelids, and tightening her corset. He had been that person without Emma, and they needed a place to sleep. He needed no gratification from anyone else anymore. But just before arriving at their room, a dark-haired, slender beauty left one of the rooms, her dress strap slinking off her shoulder and her hair disheveled. Spot stopped and bit his tongue. She searched for recognition in Spot's eyes but he had callously concealed it. He looked down and led Emma into their room.
"Money by Friday, Conlon," added Rosie. "An' don't try sneakin' off again without paying. Don't think I saw ya last time?"
Emma had not been affected by the inn in the slightest. She sighed, her lips spread a grin into her cheeks, and her eyes squinted in happiness. She stepped forward closer to him and her hands gently touched his face.
"You've aged," she said tenderly.
"I've aged?" asked Spot, his eyebrow quirking.
"Obviously you did in the last three years, but you're older. You seem exhausted, it's in your eyes."
Emma ran her hand over his face and brushed the hair from his eyes. She felt the roughness of his skin now, but it wasn't the texture that was rough; it was weathered, as if Spot had taken a beating. His jaw line was firm and distinguished, and his face had lost all childlike features. There was a faint scar above his eyebrow; Emma ran her fingers over it. She looked deep into his eyes and he was the same, but for a moment the façade, the icy layer that had held him for so long, it shattered, and he was different. He was vulnerable.
"Yes. You've aged."
Spot closed his eyes. He felt the softness of Emma's fingers running smoothly from his hairline to his collarbone. He placed his hands on her hips. He let them slide softly to her back, and he wrapped her into a tight embrace. He held her close enough to feel her heart beat, and it was calm and steady, much to his surprise, because his heart was beating wildly despite the peace she gave him.
"We can stay here, right?" asked Emma.
"Yeah, why d'ya think we got a room?"
"No, I want to stay here. Or at least with you. I'm not going back."
"To Philly?"
"It's not my home. I want to stay with you."
"I know ya do. I'm not goin' anywhere."
The next morning after sunrise--and much later than the morning edition of the newspaper was sold--Emma awoke in the cramped yet comfortable bedroom, between the thin sheets that failed to keep her warm at night. She snuggled closer to Spot and got cozy resting her head on his bare chest. She traced her fingers lightly across his stomach, along the definition of his muscles and along more scars. Some were faint and light, but there were few that even hurt to think about how they got there. She traced the ridges of the key--the key necklace she had left the day she and her parents moved to Philadelphia.
Spot moved at the faint tickle along his chest. He moaned groggily and slowly woke up.
"Hi," greeted Emma.
"Hey Em."
"Did you sleep okay? I'm not used to sleeping next to anyone anymore so I probably kicked a lot."
"Nah, you were perfect."
Emma crawled on top of Spot and lay on his stomach. He rubbed her back and took a closer look at the navy blue fabric.
"Ha…my shirt," observed Spot with a smirk.
Emma raised an eyebrow and said, "My key."
"You left it."
Emma nodded. "I'm sorry I never said goodbye."
Spot looked down at his chest and the necklace placed in her hand. Emma wore an expression of guilt as she rubbed the trinket in between her fingers.
"It wasn't really goodbye, though, was it?" replied Spot.
"No, I guess it wasn't."
Spot felt at the ground near the bed. He rolled over, stepped into his pants, and hoisted them up, letting his suspender straps fall carelessly to his sides. Groggily he made his way to the door, noticing the different scene at the inn. There were travelers in the rooms now, along the corridor and at the front desk. The girls were only there for certain visits, and Spot used to think of them as nocturnal creatures.
He couldn't get the thought of one out of his head; the dark-haired girl he had seen merely hours ago was someone he thought he could replace for Emma. Late one night, after he had so sincerely made love to her, as she lay in his arms wearing his shirt, it hit him that he was empty. No prostitute could fill that void, and so he left, without leaving any money, and ran until his legs gave out. The sun came up then, and everything changed. He had realized he would never be the same.
In the washroom there stood a boy of his age slumped over the sink. After hearing Spot's entrance, he straightened up and splashed water onto his face. He nodded to Spot as he passed by and dried his face with a towel. Spot washed his hands in the sink a few minutes later as the boy tucked his light brown hair underneath his hat, looking at himself in the mirror. It looked like he had gotten no sleep.
"There's a diner 'round the corner out there," suggested Spot, nodding to the window. "They'se got some coffee if ya need it."
The boy looked at him and nodded, "Thanks."
He pulled out a folded piece of paper from his jacket and looked at it. He turned to Spot and asked where Norton Street was located.
"Ya got a way's to walk. It ain't too far from the docks. Pass Pine Street and go fer another three er four blocks. Ain't hard to find."
The boy said thanks and picked up his suitcase. As he entered the hallway, he heard Rosie direct him to a room across the hall.
"Alright, then, Mr. Crenshaw. How long will you be stayin'?"
"I'm not too sure. It's Peter. You can just call me Peter."
"Alright, well, money by Friday. Oh, just to warn ya…may get a little noisy in the evenin'…"
Spot breathed a guilty laugh and left the washroom. When he got back to his room, he found Emma sitting upright in bed, the sheets covering her chest, and her blonde hair falling innocently across her bare shoulders. With a sinful smile gracing her lips, she shook her head and said teasingly, "You take too damn long."
Spot smirked as he crawled onto the bed. "Timing's nevah been my thing."
