Chapter Thirteen: Unbroken
With a profound, groggy yawn, Moreau gradually opened his damp eyes, then closed a long and curving mouth-line. After reading Little Red Riding Hood, Joy granted him his bedtime hug before retiring for the night. The fish-man's smile extended more so; he didn't even need any incentive for the evening embrace.
Tentatively, Moreau made a small, tentative stretch with his limbs and legs, and was happy to find that the strain in his heavy back from all the shovel work had waned. Moreau leaned forward but grimaced with a throaty groan.
Well, it waned somewhat.
Slowly easing himself out of the deep groove in the couch cushion, Moreau turned around to fully view his precious person, peacefully sleeping...
However, instead of a small being under a blanket, the neat bed was vacant.
Oh, no!
Not wanting to waste time unbarring the back entry of the cabin, the fretting fish-man anxiously wobbled to the front door.
Did Joy decide to run away?! Peoples always end up running away from me. Oh, no, what if her tiny legs get stuck in the snow?! Joy will become a peop-sickle! No-no-no-no-no-!
Moreau's trembling hand swooped in his sole, good pocket for the key. But when he was about to put its teeth into the copper keyhole to unlock it, his peripheral vision caught light movement within the kitchen.
The young woman was sitting in her respected chair at the table, already dressed in dried clothes and her hair brushed; she seemed quite invested in something. Then, hearing the fish-man's low wheezes, she beamed sweetly in his direction.
"G'morning, sleepyhead!" Joy cheered while wriggling dangling covered calves.
"You..? You didn't go anywhere..," sighed Moreau, returning the key to his pants.
Canting her head, Joy arched her red eyebrows.
"Go..? But, Mo, everywhere else's snow..." Joy grinned. "Tee-hee! I just rhymed."
Moreau shot a glimpse at the kitchen windowpanes. Never was he so glad to have his newfound territory bombarded with the hated, icy layers of winter's wrath.
"Where would I go?" continued the woman. "Welp... besides da porta-potty." She tittered again and gave her friend a shake of the head. "But even if I could go anywhere, I wouldn't go without telling ya."
Moreau's smile equaled hers. His worries of his precious person vanishing unannounced and could be put behind him for good!
Joy's mien drooped and she emitted a sigh of her own before resuming her current activity.
"I just wish I'd told my mom before I left..."
Though the fish-man did not wish to see his friend sullen in any way, he remained happy not just with her dedication to him, but for not telling her mother about leaving. As it happens, Moreau was a bit relieved that he didn't tell Mother Miranda about going away, either. Then again, Mother probably did not even notice nor would've made inquiries about his voyage.
Moreau's somber ruminating stopped when he recalled how Joy greeted him.
"Why did Joy call me... a, uhhh... sleepyhead?"
The young woman paused her hand with a giggle.
"'Cause when I woke up, you were still snoring. Probably from our biggie pasta dinner last night."
Looking downwards, Moreau placed his hands over both sides of his bloated midsection. He was rather tired after the very tasty and very satisfying meal. And after reading the book together, he burped a few times before shutting his eyes... Joy included.
Blinking quickly, the fish-man raised his eyes back to Joy.
"I snore?"
"Tee-hee-hee, yeah, like a napping puppy! Ya were really cute!"
The corners of Moreau's lips coiled coyly. He knew he'd been called many terms. So many, that he was oddly thankful for his mental dullness forgetting most of the affronts. However, there was one thing that Moreau knew for certain...
Not a day in his life, had he ever been addressed as a cute, sleeping puppy. Ever.
The fish-man observed the woman paying special attention to her hands and he rubbed his short, bent nose. There was a strong, bitter scent in the air which he faintly recognized.
Squinting his sights, Moreau moved closer to the table. Joy's left hand was lying flat on the smooth pine, next to a tiny, yellow-filled, glass jar as her other hand dipped a minuscule brush into it.
"What is Joy doing?"
The woman held the small lid handle in the air as she faced him.
"I was waiting for ya ta wake up ta see what we'd like ta have for breakfast." She returned her focus to her fingers. "So while I waited, I decided ta paint my nails 'cause da last coat was getting kinda cracky wacky."
Moreau slightly slanted his head. "Fingernails wear coats? But... how do they put on the tiny sleeves?"
Joy's shoulders shook but she detained her laughter to stay still.
"Tee-! Oh my goodness! No, saying putting a coat on nails just means putting a dab'a nail polish on. Dat's all."
"Oohh! Nailll polllish!" loudly drawled Moreau, his eyes widened as a small spark revisited his hindsight.
His sights went from the woman's hands to her round profile. Her eyebrows were knitted tightly, and her tongue was emerging from the side of a small, scrunched mouth.
"He-hee-hee! Why, the, the funny face, Joy?"
The little pink tip was sucked in, and Joy held the brush above her second finger.
"It's 'cause I always have trouble painting my left fingernails."
The fish-man slowly nodded. Being right-handed, he figured it would've been quite hard for him to write in his old journal with his left hand. As how difficult it must be for his friend to paint with her right.
Joy did a small stroke over the second digit but didn't lift it fast enough.
"Oh, darn!" she un-cussed, putting the brush into its jar and collecting a damp washcloth to wipe the yellow speckle from the tabletop. "Don't worry, Mo. It comes right off with a wittle water."
Moreau watched the woman's right hand reclaim the lid handle of the brush and he repressed a chuckle when her tongue began to make its debut again. As 'cute' as this was, he didn't wish for his precious person to be frustrated.
"Would Joy like some help?"
Joy turned her head to find that her friend had strode nearer and was revealing a creased palm. Her pout was replaced with a grateful beam.
"Really?"
Moreau gave her an assuring nod. "Really, really."
"Yay!" The woman screwed the lid handle on and handed the nail polish over, getting to her sock-covered feet. "Thank you, Mo! Lemme get da chair for ya!"
"Hmm-hmm-hmm! Joy is... most... welcome..."
With a profound gaze, the fish-man beheld Joy going to the other side of the pine table to pick up the other big chair from the floorboards. He shuffled a bit back as Joy excused herself and put the furniture closely together. Not only was Moreau still astonished at the strength of the petite young woman, but he was also silently thrilled to be sitting right up close with her once more.
Moreau signaled to Joy's seat so he could be on the right. She cheerfully obliged, sat, and scooted to the other chair's end so he could reach her. She looked on as Moreau settled down and unscrewed the lid handle, followed by pressing the tiny bristles in the small opening to remove the excess polish.
Joy readied to put her left hand beside the nail polish jar, but her friend partly swung his big head and held open a left, webbed hand. With a small nod, though a bit bemused, Joy did as he requested and laid her fair hand into his ashen palm.
Moreau sighed internally. He would never stop being amazed at the warmth of his precious person's skin nor her willingness for tangible contact.
Notwithstanding the raised tempo of his elated heart, Moreau started to work on the woman's tiny pinkie nail, using the incoming daylight to his advantage. This finger and the second digit had been partially painted. However, Joy hadn't covered much of the surface and Moreau wanted his artwork complete.
With slow and steady strokes, Moreau traced the little, yellow-coated bristles over the middle nail as he made certain to keep the polish within the cuticle. All the while, Joy did what she could to keep still for him. Even keeping her giggling at bay when her focused friend's pale tongue poked from the side of his wide mouth.
"Yellow's my favorite color," stated Joy. "'Cause it reminds me ov'a sunny day."
The fish-man smiled. "I like sunny days, too... Though, I never got to see them where I used to live." With a low grunt, he briefly leaned to his side to freshen the brush in the little bottle. "But... it's... it's much brighter here, now."
Even cloudless, the deep forest sky seemed to be almost as caliginous as the Village. Nonetheless, with his precious person around, their lodge was just as bright as the shore on the video box.
Moreau idly glimpsed at the woman's ocean blue sweater sleeve, and he hummed flatly.
"What'cha thinking about?" peeped Joy curiously.
"Oh..." Moreau began attending to Joy's index finger. "Well... I'd thought blue would be Joy's favorite color. ...Because of your pretty blue clothes."
The woman's raised cheeks tinted from the small commendation.
"Welp, I got my new yellow coat dat my mom got me, but I still like blue. And bright blue's my favorite."
Moreau paused his stroking of the brush.
"Huh?"
Joy grinned with a subtle shrug. "What? A girl can have two favorite colors! And my mom has lots'a faves. She likes all kinds'a purple."
The fish-man bobbed his head and resumed his task of nail polishing. That sounded pretty logical for her to like more colors. Conversely, the only women in his small family circle seemed to have preferred one particular shade. Either deathly black, spooky yellow... or blood red.
"Mo?"
"Yes, Joy?" responded Moreau, carefully applying the polish over her small thumb.
"Do ya got a favorite color?" The woman scanned his cracked sleeve. "Is it gray like your coat and pants?"
Moreau emitted a short and husky chuckle, on the account that his friend tried to guess by his attire, as well.
"Hmm-hmm... No, it's not gray."
"Oh... can ya tell me? I'd really like ta know."
Pulling the brush away from her hand, Moreau's chest swelled from the inquisitive woman's simple yet thoughtful query about him. As far as his mutated mind could recall, he never really had a favorite color.
But now, he did.
The fish-man lifted his murky white sights until they met the twinkling, bright emerald irises of his precious person. His smile softly spread toward his cloaked, malformed ears.
"Green," Moreau replied with the utmost, rare confidence. "My favorite color is green."
Joy smiled at her friend's answer while he reclosed the nail polish. Her nails were short, but he was very gradual with his strokes; making sure each precious digit was completely painted and without any spots on the fair skin.
Joy gently flipped her hand and gaped in awe at the applied polish.
"Oh my goodness! Dey're... dey're perfect, Mo! Even better dan how my mom paints dem!"
Moreau's jaw opened from hearing that acclamation for Joy always spoke highly of her prized parent.
"Really?"
The young woman nodded zealously. "Really, really! Ya must'a been painting nails for a long time ta be so good at it."
The fish-man's toothy grin was growing from all the praise. He slowly shook his head with a proud chortle.
"I, I have seen my nieces paint their nails lots and lots of times. But Joy's nails are the first fingernails I have painteded!"
The size of his surprised friend's eyes and mouth could outmatch a trout's.
"Wow! Den, it must be like, a special talent dat you're born with!" She elevated a right hand while waggling her unpolished fingers with a beckoning smile. "Can Mo please paint deese ones, too?!"
"Hmm-hmm-hmm! Yes, yes! Mo can paint Joy's other nails, too."
With an elated squeak, Joy presented her hand and Moreau loosened the little brush from the jar once more and prepped it for another paint session.
As Moreau attended to her pinkie, he detected a curt hum from its owner.
"What's Joy thinking about?" he asked with his eyes still fixated on keeping the polish within the tiny cuticle as before.
"Oh... just dat it's so sweet dat ya have nieces."
Moreau's grin tapered. He was enjoying this conversation with his friend so much that he didn't even realize that he'd mentioned the buzzing trio.
"Y-yes," he admitted lowly. "Three nieces."
"Awe, dat's great! Ya got a big family?"
The fish-man swallowed as he moved the bristles to the next nail.
"N-Not, not really. Two sisters and a brother. ...But one of them is very big..."
"Dat's wonderful, Mo! Maybe I can meet all'a dem someday."
Joy noticed her friend vaguely staring while holding the little lid handle in midair; his smile had fully diminished.
"Mo? Ya alright?"
Moreau finally blinked. "Y-yes, I'm-I'm all right." He made an unseen shrug and returned to the strokes. "I... I don't know where my family is..."
The concerned woman's eyebrows slanted upwards. "Ya don't?"
"No... I don't... Maybe they're with Mother... But..."
The fish-man gulped again, sensing the return of his inner pair of divergent wolves battling over the fate of the Village Matriarch.
"...But I don't know where, where she is, either... Maybe gone forever... I-I, I d-don't know..."
Despite some snivels, Moreau's hand remained steady as he trailed the brush over Joy's middle nail. He breathed through his nose and heard more sniffling. But it wasn't from his damp nostrils.
"I'm-I'm sorry, Mo... I... I didn't mean ta make ya sad!"
Moreau shook his head. "It's, it's, it's all right! I... I want to be sad! ...Remember, it's, it's not good to have tears trapped inside."
"I know, Mo, but I'm still very sorry." Joy fluttered her welling eyes. "I don't got any siblings. ...No dad. ...I got family dat sometimes visit, but at home, it's just me and Mom."
Blinking his sights clear, Moreau nodded shortly as he dipped the brush in the nail polish.
"...Mo?"
"Y-Yes, Joy?"
The woman's jutted lip drew in to help form a small smile.
"I know for sure dat wherever your family is, dey are super-duper lucky ta know ya."
The fish-man's lips harmonized with his friend's. The former Lord of the Reservoir didn't believe that his family nor his lineage had favored him in any way, despite incalculable attempts for their respect. However, it was the faith and thoughtfulness of Joy which abetted with alleviating the fish-man's heavy and muddled past. Both of his families had forced upon him the recollections of being ridiculed or shamed... or both.
To put it simply, now, he was appreciated and wanted.
Nevertheless, Moreau did envy Joy for her mother wanting to be with her. He had often seen Mother Miranda discussing things with his superior siblings. But with him, Mother appeared... unhappier, whenever she was in the same chamber with him during 'family' conferences.
Moreau's eyes gazed at the young woman rotating her wrist to admire her left, fancy fingernails, and his contentedness regrew. Mother Miranda gifting him his precious person could still be a sign of repentance; for being so occupied and distant...
So perhaps, Mother had realized that she could love him in return!
As the fish-man continued on the following nail, Joy resumed discerning the movements of his hand. Normally, they were quite fidgety. But during the nail polishing, the spindly digits were quiet.
"Are ya a doctor?"
Moreau's sights and torso jolted. "Wh-What?"
He indeed heard the question. He just wasn't expecting it... At all.
"Sorry, Mo, did I ask dat kinda loud?"
"No-no," he assured her after a quick guttural respire. "I, I was just surprizeded... Why, did Joy ask?"
"'Cause both'a your hands are super still and super gentle with me. Even when ya shook in da chair, ya didn't get any paint on my skin! And lookit!" Joy pointed to the flat furniture beside them. "Ya don't even use da table ta paint my nails! Ya hold my hand up with your elbows in da air without getting tired!"
Moreau was smiling from his friend's exuberant acclamations. But still, he was baffled about the unanticipated enquiry.
"But... but how does painting nails make Joy think I'm a doctor?"
"My mom's a nurse," Joy stated with pride. "And she says doctors always have calm and strong hands ta heal people."
"Oohh..," Moreau crooned weakly, averting his eyes to the woman's last bare nail.
His family's way of living before Mother Miranda's first gift was ...ambiguous with just a few flashes here and there. But the fish-man's dusty subconscious told him that he was once, pious to his apathetic parents as the married physicians were to Mother Miranda. Moreau did have more awareness about working in the clinic. And of course, his super-secret laboratory on the mountain and treating the villagers that Mother brought him to both locations... Just that it was against their well-being for the greater good of the recovery of her special child.
After Moreau was done, he put the brush into the jar, giving his awaiting friend her hand back.
"I know ya told me dat you like when I ask stuff about ya," she mentioned, carefully resting her spread fingers onto her blue jeans. "But if ya don't want me ta be a nosey posey about dis, I won't be."
At first, Moreau wanted his past to be just his own. However, since his precious person was super-duper smart, he felt that she deserved to know at least... just this...
"Well..," the fish-man began quietly, "Do you remember when I didn't want to sweep under the- our comfy couch?"
Joy made a short bob of the head. "Uh-huh. Dare wouldn't be any dust bunnies 'cause our comfy couch's short."
Moreau flitted his nervous sights briefly. However, his mien was light from Joy referring to the small sofa as theirs.
"Yes... That's... that's still correct. But... uhh... under our couch is a sack with a small box inside of it."
The curious woman's bright green orbs enlarged with vast interest.
"Oohh... Is it a doctor's kit?"
The fish-man yielded a nod. Joy's grin almost surpassed her small, fair lobes.
"I knew it! Dat's so wonderful, Mo! But... why keep da kit under our couch?"
Moreau idly scanned the kitchen wall again. "Uhhhhh... It's..."
"Oh, I know. It's 'cause ya wanna keep us safe, right? Doctor tools can be very sharp." The young woman frowned with a shiver. "Like da big knife in da cupboard."
"R-right," answered Moreau with a short, rattled sigh. "To... to keep us safe."
In actuality, he didn't have a response that he wanted to give to Joy. All the same, most of his surgical equipment, albeit, small, was analogous to razors. Moreau shook, as well. Not once, had he considered the sharp similarity to that... unnerving, carving knife before...
Joy held up open hands. "Den, let's keep da kit where it's at. Good idea, Mo!"
In spite of the notion not being his, the fish-man smiled with positivity. The safety measure may not have been his first inkling, but it was most definitely now. After all, he feared for his precious person to acquire a papercut from reading!
Joy giggled to herself. "Tee-hee... when I was wittle, I used ta pretend ta be a doctor or a nurse like my mom, and I wore her work shirt." She exhaled longingly and with admiration. "It must be so nice ta fix people and make dem feel better for real."
With a vanished grin, Moreau dejectedly stared at one of the eatery's windows.
"I'm... I'm not a doctor, any-anymore."
Joy fronted the frosted glass to see whatever outside had piqued her friend's interest.
"Welp, dat's okay, Mo." She relooked at him. "When did'ja retire?"
The fish-man clumsily veered his head and furrowed his wide brow.
"Joy wants to know when I fell asleep last night?"
The woman touched the side of her small jawline with a beam. "Tee-hee... Uh-uh, retired just means dat you're still a doctor dat likes ta do other stuff now."
With a flat but strong hum, Moreau bowed his head with slow understanding. This was true. He did like other things more than being a doctor. The fish-man stared in utmost awe at the young woman. He was finding out more about himself than he even knew about!
He tapped his pointy nails in heavy, slow, contemplation. "Well, Joy... I retireded..."
Moreau's mind froze from the sudden vision of the original cabin owner: the invective silver-scalp man falling to the floor with the shattering teacup and plate, after ingesting the tainted black tea...
'Dammnnn... Creeeep!'
"I retireded... right after I moveded into this lodge last month!" Moreau finished with a contrived, extensive grin.
"Oh my goodness!" squealed Joy. "Awh! Did I miss your retirement party?"
"Uhhh?"
"Dat's a party for all da years ya been a doctor."
The fish-man droned to himself. He'd often wondered what a party was like in real life.
"No-no. I... retirededed... in con- confidie... ...confidetally..."
Joy canted her head. "Ummm... Oh! Con... Confidentially?"
"Yes. That's it." Moreau smiled. "Very tricky word."
"Tee-hee! Thank you, very much!"
Joy shuffled to lean into her chair and after Moreau rechecked that the lid-handle of the little bottle was tightly sealed so the polish wouldn't dry out, he blinked twice at his friend. She was biting her lower lip.
"Is Joy okay?"
The woman nodded softly. "Uh-huh... Umm... Can I ask da super-duper smart doctor something? Something important?"
Moreau beamed. How many times had he yearned to be given such an appraising title?!
"Of, of course! What would Joy like to know?"
Suddenly, Moreau grew concerned again; Joy was tensely rubbing the nape of her neck.
"Mo... can ya help me ta be ummm... I dunno... unbroken?"
"...What?" The gawking fish-man's eyelids became obsolete. "Unbroken?"
"Uh-huh... I'll... I'll show ya."
With a short sigh, the woman got up from her seat, and following a quick inspection to make certain that her nails were dry, she gingerly took the bottom of her sweater and lifted it midway... A faint, but very long line was across the little abdomen. Moreau's memory may have been jumbled, however, presently, it was as loud as a church bell...
For he was regarding a scar from a major operation.
"I... I can't be a mom," quietly confessed Joy.
All Moreau could do was sit in stark silence while Joy let go of her sweater's rim and returned to her chair.
She idly ogled at the non-lit lantern on the table. "When I was a teenager, I got dis super rare sickness inside'a me and da doctors had ta take da parts out dat makes and holds da baby. My mom said I had something called pie... pie-me...pyo-something..."
"Pyometra? Severe infection of the procreative system?"
Joy blinked broadly and so finally did her friend from hearing himself say the long and rediscovered term.
"Yeah, dat's it," said the impressed woman. Her lips were upturned. "Tricky words."
The fish-man's withered face lightly flushed. "Thank you."
Joy partially echoed the diagnosis silently to herself and looked to Moreau with much respect.
"Mo truly is a doctor."
Moreau's proud expression lessened as he observed his friend's little smile and shoulders sink.
"Da other doctors said I was... 'barren', and it's good dat I can't have babies 'cause it's not good for my body. ...But..." She made a sullen shrug. "I don't think it's very good..."
Moreau continued to stare worriedly as the young woman raked around herself at nothing in particular. Then, shimmering sights returned his sad gaze.
"Mo...? Since ya just became a retired doctor... Do... ...Do ya think ya can make me unbroken? Am-Am I still... fixable?"
"NO!" The fish-man thumped the tabletop with a balled fist. "No! No! No! No! No!"
Joy's sorrowful eyes brimmed up even more so.
"So-so-" A small hiccup caught in her throat. "So, I... can't be-"
"There's nothing to fix!" Moreau interjected, getting onto his feet to rest a hand on her shoulder.
The woman sniffled. "Dare... dare isn't?"
Moreau moved his heavy head from side to side as fast and firmly as he was able. "There can't be another Joy because there's only one Joy. No one else is Joy, but Joy!"
"'Cause Joy is broken..." his troubled friend added.
"No! Because Joy is pure!"
Both pairs of eyes widened from hearing the epiphany out loud. It took a moment for Moreau to blink again. Pure? As pure as Mother? Or was it possible that his perfect, precious person was... Purer?
After wiping her view with a sweater sleeve, the woman crossed her left arm to her held shoulder and felt atop the fish-man's bony knuckles.
"Do..? Do ya really mean it? Really?"
Feeling the smooth, warm hand over his callused and bony one, Moreau forgot his contradicting thoughts and returned her heartened smile.
"Yes... Really, really."
Joy caressed his hand before allowing him to reluctantly resume sitting in his seat. She pondered for a few seconds and lightly wiggled lifted fingers.
"Could'ju please... paint dem again? Da second time always makes da color brighter."
With an approving nod, her friend retook the nail polish from the table.
"Of course, Joy."
As he freed the lid handle and readied its brush, the woman gently gave him her left hand.
"Thank you... Mo- Doctor Sal...vatore Moreau!"
The fish-man grinned. She had remembered his full title. Nevertheless, he preferred his gifted nickname so much more than she knew.
"Joy is most welcome. ...But it's Mo." He accepted her held-up hand. "Just Mo."
The thankful woman bobbed her head. "Okay, Mo."
As Moreau revived the artsy manicure, he peered up at his friend smiling broadly, and as always, his mouth-line mirrored her countenance.
Because somehow, not just making Joy's nails brighter, helped the fragmented mind of Lord of the Lodge to be a tad less broken, too.