Padmé and Anakin met every Friday for tea at the Marriott Marquise. All the waiters knew that Mr. Skywalker now enjoyed tea time in the company of the same lady, and they adjusted the delicacies on the étagère a little. Scones, jam, and clotted cream were always there. Now, in addition to cucumber sandwiches, there were salmon, tuna, and egg pate sandwiches. There were also more sweets.
They talked about everything they didn't want to share with their colleagues. Anakin flirted with her and she enjoyed it. Sometimes she got very serious and wondered if she should tell him that she had loved him for a long time, that she wanted him, to hell with the contract and marriage. She sensed that he felt the same way but didn't dare to say it. He was also afraid of losing that little they had.
This went on for weeks, until shortly before his thirtieth birthday, Anakin decided to take her out to dinner at the Capital Grille and tell her that he had loved her for eleven years and couldn't live without her, that he want her in his life. He wanted her to know that no matter how she reacted, no matter what happened.
On the Friday afternoon before his birthday, Padmé noticed that Anakin was a little nervous, but he claimed it was nothing.
They were enjoying their tea and chatting when Sheev Palpatine suddenly entered the lounge. Both were very surprised. Anakin got up and greeted him. Padmé remained seated and said nothing.
"Padmé Darling, have you forgotten that we are invited to the Geithners' this evening? We don't want to be late, it would be embarrassing. You always take so long to get ready. Could you ask the receptionist to bring my car around, the valet has the keys?"
"Sure, I'll do that. See you on Monday, Anakin. Have a nice weekend."
"You too, Padmé, and have a nice evening, bye."
She left angry, knowing that Sheev could always show up to ruin the only pleasure she had. She couldn't take it anymore. It has to find the end.
"So, Dr. Skywalker, you're fucking my wife."
"Excuse me !? I do not ! But if I were in bed with your wife, I wouldn't fuck her. I would love her and give her everything you don't want and obviously can't."
"You really think I'm going to accept that? If you don't fuck her yet, you probably would do it soon, but that's not going to happen. She is my wife and always will be. If you love her, as much as I hear you do, pack up and get out. That's my well-intentioned advice that you should follow, otherwise... You know very well that I can destroy you. I could hold you responsible for every single mistake at NOAA, and you wouldn't be able to find a job anywhere. If you follow my advice, I will see to it that you get a well-paying managerial position at The Centre Meteorologique Canadien in Montreal. One phone call to Dr. Kenobi will be enough... and nothing will happen to Padmé. The decision is yours. Well, Padmé and I have been invited to dinner with the United States Secretary of the Treasury, so I must go. It was nice talking to you, Dr. Skywalker. Have a good evening."
Anakin remained rooted to the spot, a thousand things running through his head at once. This was a warning he should take seriously. Everyone knew who, what and how Palpatine was, he didn't make empty threats. In fact, he feared him, with all his power, influence and malice. He would destroy him and Padmé, maybe even Padmé's family.
No, that must not happen, no matter how much suffering it would cause him. He went home, thought it was not that late, and called Dr. Windu. He did not tell him the exact reasons, but asked him to understand that he had to quit with immediate effect.
Dr. Windu had never been particularly fond of Dr. Skywalker, for whatever reason. Maybe because of his education at Cornell, or because he was so good-looking, or because Dr. Skywalker only got such a good job through connections, and that right out of college. So, Dr. Windu accepted the notice with a false statement of regret and reminded Anakin to send it in writing to the administration.
The same evening, Anakin gave notice to quit the apartment at a loss because he would have to abide by the three-month notice period. He hired a moving company to come on Monday and move the few pieces of furniture he had to a storage facility outside the city. He still had to rent it, so he had to book it online. The furniture could be put up for sale on eBay, but later, now that he had too much to do.
He had an important call to make, and regardless of whether the offer was an empty promise, he had to go, just to make sure Padmé was okay.
Good evening again, Mr. Palpatine. I'm sorry to disturb you at your important... dinner. I have decided to accept the position at The Centre Meteorologique Canadien in Montreal.
Wise decision... and so fast. I guess, saving your bacon is more important than she is. Isn't it?*
On the contrary. I would do anything to keep her safe.
Well, you can trust me?
I'm afraid I have no choice.
Consider it done. You'll have the position... let's see... permanent, full-time, starting May 1st, one hundred and sixty-five thousand Canadian dollars... and Padmé will be safe.
Agreed.*
That was a lot more than he made at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Ad-ministration, but more important was Padmé.
When are you leaving?*
Tomorrow.*
Excellent. Have a safe journey... home... Dr. Skywalker.* and cut the connection.
"Go to hell, you stinky piece of shit !" he shouted into his iPhone and threw it against the wall. With his face in his hands, he wept bitterly. This time he was not mourning his dead mother, but leaving Padmé, and it was like a little death.
After a while, when the traces of tears on his face had dried, he began to pack. He managed to fit his clothes into two suitcases and a large bag. The books were packed in two big boxes and for the rest of his things he used garbage bags, like for the garbage, it was all garbage anyway, the whole life was garbage...without her.
Everything was stowed in the Grand Cherokee...oh yes, he had to re-register that too, but when he's in Canada he can do it online, perhaps.
He wanted to rent a small furnished studio or apartment somewhere in Montreal. Until then, the only option was a hotel. Quick booking...done.
The night was short and torn by terrible dreams, he woke up several times drenched in sweat.
That Friday night at the Geithner's was just another obligatory exercise for Padmé to wear the mask of false friendliness.
Just before they were asked to come to the table, Sheev's iPhone rang. He apologized and left the room. He returned in a much better mood.
"Who was that?"
"You're not interested, Darling."
"Tell me anyway."
"It was business. He accepted my offer and I'm satisfied. I love dealing with reasonable people. Let's go, we've been asked to the table."
She stood there for a few long seconds, staring at him. There was something wrong with that damned-satisfied-shitty smile. Little did she know that she wouldn't find out until Monday.
Since Anakin could not sleep anyway, he got up early on Saturday morning. He took the wet, sweaty sheets, showered, brushed his teeth and ran his fingers through his hair. He put on the clothes he had laid out the night before, threw the leftovers in a garbage bag, and put them in the car. He went back into the apartment to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. Then, without looking back, he walked out and locked the door. That was the end of the chapter Washington, D.C. in the book of his life.
He left the key to the apartment with the concierge; the administration had received an e-mail the night before and knew what was going on. His black Grand Cherokee was parked in the garage, ready for the long journey. He immediately turned onto the East-West Hwy. After less than thirty yards, he looked to his right to see the large National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration building for the last time. That was history too.
There was nothing nearby where he could have breakfast, so he decided to stop somewhere near Laurel. There was Pi's Deli where he could get sandwiches, one to eat right away and a few sandwiches for to go. There was an Exxon gas station nearby, but even a full tank wouldn't get him to Montreal, so he would have to fill up again.
He wanted to get on Highway 95 later, then take different highways with different numbers, without meaning... his navigation system knew the way. In any case, he should reach Champlain sometime in the late afternoon, and then he would be almost home. Canada.
He reached Champlain around 5:00 p.m. and drove straight to the Canada Border Services Agency checkpoint. Three gates were open, every car had to stop, wait in line, pass control. Finally, it was his turn. He rolled down the window and handed over his passport.
"Hello."
"Hello. You're Canadian?"
"Yes."
"Have you been in the States a long time?"
"Yes."
"What did you do there?"
"I studied and worked there." Damn, I don't have to answer that, he thought.
"You drive a car with US license plates. You know you have to re-register it if you want to stay in Canada."
"I know." This is never going to end, he thought.
"Well, welcome home, Sir."
"Thank you."
Finally. Canada, Blackpool, a strange place, if you could call it that, one street, three houses. That was all. Now all he had to do was fill up the tank and head for Montreal. A few miles down the road, at a Shell station, he filled up again, and then he was on his way. He knew it would take him at least an hour and a half to get to the hotel, it's not that easy in the city.
Anakin easily found the hotel he had booked for five nights and checked in. That should be enough, he wanted to hire an agent on Monday. The Hampton Inn & Suites by Hilton Montreal-Dorval was a three-star hotel. In a hotel like this, you could expect everything to be neat and clean. Of course, there was a gym and a swimming pool, but Anakin was too tired for that. He left everything in the car, except his Mac Book, a folder with documents, a bag and two suitcases. Nothing must go missing.
He showered, got dressed and... his stomach rumbled. There were several restaurants nearby, but it was a bit far to walk, so he drove, even though he had the sound of the engine in his ears the whole time. He chose Mexican food, not tacos, but steak with vegetables. A beer wouldn't hurt, so he drank one. Fortunately, he was back at the hotel and in his room before the beer took effect.
He took off all his clothes and lay down on the bed, pulling the blanket almost up to his head. He felt dizzy from the beer, from the roaring engine of his car since early morning, or from the never-ending thoughts of Padmé. He wanted to pick up his iPhone, call her and tell her where he was and why, or send her a brief message that he wouldn't be coming to work on Monday. She would definitely worry. But he couldn't. That monster would destroy them both. So, her number was blocked.
He was tired, everything hurt, but it wasn't the physical pain, it was his soul that hurt. Never in his life he felt so lost as he did now, not even when she first told him they couldn't be together... after that night he couldn't remember, and she couldn't or wouldn't remember, not even when his mother died. Love hurts.…
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Best regards from Germany