Chapter 12
The Truth Exposed
“Spring is right around the corner,” Carmelita announced to Emma and Beatrice the following afternoon at Café Salmonella as she squeezed vanilla icing onto a batch of scones that Sunny had just baked. “And you know what that means.”
“That your wedding is coming up,” Emma replied from behind her bottle of parsley soda.
“Yes,” Carmelita said. “And I have something very important I want to ask you girls.”
At this, Sunny poked her head out of the kitchen and asked, “What is it?”
Carmelita smiled. “I was wondering,” she began, “if you three would like to be my bridesmaids.”
Emma’s and Beatrice’s eyes widened as they looked at Carmelita and then at one another in amazement. When the three of them turned to Sunny, they saw that the look on her face was nothing short of a surprise.
“By the expressions on your faces I can see none of you were expecting this,” Carmelita said with a laugh. “So if you’d like some time to think it over, I’ll understand.”
Emma shook her head. “I don’t need to think it over,” she said. “What about you, Beatrice?”
“Me neither,” Beatrice replied, and turned to her older sister. “Sunny? What do you think?”
Sunny Baudelaire, who was standing silently between the two double doors of the kitchen holding a raspberry pie she had just baked, examined the faces of her sister and their two friends for a long moment before answering. “If you don’t mind me saying so,” said Sunny at last, “this is certainly what I would call an unexpected turn of events.” She smiled anxiously, for she knew that Carmelita would be the only one with the knowledge to comprehend what had just been said.
“Go on,” Carmelita urged.
“I heard Violet and Klaus talking with Duncan and Isadora the night you all came to our house for dinner,” Sunny explained. “You should have heard them, Carmelita— they were so amazed at how much you’d changed since our days at Prufrock Prep. You and Nero both. My siblings told me…” She hesitated, as if she was afraid to continue. It was then that Carmelita reached out and touched the little girl’s hand to assure her that whatever it was she had to say that she could say it in front of everyone. “They told me,” Sunny went on, “that you had told them you were an orphan too, and that’s why you always behaved so ugly towards us.”
“It’s true,” Carmelita said, doing her best not to cry in front of the three children. “I was an orphan, but I had no right to treat you all with such cruelty and disrespect. Ever since the morning of that terrible fire, I’d wanted to find you and apologize to you, but no one knew where you were and believed you to be dead. Esmé and I escaped with Vice Principal Nero, Jerome Squalor, and several other members of V.F.D. Most of them have fled to other areas of the world and are in hiding, so we haven’t had any contact with them for several years.” Carmelita raised her head and looked over at Emma. “Emma, whatever you do, please. Don’t mention any of what I am about to say to your mother.”
“Don’t worry,” Emma said. “I already received the same lecture from Jerome, so I can guarantee your secret will be safe with me.”
Carmelita nodded and then continued. “Esmé and I relocated to the Mortmain Mountains and stayed there until things calmed down,” she explained. “Then when she found out about Emma, we decided to return to the city where we contacted Jerome, who Esmé had told me was her husband. Being only twelve at the time, you can bet I was confused. Hadn’t Count Olaf been her boyfriend? Weren’t married people only supposed to love the person they were married to? I vaguely remembered meeting Jerome on the rooftop sunbathing salon at the hotel the day before the fire broke out, but was skeptical that he would take Esmé back, especially now that she was carrying another man’s child—” Carmelita winced, realizing again that she had said more than was intended, and had to force herself to look over at Emma, who now had her head lowered and was staring into her empty soda bottle. “Emma, please. Don’t be upset. All this talk of marriage and affairs…” She laughed nervously. “…it’s really just all a bunch of religious chatter. You shouldn’t take it seriously at all.”
A moment later the sound of boots hitting the floor echoed off the walls of Café Salmonella and Carmelita, Sunny and Beatrice turned just in time to see Emma looking back at them from beneath her bangs as tears streaked her cheeks. Before anyone could say anything, she turned and fled the restaurant, slamming the doors behind her. She was halfway down the sidewalk when Carmelita, followed quickly by Sunny and Beatrice, flung open the two front doors and rushed outside.
“Emma,” Carmelita called. “Don’t run off like this! Please, darling, it’s not— there’s no reason for you to be upset!”
“Come back, Emma,” Beatrice cried.
“Let her go,” Sunny said, and the others looked at her in surprise. “She’ll be back. Just give her some time to calm down.”
“This is all my fault,” Carmelita cried, and began to sob. “I should never have exposed her to so much at once! Jerome will be furious when he hears about this, no matter how much he can’t stand arguing…” She broke down at this point and was helped by the two Baudelaire sisters into a nearby booth where she buried her face in her arms. “What have I done?”
“It’s going to be all right, Carmelita,” Sunny said, rubbing her friend’s back. “I know Emma— she’s strong. In time she’ll learn to accept everything. I know she will.”
“I’ll go get you a glass of water,” Beatrice offered, and dashed off towards the kitchen. A moment later she returned with the water, which she placed in front of Carmelita on a salmon-shaped coaster. “Here you are.”
“Thank you, Beatrice,” Carmelita replied, wiping her eyes with a pink napkin that had also been fashioned to resemble a salmon. “And you too, Sunny. Emma sure is lucky to have the two of you in her life. I wish I’d had friends like you when I was her age.”
“Well, you do now,” Sunny said. “And you can definitely count on us to be bridesmaids in your wedding.”
Beatrice nodded in agreement. “That’s right,” she said. “I was a flower girl at Violet’s wedding when she married Quigley, and a bridesmaid at Klaus’s when he married Fiona, so I’m sure I have a pretty good idea of how it’s done by now.”
“You girls,” Carmelita said, and managed to smile despite her tears. “You’re wonderful! Come here.” She wrapped her arms around them while Sunny and Beatrice hugged her in return, pressing the sides of their faces against her shoulders.
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“Jerome!” Emma shouted through her tears as she burst through the door of Jerome’s bedroom at the penthouse apartment. “Jerome!” A moment later, the Salingers’ benefactor appeared and Emma could hardly stop herself as she collapsed against Jerome’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably. “Is it… is it true, Jerome? Was my mother still married to you when she had me?”
“No,” he said gently. “Our divorce was declared final seven months before you were born.”
“You’re lying,” Emma cried, and took two steps toward the door. “I’m sick and tired of everyone always telling me the half truth! Why can’t you and Mother and everyone else just be honest to me for once?”
“I am being honest with you,” Jerome insisted. “But I refuse to argue with you.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have lied to me in the first place!” Emma shot back hotly.
“Please, Emma, stop shouting. I despise shouting almost as much as I despise arguing.”
“I don’t care!”
“Please, Emma, you’ve got to calm down. Think of your poor mother and what will happen if she hears you.”
Emma cocked her head to the side and stared at him incredulously. “How can you go on protecting her after what she did to you?” Emma asked.
“Because,” Jerome explained, “despite all of the pain and anguish she put me through, despite all of the crimes she participated in with Olaf, there’s still a part of her that is noble— a part I see every time I look at her. People can and do change, and Esmé is no exception. No matter what she did in the past, I will never stop loving her, and the same goes for you as well.”
“You said before that you divorced Mother before I was born,” Emma said. “But how could that be when you were still married when she ran off with Olaf?”
Jerome sighed. “I’m not going to lie to you anymore,” he said, “or feed you only half truths. You’re old enough now to understand the circumstances surrounding your birth. From what Esmé has told me, you were conceived in a submarine only a few weeks before she ended her affair with Olaf.”
“So I guess this proves it. I guess this proves there’s no way you can possibly be my real father.”
Jerome looked at Emma sadly. “As much as I would rejoice to have such a thing as that be true,” he replied, “you and I both know that is something that is no more than make-believe. But don’t think for a minute that you’re one single eyebrow is what led me to this conclusion.” Tears filled his eyes, but he forced himself to go on. “In the fourteen years we were married, there isn’t a time I can remember when Esmé and I slept together. I should have known then that there was something wrong, but I was so blinded by my love for her that I refused to see what was really going on.” As Jerome wiped the tears from his eyes, Emma ran and threw her arms around him.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean it when I called you a liar, Jerome. I know now you were only trying to protect me. So please, don’t cry anymore, okay?” She hugged him tighter, hoping it would stop his tears.
“I’m not crying because of that,” he replied.
Emma tilted her head back in order to look up into Jerome’s eyes. “Then why?” she asked.
“It’s nothing. I’ll be all right. Now, why don’t you run along? It’ll be daylight for a few more hours, which gives you plenty of time to go outside and play.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Jerome insisted. He smiled, and Emma could tell by the way the corners of his mouth were twitching that it was extremely difficult for him to hold his smile. “Please, Emma. I don’t want to argue with you, but I’d really appreciate it if you’d let me be alone right now.”
“Of course, Jerome,” Emma said, letting go of him and edging herself closer to the door. Then she gave him a small yet reassuring smile before stepping out of the room.
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Emma arrived at Briny Beach just as the tide was rolling in, and she walked to the edge of the shore so that the foamy water washed over the pointed toes of her boots. She sighed heavily as she thought of the unpleasant details that had recently come into her life and altered it in ways she never thought possible. Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of Jerome Squalor and the anguish and shock he had dealt with when Esmé had betrayed him. And still he cared so much for her. Emma could wrack her brain until the cows came home trying to figure that part of the story out. But maybe there was no way to figure it out. Love was complicated, after all. Then she remembered what Jerome had said about people having the ability to change, and she supposed this must be true seeing as Carmelita had grown from a spoiled brat into a responsible, soft-spoken woman who owned and managed her own restaurant.
Emma sighed heavily as she gazed out over the water, watching a fisherman in the distance as he hauled a net full of fish onto his boat.
“Well, hello there, Emma,” came a voice she recognized immediately. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Emma turned just in time to see Duncan Quagmire as he strolled onto the beach and continued until he was standing beside her. “Hello, Duncan,” she said, and immediately felt herself blush.
“I heard you dropped by my house for dinner with your sister and her fiancée a few weeks ago,” Duncan said. “I’m sorry I missed you.”
“It’s all right. You had a good excuse. Isadora said you were busy working on an article for the newspaper.”
“So, what brings you all the way down to Briny Beach so late in the afternoon?” Duncan asked.
“A lot of things,” Emma replied. “And none of them are good.”
“Oh?” Duncan looked bewildered. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Emma sighed sadly and stared out towards the vast blue ocean before answering. “Ever since my mother’s accident,” she said, “I’ve discovered secrets from my family’s past and now that I know the truth about the people my mother and father were, it makes me want to turn back the clock to when I didn’t know anything. I don’t know where my father is or if he’s even alive, and as for my mother…” Emma trailed off, feeling the sobs begin to emerge at the back of her throat. As she turned to look up at Duncan, his face fell at the sight of her tears. “Well, I don’t suppose I can ever face her again after knowing what she did, can I?”
“You shouldn’t hate your mother,” Duncan said, and drew his arm around the little girl, “or even your father. Trust is a delicate matter, and forgiveness is no exception. In order to forgive it is imperative that you trust first, and if you trust your mother with every ounce of your heart and soul, than the sooner you can forgive her.” He turned to the daughter of the two people who had held him and his sister, Isadora, in a filthy cage at the bottom of an elevator shaft so many years ago, and smiled down at her. “It may surprise you to learn this,” Duncan said, “but from the moment I first met you I knew immediately who your father was, for it is due in part to his actions that my brother met and married Violet Baudelaire. The same goes for Klaus Baudelaire and his marriage to Fiona Widdershins.”
Emma blinked back her tears. “You knew my father?” she asked. “Was he a noble man?”
Duncan seemed to ponder the question as he looked out across the ocean as Emma had done. “People are neither noble nor treacherous,” he said. “I believe your father was misguided, blinded by his obsession in getting his hands on the Baudelaire and Quagmire fortunes.”
“Was my father very poor growing up?” Emma asked.
“I remember him mentioning something about it once to Esmé Squalor,” Duncan replied, “who, if I’m not mistaken, is your mother.”
“Yes.”
“She was blinded as well,” Duncan continued, being very careful not to say anything that would offend a child whose confidence was already extremely delicate, “by a mixture of her love for Olaf and the idea of coming into possession of two enormous fortunes. But your mother wasn’t an evil person, and neither was your father, from what the Baudelaires have told me.”
“You said ‘was’,” Emma pointed out. “That could only mean one thing.”
Duncan gave her a troubled look. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“May I ask… how he died?”
“From what I was told there was an accident with a harpoon. But your father died knowing that he was forgiven, which gave him what he needed in order to die peacefully.” Duncan stepped closer to Emma, who had begun to cry again, and with his freehand he gently guided her face so that she could rest it against his chest.
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Emma burst through the front door and into the lobby of the enormous apartment building at 667 Dark Avenue. She dashed passed the spiral staircase where Esmé had deliberately thrown herself down less than three weeks before and toward the elevator, and then immediately darted back when out of the corner of her eye she noticed someone sitting at the bottom of the stairs.
“Jerome!” Emma exclaimed. “What are you doing down here?” That was when a terrible thought struck her. “Has something else happened to Mother?”
Jerome shook his head. “No,” he said. “She’s fine. I was just waiting for you. Come.” He patted a place beside him on the steps. “Before we head up, you and I need to discuss some things.”
As Emma seated herself next to Jerome, she saw that his eyes had taken on the same appearance hers had the morning after she had discovered the truth about what her father had done and caused her mother to become the person she was now.
“First of all,” Jerome began, “I want to apologize for keeping the secrets of your past from you for so many years. It was wrong of me to agree to it for fear of arguing about it with Esmé. Second, Carmelita called me from Café Salmonella soon after you left here and told me what happened. She was quite distraught, but thankfully she had your two friends there with her.” Jerome then smiled one of his bright, enormous smiles, which was something Emma hadn’t seen ever since the incident with Esmé. “Sunny and Beatrice Baudelaire… I’m looking forward to seeing them at the wedding.” Jerome paused. “I also had a discussion with your mother just before you got home,” he went on, “and told her about the conversations you’ve been having with Carmelita and me. Esmé isn’t angry with anyone but herself, even though I told her there’s no reason she should be. It was her concern for you, her only child who she loves more than anything in this world that was forcing her and everyone else to keep these secrets from you.”
“I went down to Briny Beach before,” Emma said, “and ran into Duncan Quagmire. He told me a little more about my parents, including how my father died.”
“Esmé and I always suspected that Olaf was dead,” Jerome said, “even though his body was never found. I’m sorry you had to find out about it from a stranger.”
“Duncan isn’t a stranger. We’ve met before.”
“You have? When?”
“The day of Mother’s accident,” Emma said, “and I went to stay with Carmelita and Vice Principal Nero for a few days. I decided to take a walk down to Briny Beach that afternoon and that’s where I met Duncan Quagmire.”
Jerome nodded thoughtfully. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “If you’re acquainted with the Baudelaires, then it’s only a matter of time before you become acquainted with the Quagmires as well. The two families have always been very close as far back as I can remember.”
“There’s something else I’d like to ask you, Jerome.”
“Go ahead.”
“Well,” Emma began, “when Carmelita was telling Sunny, Beatrice and me about the day of the fire, Carmelita said that you, Mother and Vice Principal Nero were members of something called ‘V.F.D’., but I was too distracted by everything else being said to ask about it. Jerome, what’s V.F.D.?”
“Do you remember the secret organization I mentioned when I was telling you about how I first met your mother?” Jerome asked.
“Yes.”
“V.F.D.,” he said, “stands for ‘volunteer fire department’, an organization that spanned countless decades. It was way before any of us were even born that a schism— that’s a separation —occurred, and everyone was forced to choose sides. Some chose to be on the noble end, while others chose the villainous one. The nobles put out the fires, while the villains and villainesses started them. But V.F.D. hasn’t gathered together in several years, and most of the surviving members are in hiding, and so you don’t have anything to worry about.”
Emma lifted her head and stared up at the long, curving staircase. “Yes, I do,” she said, and then sprinted quickly in the direction of the elevator, her boots clicking noisily behind her. Jerome got up and hurried after her.
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Emma raced frantically through the penthouse apartment and passed a number of rooms including living rooms, dining rooms, breakfast rooms, snack rooms, sitting rooms, standing rooms, ballrooms, bathrooms, kitchens, and seventy other bedrooms before she reached the one belonging to her mother. Emma burst into the room and after spotting Esmé seated in her wheelchair by the window with her foot propped up on a footstool, Emma darted over and flung herself into her mother’s arms.
“Oh, Mother,” she cried. “Please don’t think I could ever hate you. Jerome, Carmelita and Duncan Quagmire have told me everything, and I don’t hate you.” Emma pulled back and saw that her mother’s eyes were shining with tears. “You’ve made mistakes in the past— I can understand that —but that doesn’t mean you can’t be forgiven. Jerome has forgiven you, and so have the Baudelaires and the Quagmires for the things you and my father did. And I— I forgive you, too. How can I not? You’re the only mother I’ve got, and I love you.” Emma threw her arms around Esmé once more and buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. “So please, stay with me! As long as I’ve got you, Jerome and Carmelita, I don’t need anybody else. But if you were to leave me, Mother, I… …I…” Emma’s shoulders trembled as she fought to control her sobs. “…I don’t think I could survive without you.”
“There now, darling,” Esmé said as she reached up to hug her daughter. “It’s all right. Don’t cry. I promise I won’t ever, ever leave you. From now on, I’m going to do my best to do the things I should have been doing all along. I’ve mourned the loss of your father long enough. It’s time I became the mother you need me to be, and I swear this to you on my life. I’m going to make more of an effort to be there for both you and Carmelita. I promise I’ll be there for you when you perform in your play, and I’ll be sure to tell Carmelita the next time I see her that I’m going to be there for her when she gets married.” With great gentleness Esmé forced Emma’s face off her shoulder and brushed back the hair from her eyes so that the single one eyebrow was visible.
“You’ll have to be,” Emma said, “so you can dance with Jerome.”
“You need a haircut, Emma,” Esmé said, ignoring her daughter’s words.
“Do you love him?”
Esmé blinked several times and stared at her daughter in astonishment. “What in the world would make you ask me something like that?” she said.
“He loves you,” Emma told her matter-of-factly. “He told me he does.”
“Emma…”
“Esmé,” Jerome’s voice echoed from the doorway just then, and Esmé and Emma turned their heads to see him standing there. “Emma. Is everything all right?”
“Fine, Jerome,” Emma said. “I think Mother has something she needs to talk to you about.” She glanced over her shoulder at Esmé and winked before turning in the direction of the door. As she passed by Jerome, she whispered, “If I were you, I’d ask her to dance with you at Carmelita and Nero’s wedding. Mother’s leg should be healed enough by then to walk, right?” But before Jerome could answer, Emma hurried out of the bedroom and closed the door behind her, leaving the two adults staring after her in silent awe.
As she wandered through the hallways of the penthouse apartment, Emma crossed her fingers in the hopes that her matchmaking skills were as proficient— a word which here means ‘good enough to get a former husband and wife back together again after fourteen years of separation’ —as her performing abilities.