Thanks so much, May.
It's really nice to know that you like the way I write Bertrand. *hugs*
I wasn't expecting to get this chapter up so soon. What happened was that I'd planned to include the night of the Winter Ball in chapter five, but it ran too long and so I decided to move all of what I'd written to the next chapter.
This will probably be the last chapter set in the V.F.D. Training School, as I plan to focus the rest of the story on the Olaf/Esmé/Fernald love triangle, as well as the start of the schism. I'll also be including some E/J stuff in the final two chapters.
I hope you all enjoy chapter six, and I hope it doesn't drag on as much as I fear it does.
***
CHAPTER SIX
*~BREATHE NO MORE~*
Take a breath and I try to draw from my spirit’s well.
Yet again you refuse to drink like a stubborn child.
Lie to me, convince me that I’ve been sick forever
And all of this will make sense when I get better.
But I know the difference
Between myself and my reflection.
I just can’t help but to wonder
Which of us do you love?[/b][/i][/center]
It[/i] was two days before the Winter Ball, and Esmé was seated on her bunk beside Geraldine. The two of them were busy trying out samples of perfume that Geraldine had gotten out of a magazine, when suddenly the door burst open.
Standing before them was Beatrice, her face flushed and full of excitement as she clutched a large parcel to her chest. “Finally!” she exclaimed. “After six whole weeks of waiting, it’s here! It’s finally here!”
“What’s here?” Esmé asked.
“My gown for the Winter Ball. I was downstairs in the cafeteria, right, when Sophie Hodges came up to me. She said that Principal Wilkes wanted to see me, and at first I thought I might be in trouble for something. I mean, that’s usually the whole reason people get asked to
go to the principal’s office, you know? But when I got there, Principal Wilkes just smiled and handed me a parcel she said had just arrived for me.”
“So, what are you waiting for?” Geraldine said. “Go ahead and open it.”
“I was just getting to that,” Beatrice replied, and set the parcel down on Esmé’s bunk. She and Geraldine then watched in silent suspense as Beatrice began to untie the string.
“You’re going too slowly,” Geraldine complained. “Just do what I do and tear that sucker open!”
“Oh, Geraldine, don’t rush her,” Esmé said jut as Beatrice finished untying the string. “Sometimes a little anticipation can be a lot of fun.”
“Ha! You mean a lot of
boring. Anyway, it’s driving me crazy. Beatrice, I swear. If you don’t hurry it along, then I’ll have no choice but to take over.”
“No,” Beatrice said defensively. “It’s
my package, and so
I’m going to open it.”
Esmé thought Geraldine might lunge, but Beatrice surprised both of them a moment later as she tore away the paper.
Geraldine crossed her arms over her chest in satisfaction. “See?” she asked Esmé. “What did I tell you? All she needed was a little push in the right direction.”
Inside the parcel was a neatly folded ball gown made of blue and green chiffon. As Beatrice held it up for Esmé and Geraldine to admire, the two of them noticed that a pair of dragonfly wings had been sewn onto the back. Included with the dress was a mask made out of blue and green feathers with silver sequins lining the edges of the eyeholes.
“What a strange gown,” Esmé couldn’t help observing. “I’m not saying it isn’t beautiful, but what do the wings in back signify?”
“You mean it isn’t obvious?” Beatrice asked.
Both Esmé and Geraldine shook their heads.
“Why, it’s a dragonfly costume!”
“Oh, yeah,” Geraldine said. “I see it now. Monty and I are going as snakes— his idea, of course. It was a little late to order custom-made costumes, so we’re renting them from a shop in town.”
Esmé couldn’t help feeling a little left out, knowing that she was the only one who couldn’t afford to purchase or even
rent a gown or costume of her own. It made her feel inadequate to her two friends, who each came from very wealthy families and could therefore afford luxuries that she herself was unable to obtain. Although Beatrice had already promised to lend Esmé a suitable gown for the evening, all it did was increase her feelings about being a charity case. Due to her nearly skeletal frame, none of Beatrice’s gowns fit Esmé properly. The sleeves slipped down to just below her shoulders and the waists stopped at her hips. The last thing she needed was for people to laugh at her, and that was exactly what was going to happen if she showed up at the Winter Ball in one of Beatrice Taylor’s gowns.
Perhaps Esmé could simply tell Bertrand she was ill, just to avoid any unnecessary humiliation.
She had just begun to put together a list of solutions inside her head, when there came a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” she informed her friends, who were too busy ogling over Beatrice’s dragonfly costume to pay much attention to anything else. Ignoring them, Esmé went to answer the door.
Standing in the hallway was Sophie Hodges, a tall, athletic second-year with platinum-blonde hair. Esmé’s eyes immediately drifted from the girl’s face and settled on the large parcel in her arms.
“Are you Esmé Salinger?” Sophie asked.
Esmé nodded. “Yes,” she said.
“Well, I was told to give this to you.” Sophie held out the parcel to Esmé.
“But I didn’t order—”
“Your name’s on it.”
Esmé turned the parcel over in her hands, and sure enough there was her name, along with the address of the V.F.D. Training School, both of which were written as clear as day in black ink. The return address stated that the parcel had come from the In Boutique, an extremely
expensive clothing store that Esmé had heard of but never had the money to venture into.
“Thank you,” she said, and watched Sophie vanish down the hallway before closing the door.
“Who was that?” Beatrice asked from where she was hanging up her new dragonfly costume inside the closet.
“Sophie Hodges. She stopped by to give me
this.”“What is it?” Geraldine asked from her seat on the bottom bunk.
“I don’t know,” said Esmé. She sat beside her friend, and laid the parcel in her lap. “I didn’t order anything.”
“Well, aren’t you gonna open it?”
Esmé shrugged. “I guess.”
Beatrice hurried over, and took a seat to the left of Esmé. “Who’s it from?” Beatrice asked.
“I’m not sure,” Esmé replied. “It says it’s from the In Boutique, but I have no idea who could’ve sent it.”
“I’ll bet it was Bertrand Baudelaire,” Geraldine teased.
“I hardly see how that’s possible, Geraldine. I mean, I barely
know the guy. And besides, why would he bother to send me something when he can just walk over here and give it to me?”
“Maybe he’s just shy,” Beatrice said.
Esmé stared a moment longer at the parcel in her lap, and then went about the process of opening it. She did so slowly at first, wanting to savor the suspense of what was actually inside, until Geraldine started to complain. Esmé took that as the sign that she had best hurry up, lest Geraldine tear the parcel open for her like she had threatened to do with Beatrice’s.
What was inside was certainly the
last thing Esmé Salinger had ever hoped to discover waiting for her.
“Oh!” she exclaimed.
Staring back at her was the most exquisite ball gown she had ever seen. It was only a shade or two darker than her ocean-blue eyes, with little silver detailing all around the bodice and skirt. Included were a blue, feathery mask similar to the one Beatrice had gotten, and a beautiful rhinestone choker.
“Oh, Esmé,” Beatrice marveled, “it’s beautiful!”
“I’ll say,” Geraldine agreed. “Whoever sent it can sure afford to toss money around. Those rhinestones are
real.”“Is there a card?” asked Beatrice.
Setting the items aside on a chair, Esmé searched through the paper for a card or something with the name of the sender. When nothing turned up, she got down on her hands and knees to see if anything had fallen to the floor. That was when she found an envelope with her first name written on the back hiding underneath the bed.
“Got it!” Esmé announced, and scrambled back up onto the bed between her friends.
Beatrice and Geraldine peered along with Esmé as she tore open the envelope. Inside was a piece of parchment, which she unfolded carefully to discover a hand-written letter.
My dearest Esmé:
I hope this letter finds you well, and that you are enjoying your first semester at the V.F.D. Training School. I, too, attended the academy when I was your age, and I made and kept many acquaintances throughout the years. I hope you have already made some friends and continue to make more in the future.
I’ll be going away in a couple of days to visit my family, but when I return I was hoping to come see you. I thought we could go out to lunch and catch up on things.
I miss you terribly, sweetheart. I hope all is well, and please don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything.
All my love,
Fernald
P.S. I know the Winter Ball is coming up soon, and so I feel you’ll benefit quite well from the gifts I’ve sent.Both Fernald’s home address and telephone number were included at the bottom of the letter (along with the address and telephone number of his family). Esmé had to stop and wonder where he had gotten the money to pay for such exclusive gifts, seeing as he was in no way a rich man. In the end, she decided they were nothing more than the result of yet another one of Kit Snicket’s noble deeds.
Esmé refolded the envelope and stuck it back inside the envelope. Afterward, she raised her hand and wiped away the tears that had begun to smolder in her eyes as she’d read Fernald’s letter.
“What’s wrong?” Beatrice asked.
“Nothing,” Esmé replied.
“Who’s Fernald Widdershins?” Geraldine said.
“My friend.”
“From the contents of that letter, it looks to me that you’re more than just good friends with him.”
Esmé didn’t bother to answer, and instead tucked the letter away in the drawer of her nightstand.
***
The night of the Winter Ball had arrived, and everyone was gathered together in the cafeteria. From the ceiling hung a large, glittery disco ball that rotated and beamed multi-colored spheres down onto the floor. The walls were decorated with a variety of snowflake cutouts in different shapes and sizes. A white banner proclaiming the words “WINTER BALL — 1984” in bright blue paint hung over the entrance to the cafeteria.
Most of the tables had been removed in order to make room for the students and faculty. The remaining tables served as refreshment stands, and had been covered with white and blue paper mâché tablecloths. Several chairs had been set up against the walls in case anyone tired of dancing and wanted to sit down. A disc jockey had been hired to perform, and the newest hit by The Church was currently booming its way out of the two large speakers hanging from the wall.
Esmé was standing near the refreshment stand with Beatrice, averting her eyes from the delicious treats she was longing to consume but unwilling to take the consequences. Esmé had managed to keep her condition a secret from her newfound friends for over a month, but wasn’t sure how much longer she could go on. The fear of being exposed was constant, like a storm cloud waiting to burst and rain down her secret.
Esmé was garbed in her new gown, which she was pleased to see looked even more exquisite now that she was wearing it. Unlike the dress Beatrice had offered to lend her, the one that Fernald had sent Esmé fit perfectly, and the rhinestone choker managed to guide the attention away from her collarbone.
Beatrice was wearing her dragonfly costume, and Esmé couldn’t help but compare herself to her friend. Beatrice had as many curves as Kit Snicket, and Esmé felt her jealousy rise slightly. She knew she’d look better if only she would stop upchucking her food, but she was in far too deep as it was to even think of turning back.
When Geraldine had explained that she and Monty would be dressing up as snakes, Esmé and Beatrice had been expecting something along the lines of Halloween costumes. But the sparkly, emerald gown that Geraldine showed up in was more
elegant than anything else. There was something in the back that resembled a tail, and the mask she wore was shaped like a snake’s face. What shocked her friends most, however, was the fact that she was no longer wearing her glasses.
“Oh, Geraldine, you look great!” Esmé gushed upon Geraldine’s arrival. “It’s so nice to see you without your glasses for a change— oh! But how can you see?”
“Contacts,” Geraldine informed her two girlfriends, as she lifted the mask from her face to reveal her identity. “I had to beg my parents for
years to let me get them. Mom and Dad finally came through last month, but I wanted to wait until tonight to show them to you.”
“Where are the boys?” Beatrice asked, as she scanned the area for the first sign of Bertrand, Monty, and Lemony. “Who do they think they are ditching us like this?”
“I’m sure that isn’t the case, Beatrice,” Esmé replied sanguinely. “They’re probably just running a little late, and will be coming through those doors in just a few—”
“Lemony!”
Esmé and Geraldine followed Beatrice’s gaze to see Lemony, Bertrand, and Monty enter the cafeteria.
Lemony was dressed in a blue bullfighter’s costume with golden trim and carried a makeshift sword. He had on a black hat and wore a long, black cap with red inlay. He was thinner than Monty and slightly heavier than Bertrand, with kind blue eyes and light brown hair.
Bertrand was suitably dressed as Zorro, complete with a black hat, cape and replica sword. His eyes were hidden behind his mask, and a thin mustache had been painted above his lip.
Monty was wearing a sparkly, emerald green tuxedo that matched Geraldine’s gown, and his face was concealed by a mask resembling a snake’s head.
While Beatrice and Geraldine went to greet their dates, Esmé chose to remain passive and wait for Bertrand to come to
her. She remembered Olaf’s mother telling her that men were more apt to pay attention to a woman if she feigned indifference, and Esmé was interested to see if Bertrand was the type of man to fall under such a spell.
“Good evening,” he said. “Esmé Gigi Genevieve Salinger.”
She responded by turning away, her skirts sweeping after her.
“You look incredible. Is that gown new?”
Esmé felt herself blush behind her mask. “Yes, actually.”
Bertrand circled around to Esmé’s other side, and she watched him through the slits of her mask as he reached for her hands. “I almost didn’t recognize you,” he said, “without your pigtails.”
“I just thought I’d wear my hair down for a change,” she told him.
“I’m very glad you did, because it looks lovely.”
“Thank you.”
At that moment, the song that had been playing upon the boys’ arrival ended, and a song that made Esmé’s heart jump began to play.
“’Eternal Flame’,” Bertrand informed her. “It’s suiting, don’t you think?”
Esmé nodded, feeling her blush deepen as he led her out onto the dance floor. Their friends accompanied them, but she hardly noticed as Bertrand took her by the hand and laid his other on her waist. As he began to shuffle with her across the floor, she suddenly stopped, pulling back.
“What?” Bertrand asked. “What’s wrong?”
Esmé bit her lower lip in embarrassment. “I… can’t dance,” she confessed.
“Have you ever danced
before?”“No, but—”
“Then how can you be so sure?” Bertrand said.
“I guess I can’t,” Esmé replied.
“Then there’s only one way to find out.”
Before Esmé could protest, Bertrand swept her into his arms and was once again gliding with her across the floor.
“There,” he said, smiling. “That’s it. Just follow my lead, and keep moving your feet from side to side.”
Esmé grinned. “You must be very experienced,” she said. “In dancing, I mean.”
“Well, my parents
do host a lot of parties.”
She became conscious of the fact that she had entered undesired territory, as the next thing out of Bertrand’s mouth would most likely be a question about Esmé’s
own parents. With her mother dead and her father estranged, Esmé had no aspiration to speak of them. Over the years since having been taken into Olaf’s custody, the subject of Adelle and Joseph Salinger had become an extremely touchy one for Esmé. It was a subject she avoided with every fiber of her being, but sometimes she had no choice, and she knew what was coming as she felt Bertrand’s finger slide beneath her chin and tilt back her head.
“And what of your own parents?” he asked.
“My own parents?” Esmé repeated.
“Yes. Did they meet through the organization like mine did, or were there separate circumstances that brought them together?”
Esmé’s eyes traveled over to Lemony and Beatrice, whose head was resting on her boyfriend’s shoulder as the couple shuffled to and fro along the floor. Esmé decided that she didn’t really mind talking openly of how her parents had first become acquainted, as it was emblematic of every love story she’d ever heard. Once she had figured out a proper way to explain the events to Bertrand, she turned her attention back to him.
Esmé explained that her father, Joseph Salinger, an employee at a small but successful lumber mill, had literally
bumped into her mother, Adelle Roberts, a housewife, one afternoon just outside the local library. Her arms had been loaded down with books, which spilled to the ground upon the collision. As Joseph helped Adelle pick them up, he noticed the title of one book in particular—
The Catcher in the Rye —and told her casually that ‘Salinger’ happened to be his surname as well. Adelle then asked Joseph if he was a relation to J.D. Salinger, to which he shook his head. The two strangers soon began a conversation, and were amazed to discover that they shared many of the same interests in a variety of books and authors.
Joseph and Adelle talked for more than a quarter of an hour. When he asked her if she would be interested in coming back to his place of residence to see his collection of literature, she had no idea how to respond. She was a married woman, after all, which she had clarified early on in her conversation with the well-read factory worker. He wasn’t much to look at, she admitted, with his goofy smile and big shoulders. Even so, she soon found herself lost in the gentle, captivating gaze of his chocolate-brown eyes, and she knew there was no way she could refuse his offer.
Joseph had never expected to fall in love with a married woman, but within hours of meeting Adelle he knew she was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. They continued to meet weekly at his house, and sometimes at the library or even a café.
One month after having met, they made love in the living room of his small house on Lousy Lane, amidst his hundreds and hundreds of books. But it was only a matter of time before Adelle’s husband— whom her own parents had talked her into marrying due to his wealthy lifestyle —discovered what his wife had been doing, and released his fury in a stream of violence.
“My father went back the next day,” Esmé explained, “because my mother had told him that her husband would be out of town. My father found her lying at the bottom of the stairs, half-conscious with a broken arm and two broken legs. Later on at the hospital, he discovered that her husband had found out about the affair, and pushed her down the stairs.
“Once my mother had begun to recover, my father convinced her to divorce her husband. I guess she knew it was for the best, because she really
did love my father, and she was so miserable in her marriage anyway. He went through the whole process with the lawyer, and even filled out all of the paperwork for her, except for the parts that required her signature.
“Six months after my mother’s divorce was declared final, she married my father, and a year later I was born.” Esmé hoped that Bertrand would dismiss the tears in her eyes as ones of happiness, rather than the sorrow she was feeling at the thought of never being able to see either of her parents again. “So I guess you can say that their story ended happily.”
Esmé conveniently left out the part that the previous manager of Lucky Smells Lumbermill had died, and how the new one had begun paying everyone in coupons rather than in cash; she didn’t mention a word concerning how Adelle’s family had cut her off without a cent because of the embarrassment that the affair had caused them; nor did Esmé explain how this had made it impossible for Adelle (who had never gone to college) to find a suitable job, and that Joseph’s own parents had died years before; or that Esmé had never stopped believing that her very existence was what had caused her mother’s untimely death.
Esmé was waiting for Bertrand to inquire which one of her parents had been associated with V.F.D., when something she didn’t expect to happen suddenly occurred: the room began to rotate, and the surrounding figures seemed to blur before Esmé’s very eyes. She lifted up her mask, surprised to see that even without it Bertrand’s face still looked out of focus.
“Esmé? Esmé, are you alright?” he asked.
“I— I don’t know,” she said, and pressed her palm against her forehead. “But I suddenly feel really dizzy…”
Esmé was about to ask Bertrand if he could lead her over to a chair to sit down, when her legs abruptly gave out from underneath her. Her eyes rolled back, and she thought she could feel his arms bind tightly around her waist before she could hit the hard concrete floor. She heard a girl scream, and then several people started shouting things all at once. But before she had a chance to distinguish any of the voices, her eyes closed and she slipped into unconsciousness.
***
The next time Esmé opened her eyes it was morning, and she found herself in what appeared to be a hospital bed. She gazed around the room, taking in its white walls and unpleasant smell. She attempted to move her left arm, only to discover that an I.V. had been attached to it and prevented her from moving too far.
Her mind— which was a little fuzzy due to whatever drugs she had been given —was just starting to drift back to the events that had caused her hospitalization. Her thoughts were soon interrupted by someone knocking at the door, and she strained her voice slightly as she beckoned them to enter.
The door pushed open, and a female nurse appeared. “Oh, good,” she said. “I see you’re awake. You’ve a visitor.”
Expecting to see Geraldine or one of her other compatriots from school, Esmé nodded in response. The nurse slipped back out the door, and Esmé’s jaw nearly hit the floor as the visitor came forward.
“Fernald?” she asked.
Fernald smiled wryly as he came inside, shutting the door behind him. He was holding a vase of what must have been two-dozen roses, along with a small stuffed animal. As he neared the bed, Esmé’s eyes filled with tears and her heart with the desire to leap out of bed and hug him.
“I thought you were off visiting your family,” she said, forcing back her tears.
Fernald set Esmé’s gifts down on the nightstand and seated himself in a chair by the bed before answering. “I was supposed to leave last night,” he explained, “when I received an urgent phone call from an acquaintance of yours.”
Esmé knew that whoever had telephoned Fernald was either Geraldine or Beatrice, considering they were the only two people who knew where the letter containing his phone number and address was hidden.
“I think her name is Geraldine,” Fernald went on. “She said you passed out at the dance, and were rushed to the hospital.” His eyes dropped to the floor momentarily, before focusing on Esmé’s face once more. “When I spoke to the doctor just now, he told me that you show all the signs of someone suffering from a serious eating disorder.”
Normally, Esmé would have rolled her eyes had anyone else confronted her with this sort of accusation. But Fernald had discovered her intentionally vomiting up her food two months ago, and so she knew it would be pointless to try and convince him not to worry about her.
“This is all my fault,” he said, and Esmé stared at him as if he had just confessed to arson. “I allowed the signs to slip past me when what I
should have been doing was paying closer attention. I was so
sure that once you went away to school and got away from Olaf that you’d get better. I never thought that—”
Shaking her head, Esmé took her hand (that is, the one that
wasn’t attached to the I.V.) and reached for Fernald’s. “No,” she said softly. “It wasn’t your fault.
I was the one who— I thought I— I have it all under control.”
Now it was Fernald’s turn to shake
his head, and Esmé was amazed when she saw that tears had begun to gather at the corners of his eyes.
“But you don’t,” he said, and lay his other hand on top of hers. “You
think you do, but that’s only because your illness has you so misled.”
As much as she hated to admit it, Esmé knew that everything Fernald was telling her fell nothing short of the truth. From the very first time Olaf had mocked her weight, she had stuck her finger down her throat no less than twice a day. She was
determined to be as thin as possible, even if it meant starving herself on a day-to-day basis. She was so desperate to do whatever she could to win the approval of her guardian, that she gave no thought to the harm it was causing
her.“I’m sorry,” Esmé whispered. “I didn’t mean— I never wanted you to worry about me, Fernald.”
It was Esmé’s own way of apologizing without admitting that she was wrong, and she watched silently as Fernald rubbed at his eyes. A moment later he cleared his throat, and she assumed his reason for doing so was to disguise the sob there. In the three years she had known him, there had never been a time in which Esmé had ever
once seen him cry. It shocked her that her actions were enough to bring tears to the eyes of a man who had always been so strong.
“Please don’t cry,” she said. “I promise to do better. I
will. Just don’t be mad at me, O.K.?”
Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, Fernald saw that the girl’s desperate blue eyes were staring back into his worried brown ones.
“What makes you think I’m mad at you?” he asked softly.
Esmé shrugged, suddenly feeling very foolish for having asked such a question. Not once had Fernald ever shown anger towards her, and so she had no idea why he’d choose now to display it. In fact, the only emotion he had revealed since stepping into the room was his outright concern for her.
“I don’t know,” Esmé replied. “I guess I must’ve gotten you confused with someone else.”
“You mean with Olaf.”
It wasn’t a question. Esmé waited for Fernald to demand what kind of resemblances she could possibly find between him and a violent drunk, but such a thing never came up. Instead, he leaned over and hugged her carefully. As he did so, he kissed her on the cheek in the same fashion Bertrand had.
“I love you,” Fernald said as he pulled back, and Esmé’s eyes widened in response. “And I
hate the fact that you’ve reduced yourself to such a condition.”
Esmé had known all along how unhealthy she looked, and often wondered what it was about her that Bertrand Baudelaire was so attracted to. Just five months ago she had been a reasonably healthy one-hundred and ten pounds, which would have been more if only Olaf had permitted her to
eat. She had no idea what she weighed now, though it had to have been much less considering how ill-fitting her clothing had become.
Esmé nodded in response to Fernald’s previous words, and then allowed her eyes to drift to the wall behind him. “What if I promise to stop?” she asked. “If I do, then will you trust me again?”
“It isn’t a question of trust, Esmé. If anything, it’s a question of your safety and the risks you’re taking. When I spoke with the doctor, he said that he could actually
see your ribs when he examined you.”
Esmé felt a rush of excitement surge through her weak body, but the spark quickly vanquished when she saw the way Fernald was looking at her.
“You need
help, sweetheart,” he continued. “You need to start eating properly and stop obsessing so much over your body.”
“What did you mean, before,” Esmé asked, “when you said that you loved me?”
Fernald’s face went blank, as if he hadn’t expected the question. He seemed to be working on a way to respond when the door clicked open, and they turned to see Geraldine, Beatrice, and Bertrand staring back at them.
Geraldine (who had apparently decided to wear her contacts) was the first to speak, charging through the doorway in the process: “Esmé, what happened? The doctors and nurses, they all say you’re—”
Esmé’s guilty eyes floated towards the faces of her other two friends, who were still standing in the doorway. Beatrice looked as though she had been crying, and Bertrand didn’t appear as though he’d gotten much if any sleep. Geraldine was clearly the victim of both, as there were dark circles under her eyes and tears rolling down her cheeks as she stopped before the bed.
Fernald excused himself, telling Esmé that he would wait outside so that she could speak to her friends privately.
It wasn’t until the door closed and the four teenagers were alone together that Geraldine’s temperament changed completely.
“Esmé Gigi Genevieve Salinger,” she said in a rare, angry tone, “you are by far the biggest, most
absurd idiot I’ve ever known in my entire
life!”Geraldine’s words hit Esmé hard, and her face twisted into an expression of alarm. “Geraldine, I—”
“You are so stupid!”There was no time to react, and Esmé felt what was equivalent to a million needles as Geraldine slapped her hard across the face. Esmé sat still for several seconds, completely stunned, holding her stinging face and wondering how someone as sweet as Geraldine could transform so suddenly.
“You really scared us last night,” Geraldine went on, and Esmé was relieved to see that her friend appeared to have calmed down. “At first we thought all you needed was some fresh air, but you wouldn’t wake up, even when Bertrand started shaking you.”
“We began to assume the worst when we arrived at the hospital,” Beatrice explained, “and the doctor informed us of how swollen your throat looked.”
“Why didn’t you ever
tell us you had this problem, Esmé?” Geraldine asked. “You know you can always confide in
me, don’t you? We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Upon realizing how foolish she’d been, Esmé’s fear of being discovered was replaced by humiliation. Until now, the only person she had ever been able to call a friend was Fernald. Now, here were three other people who cared for her every bit as much as he did, and she had no idea what to make of it.
“Monty and Lemony send their regards,” Bertrand went on. “They wanted to come with us to see you, but both had prior engagements that they couldn’t reschedule. They promised to stop by later, though.”
“Hey, I’m sorry I freaked out on you like that,” Geraldine said, and squeezed Esmé’s hand to reassure her.
“It’s O.K.,” Esmé replied. “I kind of deserved it.”
Bertrand took this as an opportunity to come forward, and Geraldine stepped aside so that he could take her place beside Esmé. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful,” he said, “from the day I first saw you on the bus. But I’d be lying if I said you didn’t look like you could stand to eat a lot more than you do.”
“Oh? And what if I started to?”
“Then you could borrow my clothes,” Beatrice said, “since they’d actually
fit you.”
Esmé glided her tongue along her lips, which were dry and cracked from all the medicine she had been induced with over the past several hours. Turning to Bertrand, she asked, “You’d still find me attractive even after I started to gain weight?”
Bertrand blinked, staring at Esmé as if the answer to her question was already obvious. She felt her face flush a little, and then threw herself into his arms.
“I take it we have an agreement, then?” Bertrand asked as he wrapped his arms around her.
“You bet we do,” Esmé said, and swore to herself to keep that promise.
Even as she lay nestled safely in the arms of Bertrand Baudelaire, Esmé Salinger was unable to keep her mind from wandering back to Fernald Widdershins and the true meaning of his kiss.
Reason for Editing: Had to change Lemony's "Prince Charming costume" to "bullfighter's costume". Thanks, rebecca!