Jenny: Thank you for the link to
The Street. I'll be sure to watch it soon.
Hermes: I've never heard of
Brookside, but perhaps I'll check it out one of these days.
May: Your father sounds very funny, calling you up to gab about the moon landing. Awww. ;D
VentedFerretDilemmas: That's so sweet of you! Thank you very much.
A/N: I owe
a lot of gratitude to Jenny and her wonderful fics for this next chapter. The idea for Esmé stashing money inside the mattress came directly from
La Strada, while the description of her boss was inspired by
Prayer. The mention of Esmé and Fernald at the bus station was motivated by Jenny's newest Esnald fic that she's currently working on.
Thank you so much for granting me permission to use your ideas, Jen. I really, really appreciate it! *hugs*
I have also included a small detail regarding Joseph Salinger's death in
Chapter 7.
~
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For[/i] five months, Esmé forced herself to carry on as if the abortion had never even transpired. She did her chores and met every request Olaf made of her, just as she’d always done. She smiled when it was expected of her, and turned away when he and the troupe discussed matters that did not concern her.
The only physical change that had come over Esmé during that time was her weight— she had lost so much in response to the loss of her unborn child. She had spent every night since shedding silent tears into her pillow, while Olaf slept peacefully beside her. She had been almost
plump up until a month after her abortion, but now she resembled an echo of the girl she had never wanted to be again.
Esmé wasn’t sure if Olaf— whose perception often depended on his alcohol consumption —had taken notice of her thinner frame, though she was certain Fernald had. He had been implausibly sweet to her from the very start of her ordeal. His kindness had transformed her sisterly feelings for him into a categorical love she’d never seen coming.
And yet here she was, still unable to put her feelings for Olaf— a person who had caused her such pain throughout her teenage years —aside. Her confusion led to frustration, and that frustration led to a manifestation of intense self-loathing. It was so strong that she had considered on more than one occasion to take her own life, and the only thing stopping her was the thought of Fernald. He had been working so hard to save money for their escape to Britain, and that thought alone was enough to weaken Esmé’s thoughts of suicide.
But it was
Olaf who stopped her from following through on any actions inspired by her feelings of negativity. If it wasn’t for him, then Esmé would have certainly taken his razorblade to her skin the morning she’d seen it sitting on the edge of the bathroom sink. The only thing stopping her was the thought of what he’d do if he ever saw cuts lining her flawless, porcelain skin. She could easily picture him flying into a rage and killing her— and she didn’t want that. She was content with simply punishing herself in secret. Even if the only ways she could fulfill such a twisted desire was by striking her head against a wall or by punching herself in the stomach.
Fernald was Esmé’s escape: both from Olaf, and from her own feelings of self-hatred. She and Fernald had been meeting secretly in the tower behind Olaf’s house for the past five months, and so far they’d gone undiscovered. Esmé and Fernald had made love inside the tower twice already, and she’d been surprised by just how gentle he’d been. In secret, Esmé wished her first time could have been with Fernald rather than with Olaf. The way Fernald had loved her was exactly what she’d missed during her first experience, and she wished with all her heart that he could have been her first.
The tower may not have been the most physically comfortable place for such encounters, but it was idyllic nonetheless. There was a long, spiral staircase made of stone that curved up towards a stony platform set beneath a glassless window. Though San Francisco had yet to receive its first snowfall of the season, Esmé had already caught a cold that year. Fernald had dismissed it as having spent too much time on the stone floor in nothing but her undergarments (and sometimes nothing at all). From then on, he had always brought along a blanket to keep his precious darling warm.
“I have wonderful news for you, sweetheart,” Fernald announced one night, as he and Esmé sat on the floor of the tower. It was a chilly night in late October, and his arms were coiled tightly around the blanket that contained her (nearly) naked body. “I’ve spoken to my stepmother in England, and she’s offered to let us stay with her until we’ve found a place of our own.”
“But what about your father?” Esmé asked, tilting back her head so that she was looking at Fernald upside-down. “I thought the two of you didn’t get along.”
Fernald kissed her in the center of the forehead. “He’s away on business.”
“Do you think you stepmother will like me?” Because the people in Olaf’s acting troupe had always treated her like a slave, Esmé wasn’t sure what she could expect from Fernald’s family.
“Oh, lovey. She’s going to
adore you.”
Esmé’s cheeks brimmed scarlet at the nickname, and she leaned her full weight against Fernald before closing her eyes.
“The first thing I imagine she’ll do after she meets you is cook you a gourmet feast,” he went on. “It’s important that we get you fattened up again as soon as possible.”
“You’re talking about me as if I’m going to be someone’s
dinner rather than their houseguest,” Esmé muttered into his shoulder.
“I just want you to be
healthy, Esmé. Is that so bad?”
She didn’t answer, but shook her head to let him know she harbored no resentment. She longed to tell him how much she loved him. But she was afraid of what it would mean for her feelings regarding Olaf if she spoke the ones she had for Fernald aloud. What made it all the more painful was the fact that the only
love Olaf had for her was his love for
controlling her. She hoped leaving him behind would also mean she would be leaving her
feelings for him behind— though that was a question that had yet to be answered.
“Olaf is planning a trip to the hinterlands next Friday,” Fernald went on, “to visit an old acquaintance. So I thought our best option would be to leave while he’s gone.”
Sitting up, Esmé shifted her position in Fernald’s lap and faced him. She had already had this discussion with Olaf, though she didn’t suppose there was any way Fernald could have known it. “That’s brilliant.” She bit her lip. “There’s just one problem: he wants me to go
with him.”
Fernald looked at the small woman in his lap thoughtfully before answering. “Tell him you’re ill. I’ve known Olaf for years— he’ll buy it. Explain that you’re in no condition to travel, and that if he values his upholstery then he won’t force you to accompany him.”
“He plans to drive all night, to avoid traffic. He’ll be leaving sometime around five o’clock, which means we’ll have all day to plan our escape.”
“I’ve already booked us a ten o’clock flight,” Fernald said, “just in case things decide to go awry. Which I suppose is just as well. Since we’ll be in the air for thirteen hours, we’ll be asleep most of the time.”
“I’ve never been on an airplane before,” Esmé admitted, and blushed for reasons she didn’t quite understand. “So this will be my first time.”
“Nearly twenty-one and you’ve never flown before? Well then, little bird. I think the time has come to spread your wings, don’t you?”
Cupping Fernald’s square face in her hands, Esmé looked into his eyes as she answered. “As long as I have you, Fernald, there’s nothing I
can’t do.”
She kissed him then, softly yet passionately, an act which resulted in the teasing of her brassiere’s strap on his part. She said nothing as she felt his big hands tug both straps down, and shivered as he whispered in her ear the three words she’d grown so accustomed to.
“I love you.”
***
Ever since Esmé had begun her job at Mulctuary Money Management, Olaf had insisted that she split her weekly paycheck with him. Because of this, she had been forced to come up with a very plausible story as to why she could no longer meet his request. She explained that the wages of everyone at the bank had been cut in half to help pay for a new furnace. Olaf had bought the excuse, and so for the past five months Esmé had been stashing money away inside a hole in the mattress of her old bedroom. So far Olaf hadn’t suspected a thing, but the possibility of him discovering her deception weighed heavily on both her mind and conscience.
The days leading up to Esmé’s and Fernald’s escape went along as usual. She woke at seven each morning, and by nine was sitting in the third row of her business class at the local community college. Two hours later she was back home, where she had just enough time to make lunch for the troupe before driving back across town to work. Her bank-teller’s position wasn’t a bad way of making money— though it would have been more tolerable was it not for her boss. Mr. Atkins was in his early fifties with a wife and four half-grown children, and Esmé had caught him more than once staring at her chest. Though she was indeed very pretty, she had never considered herself as such, and wondered what it was that every man who looked her way saw in her. She had always hated her pale complexion, her silly freckles, and most of all her ridiculous heart-shaped birthmark. It was located to the left of her face, halfway between her bottom lip and chin. As a child when she had first inquired about her unusual feature, Adelle told Esmé it was from when an angel had kissed her. This had not only satisfied Esmé, but made her feel special, and she had grown up being the sort of person who believed in miracles.
But Olaf had changed all that. He had been telling her for years to cover up her freckles, insisting that they only made her look silly and childish. After that, she had made sure to always cover herself in makeup before going anywhere.
Friday arrived none too soon, and Esmé wasn’t surprised by how anxious she was. She found it difficult to concentrate on what her business instructor was saying, and nearly dropped the tray of roast beef sandwiches she’d made for the troupe. Even more intricate were her duties at the bank: she struggled through the afternoon, never missing the suspicious glares several customers gave her when asked to repeat their amounts.
Esmé was grateful when her break finally rolled around and she was able to switch the sign in her cubicle. As she was doing so, a woman in a denim dress stepped in front of her window.
“Geraldine!” Esmé exclaimed, nearly falling through the swinging door as she rushed out of the cubicle.
“Esmé!” Geraldine cried, throwing her arms around Esmé, who practically tackled her to the floor unintentionally. “I haven’t heard anything from you in
months!”It was true. Ever since her abortion, Esmé hadn’t spoken to anyone but Fernald, Olaf, and her associates at the bank. She didn’t have the heart to tell Geraldine what had happened, having been unsure of her views on the subject. Esmé had never thought to ask, and at the moment a part of her wished she had.
“I’ve been meaning to call you,” Geraldine went on, as the two women loosened their arms from around each other. “But I wasn’t sure what time would be good, and I didn’t want to get you into trouble with Olaf.”
The seconds ticked by as Esmé waited for the question of why she wasn’t showing yet, knowing that her answer would be in the form of tears. Determined to put off the subject for as long as possible, she decided that the best route to take would be to keep Geraldine occupied. If Esmé could keep her talking, then perhaps—
“You look like you’ve lost weight.”
Too late.
“Esmé, how are you—”
Not wanting to burst into tears in front of all her co-workers and— God forbid —her boss, Esmé seized Geraldine by the arm and dragged her outside. Esmé yanked the other woman down onto the bench with her, fighting to piece together a description of what had occurred five months earlier.
When she finally
did speak, Esmé kept her eyes averted from Geraldine’s face. The slightest hint of disapproval would force Esmé to hold back any information that had even the slightest possibility of altering Geraldine’s opinion of her. And Esmé couldn’t bear to leave San Francisco knowing that she had not been entirely truthful with her best friend.
“I didn’t
want to do it,” Esmé concluded. “I know that when it came right down to it I had a choice, but I was so frightened and I…” The sobs she had forced back throughout the duration of her tragic tale came pouring out in a single sequence of sobs so mournful that a few passersby stopped to stare. But Esmé hardly noticed as she threw her hands over her mouth and got up to flee, too terrified to learn the truth of what Geraldine now thought of her.
Esmé hadn’t even taken one step before Geraldine’s hand reached forward to grab hers. Esmé squeaked in shame, tears clouding her eyes as she all but collapsed back down onto the bench beside her friend.
Geraldine’s arms were around her in an instant, one hand stroking her dark hair while the other clutched her shoulder tightly.
“Oh, Esmé,” Geraldine whispered, and Esmé swore she distinguished what sounded like sobs in the other woman’s voice. “I’m sorry— I
really am. And I apologize for not being there for you when you needed me.”
Esmé was sobbing too hard to answer in a way she was sure Geraldine would decipher, and there was an extended period of silence.
After a few moments had passed, Geraldine continued. “If it helps, you aren’t the only person to recently lose someone you love.”
Esmé forced herself to swallow back a particularly heavy sob. “What do you mean?”
“It’s Monty.” There was a brief pause. “We broke up.”
Esmé could hardly come to terms with what Geraldine had just said. In the nearly five years Esmé had known them, Geraldine Julienne and Montgomery Montgomery had never been anything less than the perfect couple. There had been a reason
why they’d been voted Best Couple during their senior year of Training School.
“You…” Esmé began, and her head spun as she lifted it from Geraldine’s shoulder to stare at her in shock. “But
why?”Reaching up with one hand, Geraldine removed her glasses to brush the tears from her eyes with the other. “I wasn’t even going to say anything,” she started, “because I didn’t want you to think it was your fault. It was just a few days after I’d taken you to the doctor, when out of the blue Monty accused me of spending too much time with you. I explained to him that you were going through a very difficult time and that you needed me. Then he called you a ‘traitor’ to the organization, and we started arguing— that’s when he told me I had a choice to make. Either I could stay with him and sever all ties with
you, or vice versa. But I couldn’t have it both ways.
“It only took me twenty minutes to reach my decision— I didn’t even have to say the words. Seeing me lay the engagement ring down on the kitchen table was enough of an answer for Monty, and he snatched it up without a word. I offered to walk him to the door, but I could tell from the way he struggled to avoid my eyes that he preferred I didn’t. So I waited there in the kitchen until I heard the front door slam.
“I ran to the front window of the living room, just in time to see him climb into his car. I thought I saw him take off his glasses, the only sign that he was crying. I watched him drive away, and after he vanished was when the emptiness crept in.
“We’d been engaged for nearly six months. I was going to tell you the day I came over, but after your reaction to Bertrand and Beatrice’s wedding I didn’t think it was the best option.” Geraldine sniffed, and wiped away another tear as it rolled down her cheek. “Oh, Esmé— I
so wanted you to be my maid of honor!”
“You should’ve come to see me
sooner,” Esmé said. “I would have
done something—
said something. If I’d only known you were suffering as much as me I would have…”
She felt fresh tears well up in her eyes: not only because of the pain her best friend had been forced to endure, but because Esmé would soon be leaving her forever.
Unless…
“Geraldine— we’re still friends, aren’t we?”
Wiping away the last of her tears, Geraldine looked down at where Esmé was continuing to cling to her like a lost child. “Of course we are.”
Esmé stared up at her friend longingly. “Like sisters?”
Geraldine smiled. “I can’t think of a more thorough description.”
“And you would miss me if I left, wouldn’t you?”
“Like the desert misses the rain.”
“Have you ever thought of leaving San Francisco?”
“You mean as in forever?”
Esmé nodded.
“Sometimes— why?”
Biting her lip, Esmé tightened her arms around her friend as if she was terrified of losing the last person she had left to depend on. In truth, Geraldine Julienne
was the last person Esmé had next to Fernald. And Esmé had no intention of giving either of them up without a fight.
“I’m leaving for London,” she said finally, “with Fernald.”
Geraldine gasped.
“London! Esmé, when were you planning on
telling me this?”
Esmé couldn’t bear to continue to look Geraldine in the eye as she answered. “It doesn’t matter.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” Geraldine’s shouting forced Esmé to cover her ears and squeeze her eyes shut tightly. The tone reminded her of Olaf, and that was something she just couldn’t handle right now. “How were you planning on breaking the news to me, Esmé? By calling me from a payphone at the airport in London?”
“I don’t know!” Esmé shrieked, and her eyes shot open just to evade the stinging sensation of her tears.
“It’s Olaf, isn’t it?” Geraldine’s voice was softer this time… forgiving. “He’s the reason you’ve decided to travel such a significant distance away from here.”
Esmé’s response was a tiny squeak. “Yes. We’re leaving tonight and I… I want you to come
with us.”
“To London?” asked Geraldine, her face and tone a clear portrayal of disbelief.
“You’re the only other person in this world who cares for me as much as Fernald does,” Esmé whispered, desperation creeping into her voice like venom. “Please say you’ll come. I couldn’t… I can’t
bear the thought of ever being separated from you.”
Geraldine sighed. “Alright, Esmé— I’ll meet you at the airport.”
***
It was mid-afternoon. Esmé was standing in the doorway of Olaf’s bedroom, her heart racing as she put the first part of hers and Fernald’s plan into action. It was the first time in which she’d ever been forced to lie to Olaf, and she couldn’t help but hate herself a little bit more for it. She loved him— that much was true, or else why would she have chosen to stay with him as long as she had? She was going to miss him, but Fernald, Geraldine, and everyone else who had ever cared for her were right: Esmé was better off without Olaf.
She knew in her heart that escape was the last option she had left. It was either that or death, and she hadn’t quite reached the point where she was ready to take that final step. Even so, her psychological state was hanging on by a thread— a thread that Fernald Widdershins was in full control of. Knowing that he loved her the way he did was what gave Esmé the confidence she otherwise would not have had.
“I think it’s the flu,” she informed Olaf. “A lot of people at the bank were out last week with similar symptoms— I guess I’m just catching up.”
The Count sneered at Esmé from over the lid of his suitcase, which he had placed on the bed. “Funny,” he replied. “I would never have guessed. You seemed perfectly healthy when you got home this afternoon.”
“It came on suddenly. Either way, I think it’s best if I stay behind. You don’t want me getting sick in your car, and I doubt Madame Lulu would be very appreciative if I infect her entire caravan.”
Olaf flipped the lid of the suitcase down and zipped it closed. Dragging it off the bed, he strode over to the doorway. Esmé turned her eyes towards the floor, terrified that he would be able to tell she had just lied to him. He pressed a rough hand to her forehead, and she prayed that the heating pad she’d placed there minutes earlier would fool him.
“And Colette was so looking forward to seeing you,” said Olaf, referring to the young contortionist who Esmé had gotten friendly with over the years. “But I suppose if you aren’t up for traveling…”
“Next time,” Esmé told him, hoping that her words sounded more candid than they actually were.
Olaf’s hand slid back to her head, and he lowered his face to kiss her on the forehead. It was the first time she remembered in which he had shown her affection without wanting something in return, and it stunned her. For a moment she found herself reconsidering the idea of leaving him, before recalling the event that had practically destroyed her.
No, she told herself firmly.
It’s better this way.Olaf ruffled Esmé’s hair a bit. “I’ll be back Sunday evening.”
In her mind, she cursed him for showing her so much affection when it was already too late. “O.K.”
She stood with her back to him, huddled up against the doorframe while her heart pounded against the wall of her chest. She listened to the sound of his footsteps as he made his way down the rickety staircase. Soon after that was when she heard the front door close. She waited a whole five minutes before heading downstairs, just to give him enough time to pull out of the driveway.
The last thing Esmé wanted was to encourage the Count’s unenviable return.
After going downstairs to check that he was gone, she went to the attic and fetched her suitcase. She returned to the bedroom and filled threw it down on the bed. When she flipped open the lid, she discovered something hidden inside the large pocket that lined the interior of the suitcase. The object was of unknown determination, as it was wrapped securely inside a white handkerchief. As she unwrapped it, she took little notice of the initials “J.S.” that were stitched into the bottom left-hand corner in black thread. Inside the handkerchief was where she discovered the cat food can that had served as her childhood security blanket. Placed caringly inside the can was the very same necklace Fernald had given her for her thirteenth birthday. Holding it up to the light, Esmé watched the brilliant illumination as it flickered off the tiny blue stone against her hand.
Remembering how she had been easily able to slip the chain over her head the first time she wore it, she attempted to do so again. This time, however, it hardly surpassed her forehead. She chuckled merrily to herself as she undid the clasp at the back, before hooking it into place behind her neck.
The light outside was beginning to fade, which enabled Esmé to receive a view of herself in the window. Now that she was grown, she was unable to escape the notice of just how childish the necklace looked on her. As a child it had fallen to her chest, but now it failed to surpass even her collarbone.
Esmé stood a moment longer in front of the window, examining her reflection. She frowned at her lack of curves and wondered how long it would be until she saw them again. She smiled as she considered what Fernald had said about “fattening” her up, shivering at the strange way it made her feel. It made her feel… sort of turned on, and she watched her face redden in the window. Why Fernald’s words had that sort of impact on her she had no idea, and she was thankful that he wasn’t there to witness her reaction. For she knew he would only tease and tickle her, grab her stomach even though there was no longer anything left to hold onto.
Esmé had never forgotten the expression of delighted astonishment on Fernald’s face when she’d returned home after her first year at Training School. Olaf had been out of town, and so Fernald had gone instead to meet her at the bus station. The shame in his eyes and face when he blurted out the word “plump” had been so sweet that she’d thrown herself into his arms instinctively. She hadn’t found it within herself to be cross with him for something that should have insulted her, knowing that coming from him it had been a compliment. His profuse apologizing afterward had only made her laugh, the deep blush in her full, rosy cheeks equipped with the capacity of putting his fears to rest.
***
The next few hours ticked by gradually, and Esmé found herself growing restless without anything to do. She had already taken a shower, done her hair, and put on what she would wear to the airport: a simple white blouse and pleated navy skirt with white tennis shoes. She had eaten dinner (a peanut butter sandwich), washed the dishes and given the kitchen a thorough cleaning twice over. The entire process had taken her just over two hours, and it was still only seven o’clock. Fernald would be arriving within the next hour, but to Esmé it felt like an eternity. With a heavy sigh, she tossed the paper towel she’d been using to wipe the burners on the stove into the garbage can.
She sat down at the table and stared at the clock, listening impatiently to the sound of the long hand tick past the numbers. As she watched it, she picked unconsciously at her cuticles: it was a habit that had plagued her since childhood, which she indulged in until her fingers were sore and bleeding. She had tried on several occasions to stop, but failed every time. The only alternative in sight was to purchase a pair of gloves, but she couldn’t very well get away with wearing them indoors. Especially if she planned to transfer to another business school and get a job working at another bank. It was easy to imagine what a nuisance gloves would be when it came to typing and counting money.
As the hour of eight drew near, Esmé could feel her excitement rise even higher: seven-thirty-five… seven-forty… seven-forty-five… seven-fifty. In ten more minutes she would hear a knock at the door, and when she flung it open she would find her beloved Fernald standing there. It would be just like on the night of her thirteenth birthday— except with a happier ending.
Seven-fifty-five…
Seven-fifty-six…
Seven-fifty-seven…
Seven-fifty-eight…
Seven-fifty-nine…
Eight o’clock.Esmé snatched up her suitcase and raced into the living room, dropping it in front of the window. She pulled back the curtain, her heart beating so fast inside her chest that she swore she could hear it.
And then she saw it.
Olaf’s long, black automobile. It was parked in its usual spot in the driveway, as if it had always been there. Esmé
swore she hadn’t seen it when she came downstairs earlier. Suppose Fernald was on his way, or had already come by?
What if Olaf—
Terror seized Esmé as she realized a thousand possibilities all at once. It took every ounce of courage she had, but she managed to tear herself away from panic and head for the front door.
It seemed like forever until she reached it, and with shaking hands she yanked it open and lurched outside. She ignored the icy wind as it stung her face and whipped through her hair as she stumbled off the porch.
The only light she could see was coming from the tower behind the house, and Esmé forced herself to press on. She made sure to dart hastily through the darkness, staying low to the ground to avoid being seen by the person she
knew was Count Olaf.
Esmé’s worry for Fernald felt like a harpoon in her chest, and she gasped in horror as she reached the door of the tower. It was slightly ajar, and she cursed herself for not thinking to check underneath the floorboard in Olaf’s bedroom for the key earlier. She had no idea what she would find when she opened the door, but she had come too far to turn back now. When she reached for the door her hand trembled, hardly steadying as she placed her palm against it and pushed forward…
~
My
sincerest apologies for leaving you guys balancing on the edge of such a cliffhanger. However, I
promise not to take as long with the next chapter as I did with this one.