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There was not much to say. Most of it had already been said, and the rest….the rest they both knew without it being spoken. Leaning against the door frame, he watched as she packed her bag, talking to herself as she was wont to do when stressed.
“You all packed?”
She stopped, looking over her shoulder at the sound of his voice. A small, brittle smile appeared as she nodded. The sound of the zipper filled the room, and morbid thoughts of finality filled his mind as it faded away between them.
“What time is the train?” he ventured, careful to keep his voice light. Belle’s tiny shoulders shrugged, but she did not make a move to lug the suitcase off the bed. He exhaled through his nose, wanting nothing more than to go wrap her in his arms, bury his face in her hair and just breath her in one last time. Instead, he limped across the bedroom, grabbing the suitcase handle to haul it off the bed.
“Rum, don’t. You’ll hurt yourself,” she murmured, grabbing it from him. He nodded reluctantly, backing away as she swung it down. It thumped against the floor and he looked away, face burning. Beside him, Belle made a noise of distress, her hand coming up to his cheek to tilt it back. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he lied, shrugging her away. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know,” Belle said. “Maybe because you’re wife is going away without you?”
“It’s not like you’re going overseas,” he reminded her with a sigh. “It’s not Glasgow.”
“It’s still an adjustment,” Belle replied. She didn’t move away and after a moment, he opened his arms to her. Grateful, she sank into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him as he did the same. For a moment, they stayed there, letting each other’s heartbeats murmur against each other in sync.
“I’ll be home next weekend,” Belle said after a moment. “And we can skype every night. Plus, you won’t have to deal with me stealing the covers.”
He was glad she couldn’t see his face. He felt his jaw tighten and his eyes were close to watering. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “My Belle, a published author.”
He hated he couldn’t go with her but he had a business to run. His shop and all his property holdings were here and he had no one to help him while he was away. His son and his grandson lived in Boston, too far away to be of much help during the week.
He was proud of his wife, desperately so. But he couldn’t help wanting her to stay. It was selfish, he knew and he kept his these thoughts to himself. He didn’t blame Belle at all, not at all. He blamed Regina.
Madam Mayor had closed Belle’s library, allowing a new privately owned company to open a library by the school. It saved thousands of dollars a year for the city, so no one could cry foul. The town would still have a library, a better funded one that cost the taxpayers nothing. As much as it had pained him, he had been unable to do much but scowl at Regina Mills in the town halls.
Belle had been a marvel. She had helped close the city library, donated the collections to schools and less fortunate district libraries in Maine before she had started helping at the pawn shop. She didn’t need to work, his savings allowed them to live comfortably. But she had grown bored, and her usual bright smile had dimmed in the weeks after the library had closed.
It wasn’t until Neal had suggested she start writing that things had changed. Within days, she was back to her old self, bouncing down the stairs when he came home, waving her latest chapter and asking him to read it over dinner. Things had been wonderful, the months had flown by and then she had been published.
He had never been prouder. He took her out to dinner, Neal and Emma sent congratulations, even Henry had drawn an illustration for her book. Rum had ordered over a hundred copies, determined to sell them at the pawn shop despite her laughing protests that no one would read it.
She was wrong. He could have told her that. Nearly overnight, her first published work raced up the charts until she was on every best seller’s list, and every late night show and morning program wanted her to come speak. She had put it off as long as she could, but he knew how desperately she wanted to tour, to see the world and share her stories. When her publisher had become firm, he had encouraged her to follow her dreams.
“I wish you were coming with me,” she sniffed, burrowing her head into his chest. “You alway said when you retired we’d go see the world.”
“You’ll be fine without me,” he reassured her, although he was unsure if he would be able to breathe without her. “You’re living your dream, sweetheart. You need to promise me you’ll enjoy every minute of it.”
“If you promise me one thing,” she whispered, pulling away from him slightly. He nodded, smiling down at her, unsticking the hair from her damp cheek to tuck behind her ear. “Call me when you wake up to say good morning, text me at lunch that you’ve eaten something and call me when you go to bed so I can say goodnight.”
“I will,” he said roughly, leaning his forehead against hers. “Take pictures of everything. I want to hear all about it, even the boring stuff.”
She sniffled, but pressed her lips to his in a quick searing kiss. They had made love this morning, languid and slowly as light had slipped into the window but there was no time now.
“Belle, I love you, sweetheart,” he told her. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I love you too,” she whispered, squeezing him harder before reluctantly letting her arms fall. “Train leaves at three.”
“We should get going then,” he sighed. “Don’t want you to miss your flight in Boston. Neal’s going to meet you at the station and drive you to the airport. Do you have everything?”
“I have you,” she replied, covering his cheek with her hand. “And that’s everything.”
“Six months?” he sighed, turning to press a kiss to the palm of her hand.
“I’ll be home next weekend,” she reminded him again. “And you promised to close the store one week to join me, remember?”
“I do,” he promised her. “Now, as much as I hate to say this…”
“I know. It’s time to go,” she finished for him, turning to collect her suitcase. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“I don’t know,” he said, pitched low so she couldn’t overhear it. “A day without you feels more like a lifetime.”
She turned to him, suitcase in hand and with the sun gleaming in the window behind her, it illuminated her, haloing her face. It was wet with tears even as she smiled bravely. He memorized it, his heart swelling with pride before he reached out his free hand. “Shall we, Mrs. Gold?”