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He doesn’t come over to the booth, nor does he tear up the note.
Beatrice has been holding her breath since the kind waitress had delivered the small slip of paper to Lemony, the only biological family member she has still alive and possible only hope to locate her adoptive family. He had read it with quick speed, eyeing her for only a few moments before turning back to his drink. The few minutes it had taken him to finish the root beer float had been one of the longest moments of her life. When Lemony had put the note into his breast pocket, still fully intact, and stood, she had finally hoped this chase was over. She finally thought she’d have contact with him.’
But then he had left without looking at her once.
To say Beatrice was devastated would be an understatement. She thought it would hurt if he had ripped the note in half, the way she had told Lemony to signal if he wished for her to stop contacting him, but this was much worst. It was an easy way out, and he clearly didn’t wish to talk to her, so why didn’t he take it? Did he still wish for her to contact him but for them to never speak face to face? It just didn’t make sense.
She refused to leave in hopes her uncle would return to the café. Perhaps he was just gathering some sort of information he wanted to share and would come to collect her soon? That had to have been it. He had been getting her letters, after all, that Beatrice is sure of. A few months ago, just weeks shy of her tenth birthday, she had broken into his office and discovered them in a neat little pile on otherwise chaotic desk. Why he hadn’t been responding to them was another question entirely, but Beatrice had chalked it up to him not being able to trust who it was coming from. That’s why she had made the nearly twenty-minute trek here. She had hoped that, upon seeing her face, that he would’ve connected the dots and spoken to her, even if it was for a minute or two. But he didn’t and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why.
It isn’t until an hour passes that Beatrice finally gives up. With a heavy heart, she slowly pushes herself out of the booth and leaves a tip for the waitress before exiting the café. Barely anyone pays any attention to her as she clambers through the busy streets, trying her best not to let any tears spill. Before V.F.D. had taken her from the Baudelaires at the mere age of four, Beatrice had been allowed to cry freely, knowing full well that there’d be someone to comfort her. After being taken, despite Violet’s best efforts, she had been taught it was a weakness. No longer would there be comforting stories or songs, just harsh criticism from her teachers and taunts from some of her fellow students. It was a horrible reality Beatrice had to get used to.
Maybe it’s just the sense of rejection she’s feeling due to Lemony, but now Beatrice can’t help but wonder whether her adoptive family had ever wanted her anyways. After all, she had heard rumors that Sunny had been taken with her as well and placed within a different headquarters, only to be recused in a matter of days with the members responsible for taking her badly bloodied and bruised. Not to mention the more recent ones, the ones claiming Violet had given birth to a daughter of her own and naming it after her mother – just like what they had done with her. Truly, Beatrice knows they might just be rumors and nothing more, but… what if they weren’t? Had she been replaced? After all, her own biological uncle clearly wanted nothing to with her, why would three siblings who had been forced to take in a newborn want her at all?
It isn’t until she reaches her current living quarters that Beatrice finally breaks down. Her small body is wracked with sobs as she sinks down to the floor, bringing her knees to her chest and hugging them tightly as she begins to rock back and forth. Was there something wrong with her that she just hadn’t realized? Something that made her unlovable? Or were the people she believed to be kind and good just cruel after all? The latter seemed practically impossible in Beatrice’s eyes, but the other two…
It takes about ten minutes to calm herself down and another five to peel herself off the ground, though her hands tremble more than Beatrice cares to admit. She stares at her chalkboard, covered with both newspaper clippings and reports from V.F.D. about her family, though she focuses more on the small area with pictures pinned upon it. There are very limited photos of Lemony without a hat covering his face and, after nearly two years of digging, Beatrice had gotten her hands on one. He’s barely an adult in the photo and is looking at the woman wrapped in his arms, the one she’d later be named after, with nothing but love. For a moment, Beatrice can’t help but wonder if this is something she should send to him. But, then again, why even bother? He won’t talk to her anyways, no matter what she gives him.
A flash of anger courses through her at the thought and the picture is practically ripped from the pins holding it in place, carelessly tossing it into a desk drawer that is then slammed shut. If he won’t talk to her or at least have to common decency to tell Beatrice to stop contacting him, then fine. She would just have to take the hint and push herself even harder to find her adoptive family. If they don’t want her, then that’s something she’ll have to deal with if or when it happens. But overall, it’s a risk Beatrice is willing to take.
It turns out she has nothing to fear when, merely a week later, Beatrice’s being embraced tightly by a crying Violet upon the front porch of her secluded home. And when she’s taken inside the modest home, much different than the small apartment they used to live in, she meets Quigley Quagmire and their infant daughter, Shiori – named after Quigley’s mother, not Violet’s – for the first time, along with promises of soon being able to see Klaus and Sunny again soon.
In the end, Beatrice can’t help but find the entire thing amusing. After six years of tracking down a family member that only brought her disappointment, it took her giving him up for happiness to shine through.