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Neal Caffrey stepped out of the shower and began to towel off. It was a Saturday morning in early spring, and he had just come back from a vigorous jog along the perimeter of his radius. Although now in his mid-thirties, he still maintained a sleek, toned physique, and possessed a stamina that rivaled younger men half his age. He was the epitome of mature, suave sophistication with a hefty dose of sex appeal thrown into the mix.
Yes, the Salad Days of exuberant and reckless youth were over. It had been a wild ride for him, with exquisite highs and devastating lows, but the last decade had sobered and settled him, probably much more than he was willing to admit, even to himself. It could have had something to do with his long association with the law, although he was loathe to give any credence to that theory. But it had played a big part in his life for over ten years. For the first three, there had been an inexplicable bond between him and his FBI pursuer, and then there had been almost four years of forced incarceration, courtesy of the federal government. Now, he was nearly finished rounding out another four tied to the very person who had been there from the beginning.
When Neal allowed himself the occasional moment of introspection, he wondered whom he had ultimately become over the years. It seemed that the immature, impetuous Neal had disappeared, silently slipping away without him even being aware. Now he could no longer find the brash, impulsive con artist who used to contemplate one stupendous caper after the next with avid zeal. Gone were the wanderlust and the itch to try out another exotic new venue somewhere around the globe.
It wasn’t that he had become complacent, he reassured himself. He hadn’t surrendered to the drollness of being mundane. His mental acuity was as sharp as ever, and his skills were still astounding. However, maybe the answer was surprisingly simple—he had finally found a path, and with it, a degree of contentment. What continued to plague him, however, was a nagging doubt that his former life had truly meant anything. Had those years been just an exercise in schadenfreude—enhancing his own gains at the expense of others? Maybe, when all was said and done, he just needed to know that his past existence had mattered somehow, that perhaps he had touched someone’s life in a good way and made it just a tad bit better.
“Enough of this emotional angst,” he mentally chided himself as he slipped on soft, well-worn jeans and a comfortable Henley. He had just put the kettle on to boil some water for the French press containing Italian roast, when there was a soft knock on his door. When he opened it, he found June, his benefactress and steadfast friend, standing there elegantly coiffed and immaculately dressed as usual.
“It would seem that you have an early morning guest, Neal,” she said with one eyebrow raised and a droll expression on her face.
She then stepped to the side to reveal a young girl, tall and angular, impatiently shifting from one foot to the other. Neal opened the door wide enough to admit both visitors, although he didn’t have a clue who this newcomer was that he was allowing into his space.
It was hard for Neal to get a handle on age regarding the Millennial Generation—this young lady could have been anywhere between fifteen and twenty-five. Girls usually wanted to look older and more mature than their years and used fashion apparel, hairstyles and make-up to achieve their aim. The quiet one standing before him was one such puzzle.
She was perhaps 5’6” in height, but undoubtedly, the high heels on her leather boots had added a few inches. She had the lithe build of a whippet, with skin-tight black leggings hugging her calves and thighs. Over that, she wore an extremely form-fitting lavender camisole that probably had been enhanced by one of Victoria’s Secrets. A tiny black shrug-sweater completed the ensemble. Dangling from her shoulder was a brown suede messenger bag with lots and lots of fringe. Her fingernails were an eye-catching purple, but her hair was her most mesmerizing feature. It was shoulder-length and straight, worn simply with a hint of a part. It appeared to be essentially blond, but the vivid bubblegum pink streaks, running from roots to ends, demanded your attention. It made you forget to notice her porcelain face, up-turned nose, and translucent blue eyes. During his brief visual inspection, Neal hadn’t noted any unusual piercings or tattoos, but then, he didn’t intend to inspect the goods any further than from across the room.
June had remained inside the doorway. She noticed that water was boiling on the stove, and took the initiative to pour some over a tea bag that she placed in one of Neal’s kitchen mugs.
“If it’s alright with you, Dear, I’ll just take my tea and relax in the beautiful sunshine on your terrace,” she wisely decided.
Neal knew that his landlady would most certainly sit facing the glass doors and have Neal and his guest in full view the entire time. It was her way of protecting him from any claims of misconduct while being alone with a female who could very well be a minor. He gave her a grateful smile and escorted her to a chair in the sunlight. Of course, June could not help whispering a parting salvo.
“Maybe you should offer your young visitor a glass of milk and some cookies.”
“Point taken, June,” Neal said with a smile.
When Neal returned to his room, the girl was sauntering around the space peering at artwork on the walls and fingering objects sitting on his shelves. Neal waited her out, arms crossed and patient. Eventually, she stood across the expanse of his dining table and looked into his questioning face.
“You don’t know who I am, do you, Neal,” she said softly.
Neal raised his eyebrows and asked, “Should I know who you are?”
Suddenly, she seemed a little unsure, dropping her head so that a cascade of pink and blond hair covered her face. Then, she seemed to rally. Taking a deep breath, she again looked up, and her face was suddenly transformed by a coquettish smile.
“I could make you guess,” she teased, “but I’ll give you a hint. My name isn’t Snow White and it’s not Cinderella.”
While she had been speaking, her hand had snaked into that fringed bag that nestled against her hip. She slowly withdrew an object and placed it on the table. Neal found his attention drawn to a small, stuffed toy that resembled a bald horse. It was almost completely denuded of all its fur, and Neal ventured a guess that it might have once been white, but now was a dingy grey. It was also obvious that it had seen better days because the assorted, clumsy black stitches lay testament to numerous haphazard repairs. However, it was the bent little horn protruding from its head that took Neal’s breath away.
“Bella?” he asked in awe.
A brilliant smile transformed the girl’s hesitant face, and it made her beautiful to behold.
“It was a long time ago, so I wasn’t sure that you would remember me,” she whispered.
“I could never forget you, Bella, but it’s been almost ten years and ……. well, you’re all grown up now,” Neal finished lamely.
“Yeah, I’m thirteen and a half, actually almost three quarters,” she crowed.
Adolescents are always so eager to shed the ties that bind them to childhood. They count off the days and they measure their lives in quarters and halves as they race headlong into their futures like runners sprinting for the tape at the end of a marathon. Neal wanted to tell her to slow down, but he had once been exactly the same hasty, impatient, and eager young fool.
“Does your father know that you are here?” Neal questioned.
She shook her head and the colorful tresses swayed. “No, Charles is presently on a business trip in London. He’d probably pop a blood vessel if he knew that I was here.”
At Neal’s arched eyebrows, she clarified, “My father wants me to call him ‘Charles.’ I think that he is embarrassed to admit that he has a daughter just a few years younger than the women that he dates.”
Neal couldn’t suppress a grin and motioned for Bella to sit down at the table. “Can I get you something to drink—some juice, tea, um …. coffee?”
He had almost been tempted to suggest a glass of milk, but had wisely refrained. He suddenly found that he needed to do something with his hands, so he busied himself pouring water into the French press before turning back to her. In the meantime, the young girl had flopped gracelessly into a chair. Neal thought she resembled an awkward young colt unsure what to do with her limbs. Right now, one leg was bent beneath her and the other dangled, foot flapping nervously.
“How did you manage to find me?” he asked curiously.
“Oh, I’m really tenacious and a bit of a geek,” she said self-consciously, “so the Internet is definitely my best friend. I know everything that’s happened to you since the last time that we saw each other.”
Neal smiled ruefully, “Well, my life story isn’t exactly a heartwarming fairy tale with a ‘happily ever after’ ending.”
“It could have been worse,” Bella claimed. “You were never charged with my kidnapping.”
“Yes, that’s true. It seemed that the FBI had a suspicious lack of evidence regarding that charge,” Neal answered. He had always suspected that somehow Peter had managed to manipulate and obscure a lot of the details regarding his actions that long ago night, but he never wanted to open that can of worms and compromise Peter’s integrity by asking.
Bella perked up. “Well, when the agents questioned me, all I would tell them was that I had been camping out in the desert all by myself while watching a flying horse and some bears in the night sky. I’m certain that some of the people who talked to me during those days were child psychologists who concluded that I was traumatized and sublimating the details of a frightening experience.”
Then an elfin little smile appeared. “I think that I may have been as good a con artist as you back then.”
Neal couldn’t keep from laughing. He sobered somewhat when Bella added drolly, “Unfortunately, they never managed to find my father’s beloved Jaguar. You brought me back but never that.”
Neal looked at this budding young woman and said very seriously, “I returned to your father what should have been the thing that held the most value for him.”
Their eyes met and Neal saw the pain and sadness there.
“How about your mother, Bella? Have you managed to connect with her over the years?”
She merely shook her head mutely, but the con man noted that she now had her hand laying over the sad little unicorn and was absently stroking it with her thumb. It was a definite “tell” to his experienced eye.
“I understand your pain more than you know, little one,” Neal thought to himself. Then he couldn’t resist lifting a strand of her dyed hair out of her downcast eyes.
“I remember that you once told me that pink was your favorite color, Bella.”
“Do you like it, Neal,” she asked eagerly.
“Well, it certainly makes a statement that says that you are unique, which is a good thing,” Neal said diplomatically.
“Charles hates it, so I think that’s why I keep dying it hideous shades,” Bella murmured with an embarrassed blush.
“Then by all means, go Technicolor!” Neal encouraged, making his guest giggle. The con man had never forgotten that magical lilt of her voice when she laughed.
“Now tell me about the real Bella beneath all the subterfuge,” Neal prodded. “Who is she today?”
“Well, boring old me goes to an all girls school uptown. We have to wear these really ugly uniforms with plaid skirts and white blouses—absolutely stifling any individuality at all,” she whined.
Neal smiled because now she sounded like a normal teenager.
“Do you have plans, Bella, any dreams for the future?”
She shrugged indifferently, and then admitted that her father expected her to follow in the family tradition by attending Yale, then continuing on to law school. This declaration was followed up with an impressive eye roll and a snort.
“I take it that is something that definitely doesn’t appeal to you.” Neal guessed. “So, tell me about your dreams, not his.”
The young girl finally looked up and made eye contact. “Once upon a time someone told me that our imagination is the most valuable gift that we will ever own. In my mind, I imagine myself working with children—maybe as a teacher or a counselor. I want to be someone who can be a source of comfort or a refuge, if necessary, for kids.”
“That sounds like a very noble aspiration,” Neal remarked. “You should follow your dreams, Bella.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Neal was still puzzled about this impromptu visit by an apparition from his past. He knew there was more to the real story.
“Bella, why have you decided to come here today?” He finally asked gently. “I am thrilled to see you again, but I’m sensing that you are here for a reason. How can I help?”
At first, she didn’t answer, and Neal let her be. After a few minutes of silence, she finally succeeded in marshalling the courage to start her explanation, albeit in a roundabout way. Neal sat quietly and listened attentively, knowing eventually she would get to the significant part.
“You might say that I’m a bit precocious,” she said, suddenly self-conscious again. “That’s probably why the school insists that I take all these advance courses in the curriculum. Some of them are a real snooze, but some are actually quite interesting. So, there was this one class that I took in psychology where they talked about human growth and development. Research has shown that retrieving accurate, intact memories from before the age of five is tenuous and unreliable. We might remember a fragment of a particularly important event, or have a sudden flashback, but usually the details and circumstances tend to be hazy. All those memories are stored in our brains, but the older we get, the greater the difficulty in retrieving them.
Well, I guess that I’m the oddball, because I’ve always remembered everything about those two days that we spent together—everything that was said, the stories, the crafts, the songs, the stars. I would go over them in my mind night after night, especially after a really ‘bad’ day. It was comforting to remember that somebody once cared about ‘me,’ and it kept me going. You really made a difference in my life, and I kept wishing that you would come back to visit me one day because you never really said ‘goodbye.’ But you never came back, Neal.”
Neal stared at this still vulnerable “child” and said softly, “Maybe one day I would have, Bella, but my life got complicated and I found myself tied up for quite awhile.”
“I know,” she answered. “You were caught, arrested, and sent to prison for years. So then, besides missing you, I worried about you, Neal.”
Suddenly, like a flash of quicksilver, Bella surged off in a seemingly unrelated direction. Neal found himself trying to keep up mentally.
“Charles is sending me off to some hoity-toity boarding school in Connecticut next semester. I think he just wants me out of his hair. Anyway, I have been keeping track—the extra four years of your sentence will be up soon and your parole will finally be over. I’m not sure where you will go after that ‘cause the whole wide world will be out there waiting for you.”
Neal didn’t know how to respond, so he wisely waited her out. Most likely, she would eventually say what was really on her mind in her own time. He was finally rewarded for his patience when she continued.
“So …… I wanted you to know some things before we both lose each other again.”
Taking a deep breath, she suddenly had the courage to stare Neal in the eye.
“Those two days that I spent with you were the best days of my life, Neal. They left a profound mark on my mind and in my heart. For the first time that I could ever remember, I felt safe and protected and important to somebody. I felt that I was valued and that I mattered.”
After a slight pause, she added, “You made me feel ………. loved.”
Neal’s face mirrored the emotion in his own heart. The usually glib con man could not find the right words to say, so he simply stared back at Bella and hoped that somehow she could intuit his feelings.
The impetuous teenager suddenly interrupted the fragile moment by springing from her seat, leaning over the table, and planting a soft, chaste kiss on his cheek.
“Gotta go now!” she sang out happily, her cheeks a bright red. “My chauffeur is probably getting impatient and has smoked a whole pack of cancer sticks by this time.”
As she bolted for the door, Neal’s words stopped her momentary flight.
“You forgot ‘Sparkle,’ Bella,” he said while holding up the tattered stuffed animal.
She turned back and blessed him with that beautiful smile that he had first witnessed so many years ago. “I’m leaving him here with you so you won’t ever forget me,” she said earnestly.
Neal looked at the small, decrepit talisman that represented an enormous wealth of significance, and whispered softly, “There’s no chance of that, little princess. Cross my heart.”
~~~~~~~~~~
June has been patiently sitting on Neal’s terrace taking in a very interesting scene. She had been Byron’s wife for many years, and had learned to read people almost as well as her con artist husband once did. When the nervous young girl had presented herself on June’s doorstep asking to see Neal, the shrewd matron was intrigued. What was her story, June wondered? She was determined to find out the agenda while protecting her beloved boarder from any wicked intentions.
June also knew Neal, and could read him like a book. She had catalogued all of his tells just weeks after he had moved in—not that he had ever tried to deceive her over the years. She loved him like a son, and would do whatever was necessary to protect her “family.”
June instantly became aware that Neal did not know this adolescent when she first brought her to his door. He was as perplexed as she was. June surveyed his body language—the crossed arms and his set, emotionless expression meant that he was in self-protective mode until he found out if this visitor posed some kind of threat. June had thrown him a lifeline when she insisted on staying, and he let her know that he was grateful for her assistance.
June had also astutely profiled the young girl—a mere child-woman, by June’s standards. She was obviously nervous about the encounter with Neal, but tried valiantly to hide it with a blasé yet resolute demeanor. June had to give her credit for overcoming her fears, and realized that the clothes and outrageous hair were as much a suit of armor as Neal’s expressions.
Once the two were seated at the dining table, June could only observe Neal, since the girl’s back was to her. Curiously, that vista was sufficient to pique her interest because the metamorphosis taking place in the con man was dynamic and captivating. His emotions seemed to run the gamut. At first, there was a wariness that suddenly gave way to surprised shock. June was a bit surprised herself when some revealed bit of information caused him to become nervous. Only she would recognize the evidence of an attempt to reclaim his poise by his temporary fiddling with the coffee brewer. It was so out of character for Neal to find himself off-kilter and uncertain.
Then, like a painting done in pastels, everything swirled into soft and muted hues. It was very evident that Neal felt some deep-seated fondness for this girl. The two had talked in earnest, and the moments were poignant, as was the sweet, innocent kiss that marked the girl’s exit. Ultimately, it became an exercise in futility for June to know what was going through the con man’s mind. Now his expression was a true enigma.
Suddenly, a little suspicion began to niggle in the corners of June’s mind. Was it possible that Neal Caffrey—dear, sweet, debonair Neal Caffrey—had just met a love-child that he never knew that he had created? Could this have been a newly discovered daughter seeking him out?
June and Neal had always maintained an open and honest relationship. So, as she slowly walked back inside, she did not feel the least bit intimidated by asking, “Was that child yours, Neal?”
The con man peered up at his old friend and his eyes took on a far-away look. His fingers gently cradled a small stuffed animal. When he responded, she had to strain to hear the soft words.
“Once, for just a ‘brief moment in time,’ she was.”