Mike Newton was in a bad mood. His grandson Ryan, after days of endless complaints of how they never went anywhere in the summer, had convinced his doting grandfather to take him somewhere, anywhere. And so Mike stood grumpily in Cold Bay, Alaska. The plane ride had been long and tedious, his eighty year old joints grumbling in response to the turbulence.

Mike was normally easygoing, but he didn't trust this place. It was just like Forks, cloudy and rainy, but unfamiliar. Different faces littered the sidewalks and different cars drove down the main roads. No, this was not home. But the happiness of his grandson left Mike to ponder on his embittered thoughts in silence, because he would not spoil that jubilant mood. Besides, Mike thought waspishly, there was no one here. The town population hovered around one hundred, certainly not an interesting place. But Ryan liked to hike, and the forest was beautiful.

Mike stared at the cloudy sky sourly, looking out the window as Ryan drove toward their destination, a hiking trail.

"You do realize I'm too old for this, you know?"

Ryan grinned suddenly. "Nah, Gramps, you look just fine. Not a day over seventy. And don't act like that; Gram's pot roast has you moving faster than a guy with his pants on fire".

Mike didn't reply, just glared out at the clouds once more. Ryan parked the car, and they sullenly moved toward the forest trail. Even though he kept up the Olympic Outfitters store that his parents, God rest their souls, had owned, Mike was not especially athletic, definitely not at his age. That athleticism that showed in his grandson was inherited from his mother, who was Newton only by marriage.

Easy conversation carried them from the car up to about two miles in, where the trail became a sharp incline. Mike wheezed his way along, keeping a careful footing on the compacted dirt.

"So where are we going, anyhow?"

Ryan looked at his grandpa guiltily. "There's a river up top of this hill. Its supposed to be beautiful, and have the best fish around."

Mike sighed. "So that explains the poles. And how far up is this river?"

Ryan, if he had looked guilty before, now looked positively shamefaced.

"Another two miles, I'd say."

Mikes only response was a gulp. The uphill climb made talking next to impossible for someone Mike's age. And so they hiked in companionable silence, finally reaching the top of the hill. Before them lay a magnificent river, partially blocked by a copse of trees separating the Newtons from the water. Ryan began to fiddle with the fishing equipment in these woods as Mike took a step forward. And then he froze. Because, before Mike Newton, was someone he hadn't thought he would ever see again.

Before him Isabella Swan, (Cullen, he corrected himself mentally), sat, looking pensively into the water. But she was all wrong, and she was not alone. Instead, she was curled up against Edward Cullen, who looked exactly as he had remembered.

And that was the problem. He hadn't seen Bella or Edward in over sixty years, and yet they sat in this Alaska clearing looking the same way that they had in high school. Both were completely untouched by time. If Edward's familiarity was disturbing, then Bella's unfamiliarity was positively terrifying.

Although he recognized her instantly as Bella, she was startlingly different. Her deep brown eyes had given way to honey colored, nearly yellow ones. Her dark hair waved halfway down her back, and her face was porcelain and perfectly symmetrical. She was awesomely, terrifyingly beautiful. And as Mike stood staring, thinking only of Bella, Edward's eyes flashed to his face.

The intuition is Edward's eyes terrified him, and Bella turned, much too fast, to look as well. They whispered together, and though he was mere feet from them, he couldn't hear their words. And then, in the time it took Mike to blink, the beautiful pair from his past was gone. All that remained in front of him was the lovely river, making him wonder if he had imagined them. It was, after all, impossible, he reminded himself. Yet he could not shake the image.

And then a hand touched his shoulder, leaving Mike cringing away.

"What is it grandpa?" Ryan asked worriedly, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"No, not a ghost." a suddenly ashen Mike responded. "I thought I saw a girl that I knew once, a long time ago".

"Oh. Was it her?"

Mike was silent for a long moment, and then replied "No, it wasn't her. Not the girl I knew."

Then he smiled at his grandson as they walked toward the river, reaching out for his fishing pole.