I looked up at the nice sized house taking in every detail. I looked down at the picture I had in my hand. It was the same house, the same police cruiser was parked in the same place under a tree near the second story window, the porch chairs were stacked the same way and the white door still had a pink butterfly sticker on it. The only difference was that there was no smiling brunette standing in front. The girl in the picture had brown eyes, brown hair, pale skin, and had white teeth. She looked around sixteen.
She most likely didn't live here anymore. She probably moved far away. I would go up and knock on the door and ask for Isabella Swan. The him/her that answered the door would look confused and tell me that no one lived by that name at that residence. And then my search for Isabella Swan would be back at square one.
Yet, whoever owned the police cruiser would have to have some information about the girl. And that could be a step-up. I walked forward and rang the doorbell and heard a faint chime from inside. I heard a male voice grunt and I grew nervous as I heard advancing footsteps and then the door swung open and a man looking like he was fifty looked down at me with surprise. He had a graying mustache and a receding hairline and his eyes were the exact same color as mine. The exact. I stifled a gasp as I realized that I was looking at a relative of mine. The first relative I've ever known. I also realized that I was staring at him and I quickly cleared my head.
"Hi, sir, I was wondering if Isabella Swan was still living here." I told him as I controlled my voice so that it sounded confident.
His eyebrows creased. "I'm sorry but Bella hasn't lived here in nearly thirteen years."
Disappointment washed over me and I swallowed. "Do you have her current address? It's extremely important. I need her to sign something for me."
He looked perplexed. "Who are you?"
A fair question. "I'm Riley."
He looked at me. He could tell that we had the same eyes. "And why are you looking for Bella?"
"She's my mother."
His jaw went slack, and then tightened, then he paled, and then he blushed and then he looked mad, and then he smiled then looked mad again. I couldn't help but giggle a little at my grandfather.
This snapped him out of it.
"You're her? You're Bella's daughter?"
"That's what it says on my birth certificate." I nodded.
"We have the same eyes." He commented.
I smiled and nodded again. He then seemed to realize we were standing outside in the cold weather.
"Well, come in then." He stood back and beckoned me into the house and I gratefully walked into the warm house. It smelled of coffee, metal and fish. It oddly smelled homely instead of disgusting. I had this thing with scents. Whenever I went somewhere new I memorized the scent.
My grandfather walked closed the door and walked into the living room. I followed and we stood there staring at each other. He was surveying me for other similarities I guessed. I don't think he found any. I didn't look much like him or the girl from the photos.
He sat in an arm-chair next the t.v. and muted it from the sports game playing. I sank into the couch across from him.
"So what are you doing here?" He asked after an awkward silence.
"I'm looking for Isabella Swan. You called her Bella?"
He smiled. "That's what she prefers."
"Where does she live? I found her name on my birth certificate and the photograph in my file. I tracked her to here but that's it."
"Tracked her from where?"
"Portland."
"That's far. Did your parents drive you?"
I shook my head. "I took the bus. Fifteen hours."
He looked shocked. "That's a long time."
"Yep. So is Bella living near here?"
"Your parents were okay with putting you on a bus alone?"
I sighed. He was avoiding my question. If I wanted my questions answered I would have to answer his first.
"I never got adopted. I have a rare blood disease. I had to get a lot of surgery when I was younger and no one wants to adopt someone older than four." I replied.
Pity flashed through his eyes. God, I hated that look.
"And you're looking for Bella," he said sounding even more sorry now.
"There was a signature problem on my foster care sheets. Legally Bella is still my mother and I'm applying for emancipation so I need it signed."
He nodded. "Are you hungry?" He said suddenly.
"Look, I don't want anything from her except her signature. After that I'll be out of her and she'll never have to see me again. I just need her to sign the paper so if you could please tell me where she lives."
"Well where she is, is kind of complicated—"
"Is she dead?" I interrupted him.
"No, she lives a few miles from here."
"Then could you please take me to her? I need this. I don't want money, I don't want sympathy and I don't want her to take care of me. All I want is her signature. If I don't get her signature, then I'm going to have spend another two years being bounced around crappy foster-care. With scope-drinking moms and creepy dads. Which, to be blunt, blows. So please, please just take me to her."
He looked at me for a long time. I stared back at him.
"I'm not leaving this house until I get this signed." I said grabbing a folder out of my bag and waving it around.
He finally sighed. "Okay. Let me make a call."