Alone on Christmas Eve, Edward Cullen stood ankle deep in snow at the end of a jetty surrounded by a frothing high tide, suffering from what were sure to be the early signs of hypothermia. The wind sucked his t-shirt, pulling it to his skin as if it were spandex instead of polyester. His ankles burned as the snow melted into his socks, but he stopped shivering as the bare skin of his arms slowly went numb.

He stared out at the water; the snow clouds covering up the night sky reduced the ocean to swirling blackness as the wind whipped the water into frenzy. The once beautiful waters looked like ink brought to a boil.

Edward remembered running. It had been so easy, once he'd started. It didn't matter that he wasn't dressed right, it didn't matter that he had nowhere to go, he just had to keep going. As his heart beat harder, the cold air scraped his throat, but he couldn't let himself stop. He just kept running until he'd run out of land and then, walled in on three sides by water, unable turn around, the desperation had finally caught up with him.

Then he'd screamed into the atmosphere at a God that didn't love him. The noise erupted from his throat until there was no sound left, no more pain, and no more agony. Once he hit that point there was no returning. Hopelessness had him now and it had him tightly. The numbness was nice for a change…but he knew it wouldn't last unless he was proactive about it.

He stood in the snow before God and the chilly waters of coastal New England contemplating, not the meaning of the universe, but his own upcoming demise. All he had to do was take one more step, one final mad plunge, that would take him from the safety of land and send him into the unforgiving grip of a winter sea. The current would push him against the shoreline and it would suck him further out into darkness, push and pull, push and pull, until his body sank and drifted beneath the surface. In this weather, he wouldn't last ten minutes in the water; he had no one to look for him, no one to miss him until it was far too late. How long would he be among the missing? Until the weather thawed and a stroke of unfortunate luck brought his corpse up in front of some beachgoer? Or would he be lost indefinitely to the depths, his decay attracting pitiless scavengers who'd remove all evidence that he'd ever existed at all.

His body leaned forward in anticipation. It would soon be over. All he had to do was jump.

"No!" A voice yelled behind him.

He stumbled in surprise, his feet readjusting to catch his weight before he could topple over the edge, and then turned, mystified, to see who was trying to stop him.

He couldn't see much of her in the darkness, she was too far away, but he could see dark hair fluttering around a lightly colored snowcap. He could see her kneeling in the snow, her hands waving restlessly over a small box; Edward frowned as he realized she'd interrupted his suicide over a box. Spitefully, he hoped the contents were fragile and irreplaceable.

She looked up suddenly and he knew by the position of her pale face that she was staring straight at him. Her body tensed and she leaned back from the figure she saw in the dark.

"Who's there?" Her soft voice was frightened.

Edward swallowed hard, then coughed on his own spittle, trying to come up with something witty to say. Realizing, even as he tried to speak, that nothing would be able to explain why he was out on The Knob in the middle of the night in December, in nothing but a t-shirt and cargo shorts.

"The guy who was here first," he told her. "Who the hell are you?"

"What are you doing out here?" She asked, not relaxing in the slightest.

"I wanted to be alone," he said. "I could ask you the same question, you know."

"I was… I wanted to spread his ashes…" One of her hands picked up the box, the other rubbed her face. "Well, I guess technically they're spread now." She sniffled.

The same wind that was sweeping ashes from the little wooden urn now lying in the snow, helped cloak Edward's sharp inhale.

"Do you know what the protocol is? Do people typically keep these things or leave them where they lay?" She was talking to Edward indirectly, because he was there, not because she really wanted someone with whom to speak. "I suppose if I leave it, it's littering."

"Who was he?" Edward asked, drifting closer, hoping to get a better look at the mystery girl.

"My late husband," she answered.

"I'm sorry," he said.

He was sorry; it wasn't just platitude. There was too much suffering in the world and it seemed impossible that so much of it should happen at Christmas. This woman probably just wanted to hang stockings, drink spiked eggnog with her husband, and make love in front of a Christmas tree… Instead, she'd spent her night slogging down a hiking trail to dump the sorry sod's remains into the Yuletide atmosphere.

"Yes, well, thank you…" She stood up slowly, brushing the snow from her knees; now that he was closer, he could see her better.

The words came out of his mouth, impulsively, insensitively, before he could stop them. "You look too young to have had a husband."

She didn't take offense, instead she laughed. "We'd been high school sweethearts."

"Shotgun wedding?" He asked in a lilting tone.

"Ha-ha…No. Most people thought so, but no. I just wanted to marry him." Her hands gently brushed the snow from the design carved into the urn and then she looked at him.

As he could see her, she could now see him. "Oh my God, you must be freezing!" Her voice turned shrill as a gull in distress. "What are you doing out here, dressed like that!"

Edward shrugged and then, wondering if she even saw the movement, struggled to explain.

"I had a bad day and went for a jog. I didn't really stop to think about dressing." I didn't think I'd be alive long enough for it to matter, he finished silently.

She stepped forward, closing the gap between them. She pressed her hand to her neck, and when she pulled it away, it was to unwind a dark scarf from around her throat. It hadn't registered why she was taking a scarf off, not until she was looping it around his neck. Her body heat burned his frozen skin, the last bit of life his body possessed reprimanded him for failing to dress for the season.

"No," he said, "you don't have to do that."

"It's already done." She pulled on the scarf, as if it were a dog's leash. "Come," she commanded. "I need a coffee."

She took him to a small diner: a family run type, the kind that stole its name from the first property owner and possessed cliché red vinyl seats and big windows. A sign on the door announced that it was open 24 hours to truckers and people with nowhere better to go. How they managed it on Christmas Eve was a mystery to Edward-but he thought belatedly that the family probably had help for the holidays. Everyone inside the diner, employees and patrons, found themselves in the same boat; having the kind of Christmas better spent with strangers than alone.

Edward's body broke into a sweat, from the extreme temperature changes, as he slid into the seat across from the woman. He'd followed her to her car; what else could he do? Tell her he was too busy killing himself to have coffee? They'd driven in silence; she politely ignored his shivering, acknowledging it only once when she cranked the heat. He ignored just as politely, that she in her heavy coat and knit cap must be cooking.

As she placed an order with the plump, friendly-faced waitress for two coffees, his eyes roved around the diner. A small Christmas tree balanced precariously on the counter, glistening with silver tinsel and red ornaments. Plastic poinsettias smiled up from every table and around the frame of each window, stringed lights blinked back at him. He focused on the decorations to avoid focusing on two pitiful facts. The first, most obviously, that he still didn't know the young widow's name. The second, he had no money to pay for the coffee she'd just ordered him.

"So, what you do?" She asked with the same tone she had used earlier to command, 'Come.'

"I'm between jobs, just now. I just got fired from a scuba and bait shop… Hence the summer uniform."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I-"

"What's your name?" He interrupted.

She blinked and laughed. "Oh! Oh now I'm really sorry, you must've thought I was kidnapping you!" Her smile was beautiful, but fleeting, sparkling humor disappearing behind coral lips. "Bella, my name is Bella."

"Hi, Bella," he greeted her officially, for the first time. "I'm Edward."

"Edward." She spoke just his name in a tone that hinted at old friends reuniting, and his body warmed at the sound. She held her cup in both hands and looked down, her dark lashes shielding her eyes from view.

He didn't want to be close to her, he didn't want to be close to anyone. He went on the defensive. "Bella, what kind of woman takes a man she doesn't know from Adam, out for coffee?"

Her brow lowered, looking more confused than hurt. "What kind of moron goes jogging in midwinter dressed like its midsummer? I simply offered to get you out of the cold. No one forced you to accept, Edward."

They sat in frosty silence, drinking their beverages and staring off into space. A tinkle of laughter from somewhere near the counter drew Bella's attention. Edward noticed her head turn toward the sound and wondered if she wished she were sitting with those strangers instead of the one she got stuck with for the evening.

"I'm sorry," Edward said, although he didn't know if he meant it. "Tell me about your husband."

"No," she answered, "You tell me why you got fired."

He almost didn't answer her and in the end, he didn't know why he did. He didn't owe her anything and he didn't want her sympathy. The only one who could be hurt by information was himself. Telling her didn't change anything. It didn't make him feel better; his shoulders were just as heavy as before.

"My boss found out I was sleeping in the back room. He seemed to think it was creepy."

"You were sleeping on the job?"

"No."

It took Bella a moment to understand and she didn't believe it when she did. He was too handsome, too clean. She was certain that by trying to understand him, she'd misunderstood.

"You don't mean… You're homeless?"

"I prefer to think of it as being between residences." He looked down at his coffee, so he didn't have to see her face. "My last girlfriend was a scam artist. She took everything and I do mean everything. My money, my clothes, my car and my home. I reported it to the cops, investigation pending and all that…"

"But why didn't you go home?"

"I just told you-"

"No, I mean to your family?"

"Oh… I don't really have any. I was a foster kid until I was eighteen then the family kicked me out and told me not to come back."

"No friends?"

Jesus, lady, Edward thought to himself, if I had a couch to go to, do you really think I would choose a storage locker? He took a drink of coffee rather than answer her.

"His name was Jake," Bella answered, desperate to bring Edward's eyes back to her face. "He was a cop. Some little shit stabbed him in gas station robbery the day before New Years, last year. He wasn't even on duty…just in the way."

"Sorry," Edward mumbled.

"We were trying to have kids. My mother said, after, that it was good thing he hadn't… Like that was what I wanted to hear? Like raising his baby would have been the worst thing in the world? She said that at the funeral. I would have died to have a baby then, anything to hold onto… I told her to get lost. And she did."

She took a drink.

"She sounds like a crazy bat. Like any kid of yours wouldn't be beautiful."

Edward's words met silence and he examined the expression on her face. She froze like a startled deer and he tried to think back, to think about what he'd said wrong.

"That sounded weird," he panicked, "I'm not a pervert or anything, I just think you're pretty beautiful…Not that I'm hitting on you, I don't mean that, shit, your kid could be ugly as fuck, it isn't like I ever saw Jake, not that he was ugly-"

Bella started laughing. It was deep and uncontrollable, beautiful as tolling church bells, emanating from her very center. She couldn't stop laughing and as Edward relaxed, he started to laugh too. His laughter was short and nervous at first, growing smoother as he grew braver, until a warm velvet resonance surrounded her.

"What a pair we make," she exclaimed.

"Yeah, sorry," he answered.

"Do you apologize for everything?"

"Instinct. It's easier to just assume I'm in the wrong."

She put her mug down and frowned. "Look Edward, I don't know you, but… Where are you staying now?"

"Don't worry about me," he said, looking down and feeling desperation rise in the pit of his stomach. "I always figure something out." That was the problem; in the past, there had always been a way out, a way through. Don't want to be homeless, get a job. Don't want to seem uneducated, get a library card and read everything. Need somewhere warm to sleep when your criminal mastermind girlfriend steals your life-savings and kicks you to the curb? Lock up shop and forget to leave.

Nevertheless, it was not that simple anymore. How long could he be expected to go through life struggling and alone? He had worked so hard to keep himself off the streets and out of trouble and look at what it got him. He had no money and no job. He couldn't get another job without a permanent residence, but he didn't have that either. No one would notice if he died in the snow or someone murdered him for his shoes… Either way he was looking at an unmarked grave.

"But I am worried… Come home with me, I've got a couch you can use. You can figure things out tomorrow when it daylight."

"When it's daylight it'll be Christmas," Edward said, more to himself than to her.

"Nobody should be alone for Christmas."

"Would you still invite me, if your husband were still alive?"

"If my husband were still alive, we never would have met. I'm trying to help you, so stop being an ass and accept my invitation. Unless you'd rather spend your night out in the snow?"

From the outside, Bella's small Cape house looked like every other on the block. The salt air had eroded the pastel paint and warped the shingles; twinkle lights and a couple of festive lawn ornaments had been strategically placed in the small front yard. From the outside looking in, no one would have suspected Bella was grieving.

The interior told another story. Edward's eyes noticed a handful of personal photographs tacked to walls, but the closest thing she had to holiday decorations was a half dead poinsettia. There were blankets on the couch; it looked like she'd phoned ahead and told someone to make a spot for him, but he realized belatedly she'd been sleeping on the couch instead of in the bed she once shared with someone else.

"It's nice," he said. "Cozy."

Bella laughed, nervously. "If you're impressed by this, you should see the view from the bedroom." She gasped as she thought about how her words could be perceived. "I didn't mean… The whole neighborhood was built on a hill; every house in it is supposed to have a view of the ocean."

"I bet it's beautiful," he said.

There was an awkward moment where they just stood there in the front room.

"Regret the invitation yet?"

Bella didn't answer; she busied herself, stripping the couch and dragging pillows and blankets up the stairs and out of sight. He heard the soft wumpf, of laundry hitting a floor. A drawer creaked and she reappeared with clean bedding.

She started to put sheets and blankets down on the couch; Edward watched her hands tremble. He wondered what she was afraid of… Did she think he'd take advantage of her? Rob her blind? Was she afraid of retreating to the bedroom, alone? He wondered how long it'd been since she'd slept there. He took pity on her, placing a hand on the back of the couch and leaping. Sailing over the back, he landed with a thud, sitting directly in her way.

"I can do that, you know," he said, reaching for the blankets and tugging them from her hands. "I can do that." She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. "Tell me, why no tree? You decorated the yard, but not the house?"

"I didn't think I'd be able to get a tree in without help. I didn't see the point of all that trouble just to decorate it alone. I figured I knew it was Christmas, with or without a tree."

"But you decorated outside?"

Then she laughed. "Actually, I didn't, not really. The lights were already hooked up; I just had to set the sleigh down."

"Oh, God, you're one of those? Those 'let's leave the lights up, year round,' people?"

"Definitely," she said. "And before you judge, it isn't as easy as it looks. In the summer, you've got to figure out how to prune back the hedges without cutting any wires or crushing any bulbs. One could make an argument, that the people who put their lights away every year are the lazy ones."

"One could make that argument, but one would still be wrong."

"And I suppose you're one of those people, who know how to store everything away, just so…"

"Everything has a place," he said.

She sat down next to him and stared at black television screen.

"I love The Knob," she exclaimed suddenly, changing the subject.

It took him a moment to figure out she was referring to the place where she'd found him.

"It is a nice trail…" he answered, trying not to think of the dark reasons that brought him to that place.

"I think it's the one of those places, you can just feel something more, you know? You're not alone out there."

Is she speaking of God now? Or Jake?

"That's funny," he replied, "I went there because it feels alone."

She frowned at him and he reached up to smooth the wrinkle out of her forehead with his fingertips. She turned her face away from his touch.

"To each his or her own, I guess."

"I should go to sleep…" She pointed and said, "There's a kitchen through there if you get hungry or thirsty and there's a bathroom if you go through the door after that."

He wanted to beg her not to leave him just yet, but he bit down on his tongue.

After she'd left, he stood up and began straightening up the couch; tucking the sheets into the cushions, putting the fresh pillowcase on. He kicked his shoes off and wondered if he'd tracked snow across her carpet and whether or not she cared. He guessed she probably didn't, if she cared she'd have asked him to take them off sooner.

He stretched out under the blankets and closed his eyes.

He'd come so close to not existing. He wondered if she knew or if he should tell her and whether or not she really cared. Maybe he was just a warm body to fill the space where her husband should be. Maybe he was just taking up space, so she didn't have to be alone.

The smell of coffee woke Edward. He tried to get up, froze at the sharp pain shooting through his neck, and he lay back down. The couch had been warm, but he'd pinched a muscle in his neck. He lay still and listened to the jingle of cereal bouncing into a bowl.

Bella walked into the room balancing a tray covered by two coffees and two bowls of fruit loops. Her pajamas were pink flannels; her hair was a bird's nest. She had dark rings around her eyes and it didn't look like she'd slept well.

"Merry Christmas!" She greeted.

The sentiment was sincere, even if the excitement was false.

"Merry Christmas," he said, staggering upright, to relieve her of her burden.

"You're crooked," she observed.

"You're tired," he observed.

Sitting side by side on the couch, they balanced their cereal bowls on their knees and focused on eating. Edward eyes slid sideways to catch her sneaking a peek of her own. He ate slower, trying to prolong the inevitable. The only thing more awkward than the silence would be the moment when she kicked him out of her home. He still hadn't any clue what to do about being homeless. At the very least, this lovely angel beside him had restored a modicum of his faith in humanity. Killing himself wasn't firmly off the table, but he was certainly open to suggestion.

She leaned back, crossing a one ankle over a knee; she balanced her breakfast on the flat of her ankle with one hand, reaching for a remote control with the other. She turned on the TV and flipped to the weather channel. There was something very young in her ease this morning, in her body language; he stared at her, trying to imagine her married.

He couldn't view her as the picture of domestication. It didn't compute. She was impulsive, independent, at ease, if tired and bereaved. The idea of her doing someone else's laundry seemed laughable.

She looked from the television to him and caught him staring. Her mouth formed a smile and her eyes formed a frown.

"What?" She asked, glancing from him to the TV. "Is this okay? I'd rather watch looped weather reels than an all day marathon of A Christmas Story…"

"It's fine, the elf on A Christmas Story gave me nightmares."

"Forget the elf; I couldn't look at a mall Santa for years."

Edward brought his bowl to his lips and what started out as a sip, turned into a slurp. Bella's soft laugh reached his ears and for one brief moment, they were just two people enjoying Christmas morning. Then her laugh turned to a sob; all the tension that had been held at bay seemed to sink into her bones and she crumpled. She set the bowl down on the coffee table, apologized, and ran out of the room.

Edward didn't make the decision to follow her; it was just something he did. Like breathing, he had to act. He followed her to the room she'd fled to and saw her leaning against a glass door that led to a small deck. Her face was resting against the cold glass, her breath flowing deeply, dramatically, as she tried to regain control.

He stepped up beside her and ran a hand down her cheek, wiping away the tears there. She closed her eyes and mumbled something.

"What?" He leaned closer to hear.

"See," she repeated, quietly. "It's a great view."

He glanced out, just long enough to see the grey sparkle of frigid ocean on the horizon. His eyes didn't linger on it, it didn't impress him. He'd seen plenty of ocean last night. Her eyes were closed so she couldn't see the way he was staring at her. His breath came faster as nerves crept in. Something was beautiful, but it wasn't the ocean.

"I've never seen anything so lovely."

"Edward…"

"I think you saved my life, Bella."

"Edward…"

"Last night, I wasn't planning on a tomorrow. I probably should keep this to myself; I shouldn't say anything at all. But you need to know, whatever you're going through? You saved my fucking life. If you couldn't come back from this, if you were that far gone, you wouldn't have questioned me last night. You did something nice for me and it saved my God Forsaken life."

"Edward… Last night… When I dropped the box in the snow. Everything was going wrong and I was all alone. The box in the snow felt like an omen. I thought about it then, I thought about the bottle of wine and the bottle of sleeping pills I had stashed away. Then I saw you." She sniffed and turned her head to look at him. "You might be many things, Edward, but Forsaken is not one of them. I believe He sent you to me. I could have spread those ashes anywhere, why'd I choose there? I've got a beach in walking distance from my door, why would I drive all the way…" She shrugged. "You saved my life last night, by being in the right place at the right time. If nothing else gets said today, let me say this: Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for spending Christmas with me."

Edward couldn't resist anymore; he reached an arm out and pulled her close. He was momentarily stunned by the mere fact that she let him. Feeling the warmth of her hands, sinking through his clothes and into his chest, he wondered how it was possible that they could both be so close to slipping over the edge. He clung to her like a life raft, bowing his head against hers. Together they stood, marveling at the power contained within a random act of kindness and the influence it could have on the life of a stranger.