Disclaimer – to state the obvious, I don't own Twilight cuz my name's not Smeyer. (Don't own the truck either and I'm way more upset about that!)
The truck just hadn't wanted to start this morning. After repeated efforts, Bella gave up, grabbed her bag and scrambled out. She sighed in resignation and started walking across town to Newton's Outfitters, grateful that the weather was unseasonably pleasant. It wasn't exactly sunny but it wasn't raining either and, for an autumn morning in Forks, that alone was something to smile about.
She'd be a little late to work but early on a Wednesday in mid-September was hardly the height of peak season. Besides, she'd worked enough overtime during the summer that Marsha could cut her some slack.
Perhaps, Bella reflected as she scuffled her shoes through the first of the season's fallen leaves, despite Jacob's continued careful and devoted tinkering, her 1955 Chevy was just too old to be a reliable everyday vehicle. Perhaps she should buy a more contemporary car – a little hatchback with good fuel economy would certainly be easier on her hip pocket and the environment.
Maybe she could keep the truck for weekends; Charlie could take it on fishing trips. He'd like that.
It was Charlie, after all, who'd affectionately named the truck Beastly Bess in a surprising state of creativity. When Bella had questioned him, he'd replied in his simple way that all vehicles should have a name. Bella had concluded this was yet another element of the male mind that she'd likely never understand. Instead of grappling with the logic contained by the Y chromosome, she'd asked her father the name of his police cruiser.
Never one for detailed explanations, Charlie had shrugged. For once Bella had pressed him for an answer and then saw a hint of pink flush his cheeks. He had ummed under his breath for a moment before quietly responding, "Well it's a cruiser and it's a car so she's Cruisey Carleen."
Although she'd spent all of her life disliking the name Isabella, Bella was suddenly and silently grateful that her mother had named her and not left it up to Charlie.
A honking horn jolted Bella back to the present moment. The lights changed and she turned right off G Street onto South Forks Avenue; Newton's in sight just beyond the motel and RV park.
As a souped up, modern mini pick up roared past, bass thumping, Bella thought she should probably just sell Beastly and be done with it. After all, she'd had an offer only the week before last.
A man had walked into Newton's asking if anyone knew anything about the 'classic pickup with the flare sides' in the parking lot. Meekly, Bella had answered it was hers whilst envisioning some calamity – had it spontaneously disintegrated into nothing but a pile of rust or had it somehow rolled into a tourist's expensive but highly-impractical-for-Forks convertible?
The man was clearly enthusiastic, ranting about how unusual it was on the west coast to find a truck of that age in running condition with such good body work. Bella thought about all the dents and paint chips and must have looked confused because he began explaining that salty coastal air usually caused 'significant corrosion and rust'.
Then he'd peppered Bella with questions about the truck's 'specs', as he'd called them. She must have looked very confused so he gave up and told her that he wanted to buy it, put a 427 big block V8 (whatever that was, probably something only appreciated by someone with a Y chromosome) under the hood and turn the truck into a hotrod.
Bella felt traitorous even asking him what he'd offer. Thirty-five hundred, he'd replied. Bella felt more traitorous thinking of what she could spend that on.
Today, feeling less than charitable towards Beastly and her quirks, Bella thought three and half grand would make a mighty fine down payment on something that'd actually get her to work and college on time.
She had told the man she'd think about it. Meaning she'd go home and laugh with Jake that some fool actually wanted to pay that amount of good money for Beastly.
The man had keenly pressed his card into her hand and left Newton's whistling. Through a side window, Bella had seen him once again admiring her truck. Turning back to help another customer she'd smiled to herself, happy in the knowledge she wasn't the only person who loved her truck.
Love, she thought grumpily, was not the word she'd use this morning though.
Jake had indeed laughed with her when she'd told him about the revhead in Newton's. Then he'd casually suggested she could sell the truck – that would, after all, leave him with a lot more free time on his hands. Bella had looked scandalised. She'd retorted that she'd be just as likely to sell Charlie.
Jake had smiled easily, kissed her and said he'd keep patching Beastly together if that's what she wanted. Anything for his Bells and her truck had always been Jake's unofficial, unspoken motto.
Reaching the last block before Newton's, Bella pulled her phone out of her bag and left a message on Jake's answering service asking him to bring some tools with him when he came to dinner that night. He'd probably have everything he needed rattling around in the trunk of his old VW Rabbit but this way he'd be sure to bring at least half his garage with him – enough mechanical stuff that Bella couldn't identify but thought could possibly keep a fleet of 747s in mint condition.
Marsha Newton, as Bella had mentally predicted, didn't mind Bella being ten minutes late. In her usual breezy way, she told Bella she hadn't yet had a single customer.
"Maybe the good weather's keeping them away," Marsha joked. "Is that why you walked?"
"Truck wouldn't start again," Bella groused. "I've asked Jake to look at it tonight."
Marsha tut-tutted and assumed an all-knowing air. "Shoulda sold it when you had the chance, Bella. Or is that why you keep that boyfriend of yours around? Personal mechanic? Shouldn't you be marrying him soon anyway? Been together forever."
Bella shuffled fishing lures and let Marsha run on.
Ever since her son, and Bella's former high school classmate, Mike, had married his first and only college girlfriend four years ago at the ripe old age of twenty-one, Marsha was convinced the entire town of Forks needed to be united in matrimonial bliss. She'd even had a crack at Charlie, telling him he needed a nice wife, not Bella, to cook his dinners for him. Charlie had replied that for as long as Bella wanted to live at home and study part time, she was more than welcome to do whatever she pleased in the kitchen.
Marsha had suspected Charlie was just glad his daughter was back from wherever it was she'd disappeared to after high school. Still, he was nice looking man for his years. A wife would suit him.
Sticking with the automotive theme, Marsha again tried to engage Bella in conversation. "Mike and Jasmine sold their old college clunkers last month and bought a Yaris. You know, one of the nice hatchbacks that's good on fuel. Maybe you should think of doing the same, Bella."
"Maybe," Bella replied uneasily, unsure how the discussion had jumped from her non-pending, non-existent nuptials to new cars.
Marsha blathered on in her relentless but harmless manner. "It's quite roomy for a little car; they'll be able to fit a baby seat in the back seat easily. If you like, I can get you the name of the dealership they went to."
Bang goes the idea of a hatchback, Bella thought to herself. She wouldn't be caught dead driving the same car as Marsha's can-do-no-wrong but characterless daughter-in-law.
"Yeah, thanks. I'll, well, I'll see what Jake says. Hopefully it's not terminal and Bea- the truck can be resurrected," Bella replied, correcting herself mid-sentence so as to not make public her truck's name. Charlie's other pearl of male mechanical wisdom dictated that car names should stay within the immediate family.
"I know, you just want to see that big, strapping young man of yours with his shirt off under the hood of your truck again, right Bella?" Marsha teased.
If only you knew the half of it, you poor, bored, gossiping woman, Bella thought cockily. Outwardly she allowed herself to blush suitably and mumbled something about Quileutes certainly being a bit taller than average.
The rest of the day was occupied by more of Marsha's rambling and Bella's limited replies. Both women were glad for the appearance of the day's grand total of five customers and the eventual arrival of five pm.
A/N - I wrote this in May, inspired by walking home on a beautiful but cold, southern hemisphere autumn day. I'll post the other 4 chapters over the next couple of weeks.