Dear Edward,
I know I said I wouldn't write again, but I have too. Jake's dead. He, Emma-Mey, Allie and Carl were in the Rabbit when a drunk driver hit them straight on. Jake survived on life support for three days, but the others were killed instantly. I can't believe they're gone.
It hurts so much. Lizzie is all I have left, and she's pulling away. I know she's hurting, but she won't tell me anything. Damn Swan blood. She's going to run, as soon as she can, I can feel it. I'm going to lose the last baby I have left and there is absolutley nothing I can do to stop it.
I miss you.
As always, Love Bella
Lizzie
It had been three years since I had been home. Three years since I had stepped foot in the house I had grown up in. It seemed empty now, without my father's infectious laughter, and my mother's silent but noticeable feminine touches around the place.
It felt wrong to be here, and not see or rather hear my mother's slap make itself known as it hit the back of my father's guffawing head. It felt wrong not to anticipate that slap, to not listen out for it when my father made a stupid (or more likely) lewd joke.
I felt angry when I passed my two sisters and my brother's empty bedrooms. Emma-Mey had only been 18 when the drunk driver had hit them, as had Allie. Carl had only been 17 As affected as I was by my sisters' deaths, my twin's had hit me even harder. Carl-Jasper (my mother had always insisted on calling him that) and I had been extremely close. While we had fought just like any other brother and sister, I had trusted him with everything.
Carl had been the one I had told first when I made out with Jack Walker, he had been the one I had trusted with every teenage secret I had held. He had trusted me just as much, telling me his secrets just as I told him mine. I had been the only one that when he watched movies like Mr. and Mrs. Smith he stared at Brad Pitt instead of Angelina Jolie. I had been the one that he had poured his fears out to constantly, had been the one to reassure him that no one would hate him just because he did not like girls.
I had been the only one that had ever pleaded with Carl to just tell our parents, as I had been the only one that had ever been able to see how much keeping his secret was hurting him.
I would have traded anything to have those moments back again, even if the mere memory could and did bring me to tears. If I could have those moments back...there was so much I would change.
It was not until I reached my parents' room that I completely and utterly broke down. The picture on the bedside table undid me. It was one of all of us at a bonfire. I could remember Aunt Emily taking the picture after Uncle Sam, Grandpa Billy and Dad had finished telling the legends. The bonfire had been held to celebrate Clares' turning 18 Carl and I had just turned 13 and Emma-Mey and Allie had been 14 They were sitting, well more like lying across our parent's laps. Their hands were hanging around Mom and Dad's shoulders, and Carl and I were standing behind them, shaking our heads in mock disapproval. All of us wore cheesy grins, and it was clear we were content and happy.
As my tears dropped on the glass of the photoframe, more memories of family outings, My parents had always made sure that we had known how much they loved us, even when we were going through the difficult stages of life as teenagers. They hadn't been the type of parents that we would have been afraid to go to when something was wrong. All of us had been able to tell them anything, and had.
Even though it hurt to think of my family now that they were gone, I couldn't help but smile through my tears as I remembered confiding in my Dad that I had gotten on the back of Jack Walker's motorbike. He had stared at me for a second, laughed and told me not to worry about it, that if he and my Mom grounded me for that they would have been hypocrites. He had then proceeded to tell me of the bikes he had helped my Mom work on. I had been obsessed with motorbikes ever since, and owned four of them at the moment.
The bed dipped as someone sat down beside me, and as I felt their arms pull me to their chest I realized it was Aunt Leah. She was never one to make her own emotions (except anger) well known to others, but I could feel her body shaking as she whispered in my ear that would be okay.
"Okay? How can it be okay, Aunt Leah? Dad's gone, Carl, Emma-Mey and Allie are gone, and now Mom's gone and offed herself!"
I covered my face in my hands, desperate to hide from the pain that seemed unrelenting. Aunt Leah pulled them away and I saw that she was now kneeling in front of me on the floor in front of me. Her face was covered in tears too, and I could see the pain that I knew had to be in my eyes reflected in hers.
"It will be okay because you are strong, Lizzie, always have been. You are a Black, and Blacks always persevere. As if that isn't enough, you've also got your mother's blood - Swan blood."
I half-laughed, half-sobbed as she finished her attempt at a pep talk.
"If my mother was such a fighter, why did she jump off a bloody cliff?"
"Your mother was sick, Lizzie."
I shook my head, and went to stand up, but she pushed me back down. Aunt Leah stood up, and I could see the anger in her face, in the way she stood, and when she spoke, in her voice.
"Your mother had an illness that she hid from everyone. She wasn't herself, and yes, it's okay to be angry at her, but don't you dare demean her by saying she was not strong!"
With that, she walked out the door and told me she was going to get some boxes for me.
Two hours later, I was almost done. My Mom's clothes were packed up, as were my Dad's clothes and my siblings' clothes. Mom had obviously not been able to pack up their rooms, and frankly I couldn't blame her. Aunt Leah, Aunt Emily, Uncle Sam and a few of the others had helped pack up the rooms but I had sent them away ten minutes ago. I wanted to pack up my Mom's things on my own.
She had been a private person when she had been alive, and even though the others were honorary family, I didn't want them going through her things.
I found her diary in a shoebox at the end of her wardrobe. I placed it on her and Dad's bed. Reading her diary would have seemed wrong. I knew from my childhood that all she had used it for was to remember birthdays and anniversaries, but I still wouldn't have felt comfortable reading it.
There was a scrapbook in the box too, and when I opened it I was shocked. The photos glued into it were of people I didn't know, and each of them were the holders of angelic beauty. It was clearly a birthday party, even though there were only seven or eight people there.
My mother was in several of them, and even though she looked a bit uncomfortable and awkward, she looked happy. That was how I figured out that it was her birthday they were and the fact that everyone's attention was centred on her. The candles on the cake said it was her eighteenth birthday, and I realized this was my Mom before she had begun to date my Dad.
There was a picture of a man, probably about 17 or so, that she had bent in half before sticking it in. Curious, I took it and looked at it fully. She had hidden herself, effectively cutting herself out of the photograph. That was not the only thing that caught my attention though. The way my Mom was staring up at him reminded me of the way she had looked at my Dad. It was obvious she had loved him, but these had been taken just a year before she had started to date my Dad. What had happened?
I put the scrapbook with her diary on her bed, and took the last few things out of the box. All they were were pieces of paper, and as I picked them up I realized that most of them were letters. As I read them it became apparent that they were to the man in the photographs. Edward. They were letters of apology, letters of explanation and letters just telling him about her life. She told him reasons for our names. Reasons even I had not been aware of. He and his family had obviously been important to her if she had named her children for them. Excluding me, that was. It seemed I had been named for someone this Edward had cared for.
The last piece of paper was not a letter. It was more of a bucket list, a list of things my Mom had wanted to do before she died.
Things I want to do before I die:
1. Track down Edward Cullen and tell him I'm okay.
2. Write a novel on mythical creatures. X
3. Get Alice Cullen's real email address.
4. Watch Marley and Me and not cry X
5. Tell Jake how my feelings have changed. X
6. Have a family with him.X
7. Tell those kids how Jake and I got together (minus the V +W's) X
8. Buy another bike, and ride it to Charlie's house.
9. Find Jasper Hale and tell him it wasn't his fault.
10. Slap Paul again, just to see if his control will hold.
a book published X
12. Go skydiving
13. Give Emmett Cullen a bear hug again.
14. Get my degree in creative writing X
15. Tell Elizabeth who she's named for.
16. Find Rosalie Hale and taunt her about the fact that I still have my truck.
17. Tell Edward that I love him. (even though I love Jake just as much)
18. Give Edward my letters.
19. Learn how to fly a plane.
20. Go cliff-diving again, but with the whole pack this time.
21. Talk baby-talk to Leah just to check her temper control.
The list had been important to my Mom, that much was obvious, but it had obviously been pushed aside too many times to take care of us when we were younger. It was at that moment that I decided that my Mom's list would be finished. My Mother had not been able to complete her bucket list so I would complete it for her.