July, five years later

I told myself it was high time I got over my aversion to Forks. My father was turning fifty and I decided to surprise him by coming to celebrate with him. Sure, I had seen him a lot through the years, but it wasn't the same as visiting him in his own home. It would make him happy. I could do this for him. None of this was his fault, so why should he be punished for it?

It wasn't his fault it was on his sofa that Edward and I snuggled to watch TV.

It wasn't his fault it was in his kitchen that Edward would sometimes wash dishes for me and I would flick him with a dish towel until he would chase me around and tickle me until I shrieked.

It wasn't his fault that on nice days Edward and I would lay on a blanket in the yard and talk about our hopes and dreams and how much we loved each other and were mushy and ridiculous and picked shapes out of the clouds.

None of this was his fault. I needed to get over it. Or at least past it. I was a grown woman, a college graduate, I had a job. I could do this.

I kept reminding myself of that a few weeks later as I drove through the city limits. I took a convoluted route to avoid passing the high school, and Edward's house, and the trail head where we started hiking sometimes, and anything else that would remind me too forcibly of him. I did not want a trip down memory lane. Just going to my house would be difficult enough.

I pulled up by the curb in front of the house and realized I was in the place Edward used to park. We had made out in his car here once, until the windows were fogged up and my dad came out and rapped on the window with his gun. I took a deep breath and fought the urge to hyperventilate. My dad's police cruiser was parked in the drive. He was home. I could do this.

He opened the door and stared at me blankly for a minute, then breathed, "Bella!" He looked so happy that I was here. It more than made up for the difficulty of the trip.

Soon after I arrived, we went over to La Push to celebrate with Billy Black and Jacob, and Sue Clearwater and Seth. It looked like Sue and Charlie might be on the verge of falling in love, and I was happy for them. I wanted no part of romance, but they weren't like me. My dad had wanted no part of romance too, for a long time after my mother left him. Maybe after fifteen or twenty years I would be brave enough to try again, too. I didn't want to think about it.

We had a driftwood fire on the beach after dark—Jake and Seth carried Billy in his wheelchair right onto the sand. The fire was beautiful, colorful from the salt. We all sat around and talked about nothing in particular, Jake and Seth making me laugh, trash-talking and randomly pelting one other with pinecones. No one treated me strangely, or mentioned the Cullens, and I was thankful. When we ran out of dry wood Charlie and I went home, with sandy feet and smelling of smoke. It was the most wonderfully relaxing night I'd had in a long time.

I was tired, but after I took my shower I sat up a while thinking. I felt like I'd leaped a huge hurdle. I knew the first time coming back here would be the hardest, so the worst was already over. I didn't like the idea of running into any of the Cullens—especially, please God, not Esme in the grocery store- but I honestly didn't know if they even lived here anymore. Edward's father was a doctor and could work anywhere. Charlie never mentioned them, even though he and Carlisle had been rather friendly at one time. Of course, after the pictures that friendship was probably ruined too. I decided to try and ask Charlie about them in the morning. Maybe eventually I would be comfortable enough to come home without having to brace myself for it.

I was making pancakes the next morning when the doorbell rang. Charlie was upstairs in the shower so I ran to get it, only to freeze when my hand was on the knob. The last time I had answered that door my life had been ruined. I told myself I was being stupid. Really, what could possibly happen now to make things any worse? I pulled the door open and stared, stunned.

It was Alice.