Chapter Three
They were arguing again.
I was hidden against the banister, watching from my perch on the stairs as Grandmama and Papa fought for what seemed like the hundredth time today. Mama had one hand laid on Papa's wrist, trying to get him to give up. There was no use yelling at a storm.
Grandmama was laid back against her rocking chair, arms crossed, nose stuck in the air, lips molded into a scornful grimace. Papa's glare was unforgiving. His square stance, his curled fists—everything about him screamed that this was a fight he would not let go of, but he turned away from her anyway.
"Why...why don't we go out for dinner tonight?" Mama suggested, her voice high-strung and anxious. She released Papa from her light grip. She twirled the end of a lock of her light blonde hair around her index finger—a nervous tick. "I'm sure we could all use a night out."
Grandmama let out a breath of air. "Fine. But it needs to be a good restaurant."
Papa let out a huff and walked out of the living room. He and I both knew that Forks didn't have a restaurant that served cuisine that could meet Grandmama's standards.
He reached the stairs and caught my eye. His glossy brown eyes softened immediately. He lumbered up the stairs and sat next to me on one of the steps. He scratched his head, his calloused, tanned fingers ruffling through the thinning strands of pale blond hair.
"We're okay," he whispered after a moment of silence. "Your gram and I—we don't hate each other. It's just...hard for us to see eye to eye."
I took in his wide, tired face. The corners of his eyes were crinkled with laugh lines. He was fidgeting with his hands, his fingers tapping against each other apprehensively.
"I know."
"It'll get better," he promised. "It's hard for her, too. She doesn't have anybody left back in France."
I nodded.
He patted my back heavily. "Where d'ya wanna head for dinner, Tessie? How about we go to The Lodge? It's your favorite."
"I don't think Grandmama would like going there." It was always crowded, and there were stuffed animals stuck to the walls. Certainly not the kind of high-class restaurant Grandmama would like to go to.
Papa let out a sigh. His eyes were trained on the ceiling. I could tell he was frustrated.
"Why don't we go to that Italian place?" I suggested after a few moments of silence lapsed. "The one Mama likes?"
His mouth quirked into a lopsided smile. "Good idea, kiddo."
"I don't know why she married you," Grandmama muttered.
We were only ten minutes into our drive to La Belle Italia when it became evident that while Papa had let go of the fight, Grandmama certainly hadn't. She was determined to have the last word.
Papa's eyes flashed in the rearview mirror. They were dark, the brows drawn together in anger.
"Excuse me? Actually—no, I know why you don't know. Why you never knew. You never knew when your own daughter left France, when she came here, when she married me, when she had a child. There's a reason for all that, Gise—"
"—I am not daft!" Grandmama's voice was like a whip through the air, shrill and needling. I shifted away from her in the backseat, turning my head toward the outside, watching with growing discomfort as our car sped past the trees that lined Forks. "Whatever our differences were, Rosette and I have worked them out! You, on the other hand—"
"—What about me?" Papa yelled. His voice thundered.
"You don't deserve her." Grandmama's voice was hard, bitter. "Rosette, I told you this a long time ago, and I still stand by it: Divorce him. Come back to Bordeaux with Tess."
My head whipped back to the front of the car. I stared in shock at Grandmama's stiff, stoic profile. She wasn't going to relent anytime soon.
"Maman…" I heard my mother whisper from the passenger seat. "Pas maintenant."
Tears sprung up in my eyes. Was divorce really a possibility? It couldn't be! They couldn't just leave each other like that! I trembled in my seat. Papa caught my darting, jade eyes again.
"Look!" he grunted. "You've made Tess upset!"
Grandmama looked down at me, her grey eyes wide. "Mon chéri, don't worry. You'd like it in France. The countryside is so beautiful this time of year, and—"
"—Maman!" my mother said sharply. She had twisted in her seat and was looking at me, taking in the tears that were now dripping slowly onto the plush car seat. "Nothing's happening, Tess. No one's going anywhere."
"For the moment," Grandmama mumbled.
"I am so sick and tired of your bull!" Papa slammed a hand against the steering wheel. Mama turned back into her seat, glaring at him reproachfully. He made a forceful right turn, and the momentum of the move made me slide down my seat. "For once, can you just keep your comments to your—"
"—Hank!" Mama screamed. "Hank, watch out!"
I scrambled in my seat, moving myself upward and craning my neck to get a look at the dump truck careening toward us. I heard Grandmama gasp next to me, her breaths sharp and sudden. I felt one of her bony hands grip my shoulder tightly.
This wasn't real. It wasn't going to hit us.
Papa turned our car to the left, thrusting his whole body in the direction the steering wheel moved. Through the windshield, I could make out a row coniferous trees. The front of the car collided with a sickening smack against the bark, and I felt something in me snap against the restraint of my seat belt.
My head fell back dizzily. Grandmama was yelling, and then she wasn't. Someone was shouting my name, but I couldn't place the voice. Nothing made sense. I tried to shift, but found that I couldn't feel my limbs. I felt disconnected from my body. My neck was angled so that I could only see the top of the car. The back was smooth, undented, but the front was wrinkled and busted like it was just a sheet of aluminum foil.
We crashed, I realized dimly. We actually crashed.
The last thing I could recall before I succumbed to the encroaching darkness was Mama screaming my name.
The sharp smell of antiseptic was what woke me up. I inhaled it deeply, coughing softly as I came to. I blinked blearily against the all-encompassing lights. Everything was too bright.
"She's awake!" a clear, feminine voice called out. I turned my head to the side and winced as the side of my scalp throbbed with the movement.
"Careful," a soft, stern voice commanded.
My eyelids felt like lead, heavy and aching to stay shut, but I kept them open all the same. The doctor was short and plump. His face seemed too small for his features; thick, scruffy eyebrows adorned his large crystal blue eyes. An equally bushy mustache was plastered above his lips. He was looking intently at a clipboard.
"Que ce passe-t-il?" I groaned. I could scarcely recognize my hoarse voice. The words croaked and died in my throat.
"I'm Dr. Stewart. We recovered you from the crash. Thankfully, your injuries are not life-threatening, although they are quite painful." His lips were pulled into a consolatory smile. His forehead was creased in concern. I could tell he was used to this sort of thing.
"Where is Mama?" I whispered. "Je veux ma maman."
A strange look passed over his face. He seemed unsure of what to say; his smile faltered then fell. His eyes flickered to the curtains that enclosed my hospital bed.
"Where are my parents?" I repeated. I felt something wet slide down the side of my face, mixing into my matted hair. I was beginning to fear the worst. "Where are they? Where are Mama and Papa? Tell me!"
He seemed alarm. "Please don't stress yourself; you're in critical condi—"
"No!" I wriggled against the bed. I could feel the bandages wrapped around my torso grow loose. I tried to move my left leg, but the weight of the cast rendered it unusable. "Where are they?!"
Dr. Stewart swallowed thickly. "We couldn't save them. I'm sorry."
The world stopped. The doctor was talking, but I couldn't hear him. The lights swelled above me, flooding me in their luminance. My lids fluttered to a close, but the light seared through anyway.
I felt like I had been in another collision. My body froze up; my heart was rattling in my ribcage, beating furiously with the pass of every millisecond. My lungs shut down. My breaths became short and raspy before ceasing altogether.
That wasn't true. This couldn't be true.
In my head, it kept playing in slow motion: Papa's white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, Mama's shouting, the truck veering toward us, the rain as it beat against our windows, the sharp turn of our black Cadillac...
I couldn't put the pieces together as a child. I was too young to understand how the collision had resulted in their deaths. I was too young to understand how Papa's swerve into the tree wasn't the result of a fidget; it was the only way he knew to save me. A collision with a two-ton truck would've killed us all; a crash into a tree line would've left someone alive.
But I didn't know that at the time. I only knew that everyone was gone. I only knew the burning hate I felt for the feud between Grandmama and Papa, for the petty arguments that had ripped everyone I loved away from me. My memory of them soured as the day of the funeral came closer.
Only my mother's visage remained intact—her tinny voice, her bright green eyes, her wavy golden hair, her warm pale hands.
I couldn't stop crying. The tears always managed to sneak up on me.
I felt a pat on my shoulder and looked up. A man with sandy brown hair dressed in a shabby black suit was gazing at Papa's grave morosely. It was Phil, one of Papa's friends at the police station. He threw a lily onto the growing pile of white and pink flowers. I followed his line of sight.
RIP
HENRY JAMES SWAN
son, brother, husband
His features scrunched together. "I didn't know Hank had a brother."
Janet, my newly assigned social worker, nodded from my side. She pushed back her black hair with a thin, coffee-colored hand.
"Why can't he take Tess in?"
I shivered against the cold. I knew of Uncle Geoffrey, but I had never met him. Janet raised the possibility of living with him two weeks ago, but quickly renounced her suggestion after realizing that Uncle Geoffrey didn't have a stable job and was a frequent visitor of one of Forks' nighttime bars.
"He's not..." Janet hesitated, "suited to care for a child at the moment. At some point, maybe. But as of right now, the only place for Therese is a foster home."
Phil didn't say anything, merely giving me another light pat before ambling away.
After a few more minutes of silence, I felt Janet place a warm arm around my black-clad figure.
"C'mon," she murmured. "It's time to go."
"Okay."
My face fell as I realized that I could leave. I was still here, still present and existing and alive. I could go and find a new home and slowly forget, but Mama and Papa would always remain here, six feet under the cold, muddy soil of Forks Cemetery.
Janet let me go to my room alone, finally allowing me a moment of privacy and quiet recollection. She had told me to gather any last few items I might want to take with me, but I wasn't sure if I wanted anything from here.
I crossed the expanse of my carpeted room, looking around at my stuffed animals, my coloring books—my purple dollhouse. I turned away. I felt my heart constrict painfully.
The rain beat painfully against my window pane. I stared at my beige walls, thinking over the plan for today: gather any last items, say goodbye to everyone, and ride with Janet to the foster home in the next city over. I let out a defeated sigh. I didn't want to go to a foster home.
The thought of running away had briefly crossed my mind before, but I didn't know where to go. I was eight years old and had no money or real experience in the outside world. I had grown secluded in Forks, one of the most desolate towns in the nation. I wouldn't last a day on my own.
If you want us to come get you, then just think about us, okay?
I walked toward the window and looked outside. The sky was thundering with its storm; the treetops whipped from side to side, soggy and downtrodden with the weight of the rain. I opened the window, pushing the lower pane upward and squeezing my eyes shut as I was hit by a gust of chilly wind. It was impossible for the Cullens to come here in this weather. It was impossible for them to come at all.
Think about leaving with us. Think about coming back outside into the woods and seeing us again like today.
How could they come? We didn't live in a world where people could magically appear at one's whim. I didn't understand how Rosalie could have told me to think of the Cullens for them to materialize.
This wasn't a fairy tale.
My face crumpled. I backed away from the window and sat on the edge of my bed. No happy endings.
Make the decision to see us, and we'll be there, okay?
I thought about the Cullens all the same. My mind told me it was stupid to put my hope in a group of people I had only met for a couple of hours, but my heart swelled at the thought of seeing them, of being with them.
Lightning flashed, swallowing me in the brilliance of its glow. I blinked against it, and when I reopened my eyes, Rosalie and Alice were standing in front of me.
I rose from my bed and stretched my arms out to Rosalie, who picked me up in one swift movement. I buried my face in the crook of her neck. The tears began to slip from my eyes, so I closed them shut, trying to hold back the waterworks. They always found a way through despite my best attempts.
Rosalie's chilled hands stroked my back.
"We're going home now," she said softly, so soft I almost didn't catch it. "Keep your eyes closed."
I never wanted to open them again anyway.
A/N : thanks so much for the reviews, the commentary really means a lot!
i feel like the turn of events here came way too quickly & without much prefacing, but this was the main catalyst for the story to actually begin, y'know, so i was eager to get to it. in a couple more chapters, the story will actually begin to delve into the Twilight world. right now, it's kinda just floating haha :)
