Its been a minute, but the continuation of this story has been eating away at me for the last few months. Please leave constructive reviews!
After I came home from the grocery store, I spent the rest of the morning cleaning. Cleaning was always a calming activity for me, and I knew if I found myself idle, I wouldn't be able to hold it together for very long. I moved from room to room, avoiding the unsettling feeling of being inside a stranger's home. Reasonably I knew this was not a stranger's home, this had been my home for a time. Now, I suppose it was my home, again. I gathered a small pile of things that I would eventually move to the garage, and left the nursery untouched for the time being.
My confidence in finding a job was quickly replaced by anxiety as I considered the reality of what I had done. I had run thousands of miles away from home. Sure, I was 18, I was legally an adult. I was free to make my own decisions, but that didn't mean that those decisions didn't have consequences. My mother would kill me if she knew what I had done, where I had gone. Then again, having been missing for more than 24 hours now, I was shocked that I still had not heard from her. I checked my phone periodically throughout the day, each time with my heart in my throat, and each time I was more than a little disappointed to have no missed calls.
In order to keep myself from dwelling too long on the consequences of this very irrational thing I had done, I began to make a list of all of the things I intended to accomplish that day, with an additional list of projects that I hoped I could accomplish that week. I pulled all of the dishes out of the cupboards, washed and dried them, and returned them to their spot, wiping out the accumulated dust from the shelves as I went. I stripped the upstairs bedroom of all of the linens and washed them in the aging washer and dryer in the garage, making a mental note to replace the slightly congealed laundry detergent on my next trip to the grocery store. I dug through the toiletries in the closet at the top of the stairs, throwing away empty tubes of toothpaste, dusty shampoo bottles, faded and empty prescription containers. The house was fairly empty of valuable possessions, save for a flat screen TV in the living room. I found a dusty, fraying Mariners hat in the closet.
All of these mundane things gave me the opportunity to get to know this man (I reminded myself that he was my father) intimately. This investigation lead me to a few conclusions: Charlie had likely spent most of his time working, and his life was comfortingly routine. He bought the same products, the same toothpaste, the same soap, he had two sets of greying white sheets, I found a couple of plastic garbage bags full of empty cans in the garage (all of them the same type of beer). Given the age of some of the items, he hadn't made many changes to the house after my mother and I were gone. The aging couch in the living room had a worn indentation in one cushion, but was fairly untouched in the rest of the cushions. A few of the buttons on the remote for the TV were worn smooth, while others looked brand new. His wardrobe consisted of his police uniform, the rest of his closet filled with a few pairs of rugged and well loved-looking blue jeans, a few white t-shirts, and a couple threadbare flannel button up shirts.
I unpacked my remaining possessions, and placed them around the house. It felt strangely comforting to hang my clothes among his, to put my toothbrush in his spot in the bathroom, to drop my shoes next to his in the foyer. I took the opportunity to inhale that home-scent deeply while I completed my tasks. As I worked to make this space my home, it was almost beginning to feel normal, as of I were only settling in while Charlie was away. A part of me almost expected him to walk through the front door, and it triggered something in me that I had thought was lost. I missed him deeply, and yet there was something else that was overtaking that feeling, a connection with him that I could only ever daydream about. This connection felt good, and for the first time since I had arrived in Forks, I was no longer in a state of mourning. I was breathing life back into the Charlie Swan that I never had the chance to know.
Evening fell quickly and heavily. The gloomy overcast drizzle gave way to a muffled twilight. Having lived in metropolitan areas for most of my conscious life, I was slightly unsettled at how quiet the area surrounding this house was. I wondered idly what might be in those woods, and I was tempted to google what sort of critters were common to this area. Not wanting to spook myself further, I set that thought aside for the time being.
As I finished my intended chores, I took a moment to step outside on the back deck. There were a few grimey plastic lawn chairs tucked against the house next to a covered grill. I brought out a grease stained towel and spread it across one of the chairs. I settled into the chair and stared out into the dark woods that surrounded the house on two sides.
It was strange to sit in silence like this. I was not well practiced in the act of simply being. My mother and I could be described as actively avoidant of our feelings. Talking about them, or even indulging them was most certainly not allowed. As a child, if something upset me, or if I started crying, my mother would get this pinched look on her face, and she'd send me to my room so that I would calm myself down. Looking back, I think she might have felt guilty that she was incapable of coping with a child's strong emotional tides like mine. She probably thought she was giving me the tools to self-soothe, making me more resilient. She may have been have been right, but I would never have the opportunity to know that for certain.
I blinked and realized that while I was lost in thought, my eyes had filled with tears. I had cried more in the last two days than in the past two years. I let out a heavy sigh, trying to dispel the intense roller coaster of feelings I seemed to be on. Suppressing a shiver, I wrapped my arms around myself and stood up to go back inside. Just as I was about to cross the threshold back into the warm home, the drizzle stopped and low clouds parted long enough to let a brilliant and almost supernatural full moon peek out. Goosebumps rippled across my skin; feeling sufficiently spooked, I stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind me.
I yawned and dropped myself heavily onto the couch, kicking my feet up on to the ottoman. It struck me how normal this action felt, how natural. I felt more settled in this strange home after only 24 hours than I had ever felt in Renee's home. Strange, before now I had never realized that I thought of it exclusively as Renee's home. A deep ache in my chest was feeling lighter the longer I was away from Phoenix. I laughed humorlessly at myself at how quickly I was swinging between these strong emotional states. I figured I must need sleep.
I made my way upstairs to the bedroom, slowly changed out of my now 2 day old clothes, brushed my teeth, and crawled into the freshly laundered sheets. I can do this whole adult thing, I thought to myself as I drifted off to sleep. I can do this.
The next morning I woke up disoriented. It took me a while to figure out where I was, and even longer to figure out what I was supposed to be doing. I glanced at my phone, and realized that if I wanted to make it to work on time, I needed to get up and get moving. I thrilled a little at the thought of getting up to go to work, the whole thing felt very mature and routine, and I carried a lingering sense of pride from the previous night. I rolled out of bed and padded my way downstairs into the kitchen. I fished out the coffee suppliesI had purchased the day before from the freshly cleaned pantry and set out to make a pot of coffee.
While I waited for the brew to finish, I gazed out of the little window over the sink and our onto the side yard. Now that it was daylight, I could see that there was no boundary that marked the edge of the property, rather the dense forest encroached on the house threateningly. Or perhaps it was protectively? My perspective on many things had shifted in the very short time I was in Forks, WA. Soon, I found myself pulling out of the driveway and out onto the main street, creeping toward Newton's Outfitters in the morning commute 'traffic'.
Just as it had the day previously, the tiny bell above the door tinkled to announce my arrival as I stepped into the shop. Leaning against the same glass display of knives was the shop owner, and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment as I realized I had never even asked his name.
"Bella!" he called warmly, stepping out from behind the counter to clasp my hand in both of his. I was oddly aware of how warm his hands were.
"So, you weren't scared off!" he chuckled. My blush deepened.
"No, sir." I said, unsure of what to say but knowing that I needed to respond with something.
"Please, call me John." He smiled knowingly, and took a step back.
"Thank you again for coming onboard. I really needed the help." He seemed very at home in his domain, gazing proudly around the showroom, before his eyes returned to mine.
"Happy to help" I said, starting to regain the confidence I had lost upon entering the shop.
"Well!" He clapped, "let me show you around!" John turned and began to walk slowly through the store, pausing occasionally to explain how he ran things. The morning passed quickly as I took in all of the information. He pulled out a peeling plastic binder and showed me where to clock in for the day, I noted the handwritten shift schedules that he had made previously, alluding to his lack of modernization. I could tell that he was genuinely happy to have help, and as I took in more of how he ran the business, I began to understand how I could add value. Eventually, the first customers of the day began to filter in, and I settled myself in the back office at the ancient desktop computer that was nearly buried under piles of inventory orders. I spent the first couple of hours entering the current shift schedule into a spreadsheet, futzing with the formatting until is was clear and easy to read. A sense of pride in my work began to creep its way into awareness, and by the time John came back into the office to take a break for lunch, I had already digitized that week's shift schedule, the past two weeks of timesheets, and was beginning to work on creating a digital version of the inventory lists that I found scattered around the back office.
"How are things back here," he asked cheerily, "have I scared you off yet?" I shot him a genuine smile, and began to explain what I had accomplished in my first few hours. John was thrilled by my progress.
"This is fantastic, Bella!" he leaned in excitedly to look at the computer screen, "This is something I've wanted to finish for a while now, but I everytime I sit down to do it, I'm never able to figure this computer out." I pushed myself back from the desk and got to my feet, gently stretching my stiff muscles from sitting at the computer all morning.
"Great work so far, Bella. I can tell we're going to be very thankful to have you around." John rounded to face me and I felt myself beaming in response. I was truly pleased with the work I had done. I felt a foreign sort-of confidence wash over me. For a few hours, I had forgotten that I was essentially a teenage runaway, that I was living in a dead man's house thousands of miles from home, that I was technically still in high school, that I had no plan for what I was going to do next.
"Why don't you step out for lunch and I'll see you back here at—" John glanced at his watch, "twelve forty-five?" I nodded and thanked him.
Stepping out of the shop, I was surprised to find that a bit of sunlight was beginning to make its way through the overcast skies and the air was considerably drier and warmer than it had been when I first left my house in the morning. Unsure of where to go, I picked a random direction and began to walk through the bustling downtown shopping district. Passing a few shops where mothers and their children were browsing, I was reminded of the regular Sunday afternoon walks my mother and I would take when I was younger. Wherever we were living at the time, we would stroll down the street window shopping and pretending to browse for things we certainly couldn't afford. I felt an odd pang of sadness when I realized that it had been many years since we had done anything like that together. I wasn't sure when our relationship had changed, but as I reflected on it, I realized that we had grown quite distant in the last few years. Our relationship had become colder and more antagonistic with time.
I was lost in thought when I felt my body collide with another person, sending us both tumbling to the ground. I quickly gathered myself and was already apologizing profusely when I began to stand up. The other person was also getting to their feet, and as they turned to look at me, I realized it was the same woman from the grocery store. I blushed immediately, realizing that now she had seen me make a klutzy fool of myself not once but twice now.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, as she also recognized me from the day before, "it's you!" I found myself flustered and unable to respond, my mouth gaping open and closed like a fish.
"I am so sorry about that, are you alright?" she asked kindly, her sincerity shining brightly in her warm brown eyes.
"Are you alright?" I spluttered, once I regained the ability of human speech. I heard a light snickering just to my right, and I realized there was another person standing with us. It was the teenage girl from the parking lot, she was standing safely on the curb, away from the commotion I had caused. She had an amused expression on her face, her pixie-like haircut and narrow features accentuated a carefree and almost supernatural quality about her.
"Please excuse my daughter," I snapped my attention back to the woman I had collided with, realizing that I was beginning to stare, "Are you alright, did you hurt yourself?" she pressed again.
"Oh, I'm fine." I said quickly, smiling in what I hope was an appeasing smile.
"I'm Alice!" the girl to my right said brightly, thrusting her hand forward to shake mine. I returned the gesture automatically.
"Esme," the older woman added, she smiled serenely and reached for my hand as I let go of Alice's. They both looked at me expectantly and I realized that I had forgotten to offer my own name in return.
"Bella," I blurted awkwardly after a moment.
"Are you new to the area, Bella?" Esme asked. The way Esme said my name made something in the pit of my stomach uncomfortably warm.
"I just got here" I said, "I just started working over at Newton's Outfitters," I added unhelpfully. I realized after a moment that perhaps I should be less forthcoming with information, I have no way of knowing if I was in any serious trouble for having run away. Not broadcasting my identity and whereabouts seemed like a safe choice.
As if sensing my overwhelm or perhaps my mounting anxiety, Esme smiled warmly, gathered her shopping bags that had fallen to the ground.
"Well, Bella it was lovely to meet you. I hope I'll see you around" Esme said, my relief was palpable.
"Bye Bella!" Alice called brightly as they began to walk away. She waved at me from over her shoulder, seemingly bouncing as she walked. I weakly returned her wave before turning around and taking a steadying breath. Two awkward interactions in two days with these women. I felt my cheeks begin to heat up with embarrassment. I took another deep breath and attempted to shake off the experience, continuing on in my search of a place to eat lunch.
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