Chapter 4: The Unexpected

The phone rings and rings. On the other end will be Edward—and his news about recent events. I take a deep breath and try to plan out how to handle this.

I begin by revisiting what I know.

So. Here's what I know: Jasper is his best friend and his half-brother, five years older. There are fragments Edward shared with me here and there, events that string together into a story—his accidental success as a 19-year-old musician, then the burden of having more money than sense, more freedom than experience in his early twenties—but the only thing that matters to me now is that Edward might have lost him.

Drugs had been an issue. Is that what this is about, I wonder? Jasper had been in and out of rehab a couple of times. I knew he was using again around the time I lost track of both him and Edward.

But before that happened, before I lost track, I knew Jasper as a shy, curious young man who loved the forest like I did. He was clean during those months I knew him. After that first trek in September, he took to hiking and camping in the wilderness, seeking me out on my college group hikes from time to time. Sometimes he would tag along with us, but just as often he was content to explore alone. I told him about the places up near Forks that I thought he'd like, and even joined him once for snowshoeing at altitude before I took off for my semester abroad.

The subject of Edward was an unspoken no-man's land between us; nonetheless, Jasper's gestures and offhand comments were like an inside-out echo in my mind, calling up every story Edward had ever told me about him, making sense of the fondness I'd always heard in Edward's voice. And he was like a human Rosetta stone, showing me that Edward's understated kind, smart, great really meant unbelievably gentle, brilliant, can't imagine life without him. I came to love Jasper for that. He'd given me fodder for trusting that Edward's words whispered in the dark had bigness and depth behind them, even if he did one day stop feeling those things.

And now I'm hearing Edward's recorded voice ringing in my ears, sounding just like I remember, telling me Please leave a message, and what can I possibly say? I dig my fingers into the grass next to my knees as if to anchor myself.

"Edward, it's Bella. Bella Swan. I just saw. I hope you're all right. I hope Jasper is, too. Just…call me. Any time. This is my cell."And then I disconnect.

I flop back to lie on the grass and close my eyes, taking more deep breaths. People occasionally send loving tribute gifts on behalf of grandparents when they retire or have a major birthday. Sometimes it marks a twelve-step recovery program milestone. In Jasper's case, it could be this last one. But when it isn't one of those things, and when an email mentions "recent events," the phrase loving tribute is not good news. It means grief.

It makes me a little bit sick to realize a part of me is actually relieved that this is the explanation for the calls. That this isn't about reminiscing, not some nostalgic impulse on Edward's part. No obscure half-said things for me to endlessly interpret. This is only about Jasper. Jasper and these donations to benefit the wilderness he must have never stopped loving.

"I know you're not meditating with a cell phone in your hand."

My eyes fly open. Eduardo is standing above me, peering down. He's shirtless, and his bare feet rustle the grass next to my ear. It's unseasonably warm for April, but he'd be dressed this way regardless; this is essentially his daily uniform, Spring through Fall.

I crack a smile. "No. Even I haven't sunk that low." I sit up and hug my knees to my chest as Eduardo squats down next to me. I watch to see if he folds himself into a perfect lotus, but he just sits in a normal cross-legged position.

"Shush. You're not low. So you're a yoga truant. It happens to the best of us." He squints at me in the mid-morning sunlight through long hair that flops in his eyes. "You don't look so good."

"I just got what I think is bad news about an old friend." I rub my hands across my face in case I've been crying. "Two old friends at once, really."

He nods. "Will it help to talk about it?"

"No. I mean, it would, but first I need to know about it. I don't know the details." I spin my phone around in my palm and check that the ringer is on.

"You just think it's bad, huh?"

"Yeah."

"You've always had good intuition."

"Have I?"

"You would know. What do you think?"

"I'm afraid you're right." I peer at him, shielding my eyes from the sun. "Hey, was that a trick? Do they teach that in yoga school?"

"Well, they need something to teach us; anatomy, chanting, and Sanskrit only fill up the first three days."

I shove him in slow motion until he topples over, laughing.

"Yoga clown."

He does an effortless sit-up and tents his knees, draping his arms over his legs.

"Seriously, though…it's my obligation as a certified yoga teacher to tell you some of the ancient bearded dudes believed intuition is controlled by your solar plexus chakra."

"My what?"

"Your solar plexus chakra." He points to an area midway between his belly button and his breastbone. "It's stimulated by meditation and deep backbends. Like the ones you were doing a lot of before you went AWOL from my class."

"Is that true? I mean, do you believe it?"

"Eh, I don't know. It's what some people say. Could also be that run-of-the-mill stress reduction and blood flow clear the clouds out of your self-awareness."

I think back to the all-too-clear feelings that came up during meditation those last couple of times. I could use more, not fewer, clouds in my self-awareness.

"Huh. Well, listen…I'm coming back eventually. I just need a break."

"It's all good. Whatever it takes, friend. Hey, if you need cheering up later, we'll go eat fried food and throw darts. Bring Ed. Eddie. Emmett."

"Really? You'll be seen in public eating fried food?"

He hops to his feet. "I would have thought me throwing a sharp weapon would get a bigger reaction."

"We'll give you the plastic tipped ones."

"Deal." He gives me a salute as he walks on toward Main Street, muscles efficient and rippling under his skin. I hope he doesn't plan on being allowed into any shops or stores without shoes or a shirt.

~.~

When I dust myself off and head back into the office, I find Eddie sitting on a file cabinet between Angela's desk and Lauren's, kicking his legs back and forth. He holds his phone up to me. "Look! I'm the Mayor of Forks…Forks Donut, that is—on foursquare." He never seems to tire of this joke. I love how easily amused he is. Angela rolls her eyes.

"What's up?"

"Temperature's up is what. I'm in the mood for a mocha swirl coolio frap or whatever. Want to walk down to the corner with me?"

"I don't know, I'm—" Just at that moment, my phone beeps with a text message. "Waiting for a call back."

He cocks an eyebrow at me, inferring that if I'm using my cell phone, it's personal. Lauren tries to get my attention as I pass her desk, but I can't focus on work right now. I shake her off and drag Eddie into my office. I close the door, explaining about Jasper, and about the checks in tribute to Jasper, while I inspect my phone.

The message—from Edward One—is concise. Can't call now. I can G-chat if you can?

Every impulse to dodge him is long gone. I reply with my info, sit at my desk, and log on without stopping to think. Eddie settles into the visitor's chair at the opposite side of the desk and watches me, his eyes sharp. Is that him? He mouths the words.

I frown. "It's G-chat, Eddie. He can't hear you. Or me. Anyhow, this should just take a minute."

Eddie nods and occupies himself with his phone.

I barely have time to do a gut check when I see Edward's username and a green dot appear on my screen. I've never mastered chatting; the rhythm is always off, and it feels awkward. But this will be done with soon enough. I'm sure of it.

206Edward: Bella?

Clallam_Swan: I'm here. Hello.

206Edward: How are you? Sorry I can't talk by phone. Hospital has email kiosks, but cells aren't allowed.

A hospital. This is good, I think. Relief sweeps over me, and I forget to type. The feeling is short-lived.

206Edward: It's Jasper. I guess you know by now.

Clallam_Swan: Hospital?

206Edward:I feel bad telling you like this. He's had a stroke. An aneurysm in his brain started bleeding.

Well, that's not good. I type Shit only to delete it before hitting enter.

Clallam_Swan: How is he?

206Edward:He's hanging on, B. But in very bad shape.

Clallam_Swan: I'm so sorry. Was it—I mean, did he

206Edward:No, no drugs for 8 yrs+. Could be residual damage to blood vessels from those days…no way to know. Surgeons repaired the vessel last week and have kept him in an induced coma since then.

I want to be sick to my stomach. My cursor blinks.

Clallam_Swan: Oh, dear.

206Edward:Doctors are "optimistic" but also "cautious" plus caveats. He could survive and still lose so much. I'm so worried for him. For all of us.

Even all these years later, I can't help thinking: this isn't like him. He was never so direct and forthcoming. Then again, this is just like him. Going from years of silence straight to the heart of the matter. He doesn't have a halfway mode. It also occurs to me that I'm not "Bella" to him right now, but simply a sympathetic ear. I can handle that.

Clallam_Swan: You're doing everything you can, I'm sure of it.

206Edward:Trying, is why our mother got the idea of the tribute gifts. Some sort of karmic rite. We saw some Wild Clallum paperwork in his apartment.

Clallam_Swan: Well, we can make use of every dime. Tell him for me.

206Edward:He can't hear or understand, we don't think. But I'll tell him.

206Edward:He's been giving anonymously for years, apparently. Through his accountant.

Clallam_Swan: I wondered who that was.

206Edward:It doesn't surprise me, you know. I've been thinking about how happy he was in the woods.

Clallam_Swan: I remember.

206Edward: I'm glad there's someone who knew him then and only then. You never saw him in bad shape, B. Not once.

That's not exactly true, but Edward doesn't know that, and now isn't the time to bring it up.

206Edward:Of all the ways I imagined us

He never finishes that thought, because my next line cuts him off.

Clallam_Swan: Can I email you a stewardship report?

Clallam_Swan: You know, describing the impact of donations? Because the work we're doing is what he'd want, I think.

206Edward:I'm sure it is. I'd love to see it.

Clallam_Swan: I'll send it, then.

206Edward: Doc's briefing us in 5 min.

Clallam_Swan: Okay. Your family is there with you?

206Edward:They are.

Clallam_Swan: Good. Take care.

206Edward:OK. Thank you.

Clallam_Swan: Call me if you need to talk.

His green dot goes gray before I'm sure he saw my last note. I lift my eyes from the screen and look at Eddie, who is still here. Peering at me. I feel cold sweat and realize my face must be flushed.

"Everything okay? I feel like I just watched a soap opera on fast-forward play out in your facial expressions."

"He's alive. Jasper, that is." I puff air out of my lungs. "Sounds like it's very touch-and-go. He had a stroke."

"Well, shit."

My desk clock reads 10:30 a.m. How has so much changed since I first sat down here this morning? I'm trying not to conceive of what this all means for Jasper. And I'm trying to reconcile this straight-talking, heart-on-sleeve Edward with the man I knew in college.

Emmett has said before that when people are in crisis mode, they often let go of their standard defenses. Control freaks become very loose. Laid-back people take over anything to do with structure and order. Maybe that's what this is.

I hear a light tap at the door, and it creaks open. Ed's face appears in the gap.

"Hey—oh, hey." He swings the door open wide when he sees Eddie in the visitor's chair. Eddie stands up. "Lauren called me. She said you rushed out of here like you saw a ghost. She was a little worried."

I turn my face up to him as he bends down to kiss me. I mull over where to begin in telling him what I've just told Eddie, plus the new information about the aneurysm. This involves explaining who Jasper is, and who Jasper's brother is. Or was. To me.

While the wheels turn in my head, Ed looks from me to Eddie and back again. "Sorry, am I interrupting something?"

"It's not—no. Eddie just stopped by to recruit me for a coffee slushy break."

Eddie is making his exit, signaling that he really is getting parched and thirsty, when the door flies open, yielding to Emmett's hulking presence.

"Bella, doll. Oh, hi sweetheart." He pecks Eddie on the cheek but turns his attention back to me. He's in therapist mode. "I thought you might need to talk…everything okay?"

Ed raises his eyebrows, and I know he's wondering just how many people I've reached out to before him. I shake my head at him.

"Yes, Em, I'm fine. Who—how?"

"I ran into Eduardo in Pete's. He says you got some bad news this morning?"

I reach out to clench Ed's hand in mine, calming him.

"Well, it's not even that big of a deal. Probably. Or…it could be a very serious deal, depending on how you look at it. I just learned the full story five minutes ago."

What I wouldn't give to be among the mossy old growth trees in the rainforest right now. But I'm not there; I'm here. I take a deep breath and tell Ed about the email from an old friend—someone I dated in college, I say—and the tribute donations, then the news about Jasper's condition.

"What can I do?" His eyes linger where my fingers press the back of my neck. This is my tell. My distress signal. I can see Ed evaluating, deciding whether this is something he can fix—or something he wants to wish out of existence.

"It's hard to say. You don't know him. I barely know him."

"But he knows Wild Clallam?"

"Yeah. Actually, it sounds like Jasper is the anonymous donor we've been getting checks from since the start. To be honest, he influenced me in a certain way when I was in college, and it was sort of because of him that I founded Wild Clallam."

"And now he's fighting for his life," Emmett interjects. "Do you think you might want to go to Seattle? Sounds like this Jasper is someone important. I don't care how long it's been." He exchanges looks with Ed, and so do I.

I shake my head. "I haven't heard from either of them in years. Eh… Jasper's brother…he was trying to tell me; he's called a few times over the past week. To tell me."

"Wait, he's been calling for a week? Why didn't you mention this was on your mind?" He looks to Eddie, and Eddie makes the universal sign for don't look at me. "I mean…no wonder you've been so...You can't keep this stuff bottled up."

"Well, I didn't know this was what it was about—I didn't think it was important. I thought he was just…calling. "

In the silence that follows, I understand that he and I are coming to the same cold realization: the fact that I didn't mention it is what makes it significant. Deeming something not important has never stopped me before.

"Wow. That's actually worse." He holds his breath to keep from sighing, pressing his eyebrows with his fingertips. I can see the part of him that is pissed warring with the part of him that sees I'm upset, the part that wants to fix things for me.

Ed turns to ask Emmett and Eddie to give us a minute, but they're already slinking out the door.

He walks around me to open the blinds at the tall window facing the park, sending sunlight pouring in. He knows I like to see the evergreens on sunny days. He leans against my desk, long legs stretched alongside my chair. For being just a foot away from me, he feels very distant.

"This man's brother who called. You dated him in college?" He's turned to face the window, so I can only see his profile.

"For all of ten weeks. It was..." I stop myself from saying it was nothing. "It was a long time ago."

"What does he want from you?"

"Maybe nothing. If he tries to get in touch again, it's because he wants to be reminded about Jasper's better days. Or to vent to someone who isn't so close to the situation."

He finally turns his head back and meets my eye. His voice is quiet and calm. "And you want to be that person?"

"I won't if you don't think it's appropriate."

He searches my face for a moment before answering.

"No. That's not my place. I know you, Bell. If you can comfort him, you will."

He brushes the hair back from my face and kisses my forehead before standing up, leaving me to my work.

It never comes to that, though. Edward doesn't reach out to me again. I email him the stewardship report, just like I would with any of Wild Clallam's major supporters. Lauren brings me a new batch of donations from today's mail; there are more today than yesterday. I spend the afternoon writing thank-you notes, which I have messengered to the board chair so she can add her signature to mine.

I check Eduardo's yoga class schedule online and drop in after work, feeling the familiar tug and strain of muscles stretching and flexing across tendons under my skin. This is a reliable way to get out of my head, my endless questioning. To train my concentration on lifting, pushing, balancing, breathing, twisting, tightening here, letting go there. Drops of sweat splash onto my yoga mat. A stockpile of tension leaves my body, replaced by the buzz of endorphins.

I bow out just before the final meditation begins, pointing to my wrist as if I have an urgent appointment to get to. Eduardo nods. My walk home is quiet, and I'm both energized and calm, thinking.

~.~

February, 2011

Dear Alice,

He was in my dream again last night. You know who. It only happens every few years now, but it's still the same: I wake up clutching the sheets and trying to gather the dream back into me. Satisfied. Drunk on happiness. In the dreams, he doesn't do anything special. Once he slipped a thick sweater over my head as I was about to blast off in a spaceship, telling me to stay warm. Often, all he does is look me in the eye and give me the faintest smile. I hear his voice, and it grounds me. I feel the softness of his hair under my fingers, and I see his face go easy as he lets me see how he likes it. Every time, the feeling stays with me for days.

It started happening at yoga, too, in meditation. His face—his quiet, expressive eyes and barely-there smile—that's what I see when I let my consciousness go and drift to the calmest, most peaceful place my heart knows.

I'm taking a break from yoga. I don't know.

Eduardo believes your body tells you how you feel about something before your conscious mind knows it. He said this when I started crying in rest pose last week for no reason. Eduardo also says crying doesn't always mean sadness. Sometimes it just comes along with the release of something that was trapped.

Maybe all it means is I want that feeling again. Maybe I'm close to it. It could be that "Edward" is just a symbol in my own personal dream dictionary, a talisman that stands for a particular feeling of being seen and known, challenged and safe, pushed and trusted all at once.

Life. I'm so glad you're here in my memory to help me sort it out, Alice. There's only one other person who recurs in my dreams, by the way, and it's you. You cling to me like a tiny monkey, lightweight and cheerful—but you mean business, too. I wonder what the two of you would do if you ever joined forces.

I'd better go. I need to get my mind off all this. I suppose I might as well get started on those quarterly revenue reports for next month.

XO – B

~.~

When I arrive home, I hear voices in the living room. Emmett and Eddie are on the sofa, sipping their iced cappuccino drinks. Finally. Or again. Their faces turn to me, and I stop in my tracks. Ed is in the easy chair with a packed bag at his feet.

"Lauren called."

I glance at my cell phone and see a missed call from the office. "Oh. I was on silent."

"Mr. Whitlock's accountant requested a meeting about his estate. In Seattle."

Time seems to slow down. My brain wants to fixate on the strangeness of Ed saying Mr. Whitlock. I sit down heavily on the arm of the sofa. And then, just as suddenly, time speeds up. I lift my head, pressing my fingers to my lips and speaking at the same time.

"Has he…Is he…"

"Purely advisory. Nothing new has happened, Lauren says. But they want to meet with you and the board chair. Siobhan is in the city already, and she'll meet you there."

"Who—who wants to meet?"

"Jenks, his name is. The finance man. Just him and an attorney who specializes in wills."

"No family?" Ed shakes his head, looking at the floor near my feet.

"Bella, we're going tonight. We'll stay with Teddy, where you're both welcome. Or you can snag a hotel." Emmett stands up. "Ed threw some things together for you. And Tim Gunn here gave his okay. If we leave now, we can make the 10:00 p.m. ferry from Bainbridge."

I nod my head, taking the garment bag and small roly someone hands to me, arranging it in Emmett's trunk. Ed is masking something, and I don't understand what it is until he's closing the car door on me.

He's not coming with us.

I lean toward him, questioning.

"Go see him in the hospital, Bella. You don't think it's necessary now, but you'll regret it if something happens, and you never said goodbye."

I reach for his face with both hands through the rolled-down window. "But why not come?"

He kisses me even as he grasps my wrists and takes my hands away. "This isn't something I can help you with. You need to do this on your own. I can see that."

Something in his manner tells me he's talking about more than just Jasper. "You know I love you? And you trust me?"

"I do. And I trust you." He means it, judging by his voice.

He ruffles my hair—a gesture I'm not used to from him—and then stands and backs away from the car. I twist in my seat and watch him shrink to a pinpoint as we drive away.

~.~

AN: Thank you for reading! Despite somewhat angsty turns, I'm having a lot of fun with this story! You guys make it fun with your theories and reactions, as do happymelt, faireyfan, and midsouthmama (who beta and preread, respectively). Midsouthpapa made the awesome banner linked on my profile page. Oh, also, I'm on twitter as TreesinSnow, mostly tweeting boring and infrequent things.