Hey, all. This was a really hard chapter, which is why it took so long. I'm having trouble because I know where we're going, I just don't quite know how we're getting there yet. I also had some trouble with Peter and John because they're not canon characters. My Peter doesn't have Charlotte, he has John. Sorry if that bugs anyone, it's just how he came out. Anyway. This is the last chapter before Bella's big reveal, so if there are any more guesses this is the last chance to get them in!

Lullaby

The house Esme finally pulled up to in Port Angeles was a lovely, tastefully updated Craftsman with a wide front porch and clean gutters spilling gracefully into rain barrels. She smiled at the warm beige and forest green colors - whoever had done the decorating here was someone she could definitely learn to like. She stepped out of her car and gazed at the immaculately manicured front lawn, smiling broadly at two prancing topiary horses, one on each side of the wooden steps leading to the door. There were even morning glory vines twined into the tall shrubs, which, when flowering, would give the horses lovely blue manes and tails.

On the porch were two Adirondack chairs with cream-colored cushions, and on the matching table between them sat a chessboard, ready and waiting. Esme's smile only broadened as she rang the doorbell.

Quick footsteps and laughter sounded inside, and the door was opened to a smiling face much younger than Esme had been expecting. He looked to be in his early thirties, perhaps, with a modern, choppy haircut and crisp clothes. His welcoming grin was dimpled and warm, under immaculately-groomed eyebrows. "Can I help you?" he asked, and his accent was comfortably Californian to Esme's ears.

"Dr. Peter Concord?" Esme asked.

"Guilty as charged." He extended a soft human hand with manicured nails. No polish, of course, but the nails had been buffed and expertly filed, and even his cuticles looked professionally maintained.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you on a Sunday afternoon," Esme said, taking his hand in her own, careful not to press too hard. "My name is Esme Cullen, and I heard you were in town from my husband, a doctor at Forks Hospital."

"Yes, yes, come in, come in," the young man said, ushering her into the house. "I visited the hospital several weeks ago as part of my research. Nothing too heavy - just trying to meet people, maybe make some contacts. Did your doctor husband tell you I'm here on sabbatical, working on a book?"

"He did." Esme allowed him to take her coat and hang it in the foyer. "I'm hoping to learn a little more about your research."

"Really? Pish, such a fabulous guest as you surely doesn't want to hear about technical academic work." He beckoned her into the kitchen, where a small breakfast table was partially set. "We were just getting ready for a bit of afternoon tea. Let me introduce you to John, and I insist you join us."

"Did I hear the name Cullen?" another male voice asked, and a young man with bright red hair and a pleasant smattering of freckles clattered easily down the stairs. "Wasn't that the doctor back in Forks you described as 'utterly delicious'?"

"It was indeed," Peter said, holding his arm out for the other man. "This is his appallingly lucky wife, Esme. Esme, this is my husband, John."

"Lovely to meet you," Esme said, shaking the freckled hand extended to her.

"Pleasure's ours," he replied. "Tea?"

"Thank you." Esme sat in the chair Peter pulled out for her. Tea was one of the easier things to pretend to eat or drink; it was a cup to hold while talking more than an actual beverage.

"We haven't had many visitors since we've been here," John said, pouring tea. "Lovely to meet such a charming almost-neighbor."

"You're too kind," Esme said, laughing. "I need to know who decorated the yard and chose the outside paint colors. It's so warm and inviting."

"And whimsical," Peter added, holding up a finger.

"That would be me." John grinned. "I haven't had formal training, you see, but it's a hobby I enjoy."

"You have the eye for it," Esme said honestly. "You might think about getting your degree. I'm an architect myself, though I dabble in design."

"When Petey's done with this book I may think about it." John passed cups to everyone. "Have to have something to do while he's on his book tour, right?"

They chatted easily for a while, and Esme found herself warming to the two men. Their pleasant, innocent flirting made her laugh, and before she knew it, she was agreeing to bring Carlisle back with her for a visit soon. She knew she was not the judge of character that Edward or Jasper were, but these two seemed like a happy, perfectly content young couple. She hoped they hadn't been too lonely since they moved - the Olympic peninsula was full of small towns, with small-town prejudices. It wasn't surprising at all that they hadn't had many visitors yet, and Esme found herself hoping that that might change. Dr. Concord's well-known name might help ease things a little. Being somewhat of an outcast from both human and vampire societies herself, Esme knew how hard it was to not belong, sometimes. The difference was that she had a large, loving family that more than made up for a lack of outside friends. Certainly she had human acquaintances, but it was hard to get emotionally attached when she knew she would have to leave them eventually, breaking all ties. The few years they were able to stay in any one place seemed to fly by, when she thought about it that way.

Still, this was just the place for a well-known person to come on sabbatical. They were close enough to Seattle to be able to get there without too much trouble - even Portland, the U.S. Mecca for misfits, was close enough to make day trips possible. But this was a quiet neighborhood in a quiet town where nothing much ever happened. Bigger than Forks, but that wasn't really saying much. Peter would have no trouble finding time to work on his book.

She didn't know what his current research was about, but he'd written two very popular psychology books already. One was about children and divorce, which was what had made her think of him in the first place. While she knew Bella's issues did not necessarily stem from her parents' divorce, she was willing to bet that Dr. Concord knew plenty about other issues between parents and children as well. And Bella needed help - that was beyond clear, at this point. Even if she were willing to open up to Charlie and accept love from him, forgive him for his absence, that wouldn't solve the problem. Something deeper had hurt this girl. Esme didn't know what. She didn't know if she ever would - she was only Bella's temporary guardian, after all. After a few months, the child would be turned over to her father.

Which was as it should be, Esme knew, but all the same she couldn't help but feel a little distressed. When she'd come in from her early-morning gardening to see the small, dark figure of Bella huddled under the table it had shaken her badly. Bella's defensive eyes gave away her fear and mistrust, proving how wary she was of people in general and her new foster family in particular. Esme had wanted nothing more in that moment than to hold the slight little human, to prove to her that she was safe and cared for, no matter how temporary the situation. But doing that would just push Bella farther away, so she had refrained. It didn't make her feel any better, though.

Peter and John were still chatting pleasantly about inconsequential nothings, and Esme forced her mind back to the conversation. She saw a sympathetic little smile flash across the psychiatrist's face, and she wondered briefly what he had seen in her expression while she worried.

"But that's not why you came to see us," Peter said, leaning back from the table and looking more serious. He looked, for the first time, like the doctor he was. "You said it was something to do with my work?"

"Yes." Esme hesitated. Dr. Peter Concord was nothing like she'd expected, and now that she'd met him she was not sure at all whether Bella would feel comfortable with him. He was a very nice man, but he was young. Was he too young, perhaps, for Bella to feel like she could trust him? But Bella needed help, and this young man was her best chance.

"Spit it out, you're among friends," John urged. "Petey doesn't bite...much."

The two men dissolved in giggles and Esme found herself wanting to laugh along. There was something boyish and cheerful about them that she liked very much.

"I mentioned to you that Carlisle and I have adopted children," she said.

"Yes, you did," Peter agreed. "What's the matter, they driving you crazy? Want me to get inside their heads and explain them to you?"

"No, but I appreciate the offer," Esme said, allowing herself to smile. Most of them were no trouble at all, though there were times she'd give just about anything to get inside Edward's head. She doubted this man not even a third Edward's age could help with that, though. "But we recently took in a new foster child. She's the daughter of our police chief, and she's staying with us while her parents work out a rather unhappy custody dispute."

"That can be hard on kids," Peter said, nodding. "How's the poor thing doing? Sleeping all right?"

"It's hard to say." Esme sighed, and instantly all of her worry returned. She hadn't forgotten it, as she sat and talked with the doctor and his partner, but now the full weight of Bella's plight settled over her mind again. "She's sixteen years old, and I know she's hurting."

"One moment." Peter held up a restraining hand. "Before we get into details, do you have the authority to give them to me? I don't want any legal trouble for anyone."

Esme nodded. "Thank you for asking, but yes, I do. I also spoke with her father, and he's given his full permission."

"And her mother?"

"Lives in Arizona and will not be getting Bella back, we've been almost entirely assured."

"All right, then. Continue." Peter wore his business face now, and Esme was impressed at the change. He was solemn, soaking up information, and she could almost see the gears in his head working as he listened to what she had to say.

"I know Bella's hiding something, something painful that she doesn't want to talk about. It's no secret that her mother neglected her, so I don't believe that's the issue. There's something else, but she's very secretive. Doesn't like to be touched, doesn't like to talk about herself. Last night was her first with us, and she slept under her bed, wrapped up in a comforter. When I came in from my garden early this morning I found her under the dining table, scrubbing the floor. She admitted to me that she expected to have to earn her keep while she lived with us."

"Sounds like a bad experience in a former foster home," John said, beginning to carry the dishes to the sink.

"Sad, but true." Peter pressed his fingers together. "Not all foster parents are doing it out of the goodness of their hearts."

"But I don't think that's it." Esme shook her head, not able to explain how she felt. It was a niggling suspicion, nothing she could substantiate. "She admitted to being sexually harassed in a foster home before, and while it turns my stomach to even think about, she is a very pretty girl and I wish I were more surprised than I am."

"The world can be a cruel place," Peter said kindly. "None know it better than the children who have been abandoned."

"But she spoke about the harassment so matter-of-factly," Esme mused. "I'm sure it bothered her, but I don't believe the pain in her eyes is because of sexual abuse or rape."

"Interesting." Peter tapped his fingers, his eyes lost in thought for several moments while Esme watched him. Finally he smiled. "I would very much like to meet this foster daughter of yours, if you're amenable." He reached for a yellow legal pad on the kitchen counter and scribbled some notes to himself. "What did you say her name was?"

"Isabella - Bella - Swan."

Peter and John both froze; Esme could hear the clatter of a cup as John set it down and quickly came around the counter, staring at her.

"Did you say Isabella Swan?" Peter asked carefully. "Is that Isabella Marie Swan?"

Esme frowned. "You know, I don't know her middle name," she said. "I can call her father, if you like?"

"Please," Peter said, looking altogether too excited.

A quick phone call later, Esme confirmed it: Bella's middle name was, indeed, Marie.

"Amazing," Peter murmured. "That she would be so close. It's quite the coincidence."

"What is?" Esme asked suspiciously.

"That you should come to me, when you clearly have no idea who that child in your home is."

Esme glanced between her two new friends, knowing full well that they knew something about Bella that she did not. Something big, something important. "She's my foster daughter," she said warily. "Our police chief's little girl. What else is there to know?"

"About a normal child? Perhaps nothing," John said, leaning back on his elbows against the kitchen counter. "But about this one? Everything."

"Let's move to the living room." Peter stood and took his paper with him. "The couch will be more comfortable. I need to know absolutely everything you know about this girl, every minute detail of your time with her. And there are some things you need to know, too."

Esme followed them into the living room, wishing Carlisle was with her. She had a feeling she wasn't the only one who needed to know what Dr. Concord had to say.

Bella spent the day in her room, organizing her school supplies for tomorrow and deciding on clothes to wear. She laid out her next day's outfit on her desk chair but left the rest of her clothes in her suitcases. There didn't seem to be much point in unpacking. She wouldn't be here long. Whether she would unpack at Charlie's house in a few months remained to be seen.

She still didn't know what to make of her discussion - if you could call it that - with Esme earlier that morning. It had rattled her enough that she stayed in her room with the door firmly shut and did not attempt to leave, even to find some lunch. Tinkerbell had knocked on the door and called for her once, but when Bella did not answer she had gone away. Bella felt a little uncomfortable about that, too. She didn't mean to be unkind, but she wanted it made clear that she was not up for bonding activities. She was only here temporarily, and once Charlie got custody she was moving on. There was no point in pretending otherwise, no point in trying to be "sisterly" when Bella was sister to no one. She was an only child - always had been. Just her, alone.

Why Esme couldn't understand that, Bella didn't know. Maybe she had a perfection complex or something, that made her incapable of just letting things be. Bella scrunched up her shoulders and twirled a ballpoint pen between her fingers, staring idly out the window at the wet, dripping evergreen trees. Of course, a complex didn't explain the aura of warmth Esme exuded.

Not that it mattered. This family's secrets were theirs to keep, just as hers were. If they didn't pry, she wouldn't pry. Surely they could all agree to that?

The ungodly beautiful boy with the room next to hers was apparently also ungodly quiet. She hadn't heard a peep out of him all day - not a slammed door, dropped book, or muttered curse to be heard. If he jacked off, his bed did not squeak. If he listened to music, his headphones did not leak. It was very strange. Bella felt a little nervous up here alone with him, but so far he had not tried anything. He hadn't said a word to her at all, except for the one small exchange about classical music the night before. Briefly Bella wondered if he was perhaps a trifle autistic. Didn't people along the autism spectrum keep to themselves and have a hard time connecting with others?

Of course, the same could be said about her behavior, Bella reflected. And she certainly wasn't autistic. Maybe he was just shy or moody.

Not that there was much point in dwelling on it. Once she was out of this house, Bella supposed she might catch a glimpse of his pretty face in school now and then. But that was it. Nothing more. And she didn't mind that, Bella told herself. She didn't mind being alone; that's the way it had always been. It was safer that way. Everyone else always wanted something, that was why they tried to make friends with her. Nobody wanted to be friends just for friends' sake. It was ridiculous to even contemplate such a thing.

The sudden racket of a sputtering engine interrupted Bella's musings, and she craned her neck so she could see the driveway. A giant rusty orange-red behemoth of an old truck rolled slowly to a stop, and Bella could do nothing but stare as Charlie Swan, the man introduced to her yesterday as her father, slid out.

It was a monster of a wreck, Bella could see that even from her vantage point. The kind of truck the barrio boys wouldn't even touch to turn into a lowrider. It was loud and slow, and it looked like it was going to fall to pieces at any moment.

Bella instantly fell in love with it.

Not so much with the mustachioed man standing hesitantly beside it.

"Bella!" Esme called, her sweet voice floating up the stairs. "Bella, your father's here to see you!"

Bella sighed. The entire town could probably hear that truck as it passed by, and knew the police chief was here to see her. Still, she stood up and slowly, methodically checked to make sure she had everything she needed, just in case, as she always did when she left a room. Shoes, wallet. Check. She pulled on a hoodie and made her way downstairs, wishing she could lock her door.

Esme was in the foyer, along with a very nervous-looking police chief. He spotted her first and shifted his weight a little, looking even more nervous, if possible. "Isabella," he said, attempting to smile. It didn't work very well.

"Hey." Bella heard the flatness in her own voice but didn't care. If Charlie was her father now, he'd been her father also for all those years she'd never seen or heard from him. There was no point in trying to pretend they were anything to each other but strangers thrown together by inconvenience.

"Bella," Esme said warmly, waving her over with an outstretched arm. Bella walked slowly toward the two, careful not to get too close. She was pretty sure Charlie would keep his distance, but she wasn't as confident about Esme and she didn't want that outstretched arm around her shoulder. "Your father's asked if it's all right to take you out to dinner, and Carlisle and I think it's a good idea."

"I thought I wasn't allowed to go anywhere with him," Bella said warily, eying the man. He was dressed in broken-in jeans and a red and black plaid flannel shirt, over which he wore a black Forks Police jacket. His blunt, honest face was creased from weather rather than age, and his dark hair did not look dyed. He was looking much better than Renee, in fact. But that wasn't a big surprise, what with all the things Renee managed to ingest. It was a wonder people didn't take her for Bella's grandmother, sometimes.

"You aren't permitted at his house without supervision, sweetheart," Esme said. Bella flinched a little at the nickname. She didn't like them, and this woman had no right to call her one. "You can go to dinner with him. It's fine."

So she could go to dinner with him. That didn't mean she wanted to. But Bella couldn't really see any way of getting out of it - not without throwing a tantrum, which she was not prepared to do. There was no point in alienating people that much so soon. She would willingly fight tooth and nail about things that were important to her, but an awkward dinner with Charlie Swan just wasn't in that category. She shrugged lightly, jammed her hands into the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie, and slid out the door.

The single set of footsteps told her that only Charlie was following. "So..." he said, his voice hesitant, "I hope you like the wheels. Bought it off an old friend for you. He does this as a hobby."

Does what, resurrects car corpses? Bella thought. She liked the truck, she really did, but it was so sad looking. "It's sick," she said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

"Sick?" Charlie's face fell. "I know it sounds a little funny, but it's just - "

"No, that's not what I...never mind." Bella sighed and put a hand on the damp hood of the rusty old truck. "It's fine, Charlie. Really."

"Well...okay." He shifted uneasily. "If you're sure."

"Yeah."
They stood in silence, both looking at the truck so they would not have to look at each other. Charlie scuffed his boot in the gravel and cleared his throat. "Dinner?"

"Sure." Bella went quickly for the passenger's side door, thankful to break the tension. She hoped the truck's radio worked, and when Charlie turned the key she immediately started fiddling with knobs. There was very little to choose from - several country stations, some religious nonsense, and something that sounded suspiciously like a Spanish radio drama. Bella twirled the dial a little more and suddenly the sweet sound of strings filled the truck. She'd found some classical music.

Remembering her brief conversation with Edward the night before, Bella let go of the tuning knob and leaned back.

"You like classical music?" Charlie asked curiously.

Bella shrugged. He'd been in the van last night, hadn't he heard her tell Edward that she didn't know much about classical music?

"Edward Cullen plays the piano real pretty." Charlie turned his attention back to the road as they neared town. "Heard him in the Christmas concert last year. Didn't know the tune, but it was good. Nice." He hesitated. "You play anything?"

"Not really."

"Yeah." Charlie cleared his throat and scratched his stubbly chin. "Not musical myself. Renee used to sing in the shower, though."

"Still does." Bella grimaced. She'd never had the heart to tell her mother that the shrieks of dying squirrels were probably preferable to Renee's singing voice. She was surprised, though, to hear Charlie chuckle at her words. It was a...nice...sound, she decided. Quiet. Unprepossessing.

"Some things never change," he said. A moment later the small smile bled from his face.

There were a hundred questions boiling inside Bella as she studied Charlie Swan out of the corner of her eye. Who was this man who called himself her father? Why had he imposed upon the Cullens to get her out of that group home and up her to Washington so quickly? Why did he want to make it look like he cared, when for so many years he hadn't given her the time of day?

They reached a small diner, which looked like maybe the only restaurant in the tiny town. Gourmet this wasn't, Bella decided as she climbed down from the tall cabin of the truck. She could smell the fryer grease already. Not that she minded unpretentious food, but she worried about their definition of "vegetables." A couple of years ago she'd taken a tour of the American South, and it seemed like every restaurant she visited believed vegetables weren't edible until they'd been boiled for hours in ham juice. Normally she wasn't much for fad diets, but she'd gone directly on a detox plan after that trip. Just the thought of it now made her shiver.

"You cold?" Charlie asked as she fell in step behind him. "Should have a coat on, not just a sweatshirt. Cotton's rotten protection once it gets wet."

"I'm fine," Bella muttered, shrinking behind the bulk of him as he opened the door and they stepped into the diner.

Diners and post offices were the epicenters of small towns, and Bella could feel the eyes of the locals upon her as she followed her father to a booth. These people likely ate here several times a week, and the waitress almost certainly knew their favorite orders. Conversation flowed from table to table as friends and families caught up over their Sunday dinners, but when they caught sight of her the gentle buzz of talk quieted to almost nothing.

"Chief!" the waitress greeted, bringing Charlie a brown beer bottle. "How have you - oh!"

"Fine, fine," Charlie said, shaking off his jacket. "Cora, you remember Isabella? She's coming back to live here again - staying with the Cullens until everything's in order." He spoke almost gruffly, keeping his eyes on the table.

"Isabella!" the waitress looked around Charlie's age, and she gave Bella a wide smile. "I haven't seen you since you were...what? Two? Three?"

"Around that," Charlie agreed, though he still refused to look up. He looked almost as uncomfortable as Bella felt. Serves you right for ignoring me so long, she thought grumpily.

"I'll leave a menu then," the waitress said, pulling one out of her big apron pocket. "Can I get you something to drink, sweetie? A Coke?"

"Just water, thanks," Bella said quietly, gritting her teeth against the embarrassment of being the center of attention.

"You sure? We have Sprite if you're worried about staining your teeth."

"No," Bella said, shaking her head a little and just wishing the woman would go away. "Just water."

"Well, you let me know if you change your mind." Cora's voice turned hesitant, almost a little disappointed. Bella could guess that she was hoping for some more insight into this new development in town, but Bella wasn't biting. There was no way she was getting all buddy-buddy with the town gossips.

"So...Esme says you want to go to school tomorrow." Charlie fiddled with his napkin-wrapped silverware, snapping the little paper seal securing it all in a bundle.

"Yeah." Bella glanced surreptitiously around her. Most of the diner had heard Charlie's explanation for the new face and they'd begun their quiet conversations again, but she still saw plenty of glances her way. Part of her wanted to demand whether they had lives of their own they could attend to, but she withheld the urge. In a small town like this, sadly, her arrival was probably the highlight of the month. Possibly the year.

"Don't want an extra day off?"

"No."

There was silence for a few minutes. Bella glanced the menu over. There seemed to be two dinner salad choices, and one rotating soup each day. Sunday was a predictable chicken noodle, which Bella detested. Nobody could seem to make a good soup where the pasta didn't turn into sticky mush. Well, except for this one Italian place in West Hollywood she'd become addicted to. They had a killer spicy minestrone, but no matter how much she wheedled, their cook refused to share his secret for firm pasta.

"Made a decision yet?" the waitress asked, sliding an overfull glass of ice water across the table toward Bella. "You used to love the fried macaroni and cheese," she added hopefully.

Bella made a face; she couldn't help it.

"Not a pasta fan anymore?" Charlie was still fiddling with his silverware. "You used to love macaroni any way you could get it. Your favorite thing was to wrap noodles up in a big lettuce leaf and eat it like a burrito."

The jolt of memory was powerful when it hit, and Bella could only stare. She had used to eat pasta like that, but she'd forgotten. Yet Charlie had remembered.

"No macaroni, thanks," she managed to tell the waitress, though she kept her eyes trained on Charlie. "Spinach salad with feta, vinaigrette dressing on the side."

Cora's little sigh told Bella that she was less than pleased with this rabbity choice of food, but she did not actually complain. "How about you, chief? The usual steak, or the Sunday meatloaf?"

"Meatloaf and mashed potatoes," Charlie said. "It is Sunday, after all."

The waitress left, and Bella traced an idle finger down the condensation on her glass of water. "Too much red meat'll clog up your arteries," she said softly.

"I'm as healthy as a horse." Charlie cleared his throat. "Guess Arizona's a health food place though, huh?"

Bella shrugged. "Some parts of it, I guess. I spend a lot of time in L.A., though. Got used to eating there."

"You said something like that last night, too. Mind telling me what you were doing in California? It's kind of a drive from Phoenix, isn't it?"

"Six hours or so. Not too bad." She hadn't answered the main part of his question, but she didn't think he'd try to ask it again. Not now when they were still strangers. She'd have to tell him eventually, she supposed, but she wanted to put it off as long as possible. She hated telling people, hated when they found out. It made things even more uncomfortable for her. She didn't like being singled out, didn't like her secrets known. This was a new start in a new town where no one knew her. All too soon that would change, and for the moment Bella wanted to bask in this feeling of anonymity. Once it was gone, it would never be hers again.

A/N: I think I promised we'd see Bella in school in this chapter, but I just didn't get there. Next one, I swear!

If you got two update notices, no worries, I was just fixing the name of the waitress. Thanks, gina!