(+)(+)(+)Far Away Flame(+)(+)(+)
October 1996
"Bella! Phone!"
I turn the flame off under my grilled cheese, slap it onto a paper plate, and move the frying pan to the back burner. "Coming!"
The sorority house is oddly quiet for a Thursday evening. I suppose some of the other girls are getting ready for the mixer with Theta Chi. I showered already and came down to make myself a half-decent dinner, knowing I plan to do some major partying tonight.
Not only did I kick ass on my child psych exam this morning, but I took a second pregnancy test at the clinic on campus today, and I'm officially not pregnant.
Oh, we are most certainly celebrating.
I'll never regret these five months of outrageous sex I've had with Jared, my lab partner with benefits . . . but when my period didn't show up a couple of weeks ago, I was convinced my life was over. Lord knows I can't have a baby on my own, and I sure as hell wasn't going to look to Jared to be an upstanding guy and marry me, let alone raise a baby with me. We've been screwing around; we aren't in love. After being raised as a good, little Catholic girl, the thought of an abortion had me too overwhelmed with guilt, not that it stopped me from having pre-marital sex. Plus, I'm not sitting on the three hundred dollars it would cost to travel to Harrisburg to have it done . . . basically, I've been a mess.
But, lo and behold, the health office confirmed I'm not pregnant and gave me meds to bring on my period.
Anyway, senior year can continue without any more baby drama, and I'm about to get drunk and bask in my stroke of luck. Babies in the future? Oh, hell yes . . . but babies at twenty-one with no permanent man by my side? I think not.
"BELLA!"
"Coming, sorry!" I take the stairs two at a time and run into my room to pick up my extension. "Got it!" I shout back to Ellen and wait for her to hang up at her end. "Hello?"
"Hi. Are you sitting down?"
Rosalie's question has me instantly on edge. "Well, hello to you, too, and yeah, I'm on my bed. What's up?"
"Okay. So, who was the hottest guy in my graduating class?"
I think for a few seconds, but the answer is second nature even though she was a year ahead of me in high school. Everyone knew all the popular, cute boys in the school, no matter their age or class. "Yours? Easy. Emmett McCarty. Why?"
"Yeah. I have a date with him on Friday."
"SHUT! UP!"
She squeals in my ear, and I join her, laughing, sighing, completely flabbergasted. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Swear to God."
Emmett McCarty? He was worshiped as an idol at our school, and Rosalie didn't swing with his crowd at all. In fact, she made it a hobby to roll her eyes at the girls in that clique and their holier-than-thou, fake-bake, fashionista ways whenever possible. This is too much. "Seriously, how did this even happen?"
"I was at an early happy hour at Friday's, having drinks with friends after work today. He was there with a group of guys doing the same thing. I smiled at him and he came over to my table, sat down and started talking to me."
"I can't . . ." I shake my head, still in disbelief. "I can't—this is like our Jake Ryan fantasy. You're going to go on a date with the hot boy!"
"I know!" she laughs. "But wait, you'll love this. He didn't realize we both went to the same high school."
I fall backward on my bed, bursting into laughter with her. This is just proof that people in that crowd never realize who surrounds them. They're blissfully unaware and off in their own little bubble. I'm not saying that Emmett was a jerk—far from it, actually. He always seemed really sweet, from a distance, of course. Let's be honest, he wouldn't know me if he tripped over me. And as for Rosalie, she's always been pretty, but in a school of two thousand students, the laws of probability that the hottest guys would notice girls like Rosalie and me weren't always in our favor.
"Well, I'm sure you had a hell of a time telling him that you were in the Class of '92 right along next to him."
"He was really embarrassed. I can't believe this, Bella. Stuff like this doesn't happen to us! I hate that you're away at school and can't go with me for moral support," she whines.
"Rosalie, even if I were still at my parents' house down the road, I wouldn't crash your date. You're on your own, sweetie."
"Oh wait, totally forgot to tell you that your favorite boy was there, too."
Favorite boy? I can't imagine who he had with him. I know Emmett was a soccer star on the varsity squad since his sophomore year of school, and that he had the same, drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend, Mindy Markell, for all the years he attended Shawnee. I never knew who was part of his close circle of friends, though. Just knew they were all stunning; what more did I need to know?
"I give." I shrug. "Who was with him?"
"Edward Cullen."
My heart stops for a second. That name will probably always have that effect on me. "No way."
"Oh, yes, ma'am! He was surprised to learn I went to Shawnee, too."
I roll my eyes, because, yeah, that sounds about right. Even though Edward never had a cruel bone in his body, he was clueless back in the day and apparently he's just as clueless now.
"So, wait. He and Emmett are really close like that?"
"I guess. I mean, they played soccer together at Shawnee, but Emmett said they did the local traveling squads together when they were kids. Medford Strikers and that whole thing. Apparently they've known each other since grade school."
"Wow." Just that quickly, I'm back in the imaginary clutches of Edward. Poor guy needs to get far, far away from me. If he knew half the stuff I've occasionally daydreamed about over the years, he'd run for the hills. Screaming.
Unable to turn off my school-girl brain for a second, I'm envisioning double dates leading to double weddings, Brady Bunch-style.
I need therapy.
I shake off my insanity and smile again. "I'm so happy for you," I squeal and then add, "Hi, Rosalie McCarty!"
She gasps in horror. "Would you stop? But holy CRAP does that sound nice or what?" We both dissolve in a fit of giggles. "All right, moving onto more real life scenarios. What's the latest with you?"
"I'm not pregnant, and I'm getting drunk tonight. That's about it."
"I told you you weren't. But I'm glad you got confirmation."
"Yeah. So, I'm sorry, can we get back to you and Jake Ryan for a second? How does Emmett look? How does Edward look?"
"Emmett looks awesome. Filled out a little, but those dimples of his are still killer. And Edward?" She whistles. "Fine as always, girl. Why did you ever let him go?"
I roll my eyes. "Thanks a lot. The last time he was officially mine was 1985. A few things changed since then. Including us." I smack my hand to my forehead. "So he really looked good, huh?"
"He did."
Of fucking course he did. Bastard.
"Did it sound like Edward would be around for you to hang out with him again?"
"We really didn't get that far, actually. Emmett called him over after a little while. He shook my hand. We all had a beer."
"Did you bring up my name?"
"Lord, no. I wasn't going to embarrass you without talking to you first."
"Good thinking." Although I'm dying to know what his reaction would be if he found out that Rosalie and I are close friends.
"Oh, crap. That's my other line. I've gotta run. I'll call you Saturday to let you know how it goes!"
"Yes, you must! Love you! Have fun!" I squeak.
"Thanks, love you, too."
I hang up with a smile cemented on my face. The excitement for Rosalie that's thrumming through my veins could send me into orbit. This whole scenario of her random meeting with Emmett—even though they were in the vicinity of each other for four straight years in high school—makes this even more mind-blowing.
Edward re-surfacing is another story altogether. I just want to know how he's doing and if he's happy. I'd be lying if I said he isn't always a thought at the back of my mind.
It's been three and a half years since I saw him last. We graduated high school on June 20, 1993, and I watched him walk across the stage to get his diploma and that was it. In our graduating yearbook, his senior memories and future plans listed that he was heading to West Virginia University to play soccer and major in sports medicine. I hope he's succeeding.
Weird though that he's in Marlton on this random Thursday in late October. Maybe his school has a late fall break weekend? Ours was two weeks ago. The calculations and calendar dates are puzzling.
When I left for college, I started with a clean slate. Ross and I remained friendly, but we agreed the long-distance thing wasn't for us. I've had my share of dates, mini-relationships and sexual encounters. I never permitted myself to stay hung up on Edward enough to stunt my experiences. As much as I knew he'd always hold a piece of my heart, I refused to allow that to keep me looking back. And it's been great fun . . . as evidenced by the pregnancy scare.
Still, every time I'm back at my parents' house, I do drive-bys of his house in the hopes that he's home for the same holiday break, but we never cross paths.
The prospect of a budding romance between Rosalie and Emmett suddenly has me brimming with excitement that I might be able to reestablish a connection—dare I say it?—friendship with Edward.
There'll always be something about that guy that I just can't shake.
(-)(+)(-)(+)(-)(+)
March 1997
I walk through the doorway of Pic-A-Lilli's, perusing the dinner crowd for my friend. The aroma of fried chicken and hot sauce is overwhelming and almost stings my eyes and nose, but my mouth waters in the same moment. Pics is known for serving the best wings around. My gaze lands on a group of bikers at the bar and many Pineys, true Pine Barrens townsfolk, who are spread throughout the restaurant's seating area. It shouldn't be hard to find Rosalie, though, she'll be the only person not wearing leather or flannel. I spot her when she stands with a wave, and my stomach flips watching her date rise from the chair next to hers.
Holy. Shit. I can't believe I'm about to have dinner with Emmett McCarty. Please, Lord, don't let me act like a fool tonight.
I greet my girlfriend with a hug before she releases me, grinning. "Bella, this is Emmett. Emmett, Bella."
Without hesitating, Emmett wraps his arms around me. It's noteworthy that I don't hyperventilate while in the guy's embrace. "It's great to finally meet you," Emmett says, pulling back and giving my shoulders a squeeze. "I appreciate you making time for us during your spring break."
I have to stifle my giggles because the fact that Emmett McCarty is thanking me for spending time with him is beyond hilarious. I really need to get over this, though. Rosalie says they're getting more serious about each other every day, so he's going to become a staple in my life. However, the fact remains that he's the quintessential gorgeous and popular guy from our years in Shawnee. We didn't run in the same circles, but it didn't change the bottom line that he'd been known as an icon in his class and the entire school. Rosalie teases him all the time that he was the "it" boy. He hates the thought and refuses to believe her. Apparently making him see the light is part of my task for the evening.
.
.
.
Four dozen wings and three pitchers of Killian's later, we're all getting along so well, it wouldn't shock me if we busted into song with the theme to "Three's Company." It seems like a fine time to bring to Emmett's attention that he was and is, in fact, stunning, and needs to accept that many females in high school were all sorts of twitterpated because of him.
"So, Emmett . . . I understand Rose has tried to bring you up to speed on the dynamics of Shawnee and its cliques."
"Here we go." He shakes his head, smiling. "Please don't embarrass me, Bella."
Rosalie and I burst into laughter. "I promise I'm not trying to embarrass you, but you were Emmett McCarty." I enunciate every syllable of his name, my index finger and thumb pinched together. "Everyone knew who you were."
"Because I played soccer?" he asks in all seriousness.
I nod and continue. "Yes, that and because you are fucking fine as hell." There's a lag time of about two seconds between the end of my sentiment and my cringe-face. "Sorry, Rose."
"Pshhh, who're you telling?"
"Oh, my God," he says, his head lolling back, pounding his fist on the table.
I start laughing again, right along with Rosalie, while Emmett's cheeks redden and he can no longer blame the hot wings or alcohol. I take a few calming breaths, realizing that Emmett is really trying to understand, but he just doesn't see himself clearly. Or at least doesn't see himself as the majority of high schoolers did.
"Okay, to be honest. Your face was known because you were very attractive, yes. But you also were a soccer star. And you got like five of the fifteen "Best of" categories in the yearbook—"
"Uh huh! Uh huh!" Rosalie chimes in, waving her stalk of celery between us before dipping it in the blue cheese dressing. Emmett just rolls his eyes.
"And you were a nice guy. Friendly to everyone. The face of student council, on all sorts of committees." I widen my arms and continue, "Everybody knew you."
"And all the girls wanted to do you," Rose adds, matter-of-factly.
"But I never asked for that," he argues. "You've got no idea how uncomfortable this all makes me." The tone in his voice indicates his sincerity. God, he's even perfect in his humbleness.
Rose sighs and rubs Emmett's shoulder. "Let me ask you a question, honey." He turns, giving her his full attention. "We know you didn't know me from a hole in the wall,"—she smiles obnoxiously while he makes a face—"but did you know Bella in high school?"
"Of course! Our senior year she was the junior field hockey goalie who brought them to the state finals and won there, too!" He reaches over and high-fives me. I happily oblige and allow the mugs of beer I've consumed to momentarily convince me to not wash my hand ever, ever, ever again.
"Yes, but before she was the talk of the town because of hockey, did you know her then?" She cocks her head. "Know that she's a singer? Was in the plays? Dated Ross Corning for eighteen months?"
"No, but I was a year ahead of her."
"Okay, let me put it this way," I interrupt, holding up my hand. "Maybe this'll make it easier to understand." I tip my head from side to side, choosing my words carefully. "Girls like the Sexy Six-Pack and their cronies . . . they looked down on everyone, but they happened to be the same girls who hung all over you."
He nods, his lips pursed. "They thought they were the shit," he agrees.
"Well, you and a handful of other guys in your grade and younger, still hung out with those girls but carried yourselves in a way that everyone wanted to be friends with you. The girls might've been wretched, but you and that handful of guys were like the Norm from Cheers of Shawnee."
"It didn't make you a snob, and still doesn't," Rosalie reassures him. "But it proves that you were known and well-liked, especially by females. They kinda idolized you."
"Fine, I get it. I don't have to like it, but whatever." He drums his fingers on the table. "So, name other guys who were on this fictitious pedestal with me."
Rose holds up her fingers one at a time. "Garrett Brenner, Ralph DeLeo, Edward Cullen, Josh Webster . . ."
Emmett shakes his head. "All those guys would have the same reaction as me . . . especially Ed. He'd die if he knew you included his name."
"Well, maybe you should give him a call so we can sit him down for this talk, too," Rose says, laughing. "Unless, wait, this might not be his spring break week."
"He's not in school anymore." Emmett answers, raising his finger to flag down our server.
My brow furrows at the same time I readjust my posture. "You mean not at West Virginia?"
"No, he dropped out a while back."
Rosalie exchanges her look of confusion with mine of concern. The beers have me feeling fuzzy, but I know I'm hearing Emmett properly. Edward dropped out of college?
"Why didn't he finish?" Rose asks.
He shrugs, raising our empty pitcher for the waitress to bring another refill. "Dunno. He had his reasons, I guess. I'm a guy, you know we don't ask extra questions."
My stomach drops to the floor as Rosalie folds her arms, promising me with her eyes that she'll do some further investigation.
Hopefully, she'll find out as soon as possible. My head and heart don't have the capacity not to care about Edward and his well-being.
"Okay, let's move onto a subject that won't aggravate me anymore," Emmett says with a wink, grabbing the menu again. "Who's up for a brownie sundae?"
(+)(-)(+)(-)(+)(-)
August 1999
As I pull into Rosalie's driveway, it dawns on me that I'm like a supporting actor in a brat pack film. Every staple 80's movie: Pretty in Pink, 16 Candles, The Breakfast Club . . . they all end with the unlikely pair coming out on top. Whether it's the boy or the girl who's the underdog, you cheer when the good guy wins.
And the good guy, aka Rosalie, definitely won this time. After dating each other exclusively for two years, Emmett proposed to her last fall. They're getting married in November. Our job tonight is to assemble and stuff the wedding invitations to get them to the post office by the weekend.
"Thank God you're here," Rosalie screeches, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. She smells like wine, and it makes me laugh. "My mother's driving me up a wall already." Pulling me by the hands through the doorway, she bobbles a bit as we make our entrance into the dining room. "Hey ladies, Bella's here!"
I greet Mrs. Hale and Marisa, Rosalie's girlfriend from grade school. I have to admit that a few butterflies flutter in my gut when I meet Emmett's mom for the first time. This is THE woman who's responsible for bringing the ultimate cute boy into our lives. I feel like I should offer her a fruit basket of thanks at the very least.
.
.
.
After an hour of work and a few glasses of wine, I'm feeling extra giddy. I'm also convinced Mrs. McCarty—Shirley—is my new best friend. While the ladies on the other side of the table are assembling and stuffing, Shirley and I have been assigned to write the names on the inside envelopes and address and stamp the outside envelopes. Apparently we have the best handwriting of the group.
Yet another reason why Shirley is my home girl.
"Oh, Edward Cullen's next on my list!" she announces and my spine stiffens. "He was always such a sweetie. What's he been up to all these years, Roe?"
"Last I knew, he was delivering for a mechanics supply company."
"He never finished school?" Shirley's saddened tone matches the one I had the first time I heard this story.
Rosalie shakes her head, taking a sip from her wine. "Em said he was stressed at school. He never went into detail with me though, and I never pushed. I don't know if Edward ever confided in him more. They haven't seen each other in a while. I think they only talk every couple of months or so, if that . . . everybody seems so busy with life these days."
My shoulders slump, my fun buzz suddenly dulled by the latest topic. I hate that Edward never finished college. What could've stressed him out so much that he had to drop out? He was always a very good student, and he knew how to let loose and have fun. It seemed like an ideal amount of both sides of the coin to make the most out of the college experience. I wish he and I were still close enough that I could track him down and ask what went wrong.
"Is he dating anybody?" Shirley asks, shifting gears a bit while she addresses the outside envelope. "Guest or no guest, Roe?"
"NO GUEST!"
Whoops, that was me. Apparently my verbal filter vacated the premises a glass or two of Cabernet ago.
The ladies all turn to stare at my outburst at the same moment Rosalie snorts and face-plants into her invitations, laughing like a hyena. "I don't think he's dating anyone." Rosalie manages to answer her future mother-in-law after calming her hysterics. "Bella . . ."—she giggles my name—"I take it you'd rather he not be invited with a guest."
I line up the wedding ring stamp in the top right corner, trying to act nonchalant. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble."
Shirley nudges me with her elbow and winks. "No guest it is. We'll make sure he's in need of a dancing partner that night. You just be ready to knock his socks off."
My new best friend, Shirley McCarty, needs to be on speed dial for pep talks in the future. This lady rocks.
"Oh, I'll be ready."
(+)(-)(+)(-)(+)(-)
November 1999
"Isabella, you look like a tall glass of wine." Mr. Hale greets me at the door, looking dapper in his tuxedo. "Rosalie's just about ready."
"Thank you!" I squeal, pecking his cheek after walking through the doorway. "Although your tall compliment might be a little over the top. Even in these three-inch heels, I'm still only 5'5."
"Good to the last drop, dear."
Any other fifty-eight-year-old man who said that to me would have me cringing in disgust. Ronald Hale, however, is completely harmless and always cracks me up. "Have you been drinking already?" I step toward the landing for the stairs.
"I may have had a cocktail or two. Little girl's getting married, kiddo."
His eyes are glassy with the emotions of the day. "I can dig it. Save me a dance later?" I ask while he heads toward the kitchen.
"You bet!"
I turn the corner when I reach the top of the steps and find Rosalie in her bedroom doorway, her smile beaming ear to ear.
"You're gorgeous!" We shout in unison to each other and then burst out laughing. "Jinx!" More laughter.
Her sleeveless gown is heavy, white satin with a delicate rope embroidery around the empire waist. She's wearing matching gloves that stretch up past her elbows, and the wine-colored roses she's grasping match the burgundy of my similarly-styled, sleeveless gown perfectly.
"Can you stand this weather?" I start, pulling the satin out so that I can fawn over the elegant train that fans out behind her. "Seventy-three degrees in the middle of November. It's sunny and warm to go with your perfect, fairy tale, John Hughes wedding!"
We giggle again, exchanging the same looks we've been sharing ever since she started dating Emmett. The hot, popular boy and the girl he never even knew existed are getting hitched. And the bride is one of my dearest friends.
"I just hope some of the buffoons we used to roll our eyes at back in the day don't act like complete fools again. I don't think I'll ever get used to some of the people Em considers his close friends." She shakes her head. "They still act like drunken idiots even though we left high school over seven years ago."
I wave her off as I reapply some lipstick, hearing her mom bellowing that the photographer is pulling into the driveway. "It'll be awesome. I just hope I keep my cool next to the hottie you've got walking me down the aisle. Leave it to Emmett McCarty to make only the best-looking friends in college. Remind me to kiss your soon-to-be-hubby later."
"Tyler was a total player in college," Rosalie warns with a cocked brow. "Tall, dark and handsome aside, do NOT let him charm the dress off you tonight, hear me?"
I snort. "Yes, Mom. Remember that my sole focus today is on Mr. Cullen." It's been six years since I've seen that boy, only living vicariously through Rosalie's descriptions from the couple of times she's seen Edward over the last three years.
"Well, his RSVP said he'd be here. Everything's coming together," she says, winking.
I bite my lip and wiggle my eyebrows, giddy with the thought that I'm getting a second chance—or is it twenty-second after all our history?—with Edward. Unable to delay another minute, I pray our limo driver has a lead foot.
I smack my hands together. "Let's go get you married, sister!"
(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)(+)
A/N: All my love and thanks to my rockin' team of prereaders: Born, Cejsmom and Lay . . . and my fantabulous beta, LaMomo. Couldn't do this without them. Thank you all so, so much for reading and especially to those who've taken the time to leave me your thoughts in a review. It means so much to know you're connecting with the story and its characters.
See you next Friday!
xo, Jen
