M E S S Y
cHaPtEr 6
Charlie hadn't been home the night before, so I assumed he was working on a particularly difficult case. I didn't bother him at work, didn't call him—because I knew if I did, he'd try to talk me out of going to the hospital—and instead just made some dinner and went to bed.
He wasn't home in the morning, so I figured I had the day to myself. I was getting ready to head off with my group. I stood in front of my closet in jeans and looked for a shirt to wear. I selected something brown and warm, pulled it on, finger-brushed my hair and went downstairs.
I was hoping on staying a little later than usual today, to catch up, since I'd spent two days with him and still hadn't helped at all. So, if Charlie came home, I wouldn't be there to cook. I put together some ingredients for cold cuts and left it on the top shelf, beside the milk carton. I scribbled a little note to Charlie and taped it on the handle, where he was sure to see it.
Dad,
I might stay a little later today, so I left some food on the top shelf for dinner, in case I'm not home and you get hungry. PLEASE do not try to feed yourself. Friend eggs and bacon are not dinner. Eat what I made you.
Love, Bella
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It had rained the night before. Almost all night. The roads were wet, and that made me cautious, since I was more likely to accidentally slide off the road and over a not-so-conveniently-placed cliff than anyone else was. And since I was driving forty in a fifty-five zone, I was late. Very late.
I was in no hurry to cross the parking lot—if driving on a wet road was dangerous, walking was twice as much. I avoided puddles, trying not to soak my sneakers, and went through the revolving door into the lobby.
I'd been there enough to know where I was going. I bypassed the front desk altogether, giving a smile and a small nod to the elderly lady behind the counter, answering phones. I grabbed a little visitor sticker and slapped it on my shirt, above my left breast.
Straight down the hall. Right. Left. Up two floors on the elevators. Left. Third door from the right.
"Hello, Edward." I closed the door quietly behind me and sat down, leaving my falsely cheerful smile in place. He eyed me suspiciously.
"Hello," he said coolly. He didn't seem to be worked up today, and I took that as a blessing in disguise. He might be easier to work with.
"How's it going?"
"How do you think?" He shifted his gaze to the window and let it stay there. I didn't mind.
"Right," I said under my breath and tried for a different angle. I was determined to crack his armor. "So, nice weather we're having, right?" I looked at him, waiting for an answer. He still didn't look back.
"I hate the sun." He was pale enough that I believed it.
"You like the rain?" A short nod. "it's so cold, though." A shrug. "And wet." He turned to stare at me with the biggest "DUH" look on his face I'd ever seen.
"No shit, Sherlock." He turned back to the window. I sighed, trying to think of something quick.
I'd already tried asking him pointless questions, and it hadn't gone over well. He'd given me minimal answers, reluctant to respond at all. I was just trying to get to know him, but he blocked me out. Babbling was all I'd done since I'd gotten there, so I wouldn't be doing more of that.
I allowed my eyes to roam the room, taking in the layout, the details, where the table was, the bed, the distance from my chair to the door. I noticed that Edward did not have flowers in the vase by the window like most patients.
The little glass vase was accompanied only by a book on the bedside table, and I couldn't read the spine to see a title. It was a tattered, worn paperback with dog-eared pages and fraying covers. The colors were faded, blending together almost into one shade.
"What are you reading?" I asked brightly, hoping he wouldn't avoid me completely. After a pause, he said,
"Wuthering Heights."
"Oh, that's my favorite." I felt happy that we had something in common, but it was obvious that he didn't share my enthusiasm. Silence overtook the room once more, and I couldn't look at him. Instead, my eyes fell upon a small, silver boom box sitting on the windowsill in the sunshine. It was partially hidden by the standard-issue hospital curtains. I suddenly remembered the CD in my purse. I stood and walked to the window.
"Do you mind if I turn this on?" I asked, pointing. He shrugged. "I'll take that as a yes." I opened the CD player, took the disc from my bag, slid it from it's case and popped it in. I hit power, and waited.
"What are you doing?" He asked. I looked over my shoulder at him for a second before returning my attention to the thing in front of me.
"I remembered you telling me you liked classical. So, I thought I would be nice and try to cheer you up. I burned a mix CD of my favorites. I hope you like them." I stopped talking as faint piano playing started, and Moonlight Sonata filled the room. I sat on the sill next to the CD player and soaked in the sunshine.
That song rolled into the next, and Edward turned his head to look at me. "What else is on here?" he asked.
I blew out air trying to remember all the tracks. There were a good twenty or so on there, so I wasn't sure I could. "Minute Waltz, Tzigane, Beethoven's fifth, just to name a few." He nodded, seemingly in approval. We were quiet until the end of the song, and then Clair de Lune started to play.
"This," I told him. "Is my favorite song." I started humming it again, like I had only a few days before, but this time without the tears. I was shocked to find Edward humming with me.
He caught my eye and saw my expression—jaw dropped, eyes wide, eyebrows raised—and ducked his head. "I really like Debussy," he said shyly. It was funny. I'd never really pegged him as the shy type. I smiled. And to my surprise—and eternal delight—he did, too.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I was humming happily to myself as I made dinner that night. I'd stayed an hour later than usual and I'd listened to the entire CD with Edward before I noticed the sun was setting. I apologized and grabbed my jacket. I had to hurry if I wanted to get home in time.
I remembered the cold cuts I'd left for Charlie, but if I had no more business, I might as well go home, and if I had a chance to feed him real food instead of turkey sandwiches, then I would take it. He'd gone four years living off canned soup and frozen waffles, and if I could help it, he'd never had to fend for himself again.
Unfortunately, when I'd arrived at home and checked the refrigerator, the sandwiches were gone, and in place of my note was another.
Bells,
Got a tough case. I only stopped by to get some dinner. Thank you. Don't stay up too late.
Love you, Dad.
Well, then I'd have to make dinner for myself.
I was ecstatic about the fact that we—by 'we' I mean Edward and myself—were finally connecting. And it wasn't something random or limited; it was music. We had common taste in music, meaning we had common taste in…well, life. You know what they say, "Music equals Life."
I was practically shivering with happiness, dancing around the kitchen with a wooden spoon in one hand humming along to the radio playing on the upper shelf. "What's Up" was playing; one of my favorites by the Four Non-Blondes.
"And so I wake in the morning and I step outside, and I take a deep breath and I get real high! And I… scream from the top of my lungs, WHAT'S GOIN' ON?!"
Sizzling sounds from the stove reminded me that I had a pot of vegetables going, and I rushed to turn down the burner. As soon as that was calm, I started a pot of noodles and let that boil. A new song was playing—another one that I knew well—and I was jumping around singing to that one in no time at all.
"Heads of state who ride and wrangle, who look at your face from more than one angle—"
The phone started ringing. I ran to answer it, but only got half there before I realized that the radio was too loud, and rushed back the other way to hop onto the counter and reach up to turn it down to a dull background noise. Then I raced across the kitchen tiles—in my socks; very dangerous—and picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Bella."
"Oh, Hi, Dad!" I was relieved to hear his voice. With the difficulty of this case, I was starting to get worried. It happened in books and movies a lot, but even more in real life—a cop would report for duty and not come home, and the police would call you. You'd expect it to be your cop relative, but it would just be one of his buddies calling to tell you he'd died. I shuddered at the thought. "How's it going?"
"Not so good. I'll be working late again tonight, and I wanted to call to let you know."
"Okay." I rubbed my knee where I'd hit it against the table while diving for the phone. "Is this…a murder case?"
"Well, Bells, I'm not really supposed to tell you that."
"It's okay," I replied. "Your answer was all the confirmation I need."
I could hear that he didn't like that, so I changed the subject and chatted with him for a little while, trying to get him to calm down and loosen up, assuring him repeatedly that I was fine and he needn't worry. I can cook, I can clean, and I can turn a deadbolt, so I'll be fine. Nice and safe inside the house.
Soon, though, he had to get back to work. He'd been taking his dinner break, he told me, and thanked me again for the cold cuts. I told him it wasn't a big deal while making a mental note to prepare another meal for him to take in case this continued. I wished him luck, we said goodbye, and I ran across the kitchen back to my boiling pots.
I made it just in time, and when I sat down to my dinner of pasta and vegetables, I wondered what I could do to pass the night. In the summer I didn't usually go to bed until one or two in the morning and then slept in. Since it was only half past seven, that left me with some time.
When I finished eating, I washed my dishes and put them away, contemplating going to see Edward again.
"That's a stupid idea," I chastised myself. "He's seen you once today; anymore and he'll get tired of your company." I knew he already was, and he didn't want my company in the first place, but let that train of thought go.
I trudged up the stairs to my room, deciding to read for a bit. I ran my finger along the spines of my books—lying quietly, peacefully, untouched along the length of my shelf—until I found the one that I wanted.
Wuthering Heights.
A/N: I'm SOOOO sorry that I haven't updated in...a week or so, now. But, as you all know, the holidays were upon us, and so I was spending Christmas with my family, and I couldn't update then. After that, I went to visit my dad, and since I no longer have a laptop (RIP Laptop) I couldn't work on this then either.
To make it up to you, I'm working on the next chapter, and things should be picking up soon. This chapter was sort of transition, and you could probably see that by the way Edward warmed up to her while humming Clair de Lune. (that's an awesome song, btw). SO PLEASE FORGIVE ME, REVIEW, AND KEEP REVIEWING. I SHALL KEEP WRITING!