Indelible

A/N: If you review, I will reply! :)


Chapter 9 – Mom in the House

Fitz lifts his head with a soft woof, pulling me back to the present and leaving my first kiss with Edward on the front doorstep of my past.

I can tell Fitz hears something when he utters another low woof. A second later, even I can hear the sound of car doors shutting out front just before Fitz makes a mad dash to the side yard, barking his head off. The old chain link fence around the backyard allows him a partial view of the street and he's yelling at our intruders, telling them they'd better have parked where he can actually see them and not just listen to them.

"They're here, Fitz!" I tell him, though I'm sure he can't hear me over the noise…that he's making.

I'm the lucky one of the two of us. I've got the larger brain and the opposable thumbs so I can actually open the back porch door and reenter the house. I leave it open because Fitz will realize I had the better plan and he'll come running inside shortly to help me deal with our attackers when they get to the front door.

It's been over a year since I've seen my mom and Phil. I couldn't leave Charlie for a trip to Florida last summer after he'd had his stroke. Nor did he feel up to having visitors at Thanksgiving or Christmas. I suspect he was still too proud to have my mom see him "running at three-quarters speed" as he called it, though he had already improved quite a bit by that time.

I hurry through the house and open the front door and screen, stepping out onto the porch. Mom and Phil are already halfway up the driveway. In dark jeans, a vibrant turquoise blouse and white cardigan, and with her salon-blond streaked hair, my trim, pretty mother looks like a Floridian. You'd never guess she's fifty-eight years old. Phil, seven years younger, is graying at the temples, but he still has a full head of hair and looks fit and sporty in jeans, white polo shirt and sport shoes. I call out a hello and they both look up and smile and Phil replies with a gentle, "Hey, Bella-girl."

And just that quickly, it all hits home why they've come.

Mom's smile slips, her face crumpling into an expression of sorrow as I hurry down the steps to greet them. Her pace quickens as she starts shaking her head and her eyes begin brimming. At the first, "Oh, baby… I'm so sorry," I'm in her embrace and neither of us can control our tears. She keeps murmuring she's so sorry and all I can do is nod my head against hers and hang on tight. Phil stands awkwardly by, giving us a moment together before he moves in and gathers us both into a solid hug, murmuring condolences.

I collect myself and wipe at my eyes as he finally starts herding us up the steps to the house. Fitz has been barking like a mad dog the whole time, watching from the other side of the screen door but unable to assist. His continued commotion is a welcome distraction from the overwhelming moment. I shush him as we enter the house and his barking slows when he sees I'm fine and he recalls Mom and Phil's scents and voices. He finally stops barking completely and wags in embarrassment at his behavior when they greet and pet him.

"It's really good to see you both," I tell them.

"It's good to see you, too, Bella," Phil says. "We're sorry it's not under happier circumstances."

My mom can only nod in agreement as her eyes well up and her lips tremble as she looks at me and that makes me teary and we're hugging again. Phil looks around and darts past us, heading for the box of tissues next to the couch in the living room. Bringing back a handful, he divides them up and we dab at our eyes and blow our noses. He ushers us over to sit down on the couch, placing the tissue box within reach.

"How about I get you girls something to drink?" he offers, looking for something to do while mom and I get the crying out of the way.

"Sure, Phil. Anything's fine," Mom says, nodding up at him and answering for the both of us as she reaches for my hand, clasping it in hers.

"Oh…I was going to make coffee," I say, remembering that I'm the actual hostess here. "Do you want coffee?" They've been up since some ungodly hour and they've just traveled three thousand miles to get here. Surely they want coffee.

"Coffee sounds good but you sit tight—I'll make it," Phil assures me, heading off to the kitchen. "Just tell me where everything is."

I do so and thank him as he begins puttering about in the kitchen.

Mom's blue eyes are filled with sympathy and sadness when I look back at her. "Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry. It's still so hard to believe." She wraps an arm around me. "This was too soon. Sixty one is still young."

"I know." I nod. "He was doing so well too, improving after the stroke, and then suddenly..." I grab another tissue.

"The heart attack was such a shock," she continues for me as I nod and dab at my eyes. She pulls me into a hug. "I'm so sorry you were here alone with him when it happened."

"But I'm glad I was here, you know…that he wasn't alone. And Mrs. Cope came over when she heard the paramedics."

Mom sits back, pushing my hair away from my face as I blow my nose. "She's always been such a good neighbor to you both. I'm glad you have her and Angela here for you. I just…I can't help thinking I should have come sooner to be here and help you. I really wanted to, Bella."

I shake my head. After living with both of my parents separately, I know I'm more my father's daughter: quiet and introspective just like him. If Renee had come immediately following his death it would have meant constant hovering, replaying and second-guessing everything, and trying to improve upon his final wishes with her own suggestions. I know she means well but we're different in our approach and I didn't want the stress, so I let her down gently.

"I know you wanted to come sooner but it really wasn't necessary and Phil couldn't have come with you so you would have had to fly by yourself. I haven't been alone. And Dad organized everything in a file so I'd know what to do in case…" I exhale a shaky sigh and she nods. I don't need to continue.

"You did so much to help him this past year, Bella," she says after a moment. "And even though he might have been disagreeable or irritable at times, I know he appreciated it so much. He knew you gave up a lot to be here for him, taking him to all his appointments, helping with his therapy, doing the housework and cooking. I'm sure he hated being dependent and feeling like a burden…"

"I was glad I could be here for him," I tell her simply, ending that bit of conversation on a positive note before she really gets rolling.

It's not like Charlie was completely helpless but I don't regret putting my life on hold to help him. Despite the frustrations of his convalescence and therapy to regain his diminished speech and motor skills, the last eleven months were some of the best times we shared.

Already a man of few words, Dad's short-circuited speech was slow and painstaking, sprinkled with wrong words, half-words and blanks. All my life, I'd never heard him swear. But at one point, stuck for a word and irritated, he suddenly banged his hand down on the table and spat out, "Freckle!" It sunk in that he'd probably meant, "Fuck it!" and I couldn't help but giggle. I called him out on his "swearing" and we wound up laughing until we had tears in our eyes and "freckle" became our go-to curse.

There were a lot of little moments like that—experiences that brought us even closer—and I get a sudden lump in my throat with that thought. Thankfully, Phil returns with coffee and as we fix our cups I get myself back under control.

"You been doing okay, Bella?" Phil asks gently. He's a good guy—a perceptive caretaker. Only a dozen years older than I am, he's more like an uncle than a step-parent—though I never actually had any uncles or aunts, so I'm really just guessing here.

"Yeah, I've been okay." I give him a smile and a little shrug. He nods and I can feel my mother eyeing me and I know she has questions. The game is about to begin and I hate the game but I'm forced to play.

"You look thinner, Baby, and pale. Have you been eating all right?" Score two points for me. I told Angela I'd keep score and I knew "thin" and "pale" were coming, so I'm prepared.

"I'm pale because this is Forks, not Florida, Mom. Besides, I've always been pale—I didn't get your coloring. And I've been eating enough. Remember I told you I started taking yoga? I've toned up, so maybe that's why you think I look thin."

"Oh, that's right!" she nods and smiles brightly, looking satisfied with that answer. "With your friend…Sandra? The one who teaches exercise classes and married that newspaper boy, right?"

"Samantha," I correct, but I'm impressed she remembered so much. "Yeah, Eric Yorkie's wife."

Samantha Larkin, whose negligible nose job was pointed out to me by Jessica Stanley on my first day of school, attended the University of Washington like Eric Yorkie and I. She majored in Kinesiology and Sports Medicine while Eric and I majored in Journalism. They'd already begun dating during senior year of high school and halfway through college they married. A year later Samantha was pregnant with the first of their three girls.

"And Eric still works for the paper here in Forks?" Mom asks.

"Yeah. He's Editor-in-Chief at the Forks Forum now," I tell her. She nods. And I can see the gears turning and I know it's on the tip of her tongue. I can feel it coming. Angela is going to score a point any minute now.

"What are you going to do about work, Bella?" Bingo. There it is. "Are you going to try to get your job back?" I guess that sort of makes two points for Angela, so we're tied now, two-to-two.

I sigh. "I don't know, Mom. I was getting kind of burned out there. I really haven't thought about it yet but I'm really not sure about moving back to Port Angeles."

When Charlie had his stroke my job went to the back burner. I took a leave, extended it, and eventually quit. I really haven't missed Port Angeles, The Peninsula Daily News, or the Hearth and Home column I'd been stuck with for so long. You can write enthusiastically about handy-dandy housekeeping and cooking tips for only so long. Not to mention working for Editor-in-Chief Caius Grecco was a pain in the ass if you didn't kiss his ass. Which I didn't.

"I thought you had friends in Port Angeles. What about them? Don't you miss them?"

I shrug. "I still keep in touch with Maggie and Siobhan and we meet up for dinner about once a month. They're the friends I was closest to but I have friends here."

"So you're thinking about just staying here in Forks? Mom presses, saying Forks with distaste and earning me another point against Angela.

Phil looks at me in his avuncular way, patting Mom's knee and murmuring her name. It's the signal to rein herself in before she goes overboard and I get snappy.

She turns to face him. "What?" she asks innocently. "She could sell the house and move down by us in Jacksonville."

"I'm not moving to Florida, Mom. I like visiting you there but I'm fine here." I give myself another point even though she didn't directly ask if I would move to Florida. An implied question is good enough for the scorecard, now four-to-two in my favor. Angela is starting to fall behind here.

"But it's so nice and sunny and warm in Florida and Forks is just so dreary and wet and cold!"

There was a time when I felt the same way. Now there's just something that appeals to me here, like it must have appealed to my dad. The endless green is rugged yet peaceful, sturdy and dependable. What I once saw as gloom now feels more like a thick familiar blanket. I can always bundle up against wet and cold or happily stay indoors, make a fire, and read or write. I know Charlie left everything to me, so maybe I also feel a bit of responsibility to him and this old house. I started life here. Maybe I've finally really taken root.

I shrug at my mom. "Well…I kind of like it here for now."

"But what will you do here?" Mom asks, scoring a point for Angela. "You have no job, no steady income, no family, no one to take care of you…"

"Renee…" Phil murmurs, patting her knee once again and giving me an apologetic look, but I can deal with this.

"I'm thirty nine years old, Mom. I can take care of myself. I've been doing it for years. I have money saved and my books are earning some profits. I can always work at Angela's coffee shop if I get desperate—which I won't. And I have friends and Fitz here to take care of me."

Fits lifts his head and eyes me at the mention of his name. He's been lying at my feet but now he's ready to do my bidding. I contemplate pointing at my mother and yelling, 'Sic 'em, Fitz!'

"He's such a good boy," Mom croons as she reaches down and ruffles Fitz' flappy ears. He looks at her adoringly. Traitor.

Mom looks up, smiling brightly. "Whatever happened with that young man in Port Angeles…Steven, was it? Are you still seeing him?" Score another for Angela and now we're tied up at four apiece.

"Stefan," I tell her. "No. That kind of fizzled out."

"Oh, Bella, I'm sorry." Mom frowns but I wave it off dismissively.

"He was nice enough but there really wasn't a whole lot of chemistry there." Stefan turned out to be a finicky mama's boy.

She nods in understanding and sighs. I know exactly where she's going next.

"Have you heard from…Jake?" It's the big-money question and Angela's point—only because it was the first thing out of her mouth, but we both knew it was a given.

"Yeah, Jake sent a card. He actually wrote a very nice note and he made a donation to the American Stroke Foundation in dad's name."

"Oh, that was nice of him," she observes. And then she pauses and asks what I've been waiting for. "Will he be coming for the funeral?" That's my point and the game ends in a five-five tie, so neither Angela nor I have to treat the other to dinner.

I shake my head. "No, he's not, Mom. They just had a baby, plus she has her other two kids. I'm sure she needs his help. Besides, it's like a twelve-hour drive between here and Bozeman, Montana."

Mom nods but doesn't say anything. She can't. She held out hope Jake and I would get back together somehow but the apple didn't fall far from the tree. I used to hope the same for her and Charlie for years. I guess history repeated itself. Like my parents, Jake and I must have seen something in each other that we hoped was there, only to discover over time that it really wasn't. At least we didn't rip apart a family so I'll always be glad for that.

"I wish you'd meet someone, Bella…but living here in Forks…"

"I know." I shrug. She's right about this. The dating pool is quite shallow here but she'd better not bring up some on-line dating website idea. I'm not going to give that idea a whirl.

Mom sighs audibly.

"What? What's wrong?" I ask.

"I just think of you here now, Bella…alone in this shabby old house…in the gloom…with just a dog for company…writing teen romance novels and living like a recluse…"

I bite my tongue and roll my eyes, letting them land on Phil.

"You girls getting hungry?" he asks quite cooperatively as he pats the hell out of Mom's knee. I do love his powers of perception.

I glance at the clock above the TV. It's only three-thirty but I suddenly remember there's a three hour time-difference between the West and East Coasts. Which means it would be their dinner hour and they might not have had lunch either.

"Oh gosh! You must be starving!" I look at them for confirmation, anxious for a diversion so we can move on to some topic other than me living like a recluse in a shabby house in drabby Forks.

"I could eat," Phil says with a shrug and a sheepish grin.

"Phil can always eat," Mom says, rolling her eyes and smiling. She turns to me. "Are you hungry, baby? We'll treat you to a late lunch."

I tell her I'd prefer to just stay put. It'll be more relaxing and I have a refrigerator filled with a variety of food from friends and neighbors. Phil is all over the idea of a grilled meatloaf and cheese sandwich—his second choice after Mom forbids him to have a cabbage roll unless he plans on getting a separate room at the bed and breakfast tonight with the digestive tract issues he's bound to have. It's a light moment and I laugh at the two of them.

Mom and I start organizing lunch while Phil steps out to the back porch to make a quick phone call. I'm getting things out of the refrigerator when his voice carries inside.

"Hey, Jenksy, old buddy! It's Philly D! How's life treating you?"

I have to smile. I recognize the name. "Jenksy" is indeed an old buddy—a former mentor of Phil's who lives up this way. Jason Jenks was a pitcher for the Seattle Mariners in his younger days but retired from the majors years ago, returning to his hometown of Aberdeen, Washington. He wound up coaching baseball there at Grays Harbor College and occasionally did a little private pitching coaching on the side. I know all this because I've met Jason Jenks. I also know the drive between Forks and Aberdeen takes about two hours, though Edward Cullen could always shave at least fifteen minutes off that trip.

Mom sets the table and pours drinks while I grill our sandwiches and think about trips to Aberdeen. Just as I'm finishing and sliding things onto plates, Phil returns. I manage to keep the conversation on them throughout lunch and afterward. I ask about their trip up, Mom's activities, the latest goings on with their friends, and Phil's job with the Suns and how the team is doing. Mom's eyes sparkle when she talks about how she still loves the excitement of the games and the team and the travel. Phil winks, saying he suspects she just loves the excitement of watching the young ballplayers themselves. Mom rolls her eyes and smacks him lightly on the arm.

In the late afternoon, Mom and I sit outside on the back porch swing, watching Phil toss an old tennis ball for Fitz to fetch. We talk about the arrangements and plans for the next day and by six o'clock, which is nine o'clock for them, Mom is stifling yawns and I know they're exhausted. They've had a long day. I walk them out to their rental car, hug them goodbye for now, and wave as they head off to their bed and breakfast for the night.

I spend the evening rehashing the day's conversations. I don't think I'm turning into a reclusive writer. I have friends. I do things. I get out of the house.

Later that evening I'm curled up in bed once again, escaping reality as I read about the reality of my seventeen-year-old self.

*I*

Thursday, February 7, 1991

I think all the teachers got together and decided to make us take notes today. I didn't get much of a chance to talk to Alice during American Lit or Edward during Bio, but of course I got to talk to Angela, Jessica, and Eric during lunch. And I got to talk to Jessica in Spanish during Spanish class. Her pronunciation is awful!

I went to Alice's house after school to work on our poetry project. Mrs. Brandon is as tiny and sweet as Alice! Mr. Brandon was away on a business trip, but Alice showed me a photo. He's a foot taller than her mom! Their house is pretty. Alice's room is light blue with white furniture and a four-poster bed and she had pictures of her boyfriend, Jasper, everywhere.

She told me Jasper plays first base on the Spartans' baseball team and she goes to his practices sometimes to watch him. She sits in the bleachers and does homework with her friend Rosalie, whose boyfriend, Emmett, is the catcher. She said a lot of the guys on the team hope Coach Clapp will still let Edward pitch in the games because Mike Newton is the back-up and he isn't nearly as good. She said maybe Mike would get hurt and Edward would have to play and that made me laugh because she said it so cheerfully. She's funny and so easy to talk to.

She asked how Edward and I were getting along in Bio and we wound up discussing him. She told me his parents are nice, his mom especially, but his dad is kind of strict when it comes to school. Alice said Edward is really smart. He's only seventeen, like us, but he was moved up a grade when he was younger. He has to do well in school because he wants to study medicine at the same Ivy League school his dad and grandfather attended.

I told her what Jessica suspected about Edward and Tanya. Alice said Jessica tried to spread that same stupid rumor all last year but it was a load of horse crap and Edward's dad would have disowned him if it were true. She told me Tanya broke up with Edward at the end of the summer before she even moved and it took him a while to get over her. Now she thinks he's just trying to stay focused on his goals and that's probably why he hasn't dated anyone in the past year and a half.

Last thing…I called Mom tonight and told her things were going well at home and at school and that I'd made some friends. She probably thought I was crazy when I asked to speak to Phil because I had a question about baseball. I knew if I explained to her she'd be asking, "Is this about a boy? What's his name? Is he cute? Do you like him?" I would never hear the end of it.

Phil was cool, although he laughed when I asked if you could practice pitching at a strike zone painted on a tree. He said it would probably be bad for the tree and there was the hazard of ricocheting baseballs. I hadn't thought about that. He asked what the deal was and I explained Edward's situation. I didn't call him Edward though, I just called him "a friend" and asked him not to go into detail with Mom. He said he'd think on it, see what he could come up with, and call me back in a day or two.

My fingers are crossed!

*I*

I set my notebook on the nightstand and reach up to shut off the light. I lie in my bed in the dark, scratching Fitz as he lies by my side. I think about how life's challenges change over time. At seventeen I was wondering how I could help a boy get into a game of baseball. At thirty nine I'm wondering how I'm going to say a final goodbye to my father tomorrow morning.


A/N: Ugh, that was a hard ending. I promise we're getting to a turning point. And an Edward.