The water of the Gulf stretched out before her, gleaming with the million lights of the sun. The voice of the sea is seductive, never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander in abysses of solitude. All along the white beach, up and down, there was no living thing in sight. A bird with a broken wing was beating the air above, reeling, fluttering, circling disabled down, down to the water.

— The Awakening, Kate Chopin


The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n.

Paradise Lost, John Milton


Chapter Nine – Of Conclusions and Confidences

BPOV

If I close my eyes and let my mind go, I can still remember the first time I saw the ocean. La Push wasn't the first beach I ever went to, mostly because I didn't start going to visit my dad in Forks until I was five, just before I moved to Arizona. But when I was a child, and still lived in Riverside, California, my mom used to take these trips down to Corona del Mar. There was this trendy jewelry shop that she liked to shop and barter her homemade jewelry in—it was one of those phases—but she always took me to the beach after she was done. There were two public beaches near her favorite shop. One was the larger public one that had parking and a snackbar, the other was the smaller one that you had to park on the bluffs to visit. Of course, my mom liked the smaller one, though secretly I did too.

Little Corona had the waves and the salt and the sea, but it was so much more than that. To get there, you had to walk down a steep and winding hill and then trek across a large dune. The beach itself was isolated in the protection of steep cliffs and heavy rocks, which the surf crashed against in a commanding, but discordant, staccato rhythm. One large rock in particular stuck up from the water and was often a perch for sea lions and seagulls to rest upon. But my all time favorite part of that little beach was the tide pools which were on either side of the small enclosure. With my rubber-soled sandals, I used to climb all over the rocks, poking the sea anemones and inspecting the occasional starfish. I remember that my mother dressed me in a bright pink polka dot suit that had ruffles on the bottom, and I used to plop myself in some of the larger pools and let the tiny hermit crabs climb over my toes.

I remember my delight when I went to First Beach for the first time and I realized that it had tide pools too. Of course by then any natural grace I had as a tiny child was replaced with clumsy movements and awkward limbs. I fell in…a lot. But the pools never lost their charm, and as I result I never lost my love of the ocean.

It calls to me now, the same as it always did. And it soothes me now, just as it did when I was a child and even later when I was so lost and in need of soothing.

Visiting the ocean was the first thing I did when I arrived in Jacksonville.

There was a strange sense of urgency that filled me the day after I left Carlisle's home. I had stayed up late, replaying our conversation over and over until I had the words memorized. Every time I thought of my actions, and what I had confessed, a blush overcame my cheeks and I felt very young. When I was a teenager, it was easy to believe that Carlisle was the man in his thirties that he was pretending to be. He had that calm about him; that experience in his eyes that only comes from living. I found out later, of course, that it was from centuries alive, not years. But for some reason, since I had seen him again, I had forgotten that gulf that once was between us. I felt his equal. For the first time, I saw myself as the adult I was.

But the previous night had taken away that confidence. Not by him, but by my own part. He said nothing that was not necessary for me to hear, and yet I wish that it had never been said. I felt so young when he enumerated all the things I had not thought of. He had not been condescending, and yet I felt condescended to all the same.

And I tried desperately not to think of the confession I had made. Every time I did, I suddenly began to feel overheated and extremely lightheaded. What must he think of me? To make such a claim, all the while throwing myself at him. No, there could be no reproofs more strident than my own. My own fervent imagination was the worst sort of punishment.

And boy, could I imagine.

I couldn't face him. Maybe it was the coward's way out, but for the first time in six weeks, I didn't meet him at Dottie's the next morning. I couldn't contemplate seeing him again without shuddering in embarrassment. So instead I did what I do best: I ran. After teaching one full day, I took two vacation days and left for Jacksonville. It was going to be Thanksgiving on Thursday anyway, so I wouldn't be missing that much work. I hadn't planned on going home for the holidays, but now it seemed like the perfect excuse to get away and get my head on straight.

I arrived in Jacksonville International to little fanfare. I had texted my Mom to tell her I was coming, but I told her not to bother picking me up. Instead, I caught a cab. The sticking humidity of Florida cloyed all around me the moment I left the safety of the airport. I sighed at the familiar feeling and went to the line of taxies. Once I chucked my overnight bag in the trunk, I settled back into the seat and gave the driver my mom's address in Jacksonville Beach. Within twenty minutes, we were pulling in front of my mom's beach house.

Our house—or hers really—was set just off the beach. It was part of a string of adjacent beach shacks that had probably been put up during the Roaring Twenties and never torn down to make way for something better. My mom liked to complain about the faulty wiring and the permanent damp smell, but I loved it. The house had character, and my favorite part was the wraparound enclosed porch. When I lived there during my senior year, I never really appreciated how beautiful it was. I spent my time staring out my bedroom window listening for the crash of the waves and the salted air to fill my nostrils, but I never saw the beauty in the very house in which I sat.

After paying the cabbie and getting my bag, I turned towards the bungalow and beamed as my mom stepped out on the stoop. "Hey, Renée," I said, smiling widely at the mere sight of her.

"Hey, hon," she returned, coming forward and pulling me into a crushing hug. "You are so skinny! I could snap you like a chicken!"

Great, two minutes home and my mom is already whipping out the My Big Fat Greek Wedding quotes. It was one of the movies we watched during my recovery from the zombie period, and she loved it way more than could possibly be healthy.

"Come on, let's get inside. We are going to have so much fun this weekend! I have missed you so much!"

"I've missed you too, Mom," I said with a smile. Funny thing was, I had. Sure, she wasn't the most reliable or stable of people, but now that I no longer needed her to be a mother to me in the day to day, I could finally appreciate her wild spirit.

I dropped my bag in the front hall before we moved inside to the kitchen, through the covered porch, and out the back door. We both kicked off our shoes at the bottom of the steps, walking hand in hand down the sandy path to the dunes. "So," she said, after we were a long distance away from the house. "Tell me everything. Preferably starting with how the small town bores you to tears and you are moving back to Jacksonville pronto."

I grinned at Renée, enjoying her infectious enthusiasm. "Sorry, no dice. I like where I am. Like the kids; like the area."

"Hmm," my mom said, as if I had just said something suspicious. "What about the people your age?"

I immediately thought of Carlisle and the evenings he had spent over at my house.

I blushed.

God only knows why, and if I could have kicked my own rear I would have. I hadn't been that easy to blush in years and now one thought of Carlisle sends blood to my face? Jeez, I was pathetic.

Of course, this set my mom of like a bloodhound in search of its quarry. "Oh my goodness, who is he? Tell me everything!"

"It's no one, Renée, really. I mean, nothing is happening. He is just a nice man that I have met." I laughed. "But please, he is so not interested in me in that way. Believe me, it is clear."

She looked at me with a skeptical look on her face but, to my shock, she let it lie.

The next several days made me feel like I was a kid again. Phil was out of town on a job interview for a coaching job in Monterey, his playing days were rapidly coming to an end, making me doubly glad that I had come to see my mom. She never did do well alone. She usually curled into a ball or started some new weird hobby. So instead of letting her start another failed ceramics course, we spent time together. We walked on the beach repeatedly, we went to the movies, we ate out at fancy restaurants (Thanksgiving dinner at Chez Louis was especially good), and through it all I started to feel like I had gotten my mom back, the way she was before I jumped off the deep end of crazy in Forks. Except she wasn't the woman I remembered. She was infinitely better and different. She hadn't changed in fundamentals, but she was calmer at times, more relaxed. She seemed to have maintained a more parental role towards me, which was surprising to see.

I had spent the majority of my life taking care of my mother; seeing her as the child and being the parent. I was never fair to her, and I could never fully appreciate all that she was until she saved me when Edward left. Her presence was such a soothing balm to me that year, and in the end she rescued me from that part of myself that wanted to just give up and let go. It pains me to think that if she hadn't pulled me out of my malaise, that I would have gone off and lived my life forever thinking her to be a weak and flighty woman. But just as I could not be defined by one thing alone, neither could my mother.

As a result, it was healing for me to be near her. Sort of like all those wounds from childhood were starting to scab over.

My mom and I seemed to finally be in a place where neither of us had to carry the other.

It was nice. Different, sure, but nice all the same. She might always be my mother, but I no longer needed her and I think she felt the same way. The ties that had once bound us ever so tightly were finally beginning to dissolve, one by one. I felt relieved to know that, if anything ever happened to me, she would be okay.

On the last night of my trip, I left my mother watching television and quietly let myself out the back door of the porch. Standing on the top step, I took a deep breath of moist air before I walked down to the beach. Toeing my shoes off on the cold sand, I walked down to the water's edge and let myself wash in and out with the tide. The sea never went above my calves, but it was soothing in a way that I hadn't realized I missed. Looking out into the inky dark expanse of sea and sky, I could see the lights of the city proper in the distance, along with the boardwalk. I could also see the twinkling glimmer of houses further down the beach and the stars shining overhead. The only sound I could hear was the familiar pull and crash of the sea, and I let its rhythm lull me into a state of relaxation.

For so much of my life I had felt like the sea, being pulled back and forth, in and out, by the tides of orbiting planets. Whether it was between two fighting parents or between a normal world and a supernatural one, there was always something dictating my movements.

But I hadn't felt like that recently. Not for months. And I was too sure of my feelings to not know what that meant. There, in that solemn night, I could be totally honest with myself.

I loved him.

I, Bella Swan, loved him, Carlisle Cullen.

It was as simple as that. It wasn't a crush, and it surely wasn't passing. It was real and it was strong and it was mine. He wasn't Edward and he wouldn't hurt me to save me. I knew, somehow without him even telling me, that he said those things that night in his library in order to make me look at what I was really asking for. Carlisle didn't mean them to hurt me or to scare me, but I had to know. And he was right in that I hadn't fully appreciated all that I would be giving up.

When I was a teenager, it was easy to say that I didn't want or need children and that I was ready for eternity with one boy—the only boy I had ever dated. But would I have been right? What if they hadn't been able to stop the change that night in the studio? Would I have been happy, being forever a teenager and giving up all the things I couldn't get back? And Edward, would I have loved him forever, or would I have looked at him one day, thirty years down the line, with a feeling of dread in my stomach when I realized I didn't know him at all?

Now though, I wasn't that young girl anymore. I had lived in a world beyond curfews, allowances, and chores. I had set out on my own, and lived my own life. I had a mortgage and bills and responsibilities now. As such, I couldn't look at the idea of changing into a vampire with the same rose-colored glasses I once had. And to really think about it meant accepting one fundamental truth: to become a vampire meant I had to die.

There was no halfway, no compromise. I would lose Charlie, Renée, Phil, and every other person who ever meant something to me. There would be no more teaching—not for several decades at least—and I would never taste food again. My memories might fade, along with faces of people drawn and etched across my mind that I never wanted to lose. I would lose the sweet release of dreams and replace it with the ever steady marching of meaningless time. I would lose the ability to have children, along with the beat of my heart. I would become better, stronger, faster…but I would share my body with an almost unquenchable thirst for hundreds of years at least. And if I slipped, if I lost control for even one moment…I would be a murderer.

It wasn't a small decision, and for once I felt pity for Edward. My cavalier attitude must have driven him insane. He was still in the wrong for what he did in leaving but, for once, I could see his side of it as well.

Why had I been so eager to die back then?

Did I have the same eagerness now?

My eyes were closed as I tried to stretch my mind out to the future. I tried to picture my life; what I wanted, and what I thought would happen. I tried to see myself without Carlisle. With children and a normal husband who worked nine to five and watched football on Mondays. I tried to see myself growing older, attending funerals for my parents and marking time by the candles added to my birthday cakes and the wrinkles on my face. I tried to see a future that Edward had once claimed he wanted for me, one I once thought I wanted for myself. I tried to see it…but I couldn't.

Instead I saw myself, twenty years from now, returning to this very beach with Carlisle. I saw him holding my cold hand as we walked silently in the darkness. Together.

My eyes shot open.

"You okay?"

I turned my torso to see my mother standing just behind me, looking at me with an indefinable expression on her face. "Yeah, I'm fine," I told her. "Just thinking."

"You've been doing a lot of that."

I cocked my head to the side.

"Thinking, I mean," she clarified. "I have come across you several times in the last few days and you have just been staring off into space."

"Lot on my mind, I guess," I murmured.

Renée moved so that she was standing next to me and the water could rush across her feet too. "Anything I can do to help?"

"No," I replied honestly. "This trip has been plenty of help. It was nice to come down here, see you again. It was really important to me that I did, you know? I mean, I saw Charlie during the summer and now I got a chance to see you. I love you, Mom."

"Bella? You're scaring me," my mom said, her voice trembling slightly. "It feels like you are saying goodbye."

"Not goodbye, Renée," I replied, impulsively reaching out and hugging her tightly. "It's never really goodbye between us."

"Oh, honey," she whispered, clutching me tighter.

"I never did thank you, did I?"

"Thank me for what, sweetheart?"

"For saving my life," I whispered. Pulling back slightly, I looked her square in the face. It was amazing how much of my mother I could see in my own features now that I had gotten older. I had aged into the beauty she had always possessed.

Clearing my throat, I said, "I don't mean physically. I mean, I was living, wasn't I? But emotionally. I was a black hole of misery and you pulled me out of it. And I can't remember if I ever thanked you for that. So…thank you, Renée. You saved me in all the ways that matter."

"Oh, honey," she whispered. Tears filled her eyes; lovely green eyes that I had always been jealous of. "I'd do anything for you. You know that, right? I mean I know I wasn't the best in the terms of motherhood—"

"Renée—"

She held up her hand. "No, you don't need to sugarcoat or deny it. I wanted to be for you what I always wanted and never received from my own mother: a friend. I thought that my daughter would be just as free living and free spirited as I was. It took me a long time to own up to the fact that I did everything for you but the things you needed. You were the mom a lot of the time, and I am so sorry for that." She took a shuddering breath and cupped my face. Her hands were cold; cold like Carlisle's.

I shivered as the crashing waves beat time with my heart.

"Those months you lived here with Charlie gave me a lot of time to think," she continued, "but it was only after you had your…issues and came to live in Jacksonville that I realized the true extent of what I did to you. I never taught you all the things that daughters need to learn from their mothers. I didn't teach you to value yourself first. I was such a taker and a needy person, and you just gave and gave. What I didn't realize was that you did that with everyone else too. You gave away a piece of yourself to anyone and everyone. Is it any surprise that your first brush with love ended the way it did? What happened with that boy was unfortunate, but I can't help but think that it wouldn't have happened if I had taught you that no one can take your spirit from you unless you let them. I am so sorry, Bella."

Great, I was crying. My mother had reduced me to a sniveling wreck. I hadn't seen her this sincere and serious in years, and I didn't know what was bringing it out of her now. "Renée," I began.

She held up her hand. "You don't need to say anything, honey. I know my shortcomings, and they are freakin' numerous. That is not why I bring this up. I am telling you this now because I want you to know that I don't need or deserve your thanks. I really did nothing in the end."

My brow furrowed. "That's not true. The things you said—"

"Would have meant nothing if you weren't ready to hear them," she finished my sentence. "Don't you see, Isabella? You saved yourself. You have always been the strong one and you have always known what you want. Because of me you had to learn to take care of your own needs, and I am sorry for that, but it has made you into this incredibly amazing woman who follows her own path. I might have taught you to be independent through my faults, but Bella, it is you who took it to heart. God, the things you have done! Studying abroad, learning French, traveling…that is all you. No matter what you do, no matter what happens, I know you will be okay."

For some reason, right then I felt about five years old. So I put my head on my mother's shoulder and whispered, "I love you, Mommy."

"I love you too, baby," she whispered back. Then, she met my eyes and murmured, "Just promise me one thing."

"Okay."

"Promise me that you will let someone in again. Love is…well, at the risk of sounding incredibly cheesy…it's a gift, Bella. Maybe this new guy is the right one, maybe not. But I would hate for you to miss out on it because you were scared." She looked down at my hand which was unconsciously rubbing the raised flesh that James had left behind. "Scared or scarred," she added.

There was nothing I could say to her. Nothing that hadn't already been said, that is. So I told her the truth. "I promise."

It was one promise I had already kept and would continue on keeping.

She left me by the ocean, staring after her departing form. I stood there for several more minutes before turning to go, only then noticing that my ankles had been swallowed by the surf and the sand. I pulled my feet out one by one, walking a step away so that the incoming tide could wash them off. Taking one last deep breath, I turned and headed back to the house. First I would go to the house, tomorrow I would go to the airport, and then the day after that I would go to find Carlisle.

It was time for me to go home.

To leave the beach and the sun, trading it for the forests and the snow and the night.

I had made my choice, and now it was time for him to know it.

The sea may be lovely, dark and deep, but I had promises to keep. Along with endless miles to go before I would sleep.


CPOV

Stepping into my father's room, I found him kneeling under the window. A single tapered candle was lit on the corner table. The room was sparsely furnished and decorated, insuring that no distractions would come between my father and God. I observed his still and solemn form for a moment—his back hunched over in worship, with his wrinkled hands clutching the Book of Common Prayer—and turned to leave. But before I could exit silently, the thrushes crunched and snapped under my booted foot, alerting my father to my presence.

"Carlisle, be that you?"

"Aye, Father," I replied dutifully. "I have come to take my leave. The men are preparing; it shall not be 'ere long now." I wanted so badly to end the distance between us, yet I knew not how. I tried, instead, to calm myself with Scripture. Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.

"Come closer," my father said, standing from his position. I walked over to him and stopped only once I was within arm's length. His sight had begun to fail him recently, though it was only distances that gave him trouble. I mourned the way he looked at me, with such a mixture of distaste and dissatisfaction. There was disappointment in his every glance. "Is everything in readiness?" he asked.

"Aye, Father. We only await nightfall."

"This is well," he replied. His shrewd eyes then observed me, raking his gaze from my booted feet to the cloak that adorned my shoulders. "What can be the matter, child? Thy hands are shaking."

"I…Do you think we are acting shrewdly, Father?" The words felt heavy and thick in my throat. I sought again to find comfort in recitation. Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

"To what dost thou refer, my son?"

"This hunting, this quest. Ought we not spend our time tending to our parish and those wretched ones who need our help?"

"We are doing the Lord's work, Carlisle," my father growled. His voice had not lost its ability to order and command with age. If anything, he seemed even better at it.

"Are we?" I dared to ask.

"Thou know'st right well we are," he responded, now glaring at me in earnest.

Usually, I was cowed by his shows of aggression and reserved speech, but there was something in me that night which refused to be silent. "Father, I cannot be the man you do desire me to be. Methinks…it goes against all my principles. The obedience that I owe you has kept me dumb until now, but I cannot, in good conscience, let this continue further. These men and women that we accuse…who are they? Who are their people? What are their crimes? Do their Papist loyalties sate your desire for blood, or to that must they add something more substantial?" Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.

Quickly, before I knew what had happened, my father cuffed me across the cheek, scratching my skin and drawing blood with his signet ring. "Mind thy betters, boy! Fie! Think thee so wise, so moral that thou art above doing God's work?"

"Is it the Lord's work Father, or thine?" Stop this, I told myself. Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.

"I am disappointed in thee, Carlisle."

"And I in you, Father," I replied. Where my boldness was coming from escaped me, but the words seemed to bubble forth without heading any sense of propriety. Keep to a good heart, I reminded myself. Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.

"Tread very carefully, my son. If thou dost not mind thy tongue, 'ere long you might find thyself without a place to rest thy head at night."

"Forgive me," I said, looking downwards. My face stung horribly and I could feel the blood trickling down my cheek, but I did nothing to staunch the flow. That would be seen as a weakness; my father couldn't abide weakness. "I spoke without guarding my tongue. You do speak rightly, of course. It is our Savior's work we do, and it is for that reason that I wish for our actions to be righteous. I do not wish to go to my Maker with unknown sins upon my head." Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake, I recited, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

I could visibly see my father calm, so I pushed gently forward. "These men and women, Father…they sometimes die screaming."

"Demons!" he spat. "What dost thou expect?"

"Should not the Devil's henchmen fight back, Father?"

"They know'st we have the Creator at our flank. Ours is the way and the truth and the life."

"And the females, Father? Those we have accused of witchcraft? The last one died screaming for mercy and speaking the Lord's Prayer. If she was a witch, how could she—?

"That in and of itself is proof of her treachery! That Slate woman had a bastard out of wedlock and was heard to speak against the one true Church of England. She served the Devil!" my father spat.

Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake, I remembered. "But if they serve the Devil, shouldn't they—"

"Silence!" my father cut in. "I'll not have this treachery in my own home. Attend me. This is what thou shalt do. Thou wilt go thither tonight and lead the men. Thou wilt find those supernatural creatures thou hast been sent to discover, and thou wilt kill them by thine own hand!"

My horror was complete. "Father, I cannot…"

"I have spoken. Thou wilt obey me."

The memories were so real they almost felt like dreams. Vampires cannot dream. Every immortal knows that. Yet, ever since that night that Bella drove away, my nighttime hours, or any time spent with my eyes closed, are used to relive the worst of my memories. Waking nightmares and conscious dreams. I had been wracked with flashes of my turning, my childhood, and all the empty years in between. Remembrances that had faded with time were now once again as clear as crystal. I could almost feel my father strike my cheek or the hot wax drip upon my left pinky finger as I sealed a letter. It was madness, yet I welcomed it all the same.

Anything to keep my mind off of her.

My regret began the moment she left my house. Regret for what I had said, regret for what had passed between us, regret for not guarding my words…but most of all, it was regret for not taking the chance she offered me with both hands and holding on tightly. Because I wanted to turn her into a vampire. Of course I did. I could barely stop my hands from shaking when she had pressed close to me, so close that the scent of her body had flooded my senses and robbed me of my reason.

But, at the end of the day, the man that I am is a sum of more than just my desires. The day I discovered I could survive on animal blood, when I was newly born, I made a silent promise to myself that I would never become base by succumbing to the human blood I craved—I would die first. That promise though, was more than directed to my feeding habits. It was also a code of conduct that I forced myself to live by.

I was more than that which I desired.

For hundreds of years I roamed alone because I could not forever keep company with those who saw no morals or reasons guiding their actions. I made friends, but always kept them distant from my person. Even Liam, who then, before my family, could have been categorized as my dearest friend, was kept a careful distance away. Edward was the beginning and then end of that. Once I had a companion, feelings that I had long denied myself came rushing back to me. The desire to love and be loved was too much of a temptation to resist. I turned Esme with the hope of marriage and love, a wife to take the empty place by my side and be mother to my brother/son. Other family followed, but I always kept true to that promise I made myself. I was above my desires; I could be better than the lowest part of my nature.

But now, one glance, one touch from her heated skin made me forget all that I had once sworn. My desire for Bella could be my undoing if I was not careful. She made me feel alive and human, and being human made me want to be selfish. I wanted to take her and make her mine, knowing full well that she hadn't thought through the decisions to be changed and made into a vampire. I simply wanted…I simply needed…her.

She was my only true desire now.

That first day Bella did not meet me at the diner. I returned the next day hoping for a better result.

It was through the gossip at the small food establishment that I found out that Bella had left to visit her mother for Thanksgiving. I didn't act surprised, and I think that Linda assumed I knew already that she was gone. Though I hid my reaction well, I was, in truth, devastated. The idea that I had caused Bella even the smallest amount of pain was unacceptable to me. And the idea that she had to leave her home in order to flee from my hurtful words was worse. I contemplated calling her several times, but I knew that would satisfy my feelings instead of hers. She had told me that one of the things she hated about Edward's behavior was the way that he took her choices away. I simply refused to act like my wayward son anymore that I already had. It was her choice, her decision. I would not force my company on her if she did not wish it.

Instead I tried to distract myself with the minutia that cluttered my life. Bills, repairs, and refurbishments worked for a time. I also wrote a long letter to Eleazar, talking about my life now and the measure of peace I thought I had achieved. Work was my constant companion, but even that was not enough to distract me in the silent hours. When I was alone in my house—and, oh it was so quiet—I would find myself walking up and down the stairs, or sitting out on the deck for endless hours at a time. It was then that the memories crept up on me. Waking dreams of times long forgotten and feelings I thought I had long since conquered.

My feelings for my father had always been confused and nebulous, but I had thought myself free of them. While memories of our time together saddened me, I thought myself to be beyond the hurt such memories could cause. A part of me wondered if Bella was the cause of my sudden introspection. When I was with her, everything felt closer: my feelings, my thoughts, my past. Being with her was like becoming human again, and it was intoxicating. But with it came the bitter and unsettled memories of my father. I had loved him and tried so hard to please him, but it was never enough. Yet, after I woke to new life, I missed him. His was a face that had been a constant in my life. His was an opinion that I valued, though often disagreed with. In those dark days shortly after my change, it was his disappointment that led me to seek to end my life over and over. I felt that by being what I was, I was letting him down. It was difficult, even hundreds of years later, to describe and understand the complex nature of what I felt for him. He was so much of my foundation, and when I discovered myself to be the thing he abhorred…all that I had ever known was torn asunder.

Yet, for all that, I could not regret that I was once again allowing my thoughts to dwell on him. These past months with Bella had led me closer to my human life than I had ever been since the change.

On the fourth day of Bella's absence from my life, my cell phone rang. Like an idiot, I practically flew across the room to answer it, my voice shaking when I said, "Hello?"

"Carlisle!"

"Rosalie?" I could barely keep the shock and surprise out of my voice. I hadn't heard from her in what felt like forever. "How are you, dear? This is quite the surprise."

"I'm sure," she responded with a pealing laugh. "Do you know what I had to do to get this number?"

"No, not at all," I said, feeling a reluctant smile come to my face. Of all the vampires I had made, Rosalie and I had the strangest relationship. She was sometimes adversarial and resentful, other times she was like a devoted daughter.

"First I tried your old cell phone," she was saying. "Then, when that didn't work, I contacted Alice. It took her a month to return my email! I know they are in India, but really, I simply can't believe that Alice has allowed herself to be so cut off from modern communication."

"I believe there is a trip to Europe at sake," I responded with a fond thought for Alice.

"So I have heard," Rose responded. "I tried the same thing with Emmett, but he was not very receptive."

I laughed. "And how is Emmett? You are both still in Denali, correct?"

"Yes, that's right," she said. "And Emmett is wonderful. He seems to be in heaven here, what with all the wildlife and bears he could ask for."

I smiled at the description of my last child. "I am glad to hear it. Eleazar wrote a little about you both in his last letter, but it was not as detailed as I should have liked."

"To be honest," Rosalie said, "that is part of the reason that I called. When he received your last letter, I began to think of you and how I missed our old family."

"Oh, Rose—"

"No, let me get this out," she spoke. "I was so angry when you let Edward and Esme leave, and even moreso when I heard that you and Esme were no longer together. I know that we have gone our own ways before, but never have Esme and Edward both left. Emmett and I should have come back then, but I…I blamed you for letting our family fall apart. Forgive me."

I suddenly wished I could see her beautiful face. "Of course, Rosalie," I said. "There is nothing to forgive. I am sorry it happened too. The last thing I ever wanted was for us to lose our family."

"Good," she said decisively. "Then you should come to Denali."

"Rosalie—"

"Our extended family is here," she continued on, "and Jasper and Alice have promised to come for a prolonged visit when they return from Europe. If you came then it would be just like it used to be. I am sure that if you called Esme—"

"Rosalie," I said firmly, cutting her off. "Esme and I are not going to get back together. Not ever. You need to let that idea go."

"But you could still come," she said undeterred. She was determined. "I miss you, and I know Emmett does too."

"Oh dearest," I murmured. "I miss you too. I miss all my children."

Including Edward, the rebellious thought crept in. I tried to push it away, but once I had thought of him it was next to impossible. Images flooded my head of the young laughing youth that had once kept me company with his soothing melodies and his thoughtful words. I saw him leaving that first time, so full of anger and righteousness. I saw him returning home repentant. I saw the years that followed and the emptiness I feared he was letting consume him. But mostly, I saw everything in between. I saw the laughter on the hunts with his brothers. I saw the occasional unguarded look that would cross his face when he thought no one was watching and he let himself enjoy life. Finally, I saw the quiet joy that surrounded him when he finally found Bella, and the relief I felt in knowing that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't doomed to spend this life alone.

And for the first time I realized that maybe I hadn't been as honest with myself as I had thought. Perhaps I said those things to Bella because a part of me knew what it would mean if I did. If I changed her, if I pursued the relationship with her that I so desperately wanted…I knew that would mean saying goodbye to Edward forever.

Edward.

My first companion, my beloved son, my dearest friend.

All the complicated emotions I had carried the past few years melted away when confronted with one inalienable truth: I missed him.

"Say you'll come," Rosalie cajoled. "Carmen said that the grey wolf dens are on the move again."

I sighed. How tempting it would be to go off to Alaska and return to the bosom of my family. To no longer walk my nights alone, to always have companionship on my hunts…I cut off that thought process right there. I was not alone.

I had Bella.

"I can't, dear," I finally said, letting out a very human sigh. "At least not right now. Perhaps I can pay you all a visit next summer."

"Try for sooner," she said in a soft tone I didn't fully recognize. We chatted for nearly another hour before saying goodbye.

I spent the next few days replaying my conversation with Rosalie over and over again. I had to admit that escaping to Denali sounded tempting. I would love to see Eleazar and Carmen again, and Tanya too, let alone Rose and Emmett. But as tempting as it sounded, there was a part of me tied to Calais. I knew, without giving it any conscious thought, that I simply could not leave Bella. There was something tying me to her and it was more than the indecipherable feelings I was having for her. Even if it was mere friendship, I simply knew—knew —that she would be a companion for life. I couldn't imagine missing the rest of her human life, long or short as it might be. Not now, not after she had told me that she felt something more for me. Even better if, after she had thought things through, and she still wanted to be changed…the thought was thrilling.

The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that Bella and I needed to sit down and have a rational conversation about this. It simply got too emotional too quickly at my house. For goodness sake, I sounded practically patronizing in my attitude and words. No, what we needed was to really talk this out. I needed to know if Bella could possibly see herself someday joining me, and I prayed to my Maker that the answer was yes. I knew from Linda that Bella was coming home Sunday evening. I would just have to find a way to talk to her on Monday. We could talk about it all again and maybe, just maybe, we could discuss her changing once more.

After all, spending eternity with Bella was an easy thing to imagine.


This chapter was so hard to write because there was no C/B interaction, but it needed to be done in my opinion. They both had to come to their conclusions on their own.

The last line of Bella's POV is paraphrased from Robert Frost's poem "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening".

Throughout Carlisle's flashback, I sprinkled bible quotes, most notably the beatitudes, as I have established that Carlisle was just out of Seminary. I used the version from the King James Bible, 1611 version, though with modern spelling.

I used some archaic words in Carlisle's flashback, mostly on the part of his father. From what I can tell, there seems to have been a schism during the 1500s to the 1600s as certain language came in and out of fashion. They would have spoken Early Modern English which was characterized by shifting vowel sounds, inconsistent spelling and grammar, and mixed phrases. (As it developed it would become more consistent, but not when Carlisle was living.) Shakespeare, for example, used archaic words sometimes and other times used modern slang. "What's the matter?" was a slang phrase that Shakespeare invented and is now a permanent part of our language. (Seriously, if you are ever in doubt that Shakespeare is the best writer in the history of Man just Google 'Phrases Shakespeare Invented'. It will blow your mind—Catch a cold, naked truth, heart of gold, break the ice, be all and end all, heartsick, fair play—these are just a few examples!). Paradise Lost was published in 1667, the year after Carlisle was turned, and a good example of the blending of modern and older English. Carlisle therefore uses traditional phrases (ex: 'ere long) but common words (you, do…), whereas his father uses both traditional and archaic phrases (ex: what dost thou, thou wilt) and words (thee, thou, thither …). Language was deeply divided and based on social standing and education, and it marked lord from peasant more clearly than clothing. In reality, Carlisle would probably have adopted his father's speech patterns and formal speech but I chose to have him speak in a more common manner. In my head, I can see him spending a good deal of his time in Seminary leaving his studies behind and tending to the poor and sick. Perhaps he picked up some of his ease in language from them people he helped.

Okay, sorry for the history ramble! Hope you liked the chapter!


To Be Continued...