Chapter 10

For Grabadietcoke, 4eva

"All human plans [are] subject to ruthless revision by Nature, or Fate, or whatever one preferred to call the powers behind the Universe." – Arthur C. Clarke, 2010: Odyssey Two

The next time I was with her, she made me over.

I awoke with a start, Bella draped over me, not surprised the sheets are on the floor. In my cocoon with Bella yesterday, I failed to get together what Judge Black needs for court this morning, my promise to Jessica flashing through my mind in panic.

I get up slowly, not wanting to wake her and take my phone into the bathroom. Searching for Jessica's number, I pause before I hit dial.

I have two options. I can ask Jess to meet me at work early to help me, basically putting myself at risk for any gossiping or bitching she might want to get out of her system.

Or.

Or I could shirk all responsibility and call out sick. The fact that I'm even thinking this makes me put the phone down and jump in the shower to wake myself up. Once I'm done, I place the call to Jessica who thankfully agrees to meet without much of a fight. Maybe the promise of me paying for breakfast helped.

I'm in the closet putting on my gray suit when I feel arms snake around me and start to pull my shirt from my pants. I grin, and stop her. "What are you doing you little minx?"

"Isn't it obvious? I don't like this costume." I can hear her pout. My suit never felt like a costume before, but today, with her wanting it off, it does.

"I have to go to work, don't make this harder." I smile.

She rubs her face into my back; "I can make lots of things harder." She starts reaching for the front of my pants; painfully I have to stop her. I turn around and capture her face in my hands, kissing her. She doesn't complain about me kissing her with her morning breath, and I admire that she wakes up natural and messy with crazy bed hair. It's refreshing. She pulls away. "Ok you go, I have to go to work too." She turns to leave and I watch her ass as she turns into the bathroom.

Through the open doors I ask her exactly where she's working today since the food trucks have moved on.

"There's a flea market craft fair extravaganza at the lake. I'm setting up my table for the next two or three days."

"Finger puppets?" I finish tying my tie and move to the open bathroom door, watching her wash her hands.

"Amongst other things. I have many talents." She wiggles her eyebrows at me.

"Mmm so I've noticed." I go to put my arms around her but she stops me.

"Don't start what you can't finish mister." She rises on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek. "Too smooth." She makes a face and walks out. "Can you drop me at the camper?"

I follow and watch her get dressed, questions flying through my mind. "Where will you park it? Can you park at the fair?"

"Yeah I can stay there right where I set up but every night I have to pack up and move out. Set up again the next day, blah blah."

I get fidgety, suddenly worrying about where she's going to go. I don't like the idea of her being what amounts to a vagrant. Part of me hopes she'll ask to come back here, but the cautious part of me wonders if that's such a good idea. I need to keep some distance, as much as I'm enjoying her.

I rub the back of my neck. "Where are you going to go tonight?"

"Walmart lets RV's and stuff use their parking lots all over the country. I'll just go there." She sits on the bed and starts pulling a boot on.

I'm floored. "Bella, you're not parking in a Walmart parking lot." I put my hand on her arm and she stops her actions. The tone of my voice has become harsh, and she looks from my hand to my face.

"Why not? I've done it before."

"Because I didn't know you then, and I didn't know you were doing that. I mean seriously, you want to live in the parking lot?" I think I scoff that last part out.

"What do you mean by that?" She looks a little furious as she pulls her arm from my grasp and pulls the boot all the way up. Letting her leg fall heavily, she sighs and puts the other boot down, looking at me. "Edward, it's nice and all that you feel protective of me if that's what this is, but trust me. I've lived this way my whole life. It's what I know and what I do."

I realize that I've overstepped my bounds, and I have no right to pass judgment on her. "Bella, I'm sorry. Really. I don't know too much about how you've lived so I have no right to an opinion. It just doesn't seem that safe to me, and I'd hate to have something happen to you." I crouch down so I'm eye level with her. "It's more worry than anything else, I promise you."

Bella looks at me and her eyes soften. "Really Edward, I know how to take care of myself and I do appreciate that you like me enough to worry about me. But why is me parking in a lot any different than being next to the food trucks all night?"

"I do like you, more than enough." I lean in to kiss her. "I just never really thought about the fact that you live in there, on the street exposed. But now that I am, I'm worried." I decide to kick caution in the ass. "Will you stay the weekend with me? You can leave your camper in the lot where the electricians and maintenance staff park. I'll call them and set it up."

"You want me to stay the weekend with you? Are you sure about that?" She side eyes me. "I don't like invitations out of pity Edward. That doesn't fly with me, so don't insult me."

It was a spur of the moment thought, but the idea appeals to me. "Why wouldn't I want that? I'm being selfish, not pitying. I want you here with me. So I can enjoy you."

Bella looks at me, weighing her decision. She looks unsure. "You have no plans this weekend?"

"None. In fact, I want to sit at your table with you and sell funny little animals for people's fingers."

Bella laughs and puts on her other boot. "Okay, you can be my little helper." She points a ringed finger at me. "And don't be a cliché and tell me that there's nothing little about you." She gets up and palms my dick through my pants. "I already know there isn't." She smiles brightly up at me.

"How can you be so innocent and so sexy all at the same time?" I capture her mouth with my own.

"It's easy with you."

And it is.

Finishing up in court this morning, I thank Jessica again and offer to buy her lunch too since she really saved my ass. I'm thankful when she turns me down, citing other plans.

As I eat a sandwich at my desk, I leave another voicemail for Emmett, not too worried that he didn't call me back yesterday, but wanting to make sure he knows I'd like to know how it went the other night.

My thoughts travel back to Bella, wondering what she's doing and if she sold anything. I can't really wrap my head around how she lives, working here and there, and selling weird little items. I can't imagine her mother left her much money when she died, or if she did that it's lasted this long which makes me assume Bella is barely getting by. Thoughts of Bella using me flash through my head, and I feel guilty. She doesn't know my family or who we are. I told her my last name and she didn't recognize or connect me to my father, the Senator. She hasn't asked for a thing and even loudly complained last night when I paid the delivery guy.

I push those thoughts of Bella away, that girl doesn't fit with the one that's entered my life. She's said repeatedly that money means nothing to her; her lifestyle certainly backs that up. So I choose to believe her. Maybe that's stupid, I don't know.

I flip open my phone and look at the picture I took of her last night, having transferred it from my camera this morning. Her eyes are looking into the lens, innocent but so worldly. I love that she's comfortable in her skin, both literally and figuratively. She's beautiful in her natural way; she's easily the most beautiful and intriguing person I've ever met. Confidence and playfulness exude from the picture, and I get lost in it for a while.

Just as I'm about to close my phone to get back to work, I see Tanya's number flash on my screen. Shit.

Sunday. Two short days from now.

I don't answer it and let it go to voicemail. I wonder if I can cancel on her and then quickly decide that's not an option. I'm going to have to tell Bella that our weekend ends around six on Sunday. Maybe she'll have taken off on her own by then. If she's going to the craft fair then I'm sure Sunday morning would be an acceptable time for goodbye, and I won't even have to mention it. Unless she expects me to go with her Sunday?

I can't really see myself wanting to sit at a hippie fair surrounded by incense booths and psychics for a whole weekend. And there's no way Bella would expect that of me. She doesn't seem the clingy type, and I'm pretty sure she feels the same way about what we're doing as I do. We have the same plan. Fun while it lasts. I can't see her going all girly on me and being jealous and angry about me having to take Tanya to the benefit. She knows I took her out last week. I shake my head when I realize I've only known Bella a week, and there's no reason to make up some story.

I feel better and decide to tell her tonight or tomorrow. Nothing good ever comes out of secrets and lies; I've been on the receiving end of both.

Bella has picked out my outfit for the day. She had jokingly asked, at what she had demanded be naked breakfast, if I was going to wear a suit. I told her I owned things besides suits and yellow smiley face boxers; she raised her eyebrows in doubt and started investigating.

I am currently sporting the ripped and paint splattered jeans I wore throughout college and a Bob Marley t-shirt I'm not sure I knew I owned. She asked if I had flip-flops, and when I visibly shuddered she allowed me to put on my Converse. I skipped shaving.

Bella then went down to her camper proclaiming to have the perfect outfit to accompany mine, and returned wearing the denim cutoffs and a tank top with a huge marijuana leaf on it proclaiming "This Buds For You".

I learn the hard way that Bella is not a good driver. It's possible she would be if she didn't have a house attached to her car. I was glad to arrive at the lake in one piece, having only suffered a bruised elbow from a piece of metal jutting out from where the door handle should be. She refused my offer to drive after I hit it the fifth time.

I find myself relaxing and thinking this might not be so bad as it's actually a really beautiful day. It's hot but there's a slight breeze coming off of the lake and we're in a spot close enough to get a nice draft. The camper has an awning that pulls out over the side and door, so we'll be sitting comfortably in the shade, and I help Bella set up.

Out of the camper come bins from under the bed and from shelves close to the ceiling. She puts me in charge of the finger puppet bin and I start setting some up on this wooden display that has sticks glued to it so that the finger puppets can be impaled on them. As I'm going about my task, Bella starts decorating her area and sends me to sign in for the day at the registration area.

Returning to the camper after standing in the longest line I've ever seen, I'm blown away by the transformation. Paper lanterns swing from the awning, in bright reds and yellows, varying in size. They sway gently in the breeze while strings of tiny bells are tinkling softly. There's an old intricate Persian carpet on the ground making the stage for her table, which is draped in some of those silky colorful scarves with the sequins on them that cover her windows. The effect is surprising; she's made this little space in a park intimate and kind of magical.

She tells me to go pick some music out and after searching through her collection I put on a Moroccan CD that seems fitting, and start to look over her wares. Besides the finger puppets, there are some soft baby items like hats and socks, all hand knitted, along with some adult sized gloves and scarves.

What really catch my eye though are figurines of hands, draped in leather and satin cords, the palms cradling pendants with care. I go to see exactly what they are.

"They're actual butterfly wings." She says, joining me in front of the display.

"Did you make these? How?"

"Well, the hard part is finding butterflies, I won't kill them myself, obviously. But once I do, I take the wings, and preserve them in a very fine coating of resin, keeping each wings unique shape intact. The resin protects and allows you to see the beauty of the wing once it hardens and gets smooth."

I pick up a vibrant blue wing, the varying hues within iridescent and sparkling. It feels delicate, but she assures me that the resin makes it sturdy. "It's beautiful."

"Thank you. My Mom and I made this one together, this purple one." She holds out a larger wing to me, the violet shading having some white in it as well. "I have a bad habit when people come to look of hiding this one. I'll probably never sell it." She laughs.

"Why don't you just wear it yourself?"

She puts it back on display, "It belongs here." I get the feeling she doesn't want to lose the connection of making and selling things with her mother; it's what this necklace represents.

The park starts to fill up and I'm surprised when Steve and Derek pop up. We chat for a while and Bella explains that's how they met, at one of these shows months ago. "They find and refurbish old neglected furniture, taking it back to its original state." Bella explains to me.

"I cry like a baby when I find an old piece someone has gone all Martha Stewart on, painting it white with blue daisies. It sickens me." Derek starts ranting so Steve says goodbye and pulls him away.

"Do you meet a lot of people at these things that you keep in touch with?"

"Oh sure! I'm sure I know some of the people here today. We stay in touch through email and on Facebook."

"Do you have a laptop?" I try to remember if I saw one lying around, but come up blank.

"No, but I do have a smartphone and I'll use a computer in the library or if I'm staying somewhere. I don't feel the need to be connected 24/7 and sit in front of the Internet all day and night. Why watch other people living life when you can live it yourself?"

All morning Bella's booth is alive with activity. If it's not someone coming by to say hi it's someone buying her stuff. Her baby items are a hit, many people ooh and aah over their softness and she has to lay out new stuff every hour or so. She seems to be selling these items at ten dollars a pop, which is probably too low but she doesn't seem to care. She said it makes her happy when people enjoy what she's made.

A woman named Mindy, that Bella knows, comes by around lunchtime to relieve Bella and I for a break, an agreement that will have Bella watching her booth in an hour or so. Bella starts to walk away but I pull her back, taking the purple butterfly off the hand it's laying in and putting it back in the storage case under the table. She looks at me and leans in to kiss my shoulder, thanking me.

I grab her hand and swing it lightly, guiding her through the booths to find some food. I'm surprised by the variety of the merchandise available, many people decorating their areas much in the way Bella has. There's one table selling kids toys, with multiple bubble machines attracting lots of attention in the form of squealing children. In another area is a sizeable booth with large wood carved items like mailboxes and tables. Looming overhead is a stuffed deer head hanging from the side of that vendor's camper. Bluegrass plays from an old record player.

We weave in and out, stopping occasionally when something catches Bella's eye. I watch her peruse clothing and jewelry, her hands lingering on a green jade bracelet. "This reminds me of you. Your eyes. These stones are the exact shade." She rubs her thumb over it gently and looks at the tag, eventually putting it down. I don't want to think she's denying herself something she likes because of the price. She deserves beautiful things. I motion when she's not looking for the seller to put it away for me.

It's obvious she's comfortable in this environment. She has no trouble greeting new people, they seem drawn to her. The kindness she shows to everyone is moving.

I'm overwhelmed by the amount of people she seems to know. Men, women, old, young, gay, straight. It doesn't matter, she greets everyone by name and has some sort of fact stored in her head about all of them. She asks an old man how his ailing wife is doing and he's so moved by her sympathy he makes her take a purple silk flower he made. She places it in her hair proudly.

In another universe, she'd make a great politician's wife.

Returning from purchasing the bracelet, my excuse to leave was a desperate need for a Coke, I find her kneeling on the ground surrounded by four or five kids. She's got a finger puppet on each hand and she seems to be putting on a show. She's even doing voices. The kids are laughing at what appears to be an elephant running away in fear from a mouse. She takes her hand and runs the elephant over the shoulder of the boy next to her, who squeals and hunches his shoulders up in delight.

"Run him over me!" Another boy yells and Bella takes the elephant and runs it up his back and over his head. She does this to every child, and when the show is over, grabs the bin and tells each kid to take a finger puppet of their choice. The kids are huddled around, taking this selection process very seriously, and she notices I'm back.

"Once you've picked one out, Edward here will tell you what it's name is!" She laughs looking up at my horrified face as the kids start lining up next to me.

"Um ok." I crouch down next to the first kid, a little girl in pink overalls holding a bunny. "Let's see, this is Mr. Rabbit. And this one," I say pointing at a giraffe, "is Mr. Giraffe."

"They've all got the same name!" A kid in the back yells out. "That's stupid!" I hate that kid.

Bella chimes in, "Edward didn't tell you their first names yet." She looks at me grinning and knows she's thrown me under the bus.

I stand up and point at the finger puppets. "Okay. Betty. George. Rupert. Daisy. And Ike." I say, pointing at the last one that appears to be a penguin. The kids seem happy enough with that and leave with their families.

Bella is laughing at me so I grab her around the neck and whisper in her ear, "If you don't apologize, Mr. Chimp is going to be very angry and not want to play anymore."

I start to tickle her, still holding my arm around her neck. She's kicking and grabbing onto my arms trying to break free.

"In fact, Mr. Chimp will be so angry, that he won't let his friend," I reach into the bin pulling out the first puppet I grab, "Mr. Pickle? Play." I ask confused at what I'm looking at.

"That's not a pickle, that's an alligator. See? He has teeth." I don't see it, but I take her word for it and Mr. Alligator starts trying to bite her. She whirls away from me, flushed face and hair flying in all directions.

"If I give you a really nice apology, will you let Miss Kitty play too? Sometimes variety is nice."

I start digging into the bin frantically to find Miss Kitty.

It's late, the sun is going down and most of the crowd and vendors have packed up to go. Bella's accepted an invitation from a couple four booths down to stop by and have a drink, Jim and his wife Delia appear to be around the same age as us. They sell unusual instruments Jim makes like mandolins and pan flutes, so we're sitting in some camp chairs, drinking local bottled beer and listening to the guy strum a guitar. I'm a little tense, but no one seems to notice.

I'm half listening to Delia tell Bella about the next event they're selling at, a convention in a hotel where musicians, mostly folk and bluegrass, gather to play music for three days. She's explaining impromptu concerts in the hallways, everything from banjos to large stand up bass. Fiddlers roaming from room to room and slide guitarists setting up in a banquet spaces. Bella inquires about what other kind of vendors might be allowed to sell there and I turn my full attention to her. I don't know if I caught when and where this thing takes place, but it's the first time that I've actually considered that Bella is going to leave one day.

My reverie is broken when Jim hands Bella his guitar and I'm shocked to see that she grabs it and is about to play.

I'm even more shocked when I find the second thing that Bella can't do.

Bella can't sing. In fact, Bella is really, really bad.

Jim and Delia are singing along to her little country tune, and she's strumming and singing like she doesn't care that she sounds like someone dying. It's utterly endearing and I find myself relaxing around the instrument for the first time in a long while.

I'm smiling, watching her little feet tap and stomp when she stops and tries to hand the guitar to me. She's looking at me, knowing exactly what she's doing, trying to convey her wish with wide-open brown eyes. "I might've peeked."

I actually contemplate it before I just shake my head and look away. She doesn't push, instead handing the guitar back to Jim and starting the process of saying goodbye. She and Delia exchange email addresses, Jim gives me his card, and we're on our way. The camper's been packed, so we get in and when I ask Bella if I can drive and as she hands the keys over, I joke that I'm excited I get to live another day, lightening the mood.

We arrive back at my building, park the camper and lock up. I sling my arm around Bella's shoulders lazily, she grabs the hand that's hanging in front of her and shoves her other hand in my back pocket. I like how she feels against me, and as I kiss her head, I tell her I had a really good time.

"Yeah? You sound surprised. We're not all deadbeats and freaks." She squeezes my hand when I laugh and tell her about expecting more hippies and vegans.

Later on, while Bella's destroying my kitchen making popcorn, my phone rings and I see its Emmett. Walking over to the window, I answer and ask him how everything is going.

Emmett pauses on the other end, before letting out a big sigh, "Rosalie's pregnant."

Follow me on twitter: planetbluefic

Follow me on facebook: Planetblue Fic

From the planetblue Archive of Awesome Fic List:

Tropic of Virgo by In a blue bathrobe

He's a young but jaded musician writing lyrics for his band, and she's a naive, frustrated poet looking to break out of her shell; their words collide online. What happens when they meet in high school, unaware of their literary connection?

I would love to hear your thoughts! Please leave a review!