APOV
My hands are shaking when I put the phone down.
"Alice, God, talk to me!" Rose demands, shaking me lightly. "Who was on the phone?"
"We need to go out."
"What, now?"
"Yes, right now. Rose, that was Bella, on the phone, it was Bella."
"Emmett," she breathes gently. We stand and look at each other.
"We can't tell him. That'll be Bella's business."
Still, I floor the gas on the way over to Charlie's. A young man I don't know and don't care about at this minute answers my frantic knocking.
"You must be Alice. Mum is right through there." I ignore him and hurtle past, and into Bella's arms, the arms of the friend I haven't seen for sixteen years, and she's crying, I'm crying and the boy with the blue eyes is watching us, while Rose hangs back a little. She didn't know Bella that well, but she loved her too. I see her take the boy through to the kitchen, just as Bella and I lower to the sofa, still clinging to each other.
RPOV
"Mum?" the blonde woman queries, looking at me with sharp eyes. "You're Bella's son?"
"Yes. You're Rosalie?"
"Rose. What's your name? I didn't know Bella had a son."
"Jonathon, but people call me Jon." I look at him. He reminds me of someone, in his build, and those blue eyes. I think it's just because he looks like Bella.
"Jon, how old are you?"
"Turned 16 last month. Why are you looking at me like you've seen a damn ghost?"
"Jon, I've told you, don't talk like that. Rose, it's so damn good to see you again." Bella pulls me into a hug, which I return, still looking over her shoulder at Jon. Finally, I can't stand it.
"Bella, is this, is he, I mean, Jon -"
"I was pregnant with Jon when I left."
"And she's still the best Mum I could have." Jon faces me with his chin well up.
"Those eyes."
"I know. I know."
"You both know Emmett?"
"Well enough to recognise eyes that shade of blue when they pop up on someone whose mother we haven't seen for sixteen and a half years." Alice puts her hand on my arm.
"Rose, darling, I'm sure there is a good reason for all this. And right now, these reasons are not our business. Right now, we need to catch up with Bella. Like where she's been for sixteen years and why she still likes baggy jeans at the age of 34."
"Oh god, no, save me."
"Mum?"
"Jon, we must introduce you to the concept of making over Bella. Alice objects to the fact that Bella has no fashion sense that Alice recognises and her favourite activity is making her over. Apparently even after sixteen years, this hasn't changed."
"You're going to make Mum over?"
"Like hell she is."
"You tell me off when I say that."
"Circumstances dictate, my boy, circumstances dictate. Why don't you go with Rosalie and show her the photo album, while I tell Alice where to shove her make-over. I don't want you to hear the language I'm going to use to do it."
"OK," Lucas says, looking mildly nervous. He points in the direction of the living room. "You want to, you know, come along." I nod, and we close the door on Alice and Bella.
He sits me down, and puts a photo album on his lap.
"You know my father, don't you? You know Emmett?"
"Yeah, I know him. He's a friend."
"A good friend?"
"Yeah, a good friend. He's your father, then?"
"Bella told me the story only a month ago. Every time I asked her when I was younger, about who he was, she always used to say she'd tell me when I was older. So a month before I turned sixteen, I asked her again, and I told her that I was old enough to know, and that I wanted to who he was and why he wasn't around. And because she never spoke about him, and whenever I brought up the subject of my father she would go all quiet and sad, I leapt to a conclusion. I asked her if he'd forced her."
"What?"
"Yeah, that's pretty much what she said. So she sat me down and she told me the real story, that Emmett was my father."
"I get the feeling it doesn't end there."
"No, but the rest of the story is my mother's story to tell. Not mine, so you'll have to ask her. I'm sorry."
"No, don't worry about it. So, what's this album."
"Baby album. It's all the pictures Mum sent to Gramps over the years. From the first scan right up to the last school photo."
"You going to let me see?"
"Sure." He passes the album to me. I trace the photo of Bella holding a newborn Jon, looking exhausted but happy.
"Has she been happy, Jon? These years, has she been happy?"
"Yeah, I think she has. I never saw her cry, you know? She was always laughing. She seemed happy, but I don't know - I think a little part of her heart wasn't happy." He looks at me, and it's a long, straight stare, and I'm reminded so harshly of Emmett I nearly gasp with the force of it. "She loved my father - she loved Emmett. When she finally spoke about him, she loved him, it was so obvious on her face, in her eyes, in her voice."
"You don't have to justify it to me."
"I know. But people tend to judge anyway. I wanted you to know that she did what she thought was right, and she had damn good reasons for the choice she made. I wanted you to know that my mother is selfless, and brave and that she loved Emmett. As far as I know - because there sure as hell haven't been any guys on the scene in all the sixteen years we weren't here - she loves him still. And her choice still worries her."
"Bella always did feel things so intensely."
"Still does. Losing you and Alice? That hurt, badly. She used to talk about you, you know? I used to hear her on the phone, late at night, when I was meant to be in bed. I used to hear her talking to Gramps, and she'd always, always ask after you both."
Looking through the album with Jon, him explaining some of the pictures, I can't help but wonder about what's happening in the kitchen.
APOV
I watch Bella closely as she makes coffee. Clearly a creature of habit still. Mugs ready, coffee in, before the kettle's boiled. She hasn't aged so much as a day, but manages to look older anyway. I think it's her hair. It's shorter now, shoulder length instead of touching her waist. Soft layers add depth to her curls. I figure it's because that worry line is back.
"Bella, why'd you go? All those years ago - we literally woke up one morning, and you were gone. When I didn't hear from you, I called Charlie. I asked him if you were sick. He said that he guessed we hadn't heard, then told us you'd left town. Didn't even tell me where you'd gone."
"You'd've come after me."
"Would that have been such a bad thing? I called Renee too. She said she hadn't seen you." "I told her to say that. I needed it to seem like I just disappeared. I had to go, go right away, I couldn't tell anybody. Only people who knew where I was? Charlie and Renee and Phil. Only people who needed to know. I wish I could've told you, Alice."
"You could tell me now."
"You'll have figured most of it out." She hands me my coffee and we sit down at the kitchen table. "I was with Edward, for a start."
"And yet Jon is quite clearly not Edward's son."
"No. Jon, as Rose already quite rightly surmised, is Emmett's son. That right there was a reason for leaving. In a relationship with one man, pregnant by another. This is a damn small town, Alice. I wasn't strong enough - not like you were - to face the gossips and the finger-pointing."
"But that alone wouldn't have made you leave."
"No, Alice. That wasn't the only reason. I would've stayed. If my relationship with Edward had been a normal, every day, walk-in-the-park deal, I would have told him I was leaving him and moved back in with Charlie, with the intent of moving in with Emmett if that was what he wanted." She takes a good steadying mug of coffee, then stares at it and sighs. I get up and go over to a cupboard, taking down a bottle of wine.
"Charlie keeps it here, for me and Rose." I produce two wine glasses, pour her a decent measure. She knocks the entire glass down in one, and I give her a second glass. She's more sedate this time, simply sipping it.
"God, God, I needed that."
"I figured."
"Look, Alice, before I tell you all the reason why I left, I need you to tell me something first."
"Anything."
"What exactly is Edward doing now?"
"Well, he's either running the company - did you know he'd taken over? - or he's here. Here rarely, but -"
"Let me guess, the fucker is in town."
"Indeed he is. For a few weeks."
"What happened when I left?"
"Nothing. Not even a word. He never said you'd left him. But he was so angry when word started getting around that you'd left town and therefore left Edward. Guess he didn't much like people gossiping about him, and there was gossip. All sorts of speculation. That you'd eloped, that you'd run off with another man, that you were in rehab. Charlie let them all pretty much run the course, sitting only on the rumour that you'd actually died. He said that was nonsense. Edward got really drunk one night, in a bar, and he called you a filthy whore. Emmett was there, we all were, the three of us. He went straight for Edward."
"Did he get in some good hits?"
"Hell yes. Edward needed Carlisle to stitch his face up. I think that was a sore point - the father of the man who beaten seven colours of crap out of him cleaning the wounds. Emmett yelled something about how he was doing it for you. Someone called the police and Charlie showed up. Heard the whole story, told Edward to watch what he said or next time, he'd be the one throwing the punches, and shook Emmett's hand. Edward Senior backed up Charlie, so there wasn't much Edward could do about it. He never insulted you in public again though."
"And what about Emmett? After I left - and be honest with me, Alice, please - what happened?"
"He went a bit psycho. He pitched up on my doorstep about a week after you skipped out - I'd only just found out myself - and he looked horrible. Hadn't shaved, looked a bit wild. He was waving this grubby bit of paper at me, yelling that you'd gone. Took me an hour to get a coherent and rational sentence out of him. We kept him going, me and Rose, made him finish high school, made him go for a job with the police. Charlie accepted him, and then he found purpose, Bella. All of a sudden, he had a mission. Never told any of us what it was. But every single time they got a guy for violence of any kind involving a woman, he got mad. Like major mad. And when they arrested Edward for speeding - it was so trivial, Emmett was the arresting officer - I've never seen anybody go manic like that. He didn't sleep for two days, kept muttering about confessions and revenge. Frightened the hell out of me." I look at her. She's gripping her glass of wine.
"Alice, carry on."
"He cried, Bella. He cried the day they let Edward go. He said that he'd let you down. It was just one more thing he never explained. He was so furious. He doesn't talk about you any more. He used to. For I think a good ten years, he talked about you at least twice a week. Then he stopped. I think, even though Charlie denied it, that he thought you'd died. He stopped talking about you. And whenever anyone tried to, he'd stop them. Change the subject, avoid the question, go silent or simply ignore the mention had ever been made."
"It's no more than I deserve. No more. And yet I'm still upset by that. I've no right to be. But I am. It's time I explained, I guess." She downs her glass of wine. She frowns a little, then gets up. She opens another cupboard and takes down a bottle of whisky. I'm mildly alarmed, and it must show on my face. "It's fine. You might want a slug of this. This isn't going to be a fairytale." She pours a sizable amount into both our glasses, and then takes a gulp. "You never liked Edward, while we were together all those years ago. You always said he wasn't good for me, that I could do better. You were right, you were so, so right. He was a million miles from good for me. In fact, he was downright bad for me, bad for my health, bad for my wellbeing. Certainly bad for a baby. Edward," she says, with awful finality in her tones, "was a cheating, lying, violent fucker who believed I was there for three things: for domestic help, for sex and for using as his own personal punch bag.
"I can count the bruises, Alice, even now. The scars and the broken bones. My ribs, my nose, my fingers and my wrist. Nobody is that clumsy. He was a fucker and a bastard and my regret, my only regret in life was that I refused to see it back then. That is why I had to leave when I got pregnant. Edward hadn't touched me for a month, over a month - he'd know that a child wasn't his. I did what I thought needed to be done to keep everybody involved safe. Me, my baby, and Emmett. There's no doubt in my mind that he would have killed Emmett. And I wasn't going to let that happen. I loved Emmett. Loved him much more than I should have - barely even knew him. I loved him for longer than I had any right to love him, after I left. I still feel guilty for leaving the way I did. He deserved better. I still feel low for depriving Emmett of his son, Jon of his father."
We're silent for a while. Bella finishes her drink very quietly, makes more coffee, pours it and drinks it scalding hot. I'm trying to collect my temper. Right now, going and getting Charlie's hunting rifle and hunting Edward down and riddling him with bullets seems like a really great plan. Poor, poor Bella. Poor Emmett. But Edward? Edward needs to hope and pray that I don't see him.
"Alice, please say something."
"I'll kill him. You do know that, right? That if I see him, and opportunity presents itself, I will kill him."
"Scary thing, there? I know you mean it." She covers my hands with hers, looks at me. "Don't, Alice. I need you. Selfish as that is, after all these years without a word, I need you here now. You can't be here if you're in jail for murder - even if that would give me satisfaction. And besides, you'll have to get in line." It's my turn to raise an eyebrow. "Charlie will have to know this story one day. And when he finds out - will you help me hide his bullets?"
"No, I'll help him load the damn gun." I get up from my chair and put my arms around her. She wraps her arms around me, and sighs softly. "I can't even begin to imagine what you've been through. And I'm not saying that seeing Emmett again will be easy. He'll probably be angry. I'm not going to lie and say that he'll just fall right at your feet. It's been sixteen years, and it hit him hard, Bella, it hit him really hard. He'll be mad. And then you're going to have to tell him that Jon not only exists, but is his son, his sixteen year old son. That won't be an easy thing to be told. You got a plan?"
"Sort of. Charlie is going to bring him back here tonight. I'll meet him - Jon wants me to see him first. He's a bright kid, Alice, sees things better than I do. He knows it'll overload him if he meets me and the first thing out of my mouth is 'Hey, Emmett, good to see you, guess what? You've got a sixteen year old kid and here he is. His name's Jon, have fun bonding!' No. Can't do that to him. So I will meet him tonight, and if he can stand the sight of me for more than two seconds, and if he doesn't tell me to shove it and walk back out the door, we'll talk, and I'll bring up the subject. That way it is Emmett's choice whether he wants to meet him tonight."
BPOV
Alice and Rose stay for another hour, during which time I call Charlie and tell him the plan - that I do want Emmett to come over tonight, but Jon being brought into the equation is debatable. He tells me that sounds like a good idea. Alice and Rose both depart and Jon retreats upstairs. I look at the clock. They'll be here in half an hour. What do I do? I eye the wine bottle. No, getting plastered is not a good plan, not a good plan, I repeat to myself, putting it away safe in the cupboard. I catch myself biting my nails and hate myself for it. I've just realised that this is all one huge mistake when I hear car doors closing and Charlie's voice asking Emmett to just come up to the house to help him find something.
I take a deep breath, and square my shoulders. I feel like the executioner has arrived when the door opens.
EPOV
Charlie gets me to come into the house with him, asking me to help him find his wallet. Typical Charlie, never knows where a damn thing is when he needs it. I could almost swear I'm being watched, but I dismiss it as utter nonsense. Charlie opens the door, and I notice it isn't locked.
"Charlie, surely your front door should be locked when you aren't here? I mean, sure, small town and all, but still."
"No, it's fine. You try the front room, I'll check the kitchen." I go on into the living room, spy his wallet straight away on the mantelpiece, half behind a photograph. I deliberately avoid looking at the girl in it. Not going down that road again. I hear footsteps behind me.
"Charlie, your wallet is here, it was on the mantelpiece."
"Oh, thanks, Emmett. Come on then." We're just at the door when footsteps start down the upstairs hall, and then hit the stairs. I turn around automatically, stretching my lips into a smile, thinking Alice or Rose came over for a bit, maybe to tidy or cook. But the woman coming down the stairs isn't Alice, and she isn't Rose. She's little, dark and her hair falls in hauntingly familiar waves around her face. The smile freezes on my face, I feel my jaw drop, and she stops just before the last step.
"Hello, Emmett." I force my frozen lips to move, and Charlie takes one tiny step forward.
"This is some horrible joke? Charlie, this isn't actually happening?"
"I'm sorry. You're awake, not dreaming, not mad. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. For everything." I let the silence fall into awkward. Charlie retreats out of the door, his car starts and leaves. The woman on the stairs doesn't move, doesn't stir, just looks at me steadily. A flush stains her skin as I stare back, but her gaze doesn't drop. Her name falls into the silence like a stone, and a single tears falls and she nods.
"Isabella."
It's her.