A/N:Hello! Since it's been so long since the last update, I thought I'd include a few reminders about what has happened in the story so far, in case anyone needs their memory refreshed (also, a reader asked me to do so a few chapters back).
Bella and friends are living in a world in which storms cause intense damage to buildings and pull people through time against their will. The first storm, back in 1996, was called the Surge. Many of the time travelers develop a fatal disease, known as Margaret Brown syndrome. In addition to working at a lab, trying to stop the storms, Bella works at a bar run by Emmett and Garrett (along with a human named Tom). Adam, Bella's favorite customer, knows Edward from their days in the Army together. Bella has spent the past couple of years trying to save Jessica, and now Edward has been added to her list as well, since it was recently revealed that he is also a time traveler (born in 1901). Bella has recently revealed to Rosalie that she killed Embry in order to save him from being tortured by the Raiders (people who blame time travelers for the disturbances in the world). When we last left the group, Emmett and Rosalie were fighting (for reasons unknown to Bella), Garrett and Jessica were kissing and keeping secrets, Jake and Bella were bickering over whether Bella should ask the vampires to change Jessica, and Edward was blowing off steam by running around a playground with Bella.
I think that about covers it. Huge thanks to my pre-reader, thimbles, for getting this back to me so quickly. And thank you for reading. Next update should be January 13th.
Black the Night and Wild the Sea
Bella stacked bare chicken bones, limp stalks of celery, shriveled onions, and bendy carrots in a deep pot. As she covered the mess of barely decent food with cold water and heaved it onto the stove, she caught herself glancing at the closed bathroom door again and again. Over the whoosh of the gas flame and the slow bubble of water transforming into weak soup, she heard old, familiar sounds: the clink of a jar being set on a tile counter, clothes shifting, a faucet running.
Standing there, she felt eight years old again, like she was still waiting in Renee's empty apartment for her mom and grandma to come home. After running home from school, she hadn't dared set a foot outside—not even to ask Mr. Phillips across the hall for help. While the riots had raged in the streets below, she'd kept the curtains drawn and lived on animal crackers and jars of pickles. Ever-obedient, she'd avoided the forbidden oven.
The opening of the front door had sent her into hiding under Renee's bed, transforming her into a quivering prisoner with her own hands clamping her mouth shut and binding her to her dusty jail cell. The heavy footsteps of a man had shattered the last of her courage as someone too big and too strong had ripped through the apartment, shouting "Renee" and "Marie" and "Bella, Bella, Bella" over and over. Bella hadn't recognized his voice at the time, but in years to come, it would become the new center of her universe as her mother's lullabies and grandmother's lectures faded into a misty collection of dreams. It hadn't occurred to her that the dad she barely knew would drive through two states while the world fell apart—that he would do so to make sure she was safe.
When no one responded to his shouts, the bed had creaked under his weight, the hollow spaces in the apartment filling with his sobs.
It was the crying that had drawn her out. His tears had given her a nudge of bravery. And it was then, as Charlie rocked her in his arms and whispered his thanks to the empty rooms, that she'd learned how dangerous it was to love someone. A heart could be a delicate thing.
Bella stirred the pot of soup, banishing the memory down the miniature whirlpool created by the dented spoon. An ointment-scented, woozy Edward emerged from the bathroom. Perching on his favorite stool, he propped both elbows on the counter. Bella wanted to usher him to the puffy bed in the corner and convince him to rest, but she knew he'd resist if she tried. He would claim he was fine, always fine.
"You okay?" he asked, looking up at her with half-lidded eyes.
"Yeah," she said. "I'm fine."
Yawning through a lazy half-smile, he tried to coax his sleepy hands into spooning flour into a bowl. For a few minutes, he let the silence hang between them, jagged and expectant. His gaze slid over her now and then: a jarringly smooth companion to the quiet.
"How's Jessica doing?" he asked, at last.
"Better, I think. It probably helps that the guy she's crazy about has appointed himself as her nurse."
"Lucky her."
Bella laughed. "I thought Garrett wasn't your type."
"Damn." The dozy smile blossomed into a full smirk. "Caught me."
After a beat of hesitation, Bella risked that closed-off, straightened shoulders look of his by asking, "And how are you doing?"
Edward frowned at the orange slivers of carrot that she scooped off of the counter. "Pretty good. I feel almost normal, actually. No need for a nurse just yet."
"I'll let Garrett down easy for you."
Through his barely-there laugh, he watched her like she was a machine—like any second a tick or a buzz would tell him how she worked. Swirling patterns appeared under his fingertips in the flour. He tapped his toe, hovering on the edge of speech. Each time his mouth opened, he swallowed the sentences before they could take shape.
"Oh, what the hell," he said under his breath, seemingly directing the words at the bowl of flour. Nothing else had been added to it: no butter, no milk and eggs. Just white powder and his voice. His next comment was louder—aimed at Bella. "So, I have another question of probability for you."
"Yeah? Go ahead."
She continued cleaning up carrot peels, tossing them into a bucket for the compost heap. As he spoke, he crossed to her side of the island and stood close.
"If I were to ask you out," he said, "what are the odds I'd get shot down?"
Danger. Danger. Danger.
Bella's heartbeat and words both stuttered, but her smile didn't; it knew its answer. Edward waited, eyebrows raised. Chewing the inside of her cheek, Bella shifted her weight from foot to foot.
One date couldn't hurt, right? It wouldn't catapult her into heartbreak. If Edward could drum up enough hope, so could she. Ignoring the flashing warning signs, she let the smile win.
"Slim to none," she said. "I'd bet on you."
Edward beamed. "Good to know."
With that, he reached across the counter for his bowl and focused on measuring more flour. Coughing out a laugh, Bella elbowed his side.
"Your odds are slipping, here," she said.
He chuckled, caught her around the waist, and kissed her cheek. Too close. Not close enough. The fumes from his ointment stung Bella's eyes and made the back of her throat itch like she was coming down with a cold.
"Have dinner with me?" he said.
Bella's stern look lasted only a heartbeat before she felt her head nod. In return, he offered her a repeat of that genuine smile from the park. The burn in the back of her throat hardened into a lump.
Oh, please let her not regret this.
.
.
.
"Did you hear the President is coming to town?" Tom asked as he dried the new-to-them replacement glasses at half the speed that Bella washed them. A mismatched village of patterned tumblers, chipped mugs, and a few mason jars was lined up in the sink, almost hidden by soapy water.
Even with the plywood nailed up over the missing window, the bar looked miles better than it had the night before. Emmett and Garrett had transformed it. Not a shard or a splinter threatened to catch Bella or Tom's skin as they worked to set things back to normal.
"Seriously?" Bella said.
"Yep. Next week sometime. I guess he's coming to view the wreckage. Probably to record a few sound bytes, too. Our thoughts and prayers are with the people of Eastern Oregon, blah blah blah." Tom shrugged. "Same old, same old. Wonder if the City Hall protesters will be out that day."
"No idea."
With his hand poised over a glass, Tom froze. "Did you hear that?"
Turning the water off, Bella cocked her head. One, two, three knocks rattled the front door. Tom looked on the verge of asking her to go handle it, but instead he motioned for her to stay put while he investigated. His shout that they were closed didn't succeed in chasing away the person behind the knocks. Whatever she or he said convinced Tom; the locks clicked open. The door hinges creaked. After a low conversation that sounded as if it traveled through water to reach Bella's ears, Tom called her name.
Sheriff Ashby—Tom's father—stood in front of the patched window, tiny black notebook in hand. Side-by-side, the similarities between father and son were striking. Same dirty blond hair, same lanky build, same watery blue eyes. It was like looking at two of the same man: one who had lived his time straight through, and one who had ridden the Surge into the future.
Bella struggled to swallow around a boulder of fear and panic. This was it. They'd found her. Or, worse, they'd found Jessica. They would drag Jessica to a holding facility and cut her and put her under a microscope and stretch her so thin there wouldn't be anything left to bury.
"Hi, Bella," Sheriff Ashby said, his voice a gruffer, less nasal version of Tom's. "Sorry to bother you. I'll just take a few minutes of your time. Have either of you have seen Adam Davis since the storm? I'm told he's a regular here."
Bella tried to keep her composure while relief poured over her like honey, followed by the deep sting of guilt. Something could have happened to her favorite customer, and she was relieved that it was him instead of her or Jessica. More than that, some selfish demon lurking in her belly wouldn't let her stop thinking at least it's not us. She let out her breath in a slow stream through the polite, concerned expression she nailed on her face.
"I haven't," she said. "Is everything okay?"
Sheriff Ashby scratched his chin. "His neighbors went to check up on him after everything settled down, and he was gone. If he doesn't turn up soon, I'll have to report him as a possible time traveler."
"I saw him," Tom said. "I got here before Bella this afternoon, and Adam was here, asking if we'd be open today."
He looked so easy and nonchalant that Bella might have believed him, if she hadn't known every word out of his mouth was a bald lie. Tom never arrived at work before her, and that day had been no exception.
"Mhm." Sheriff Ashby studied his son over the top of his crooked glasses. "Any idea where he could've gone after that?"
Tom shook his head. "Didn't ask. Didn't really care where he went as long he wasn't hassling me, to be honest."
"I think he has family in La Grande," Bella said. Another lie to cozy up to Tom's. "Maybe he went over to see if they weathered the storm okay."
The sheriff asked to take down their information—by which he meant Bella's information, of course, since he knew his son's. Tom piped up before she could answer.
"I'm George Washington," he said, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, Dad, is this really necessary? Adam's a harmless drunk. He probably just found some booze and passed out somewhere. He'll show up once he sleeps it off. Always does."
Sheriff Ashby made the expected retorts about federal agents and maintaining control and Raiders, his face going redder with each word. Before Tom could continue the argument, Bella blurted out her full fake name: Annabel Newton. Everything they said, save Tom's outburst, presumably, was scribbled in the notebook.
After several minutes longer than the promised "few" had elapsed, Sheriff Ashby finally left. Bella went back to cleaning, while Tom went back to pretending to help. He waited a full five minutes before he spoke again, like he counted it off in his head. When his voice dissolved the silence, it was unexpectedly soft.
"You okay?" he asked.
Bella jumped, almost dropping a glass. "Yeah, fine. Why?"
"Oh, come on." He swatted her arm with the dishtowel. "I do actually show up to work often enough to notice that you and Adam are friends."
Bella mulled over her response for a few minutes. In the end, she decided to go with the honest question.
"Why did you lie?"
Air rushed in through Tom's teeth: a hissing noise like he might have made if he burned himself. "You really think I want Adam to get caught by the assholes who come in here every night?" His arm waved in the direction of the hill, scattering soap bubbles. "They get wind of it, and he'll be dragged up to Pendle Hill before my dad even files the report of suspected time travel or whatever it is."
Not long ago, Tom had told Bella that he wasn't such a bad guy. She still couldn't tell if it was the truth. Shaking her head, she plunged her hands back into the sink. It was exhausting, always viewing everyone she met through a lens of suspicion. What must life have been like when people could trust their coworkers and neighbors to be decent people?
Was it ever really like that?
"Maybe he'll be lucky," Tom said. "If he did time travel, I mean. Maybe he'll land way in the past, before all this shit started."
Bella tried to return his false smile, wishing either of them were the slightest bit convinced. Even if Adam got Margaret Brown's, he'd be better off prior to 1996, it was true, but there were no records of people going back. It was always forward.
.
.
.
"A date?" Jessica asked, her face void of the enthusiastic smile Bella had expected. Between them, they stretched a threadbare, summer scented sheet over Jess's naked mattress and snapped it into place. Before Bella could pick up the flat sheet to spread over the top, the tired elastic gave and one corner came untucked
"Yeah," Bella said, wrestling the fitted sheet back into place and willing it to stay there. "This Friday."
Jessica shoved a lumpy pillow into its case. "Are you sure that's the best idea?"
Bella tried to laugh. "What's this? I thought you'd be getting me rolls of quarters to bounce off of his ass."
"That was before that ass had Margaret Brown's." Sighing, Jessica attacked another pillow. "Are you trying to break your own heart?"
Even without the words, Bella would have seen the echo of Rosalie in Jessica's expression and the tone of her voice. She almost expected Jessica to sprout blond hair and lose a pinky finger.
"I mean, flirting is one thing," Jessica said, "but dating? If you fall in love with him... isn't losing a friend hard enough already?"
"It is. Most days I don't think anything could hurt more."
Jessica's eyes misted over, but she didn't let the tears fall. "Dammit, Bella," she said in a strangled voice. Facing the opposite wall, she sat on the edge of the bed. Her shoulders moved up and down, up and down, measuring out each slow breath.
"Jess—"
"It's fine." Jessica's hand sliced through the air along with her words. "You should date and have fun. It's been a long time since you did anything like that. And hey, you always have at least five whole minutes between working at the lab and the bar. You can tell me all about it then."
Bella's stomach sank. She crawled across the bed, ruining their work, and grabbed Jessica in a hug from behind. Three corners of the fitted sheet popped off the mattress.
"Hey," Bella whispered. "I'll have more than five minutes. Way more. I'll force the days to have more hours in them, if I have to."
With a quaking laugh, Jessica leaned back and rested her head on Bella's shoulder. "Where are you going to put these hours? Because if they're during dates with Edward, I'm not sure how he'd feel about a threesome. Or how I would, for that matter. I mean, you're hot and all, but..."
"Pft. Don't even try to pretend I didn't rock your world when we were twelve."
Both of them smiled at the memory of the night they decided to find out what French kissing felt like. Their verdict: weird. The second their tongues had touched, they'd jerked away and squealed, both claiming they'd been joking about trying it.
"Oh, yeah, you blew my mind," Jessica said, flicking a lock of her hair over both of their shoulders. "Before that night, I never realized one person could have so much saliva."
"You're one to talk. You put St. Bernards to shame."
"Garrett tells a different story."
Bella snorted. "Sure he does. Ooh, hey, when I find these extra hours, Garrett can join us. It can be a fivesome instead of a threesome."
"Five?"
"Yeah. You, me, Edward, Garrett, and a cupcake."
Giggling, Jessica flopped onto her stomach. "Sounds perfect to me." Her fingernail traced the curved stitching on the mattress, going up and down like a needle tracking temporal energy. "Bella?"
"Hmm?"
Jessica tucked her lower lip between her teeth and shivered as if shaking something off. "Never mind."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." A smile made dimples dent Jessica's cheeks, almost convincing Bella. "I was just going to suggest we get back to making the bed, but I decided I'm way too comfy to move. Let's be lazy."
Bella's fingers followed the coil of one of Jessica's curls and tugged on the end. "You sure that's it?"
"Yep." Another dimpled, brittle smile. "I'm fine."