Disclaimer::If I say it's not mine once, then it's never mine.

The remainder of the week was tense. It was sunny, too, so we 'went camping.' Alice, Tanya, and I went shopping, leaving Bella and Edward to work on something. And, surprisingly, it wasn't sex. We were there, but we weren't as happy. The jokes came slower, the laughs were tense, even the 'good mornings' seemed hypocritical – there had been nothing good about the mornings for a week. Not that the phrase 'good morning' had actually meant anything to anyone in the house for over 100 years. Maybe it was just the environment, but I felt depressed.

"Ugh!" My yell echoed in the white house. Bounced off the walls, rattled Edward's dear piano, Emmet's Japanese projector (it functioned like a giant, 72 inch TV screen splayed across the wall, but it was less gaudy than a traditional TV that was always there) shook, and Esme's china clinked.

"Rosalie! Stop it!" Alice's yell came from her room above me somewhere. "I am trying to organize my nail polishes, but they keep being knocked over when the house shakes! Shut up, or go away!"

Grumbling, I stood up, stomping to the garage. I threw on an old sweatshirt I kept in the closet, grabbing a wrench. The parts to fix up Bella's old truck (she kept it for posterity only, yet insisted it could run) had come yesterday, so I sat down on the counter and ripped the boxes open. Pulling out the pieces, I threw myself into making the engine run smoothly again, and I tried to make it quiet, too.

After a few hours, I was done. And I was no less frustrated. Carlisle had left the day after Alice's vision, taking Esme with him, but refusing to tell anyone anything. Edward couldn't tell, and Alice was given strict instructions not to think about it, or say a word, or they would cut off her credit cards. She wasn't really that upset, but she didn't say a word. Wiping my hands off as I thought about his cryptic 'Twins' comment, I noticed a piece of white notebook table under the bench.

Bending over, I grabbed it, flipping it over. My name was on the side, but it didn't give me any idea as to what it said. Opening it slowly, I laughed to myself. It wasn't like anything in this sheet of paper could hurt me. Well, I was wrong.

Hey, Rose. This is hard to write, but it needs to be done. Sorry your parts took so long, but the shop is under new management. Jake…he died last week. I-it was sudden, but we all knew it was going to happen. He had always said he would never stop phasing. 'I'm going to live forever. There's nothing else I can lose.' The funny part is, though, he forgave her. Before it even happened, he forgave her. He imprinted, too, not long after, and he hasn't phased for almost 80 years. The rest of us aren't aging, yet, except Sam, who stopped 10 years ago. Anyway, the girl is really nice, but she's all torn up. Leah's been staying with her, making sure she doesn't do anything rash. Their son is confused. He's a wolf, now, but no one has the heart to explain it to him. I wouldn't ask this if I didn't have to, Rose, but we need you. We need all of you. You're the only ones who can glue us back together. Please, Rose. The Reservation's having a service the 18th…which is a week from today, but probably only a few days from when you'll get this. I'm begging you to come, Rose, not as your parts guy, but as your friend.
Seth

I let go of the note, watching it float down from my hands. "No," the word was barely audible to me. "No," my voice was louder. Before I knew it, I was on my knees, sobbing. My tears weren't there, but my body shook with sobs.

"Rose!" Emmett's voice carried from the doorway as he sprinted toward me. Jasper looked pained from his post behind Alice, who was clinging to the door frame, concerned. I heard Edward's strained voice from upstairs, telling Bella that I would be okay, how about they get out of the house. Then Bella was next to me, grasping for me, sobbing just as loud. We hung onto each other like life-lines in a choppy ocean, crying. I cried for a lost future, a lost friend, and a past that would always be with me. I cried for Bella, and for Jake's family. I cried to get it all out, to feel better. Bella cried for all that, but so much more. Alice walked slowly toward us, pushing past Emmett and Edward, who stood awkwardly shoulder to shoulder in front of us, looking down.

Sitting next to us, she grabbed each of our hands. "We need to go."

And that was that.

Tanya picked us up four hours later to go shopping for a more morbid reason. It was something we always loved to do, but were dreading. We were vampires. No one we knew died. It just didn't happen. So getting all black clothes to wear to a funeral for one of our closest friends was depressing.

After Bella became a vampire, Jacob was pissed, to say the least. They fought for ages – even while we were half-way around the world. After they made up, Jake visited. He had looked strained, but fighting with your best friend could do that to you. The weird part was: he didn't smell weird anymore. And we didn't bother him, or any of the other wolves that came with him. Carlisle was curious as to what had happened, Bella was overjoyed and leapt into his arms, Edward was confused, and Alice was startled that she could see them. Personally, I couldn't care less. I had rolled my eyes and walked away. Like those mongrels mattered to me? A few years later, though, my car broke. It was a specially-made car I got for working with the makers of Italian sports cars – I helped improve the designs, they let me make myself a one-of-kind-car. Risky, yes, but fun, none the less. Anyway, my baby broke, and Jake came to the rescue, sending Seth with parts. Since then, he's been my parts guy, with his huge garage chain – 17 shops across the west coast. Whatever the story, we were on friendlier terms. Leah was a frigid bitch, but I expected as much. We got along marvelously.

I sat outside another store, watching Alice and Bella debate over what was appropriate. I had found a simple, black dress in a hole-in-the-wall store within an hour, and Bella loved a black skirt and top she had found. Alice was worried everything she chose was too ostentatious. She didn't want to upset anyone. After a few more minutes, she settled on a pair of dress pants and a black button-down.

"You guys ready?" Tanya's voice was quiet behind us. She had been on edge since our little trip started. Death worried her, it was clear. It worried all of us, if I'm being honest. We had never had to deal with death. Phil had almost died a few years after Bella was changed, but it was nothing too serious. She said her grandmother had died right before she moved to Forks, but she didn't remember, didn't think it hurt this much. Tanya was no different. She didn't know how to react, how to respond, what to do…For someone as black and white as Tanya, the gray area was scary.

We drove home in silence, the bags sitting heavily on the seat next to me. We pulled into the driveway, saying our goodbyes. "I'll see you guys again, soon under…happier circumstances," Tanya promised, pulling out. Bella grabbed her bags and went upstairs. She had been a little lifeless lately, which I could relate to. I guessed this was how she acted when Edward left, but worse. She always called Jake her sun on dark days…so what was she supposed to do when her sun had set forever? Edward helped, it was obvious, but Jacob had always understood her in a different way. Edward was more logical about her feelings; Jake knew how she felt before she did, and was able to stop the bad things before they even happened.

Thinking about Jake reminded me of happier times, and I had an idea. Walking quietly upstairs, I packed a small bag and snuck back to the garage. I was going on a road-trip of sorts.

After a three-hour drive at a break-neck (albeit slower in some rural areas with cops) speed, I stopped in front of a small house outside Rochester. Pulling into the garage, I opened the door, smelling the house. Standing in the mud room, I could see my mother doing laundry, hear my brothers teasing me, smell my daddy lighting a cigar after a long day. I could also imagine Daddy's yelling when I never came home, Mother's sobs on the pristine couch, which was still in the living room. I could guess there was no laughter or ball bouncing from either little boy.

The baby, Leroy, had died of influenza when I was little. Kenneth had gotten sick, but lived to have a family – his son, Kenneth Jr., had a successful business and a wife and twins, and his daughter was living with her family. Benjamin and his wife were both long gone, and their daughter had died last year. She left a daughter, a son, and a grandbaby as well as a husband. None of it mattered. They didn't mean anything to me. Ben and Kenny's deaths had shaken me up, as had my parents, but not enough as they would have…should have. After all, they weren't worried about me, so why was I worried about them?

I sighed, slipping my heels off out of habit. I walked through the house. All the furniture of my childhood was there, still. After I died, my parents moved, putting the house up for sale. I begged Carlisle to buy it, and he had. Neither one of my brothers knew who the mysterious buyer was nor did they know why they had insisted they leave everything exactly the way it was. Of course, they didn't question it. With the money Carlisle paid, they were more than happy to take it and run. It had, of course, still been the Great Depression.

Wandering through the house, I pictured me running through the halls, coloring at the kitchen table after school, and later whining about schoolwork. I saw Kenny and Ben tugging at my piggy tails, and bouncing their ball in the driveway. I imagined tagging along to their football games behind the school, and I remembered at some point, the boys stopped complaining about me, a girl, watching their games. Shockingly enough, three of the boys that tried so very hard to impress me had died mysteriously…in a similar fashion as Royce.

I walked up the stairs, to my old room. The pale pink walls were always a sign I was in a safe haven, but they weren't anymore. I needed a home, not a reminder. The rest of the town had moved on, and I needed to, too. But first…I sat down at the white desk in the corner. It was something my parents hadn't understood. Why did I need a desk? Brains didn't matter – I was stunningly pretty, and I was to be engaged to Royce King! Nothing matters when you're a King! I had insisted, though, and it had been put in.

Pulling out the chair, I sat down and grabbed the thick cream stationary that sat on a shelf, along with a fountain pen. I sat down and began to write.

I wrote about the good times, and the not-so-good times. I poured my heart out into half a dozen pages of stationary. I smiled and laughed, I wept and I sobbed. I yelled and I whimpered, I scoffed and I wondered. After a few hours, I put the pen down, grabbing the paper and tapping it against the desk, making it into a neat pile.

Standing up, I left my room and walked down the hall toward Kenny's room. I rummaged under his bed, finding his vintage Yankee's hat. I had one like it, of course, but this one had his name stitched into it, something I had helped him do.

One rainy Sunday in the middle of the summer, Kenny brought me his baseball cap. He said he wanted his name in it, but when I took it and began stitching in the letters, he stopped me. He wanted to do it, he said. I didn't question him – I rarely questioned either of my little brothers. After a long two hours, a lopsided 'Kenny' was on the inside of his hat. Ben had come to me later that afternoon, asking the same thing.

I knew Ben had always kept his – it was one of the few things they took from the house. However, as he got older, Kenny grew out of his old hat. He still loved the Yankees, but he got the newer hats. He got the in-style hats. I would have done the same, I think, which is probably why he did it. Kenneth Hale had always been a creature of habit – he would never give up his Yankees hat he had gotten when he was five from the Babe Ruth. Especially if he had put his own name into it in addition to the signature on the back. It was the baseball cap every boy would have killed for. And it was his. But instead, he started getting a new one every season after my death, like clockwork.

I held the hat carefully in my hands, walking down the stairs and back into the mud room, slipping my heels on. Getting into the car, I put the hat and the papers on the passenger seat with my purse (a Birkin, thankyouverymuch, one of, like, 20) and drove away, not looking back long enough to see the garage door close.

I pulled into the long driveway forty-five minutes later after a stop by a post office to grab a manila envelope, surrounded by grass and sheep. Rolling my eyes, I parked my own car and stepped out onto the gravel parking lot. The stones crunched under my heels as I slung my bag onto my arm, the hat on my head, covering my long blonde hair and the envelope in my hand.

I strode purposefully toward the entrance, swinging the glass doors open effortlessly. Inside, it was sleek and modern, and very, very clean. Crickets chirped from a recording behind the reception desk. I raised an eyebrow, but didn't say a word as I approached a young, bored-looking boy behind the counter.

"Hello."

He jumped about a foot. "Uh, h-hi," he looked up, gaping.

"Close your mouth; you are not a codfish. I'm looking for a family friend. Kenny?"

"Kenny?" the boy looked down and opened something on the sleek plastic screen in front of him. I could see his solitaire game, and I watched as he searched for Kenny. "I don't see a Kenny." Looking up, he asked what he was to do next.

"Kenneth. Kenneth Hale the Second."

"Oh, alright. I see." A few more clicks. "He has an opening in about ten minutes. Can I see your id, ma'am?"

I rooted around for my wallet, producing my newest identification. I was seventeen again. "And, why are you visiting?"

"I need to talk to him about a recent death in my…close family. We haven't spoken, and I worry…" I trailed off.

The boy nodded. "I understand. We get that a lot." After a long phone conversation, involving a lot of glances at me and scribbling something down in a log book, he handed me a nametag and stood up, walking around to my side of the desk.

We walked down more sleek hallways, where you could hear voices, and tell people were happy. I didn't know exactly what Kenneth (Kenny was my baby brother…this guy was Kenneth) did, other than the business was his…and very successful. I think it was something to do with children, if their shrieks of happiness were any indication. Stepping into an old-time-looking elevator, the boy pressed the top button. I watched as floor after floor passed, the chic look blending together. Stopping on the 12th floor, the doors opened, revealing a sort of lobby, with another receptionist. The boy left, leaving me to approach the frigid-looking woman sitting in front of a computer like the one I saw downstairs. To her left was a set of double doors – etched glass with various logos scattered across. I saw Kenneth Hale Jr. across the top.

"Ahem," the woman cleared her throat and I snapped my eyes back to her, stepping up toward the desk. Her bun was tight and her red-covered lips were in a tight line.

"Yeah, I need to visit Kenneth Hale." She scoffed. "Look, it's really important. I-I need to talk to him about his grandparents. And the aunt he never got to meet."

Her eyes narrowed. "He only had an uncle."

"Exactly."

"What makes you think you can just waltz in here with your," her eyes skimmed down my outfit, "fancy shoes, expensive skirt, silk top, designer handbag, Yankees hat and mysterious envelope, and just meet Mister Hale."

"Because this is really important, I swear. I hardly know the guy, but he knows me…or, he should. Please, just buzz into that fancy office," I nodded in the direction of the doors, "and tell him that…tell him Lillian is here." An old family name, I was sure he would recognize Lillian. "And tell him that I have an old Yankees cap, signed by Babe Ruth…to Kenny." Anyone could be named Lillian, I reasoned with myself. I needed to make sure he would see me. This would probably guarantee it. I knew Kenny never stopped loving his favorite baseball cap, even if he replaced it. He would have talked about it…or, at the very least, passed on his love of baseball, likely the Yankees.

She sighed, but picked up the thin silver phone. "Mr. Hale?" She shook her head side to side, like she was waiting. "Yes, Lillian is here?" She looked up at me. "Mhmm, and she says she has a Babe Ruth Yankees hat, to Kenny? Does that m—" she stopped short. "Yes. All right, sir." Hanging up, she glared at me, pointing wordlessly to the door. I walked over, smiling sweetly and waving with a few fingers, pulling the doors open.

The office itself was different than the rest of the building. There were children's art projects all over, signed, with pictures of Kenneth and the artists, I assumed, all grown up in front of companies of their own, laughing and smiling. I recognized a few of the people, and the logos from his door. The couches in front of an antique desk I recognized as Daddy's were faded leather, and the bookshelves had business and finance books, as well as kid's classics. I saw a foosball table in the corner, and an old arcade game. The window wall had paint all over it, mostly different weather situations on different panels. I saw cloudy, and sunny, and some kids at a picnic. Behind the desk was a sleek laptop, with a put-together man behind it in a suede swivel chair.

In a pinstripe suit, he reminded me of Kenny. From the sandy blonde hair to the ice blue eyes, he screamed 'Hale.' You could tell he was raised well – he carried himself confidently, like he could have anything, should he want it. I guessed Kenny grew up like that, and I was the female version, myself. I stopped my appraisal when I hear Kenneth's slight gasp. He must have seen the Hale in me, too.

"So, what does your company do, exactly?"

"We offer guidance and support for children. It's like a boarding school for entrepreneurs."

I nodded, slowly approaching the couches. Perching on one, I set the hat on the desk. "I love this desk. I bet Kenny showed you the trick bottom, right? Where Daddy kept his nicest cigars and scotch. I remember sitting on his lap, when I was really little, and just listening to him talking. It was all bank stuff – nonsense to a kid like me – but his voice was soothing. Occasionally, he'd ask me about my day or my dress…" I smiled.

"I-I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"No, but you should. I know you…kind of. How much of your gruesome history do you know?"

"My grandpa and grandma separated at one point, but got back together when Grammy found out about Dad. Dad and Mom had me late…after Rosalie they had had a lot of miscarriages, so they stopped and I…happened." The girl's name shocked me. "My life has been picture-perfect. There's also Uncle Ben and his family…"

"And Leroy and Rosalie."

"Excuse me?"

"Your dad, Kenny, was born in 1917, right?"

"Yeah, the year before the flu…Grandpa didn't have to go to war, either, but I don't remember why."

"Right. He never was drafted. I didn't understand then…I get it, now, though, how certain people can avoid wars. Anyway, Benny was born two years later. There was a baby two years before Kenny, and one a year after him, though. Did you know that?"

He shook his head, which I took as my signal to continue. "Yeah. Your grandparents had a one-night stand, during which time your grandmother cheated on her husband, who later died in the war. Well, she became pregnant, and when he was drafted, she found your grandpa. They moved in together, and had a baby girl. Rosalie. She was the perfect little girl – the pride of the parents, you know. Two years later, they had a little boy, Kenneth. During the flu, he got sick, but lived, unlike the baby born that year – Leroy. A year after baby Leroy died, they had another little boy. They told themselves it was because they loved children, and they did, but they wanted to replace their round-cheeked baby boy. Benny did replace him, and no one spoke of the dead baby again.

"Anyway, the two boys grew up like twins – they looked and acted the same, but there was still a little brother hero worship in Ben. Whatever Kenny did, Ben did, too…except he tried to do it better," I laughed.

"So, when Kenny was seventeen and Benny was fifteen, I think, their older sister, Rosalie, got engaged. To the wealthiest, most to-do bachelor in town – Royce King. Rosalie was conceited, and was glad that she would have everything. But…" my voice caught.

"But one night she was out with a friend, who had a nice husband and a cute little boy. The cutest kid you have ever seen, save maybe your own children. So, she was visiting her friend, and just went home. It was dark and cold…and Royce and his friends were drunk, prowling the streets…" I stopped.

"You ready for the heavy stuff, hot shot?" Kenneth nodded mutely. "Well, they beat her…brutally. And raped her. Long, painful, story short, they all but killed her. She was lying in the streets when a doctor new to the area found her, saving her life, but taking her from her home. The men got off with nothing, but the town was devastated by the loss of the socialite. A while later, Royce and his friends disappeared. There had been some mysterious deaths, and everyone joked that it was Rosalie, come back to exact her revenge on the ruin of her fairytale life. Royce was last, locked up in a giant vault, really. Then…it was done.

"The Hales' house was bought anonymously a couple months later, with the guarantee that they left everything almost exactly the way it had been…before. They moved and lived comfortably for the rest of their lives." I stopped abruptly. "How did you afford college, and this business, and your family?"

"Um…my parents were well-off…and I got a random scholarship. It came in an envelope, no return address, saying I could go to any school, as long as I did something charitable with my degree."

I nodded. That was Esme's idea. I asked if I could take care of my family. Speaking to Bella that night, about my history, made me want to know them better, so I started paying attention and doing research. I practically gave Kenny and Ben all the money they wanted, and Mom and Dad's retirement funds fattened every month, whether they realized it or not. I promised I'd stop with their kids' schooling. And I did. I made up a scholarship – I think it was the Emma Mason Scholarship – and Esme made me add that he had to help with his degree. And, obviously, he did.

"I'm sorry. As much as I love your little history lesson, I have other things…is there a point?"

"You like baseball, kid?"

"Kid? You're the kid, miss. But, yes, I do."

"The Yankees. You went to every game with your dad, and stayed home during away games, watching with him. He tell you about his first Yankees game?"

"Where he got the hat? Yeah. And Grammy helped him with his name on the inside."

"Wrong. Rosalie did it." I held out the hat carefully and he took it, holding it reverently.

"Dad always said he lost it when he started school…"

I shook my head, smiling softly. "No, Kenny got the most in-fashion hat every season after his sister died…like she would have done. He stuck this one under his bed, knowing no one would realize it was there – especially the new owners, who must have wanted it for a museum, or something."

"So?"

"So, I just wanted to prove to you that this is real."

He shook his head, not understanding.

"I'm Rosalie. Rosalie Lillian Hale, dead since 1933."

"Oh, good God!"

And then he passed out…or something.

Sorry for the delay. New schools are tough. My courses are...interesting? Teachers are okay...Anyway, I'm sick today, so look for another update soon :*

xoxodiizzy