Many thanks to my beta team of StoryPainter and irelandk. I got a smiley face back with my suggested edits this week!
Big thank-you's to Shazzio, my pre-reader. Everything she says is gold. Shaz, make sure WellHungHubby reads that statement!
I don't have words enough for the small but faithful group of readers who review every chapter. It really makes such a difference to everything, and every reader has you to thank for keeping me motivated.
Chapter 13-Return to the Fold
"Brrriiiinnggggg, Brrriiiinnggggg."
I stirred, rousing slowly from a deep sleep.
"Brrriiiinnggggg, Brrriiiinnggggg."
Rolling over, I felt around blindly for my clock radio and whacked the snooze button.
"Brrriiiinnggggg, Brrriiiinnggggg."
Groaning, I sat up, trying to kick-start my sluggish brain enough to find the source of the god-awful annoying noise. Opening my eyes, I could see the bright glow of my phone's screen. I picked it up and answered without looking at the caller ID.
"Hello?" I tried without success to suppress a giant, jaw-cracking yawn.
"Bella! I'm so sorry to wake you, but we're coming over to get you." It was Esme, her voice laced with worry.
"What?" I was instantly alert, wondering what emergency could possibly warrant a call at this hour of the morning.
"It's the boys. Phil rang and said they were crying so much he didn't know what else to do. We're on our way to get them now, and we'll stop by to pick you up on the way through."
"I'll be waiting," I replied as I pushed my covers off. Within a few minutes, I had thrown on some shoes and covered my pajamas with a coat. Heading down to the kitchen, I scrawled a hasty note to Alice, marking down the time and reason for my absence. That done, I waited by the front door, bolting outside as soon as I saw the shine of headlights coming down our road. I threw myself in the back seat, almost squashing poor Edna in my rush to close the door and be on our way. Peering through the dim interior at my aunt and uncle, I could see both were still in their night clothes too. They must have panicked. It was rare to see Esme in her pajamas at home, yet here she was, venturing out, dressed in her flannel sleep pants with one of Carlisle's sweaters over the top. Carlisle's hair was flat on one side and sticking up all over the place on the other, further evidence of their hurried flight.
"Phil said they've been running riot since he picked them up," Esme explained as she swiveled in her seat to face me. "From the little he said, it seems he fed them junk all day and let them fall asleep in front of the television. Corin woke up first and it sounds like Phil had trouble getting him back to sleep. Then Corin's crying woke up Afton."
"He couldn't even cope with them for one night?" I stormed through gritted teeth. Although I felt bad about my brothers' distress, I couldn't suppress the selfish flare of satisfaction. If he hadn't even managed a single night, he might see sense and let them stay at Esme and Carlisle's indefinitely.
"He did try. He even called his mother over."
My eyes widened with Esme's words. He must really have no idea if he thought his mother's presence would provide any sort of comfort for the boys. They were terrified of her, her cold demeanor and open disdain of them doing little to inspire affection. I sat in silence after that, fuming and worrying by turns.
When we pulled up at the house, I stayed in the car with Edna while Carlisle and Esme went inside. When the front door opened, I briefly heard the sound of the boys' wailing, distressingly loud, even across the wide expanse of lawn that separated us. The noise was abruptly cut off as the door swung shut. Edna and I sat shoulder to shoulder, our noses pressed against the window as we waited and watched. It seemed to take forever before the door opened again, Carlisle emerging carrying a large blanket-wrapped form; Afton, I assumed. Esme clutched Corin, his hair matted with sweat and tears still staining his cheeks. Back in familiar comforting arms, their cries has reduced to whimpers and hiccupping.
Victoria stood grim-faced on the porch, watching as they put both boys in the back seat with me. She was dressed as always; no visible signs of a rushed flight to offer assistance from her.
Heartless bitch, I thought to myself. How could she not be moved by the boys' cries?
Corin clung to Esme tightly as she opened the car door and tried to unlock his arms from around her, his cries escalating again and becoming hysterical as he fought against the separation. She murmured reassurances in his ear while I talked softly as well, telling him he was safe, and Edna was with us. Finally, he relaxed his grip and Esme passed him to me. Rearranging his blanket, I buckled him in the seat next to me as Carlisle did the same with Afton. I put an arm around them both and they snuggled into me, their small hands clutching tightly to my coat. None of us said anything to each other when we returned to the Cullen's, our efforts focused entirely on comforting the still distraught boys. Carlisle fetched cups of warm milk as Esme and I murmured reassuring things to calm and settle the boys enough for them to go to sleep. Soon, they were tucked into their usual beds again. Corin lay curled between Esme and Edna, and I sat on Afton's bed stroking his hair.
After a while, Corin's sniffles turned into soft snores. He had been thoroughly exhausted, and hadn't uttered a peep since the rescue. I was more concerned about Afton, knowing that being that little bit older often made him more aware of things than people often suspected. I could sense that he was still unsettled, his small frame still stiff under the weight of his blankets as he lay there, wide-eyed. I waited until Esme's breathing evened out as she also drifted off to sleep before I spoke.
"Do you want to talk about what happened?" I asked Afton tentatively, making sure I kept my touches even and light to comfort and reassure him.
"Home isn't the same without Mommy. Daddy tried to make it fun, but Corin kept looking for her everywhere." His huge eyes blinked and drooped as he fought against tiredness, not wanting give in to it yet.
Sometimes, it seemed too easy to forget how young Corin was. He always had a way with words and was able to express himself well, despite his obvious distress.
"Corin kept waking up, and then he wet his bed. Daddy got mad and was growling at him to go to sleep." He hiccupped and his mouth twisted as he began to get upset again. "Then Grandmama yelled at Corin for being such a baby and we got really scared."
"It's okay, Afton, you're both okay now," I soothed, kissing his cheek. "You don't have to talk about it anymore if you don't want to."
"I don't want to have a sleep over there ever again," Afton said with a fierce tone as he clutched at his coverlet.
It didn't escape me that he didn't refer to it as home, just "there." He also called it a sleep over, something you usually did at other people's houses, not your own.
"Please don't make us, Bella," Afton pleaded. His eyes were shining as he begged, tearing at my insides. How could I promise him this, even though I desperately wanted to prevent a similar disaster from ever recurring? Then again, how could I not? My mind worked frantically for some way to allay his fears. In the end, I grasped at a slender straw.
"Sweetie, I can't promise anything, but I do have a suggestion. Remember how Dr. Goff said you could write down things and put them in a worry box? Since I can tell that this is a real big worry for you, we should write that down." After tonight, I'd be phoning her myself in the morning to arrange an emergency session. The worry box was a suggestion she had made so issues could be addressed at therapy, but that hadn't really been necessary before now. "I think she might have some good ideas that might help in some way."
Afton nodded, so I ducked downstairs quickly to grab some paper and an empty cereal box out of the recycle container. Returning to their room, I got him to dictate his worry for me to write out, showing it to him before stuffing it in the box.
"Any other things?" I asked.
"All Mommy's things were gone and her room looked different. Her pictures were gone, too. It made Corin go all funny," he added, his face puzzled. "That's why he kept looking for her. He wanted to make sure that Mommy was real and not pretend, like how movies are."
The hole his earlier words had torn opened up even further, and it was all I could do not to dissolve into a sobbing mess. I had worried enough about how I could keep her memory alive for myself. Learning that Corin was beginning to doubt already made me hurt deeply for him.
"Mommy was real, Afton. I'll make sure you and Corin have any of her things you need to help you remember. I have lots of pictures, and so does Aunty Esme. We'll keep talking about her all the time so you never forget, okay?"
"Okay," he replied in a subdued voice. "Can we get a picture now so I can kiss Mommy goodnight? I'm really tired."
I made another quick trip downstairs, retuning with a framed portrait of Mom and Esme from its home in the living room. After he kissed it, I placed it where the other one had been, promising to tell him a story about Mommy until he fell asleep. I recounted my memories of how excited Mom had been when she first told me she and Phil were expecting a baby. I spoke of all the shopping trips I had been dragged along on and of Mom's interesting attempts at knitting bootees and bonnets. I told him about the very first time I saw him in our mother's arms, how much Mom had cooed over him, how she had pointed out every perfect feature and how adorable she thought they were. Smiling at the memory, I turned to ruffle his hair, only to find him deeply asleep, his posture and face relaxed at last. Wriggling into a comfortable position next to him, I covered myself with a spare blanket and joined him in the land of nod.
We all slept in late, the boys seemingly back to their usual happy dispositions in familiar surroundings. I did ring Dr. Goff's office, and after explaining what had happened, we were given an appointment for later in the afternoon. Cornering Esme in the kitchen, I told her about Afton's four a.m. confession, comforting her as she cried after. Once she was sufficiently calm, we made plans to show some of the many home movies Esme had of family events, thinking up ways we could keep their memories of Mom alive. After breakfast, Alice joined us and we did some craft work with them, making scrapbooks of all their favorite things. Together, we made one with each of the boys, filled with pictures cut from magazines and toy catalogues. We also made one about all of Mom's favorite things for the boys to keep. We crammed it with snapshots and pictures, including things from her family and favorite color to the foods and holiday places she liked best. It was a fun activity, and we laughed as we exchanged amusing holiday stories, sharing our many memories.
After lunch, I sat outside watching the boys play in the yard, smiling at their antics as they played fetch with Edna and a fuzzy, slobbery tennis ball. These were the times I wished I could bottle; beautiful moments that I wanted to preserve forever, to bring out whenever I needed cheering up. It would be a patented antidote for miserable moments, I thought to myself. That made me think about Mom again, and I wondered how she could have ever gotten so down living with such joyful innocence around her.
The thought made me feel guilty. Rationally, I knew that depression was an illness, a chemical imbalance that had little to do with the circumstances of sufferers' lives. I also realized that reactive depression had many facets and causes, and having wonderful children was not a panacea for everything. If anything, knowing Mom, it probably would have contributed to her sense of guilt, worrying about the potential effects on them. Along with Esme's urging, their wellbeing had no doubt provided her with significant motivation to seek help and start on the medication.
I started thinking about the bottle of pills I had seen on her nightstand. Something about them niggled at my subconscious. Unable to find the source of my mental itch, it periodically returned to distract me throughout the rest of the day.
Midafternoon, we all went to visit Dr. Goff again, our large group once again drawing attention in the small waiting room. After spending time with the boys, Alice and I watched them as Esme and Carlisle spoke with her. I was eager to know what they had discussed, but knew it would have to wait. Thankfully, worn out from their sleepless night, Corin and Afton fell asleep on the ride home, and once they were settled into their beds for a nap, we sat around the kitchen table to hear the news.
Dr. Goff had been very concerned with the setback the disastrous return home had caused. She asked some guarded questions about Phil and what had occurred. Although Phil was paying for the sessions, she hadn't actually met him in person, a situation she seemed eager to rectify.
"She wanted to know about Phil's relationship with them," Carlisle stated. "I told her that he was normally involved, but wasn't used to the hands-on end of parenting."
I snorted and rolled my eyes.
"That was a tactful way to put it, but I suppose it is the truth," Esme justified. "He might not have ever changed a diaper, but he did other things with them."
"Yeah, he used to take them to the park sometimes. He also did the drop off and pick up run a lot, too," Alice added, scratching around for positive things to say.
"So he did some stuff, but he never actually spent more than a couple of hours on his own looking after them," I argued. "He had to call his Mommy for advice last night, and look how that went!" Alice and I babysat for them more times than ever Phil had, and felt, therefore, I had some right to comment on it.
"Well, Dr. Goff said until Phil makes arrangements otherwise, we need to make sure the boys are supported as they get used to spending time together as a family without Renee," Esme explained. "She's going to phone Phil and set up a few sessions with him and the boys together."
Carlisle looked at me with concern. "She also suggested that we set up some sort of timetable of regular visits so the boys get used to the idea of eventually going back home with Phil full-time. Since it looks like they will be here for a little longer, she suggested we invite him to come for a family dinner at least once a week."
"Dinner? Here?" My voice rose to a childish whine. "How can you think of inviting that man into your home after he abused Mom? He hit her, remember. You told me so yourselves." I was beginning to feel a sense of increasing outrage and more than a little frustration.
Esme reached over to grip my shaking hands, her eyes full of understanding. "Honey, I don't like the idea much myself but I'd do it for them. Those boys are the most important thing in our lives at the moment. I'd do anything for them, and I know you would, too." She reached out to stroke my arm in a calming gesture. "We've had time to get used to the knowledge of what Phil did; you haven't. It won't be any different from every other time we've had to see him since that night."
Looking at my aunt, I could only feel a pang for how much generosity of spirit she and my uncle had. I wasn't in any kind of mood to do Phil any favors, my dislike of him too deep seated after so many years.
"Do I have to be there?" I asked, fervently hoping otherwise, but willing, just as Esme said, do almost anything for my brothers.
"You don't have to if you'd rather not," Carlisle soothed. "Esther did have some good advice about how much we should all be involved, but before we get to that, she had some more recommendations." Carlisle outlined that the doctor had proposed that Phil take the boys home at least one night a week for supper. She intended to encourage Phil and the boys to spend time on the weekends together as well. Although I didn't like it much, I could see the sense in her plan. By spending set intervals together in the family home, both Phil and the boys would have time to adjust to the new situation to make the eventual transition to full-time care smoother. By returning them to Esme and Carlisle's every night, they would have a stable bed time routine to provide them with the security they currently needed. Scheduling times and making things more predictable for the boys would also help their adjustment.
"So, now we have to discuss another matter," Carlisle said with a trace of reluctance. "Dr. Goff has encouraged us to discuss contingency plans together. She wanted to know what we thought of doing if Phil felt he was unable to care for the boys on a more permanent basis." He shared a look with Esme. I had seen them do this many times, seeming to share a whole conversation in one quick glance.
I wasn't entirely surprised by the question, having briefly considered it myself in the immediate aftermath of Mom's death.
I was twenty-four years old. I had been almost five when my mother was my age. It was odd to think of being so young and being a mother, though when I thought of my Mom doing it, it seemed so natural and right. Even though I would gladly give my life for my brothers, I didn't know if I was ready for the weighty responsibility of parenthood.
Was I ready? Could I be everything they needed? Did I have what it took? I wasn't so sure…
I felt a confusing array of emotions: doubt, hope, determination, panic, and obligation. My unease must have been obvious, and Esme squeezed my hand reassuringly.
"Carlisle and I talked about it this morning after we got back from Phil's. We're more than happy to become their guardians, if it comes to that. We have the time, space, and resources to do it, and we love them like we do our own Alice."
I looked at my aunt and uncle, taking in their resolute and open expressions, almost a mirror of each other's.
"We don't doubt you could do it, Bella, and if you did want to, you'd have our full support," Esme continued. "We just wanted you to know that we're more than happy to take them. You don't have to sacrifice your own plans for the future. Of course, that's not what we'd consider ourselves to be doing either," she rushed to reassure me. "We would've had more children of our own after Alice if we could, but making them ours is the next best thing. We're just offering an alternative."
Two fat tears seeped out, blurring my vision as I looked at their hopeful faces. They spilled over as I stood, moving to stand between my aunt and uncle and throwing my arms across their shoulders in an awkward hug. I felt guilty for my sense of relief at their offer, wondering what that might say about me and my commitment to my own siblings, but it was soon put to rest.
"We really want to this−for them and for us," Carlisle asserted. Looking at them both, I could see that their offer was genuine.
Once tissues had been passed all around and we were all sitting back at the table, we discussed other things the doctor had said. She reinforced the need to keep hostilities between Phil and me to a minimum, and not to confuse the boys too much with blurred role boundaries. If Esme and Carlisle were to assume a parenting role, then I would have to continue to be involved as a sister, not as a surrogate mother. We had all been managing well enough so far, but Dr. Goff was firm in making sure that the boys had reliability and routine to ground them.
Soon, small footsteps interrupted our discussion as Corin and Edna entered the kitchen. His eyes were still a little droopy from his nap as he crawled into Esme's lap and buried his face in her shirt. As I watched him, I felt that we had made the right decision. He had been seeking maternal comfort and reassurance from Esme from the very start, something that was an instinctive and essential part of Esme's personality. I couldn't hope to compete with that, and what's more, I didn't want to. No, I was certain that this was in the best interests of my brothers; in fact, it just provided even more fuel for my desire to see Phil fail. The sooner he relinquished his parental involvement, the sooner my brothers would have fitting parents, rather than some half-assed idiot who had no idea. Corin and Afton deserved the very best, and since they couldn't have their own mother, they should have the next best thing−Esme and Carlisle.
We talked a little more about logistics and arrangements. Alice and I planned to stay one more night before returning permanently to our house, allowing us all one more night of togetherness and mutual support before attempting to return to some semblance of usual life. We arranged to have the boys over at our house on Thursday nights, just as they had when Mom went to her weekly book club meeting.
Wanting to get some more clean clothes and pick up a few things, I decided to make a quick trip back home, borrowing Alice's car. After I grabbed what I needed, I sat on my bed and looked at the framed photo of my brothers and I that sat on my nightstand under the window. Afton had made it for my birthday, the macaroni elbows carefully glued around the border and painted with red and blue, adding a cheery touch of color to my room. My heart swelled as I looked at the familiar expression of love and trust on their faces, their round cheeks pressed against mine as they cuddled close to me for the picture.
"Oh, Mom!" I cried out. "I hope you agree that what we decided is best for them. I hope you're not disappointed in me. Again." My throat got all choked up as my vision blurred with tears. "I know I wasn't always the best daughter, and I am so sorry about that now I can't fix it anymore. I'm really trying to be the best sister I can be, though."
Although the window was closed, the nylon lace curtains fluttered slightly as the clouds parted outside, letting a buttery yellow ray of sun shine in. Lighting the few items I had on the nightstand, the sunbeam made the picture seem as if it was glowing. It was like a sign, and I gasped, clutching a hand to my chest. I'd never believed in that kind of thing before, but it just seemed too coincidental. Besides, I wanted to think Mom could hear me and find some way to reach out to me. It was comforting and uplifting.
"Mom?" I asked with a shaky breath. "Does that mean it's okay with you?" As if in response, the late afternoon sun got brighter, almost blinding me. "Thank you ," I replied reverently, feeling as if I, too, was radiating golden light. It was an altogether strange and surreal experience but left me feeling a certain sense of peace, a lightness of spirit for the first time in more than a week.
Gathering my things, I made my way downstairs. As I tried to lock up, I had to juggle keys, my phone, two bags, and the file of items I had gotten from the police the day before. Moving things from one arm to the other to free up my hand, I lost my precarious grasp on the manila folder, and papers began to fly out, fluttering on the ground around me. Dropping the bags, I gathered the photocopies up, thankful that the envelope of scene photos had remained sealed. I didn't want the precious moment I had just been given spoiled by seeing the stark images that recorded of my mother's last moments. As I picked up the last piece of paper, my eye caught on a table of figures for a minute before I shoved it back in the file. Like the proverbial light bulb moment, I had an epiphany, my earlier mental itching finally hitting pay dirt. Snatching the page back out again, I scanned the toxicology report with new eyes.
The report recorded the presence of two distinct types of medication in Mom's blood stream at the time of her death. Yet when I had found her prescription in her bag, only one of the three medications ordered had been dispensed. I had also seen only the one pill bottle at her bedside when I had found her. Where had the other medication come from?
Throwing everything in the front seat of Alice's car, I sent her a text saying I was going to run a few errands and took off. First, I went to the post office to sign for the copy of Mom's death certificate that had arrived by express registered mail. I was glad it was a Friday, since that meant later business hours. I visited all five of Port Angeles' pharmacies, and was on my way back to Esme's when my phone rang. I briefly glanced at the caller identification before answering.
"Edward, I've got news!" I rushed out, not giving him the chance to say anything. "I think Mom was drugged the night she died. I've just spent an hour checking out every drug store in town and none of them issued her one of the medications found during the autopsy. A few tried to use the confidentiality law thing, but once I showed them the death certificate, they caved straight away. Must have been worried about being sued for drug interactions or something."
"Good detective work, Bella!" Edward praised. "I've got some news for you, too. Well, not exactly good news, but things relevant to our case. A woman Phil was supposedly close to at a previous job disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Also, when I spoke to Amanda Reed, she said someone had been harassing your mother recently."
"Oh? So the things she said in the letter were real? Was it Phil?"
"No, it wasn't. Can we meet up somewhere so I can explain the whole thing?"
For some reason, my heart started beating faster, and I wondered how soon we could make a time. "Sure. Um…would you be willing to come to my aunt's house? I want to spend another night with my brothers, and I've already been away from them longer than I intended. Is that okay?"
"That would be fine," Edward replied, and I could almost hear the smile in his voice. "Your uncle said something to me about catching up in a more everyday setting, so I suppose this counts. And, Bella?"
"Yeah?" I replied, hanging off his every word.
"Amanda said she saw someone deflating your Mom's tires when she was working one night but get this−it was a woman."
Sorry, but real life committments mean I won't be updating for 2 weeks again. I need to write 5000 words for my doctrate supervisor by Wednesday. Honestly, I'd much rather be doing this. I'm a terrible procrastinator and I'm paying the price for not pulling my finger out sooner *glum look*
By the way, next Saturday the 5th of May is International Midwives Day, a big day on my personal calender. Happy Midwives Day to all my colleagues far and wide.