Author's Note: In this chapter, I mention Depression Glass. It's a real thing, made in a factory in southern Ohio during the Great Depression, and it became popular across the country. If you want to see it, do an internet search for "Royal Ruby Depression Glass." That's the official name.
And here's an oopsie for you: I made my character Vera have a collection of little glass animals. Sorry, Tennessee Williams! Total Freudian slippage on my part. I make no profit from this work of fan fiction!
And speaking of German intellectuals, I was going to call this chapter "Thus Spake Vera-thustra," but I think the title I did choose is better. Nevertheless, can I get a shout out if you recognize the pun? I love puns.
And thanks to my several guest reviewers. I'd love to write to you each personally with my appreciation, but FF doesn't have that function. So here's a collective thanks. You guys are great.
Chapter 14
"Revelations"
The cheery "beep! beep!" of the horn on Angela's old white Corolla roused Bella from her worries about her changing feelings for Jacob and Edward. She hurried downstairs as fast as she could, given her sore leg, and hobbled outside. Then she gathered Jacob's stained T-shirts from her truck and asked Angela to come in for a moment so she could toss them into the washing machine.
Angela waited in the living room while she worked on Jacob's shirts. She scrubbed each one with Fells-Naptha soap and poured some color-safe bleach into the washer along with some of Charlie's regular powdered detergent. Hopefully, she thought, that would be enough to remove the stains.
"Okay," she said, returning to the living room and shrugging on her tattered tan coat. "Let's go."
Angela rose from the Swans' green sofa, where she had been curled up for a few minutes with her ever-present knitting. The yellow mass she had showed to Albertine earlier in the week was looking more like a scarf now and less, Bella thought, like a tumor.
Charlie had been on the phone with Billy for the past half hour, but he hung up when he saw that the girls were leaving. "Wait a minute," he said. "I need to talk to you."
Though he couldn't share too many details because of the ongoing police investigation, he told them that the missing hiker in Olympic National Park had been found. Dead.
"Oh, no," said Angela. She sat back down on the sofa and looked up at Charlie with wide eyes. Bella did the same.
"We're not sure yet if she was murdered, or if some wild animal killed her." Charlie sat down heavily in his easy chair and rubbed a hand across his forehead. "It's...it's one of the worst cases I've ever seen. Like those animal attacks last spring." Charlie looked away, his face grim, and Bella knew he was remembering his friend Waylon, a victim of those attacks. An uneasy memory stirred in Bella.
Charlie went on to say that there were some large paw prints near the body, possibly from a bear. A bear could kill someone; that was for sure. But perhaps, thought the park rangers, the animal had just scavenged the body. It was pretty mangled looking.
Angela turned a sickly shade of yellow.
"The cause of death is still unknown," Charlie said. "But in any event, I want you girls to be careful. No hiking in the woods. And until we solve this crime, don't go anywhere alone." His eyes were stern and dark as he looked each of them in the face.
Angela swallowed nervously. Bella could hear her gulp.
"Don't trust any strangers you might see around town. We don't know what the perpetrator looks like yet. And there's still a second hiker missing, even after four days."
Promising to be careful, the girls left for the nursing home. Angela steered her white Corolla slowly through the neighborhood, exclaiming with surprise and worry that such a shocking crime could happen in their little town. Bella said, "Mm-hmm," at the right times, but her mind was wandering. One phrase in particular from Charlie's warning had caught her attention: like those animal attacks last spring.
Those were no animal attacks. Her knowledge of Edward's world had disabused her of that notion. She worried now that like her father's friend Waylon, the hikers in the park had crossed the border between blithe ignorance of the supernatural world and a terrifying knowledge of it—and they had had a very short amount of time to live with that knowledge. Could the menace in the woods be a nomad vampire?
Once again she thought that Edward had been wrong to say that her life, after he left, would be as if he never existed. Bullsh— Uh, Bull-oney, she thought. Her life had been changed forever. She knew what might be out there in the trees, in the mossy shadows that went on endlessly under the pines. Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, she surveyed the neighborhood fretfully until Angela turned into the parking lot for Olympic Acres.
The song on the radio seemed written for people who would never know about vampires, which was, Bella reflected, just about everyone except her: "Come on, party people!" exhorted the singer. "Put your hands in the air! Wave 'em like you don't care!"
She punched the radio's "off" button.
Vera and Albertine were not exactly party people, waving their hands in the air, but Bella had to admit that the nursing home seemed more festive once the pizzas were delivered.
Aurelia Tisdale, the grumpy black-haired nurse, was trying to keep the seniors from pushing and shoving one another, but she was beset from all sides as she held the hot pizza aloft. Angela scooted through the crowd and took half the boxes from the nurse. She floated easily through the complaining clump of seniors, making sure that each person had a slice with his or her favorite toppings.
"You're really good at that," remarked Bella as the satisfied crowd drifted toward the dining tables in the big community room. "You should try a career in nursing. Or maybe in pizza delivery."
"Thanks," said Angela. "I really like volunteering here. Maybe I will. Become a nurse, that is; not a pizza driver!"
Vera didn't leave her room very often, so Angela snagged a box of pepperoni pizza and headed down the hall with Bella. They would eat with Albertine and Vera at their little dinette set near the window.
Albertine greeted them warmly. She proudly displayed the table she had set with ruby red glassware, explaining that it was something she had saved ever since the Depression. Vera's crystal animals served as a tiny, twinkling centerpiece.
Bella sat down beside Vera and picked up one of the plates, holding it before her eyes. The evening sun, slanting through the nursing home's garden outside the window, set the red glass ablaze. It was like looking at the trees, at the little old ladies next to her, through a filter of blood. Was this how Edward saw the world? She was both intrigued and revolted.
Angela served everyone a slice of pizza as Albertine poured ice water from a ruby glass pitcher into ruby glass goblets. "In the Depression," explained Albertine, "this glassware was affordable but elegant. My mother was very proud of this set. We used it for special occasions. And it's too nice to leave in a box now, so I'm glad we can have a special occasion with you girls. Isn't that right, Vera?"
Vera was looking back at Bella through the red lens of the plate. She didn't speak.
"Dig in," said Albertine.
As they ate, the old woman talked about how her family had coped during the Depression. Folks had to reuse a lot of things, she said, and no clothing was ever thrown out until it had been handed down, hemmed, and turned inside out and re-sewn until it was so tattered as to be transparent. Even flour sacks were reused, sewn into play clothes for her little sisters.
"Not like today," Albertine frowned. "We were the original recyclers!"
Angela pulled out her notebook and eagerly recorded Albertine's stories. Silent as usual, Vera peeled the pepperonis off of her pizza and stacked them like oily coins on the edge of her plate. Bella munched her slice and sighed heavily. If only those pepperonis could talk, she thought. They're probably way more interesting than my partner...
Albertine interrupted Bella's glum reverie. "You take notes, too," she said. "Vera and I were best friends in high school, so I can tell you all about her family, too."
Bella brightened immediately. Perhaps she wouldn't fail this assignment after all. "Gosh, thank you," she said to Albertine.
"Oh, I'm glad to talk for both of us," the old woman replied. "Vera can be a little shy, you know."
And the award for Understatement of the Year goes to Albertine Kowalski.
The girls could hardly keep up with Albertine's chatter. Mrs. Kranz was right; this woman was a goldmine. She described how her mother took in laundry for extra money, turning their kitchen into a little factory where she and her sisters helped with ironing. For Christmas, each child received an orange. That was all.
"And we were glad to get it, too!" she declared. "Fresh fruit was special."
"What was Forks like in the Depression?" asked Angela.
"Small," said Albertine. "Most towns here were connected to the lumber business, or to fishing, like Hoquiam and Grays Harbor just south of here. My father ran a sawmill, so we were more fortunate than most. But oh, there was such an uproar over the park!"
She described the conflict over the state of Washington's plans for creating the Olympic National Park and the lumber towns' desires to stay in business. Moreover, the proposed boundaries of the park meant that some farmers would be forced from their homesteads. But then the Depression hit, the farms went bankrupt, and the farmers left anyway.
Even during the leanest years, the forest provided steady work for men in the community, said Albertine, and the fishing boats kept people working, too. But not all families were fortunate enough to survive by those industries. Vera's father, for example, had owned a dry goods store.
To Bella's curious glance, Albertine explained that it sold groceries, clothing, tools, and farm supplies. "Pretty much everything."
Unfortunately, as the Depression worsened, Mr. Moss let customers make purchases on credit. "He was too kind for his own good. It was 1936, I think, whenVera's father lost the store. Lost everything. Her older brother had to drop out of school, just months before graduation, and go to work in the lumber camps. Yes, it was 1936. Vera and I were sixteen then."
Angela said how sad that must have been for Vera's family. She placed her hand over Vera's, but Vera just stared out the window. She seemed to be watching the sky. The wind was picking up, swaying the pine tops, and dark, heavy clouds amassed over the trees.
"Of course," continued Albertine, "we all thought the Mosses were going to be okay because Vera had her sweetheart. His family was very wealthy. Sixteen was kind of young to be engaged, but she was in love, and the marriage would have helped her family."
Vera put down her napkin with a shaky hand.
"Would have?" asked Bella.
"Well, yes. We had re-made her mother's wedding dress for her with the lace from her baby brother's christening gown, and then on the morning of the wedding, her fiancee—"
Vera made a strangled cry.
The girls turned to look at her. The old woman's cloudy blue eyes had lost focus. She was seeing far away. Her throat worked again, her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Sitting beside her, Bella felt her own heart pound. Was Vera dying? What should she do?
Albertine hurried to embrace her roommate. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Remember, you still have me. You'll always have me." She rocked her back and forth, making shushing noses.
Bella could only stare at the two old ladies. Maybe she should leave? She felt all squicky and awkward.
Angela, however, seemed to know the right thing to say. "I can tell you've been good friends for a long time," she murmured.
"Yes," said Albertine more brightly. "Yes, we have." Then she said, "Oh!" and pointed out the window. "Show time!"
The girls turned in time to see an old man roll past the window on one of the garden paths. He was bundled up in a heavy, brown tweed coat with a slouched cap on his head, and he also wore thick gloves and galoshes. Two blankets were folded across his lap. Nevertheless, Angela said, "It's too cold for Mr. Horowitz to be out there. What's he doing?"
"This is the show!" replied Albertine. "It's been going on for the past three nights." She pulled her chair closer to the window and beckoned for the girls to join her. Even Vera seemed to perk up, though her skin was still the color of the tired, white curtains hanging limply beside the glass.
The old man pushed his wheel chair along the path until he rounded the corner at the end of the building, out of sight. Then the scene outside the window was still again. Bella wasn't sure what she was supposed to be looking for. She studied the wintry garden: a few scraggly bushes, some sad, tattered garden ornaments. A concrete bird bath full of icy water. And a gravel path that led between the muddy, dormant flower beds.
She was thinking that the nursing home residents' lives must be painfully boring if a guy wheeling himself through the garden constituted a "show" when another figure appeared outside. It was a teenage girl, struggling against the wind, her fashionable but thin black jacket held closed across her chest with one hand, while the other hand struggled to hold a useless little beret atop her head. A flash of platinum blond hair blew behind her, snarling in the salt wind.
Lauren Mallory.
Now it was a show. Bella pulled her chair closer.
Lauren staggered through the garden in the direction Mr. Horowitz had gone. She rounded the corner of the building, and the garden was quiet again. But only for a moment. Mr. Horowitz appeared a second time, wheeling his chair along the path as he had done before.
"Is he circling the building?" Bella asked.
"Sometimes he does that," replied Albertine, with a creaky snicker. "And sometimes he gets creative."
They watched as the old man left the path and concealed himself behind an evergreen bush. A moment later, Lauren struggled down the path again. The girls could hear her frustrated calls—"Hello? Hello?"—and some less polite muttering. She passed the bush and went around the building again.
There was a good deal of mud clinging to the wheels of his chair when Mr. Horowitz emerged from his hiding place, but his arms were strong. He wheeled himself to the door of the nursing home and waited there, just long enough for Lauren to round the corner again and spot him. Then he slapped the handicap-accessible, automatic door button and rolled inside.
"Now it's getting good," said Albertine. She indicated that the girls should follow her to the hallway. Even Vera rose from her chair and toddled after them.
"Wait! Please, wait." Lauren's calls carried down the corridor. But Mr. Horowitz sped onward without her, leaving two muddy tracks along the linoleum. He passed Albertine's room and paused in the doorway of another one that must have been his own.
Bella saw that several other residents lingered in the hall, watching the scene. Aurelia Tisdale came out of the dining room and threw up her hands in consternation. "Reggie!" she barked. "Don't you be dragging mud in here when I've just cleaned!"
Pushing past the nurse, Lauren raced after him. "I've got to interview you, dammit!" She left more muddy prints as she stomped down the hall. Her hair, Bella saw, was snarled with tiny leaves, and her expensive sheepskin boots were stained from splashing through the garden.
Mr. Horowitz lingered in his doorway until the last possible moment. Then he scooted inside and shut the door with a slam.
Lauren smacked her hand against the door. "Come on! I will buy you pastrami from the deli in Port Angeles!"
The door cracked open. "You think, because I'm a Jew, that I want pastrami?"
"Well, I—"
"I'm a vegetarian! And you're a racist!" Slam! went the door again.
Aurelia growled at Lauren as she stalked to the broom closet. "Don't rile him up, girl."
Bella could hear Mr. Horowitz shouting something, but she couldn't make out his words through the door. Neither could Lauren. "What?" she whined.
"I said"—here Mr. Horowitz opened his door again— "Fuck off!" Slam!
Lauren spun around, red-faced, and all the other residents standing in the hall pretended to be interested in the ceiling, or their fingernails. "Quit looking at me!" she snapped. Glaring at everyone she passed, she strode back down the hallway to Albertine's room.
"You!" She pointed a manicured finger at Bella and Angela. "You two set me up with that stupid coot. Don't think I'll forget it."
Bella shrank beneath Lauren's icy stare.
"I've only been playing with you before. It's kind of fun to make you cry. But now, you're officially on my shit list."
Lauren could get meaner? The thought made Bella tremble. Then a tiny, raspy voice spoke behind her. They all turned to look.
It was Vera, all four feet, ten inches of her. She tottered forward on her pink slippered feet until she faced the angry girl in the hall.
"Fuck off," she croaked.
"Vera!" scolded Albertine.
Bella and Angela burst out laughing. Then Aurelia re-appeared with a mop and hustled Lauren away.
Vera shuffled back to her bed and crawled beneath her blankets. As Angela bid goodbye to her partner, Bella approached the other old woman. Vera was tugging her many mauve afghans up toward her chin. Her thin arms could hardly lift the heavy covers. Bella lifted them for her and whispered, "Thank you."
Vera made no reply. She closed her eyes as if the exertion of Olympic Acres' "dinner and a show" had been too much for her. Bella supposed she could not expect the miracle of speech from her twice in one day, so she turned to go. Then a bony, chilly hand clutched her arm. She turned.
"I know..." Vera hissed, her voice dry as fallen leaves. Bella leaned closer to hear her. She watched the wrinkled skin on her neck, so sickeningly like a turkey's wattle, sag against the straining tendons as the old woman struggled to lift her head. The claw-like hand tugged Bella closer.
"I know..." she rasped. "I know about the Great Depression."
Her milky blue eyes held Bella's in thrall, and Bella was frightened to realize that she wasn't talking about the history project.
In the car, Angela chattered away like a happy bird. "Oh, we're so going to rock these interviews. Albertine is amazing. I'm going back tomorrow..."
Bella wasn't listening. She was feeling decidedly unsettled. What had Vera meant? From what Albertine said, it sounded like her fiancee had jilted her at the alter. Like Granny Weatherall... Bella thought, remembering a short story from English class. She wondered what Vera had done to move on with her life. Maybe she could learn something from the old lady after all. Maybe, she thought, maybe Vera is like me.
Angela was saying something about the mall in Port Angeles now, but Bella wasn't listening because a sudden realization had just smacked her consciousness with the force of a bowling ball to the gut: Billy had said, You think you're the only one with a broken heart?, and now she realized, Whoa, I am actually NOT the only one. Maybe EVERYBODY is a little bit heart-broken, in one way or another.
The Corolla rolled through the streets as a litany of pain rolled through her mind: her father's devastation when Renee left, Jake's loss of his mother, Angela missing Ben, and Vera losing her fiancee. On the morning of her wedding!
Her mind reeled on and on in shocked awareness. Not only had Jake lost his mom, Billy had lost his wife. Then there was Quil. Charlie had once told her that Quil's father drowned when a fishing boat sank. For all his bravado and obnoxious flirting, there was no way that Quil didn't hurt sometimes. And Jake had said that his other good friend, Embry, never even knew his father. That had to be awful, just awful. And she thought of Leah, that beautiful, scary girl, whose long-time boyfriend had dropped her for her cousin. Her freaking cousin!
They were back at the Swan house before she knew it. Angela parked her car in the gravelled spot beside the curb and turned to Bella, but Bella was still staring straight ahead with her mouth hanging open.
"So," Angela said. "How about tomorrow?"
"Huh?"
"Coat shopping. You want to go to the mall tomorrow?"
"Oh." Bella shook herself. "Yeah. I do need a new coat. Uh, good idea. Thanks." She opened the door and slid out of her seat, still half-dazed.
Angela said she'd come by in the morning and pulled away from the curb. Bella stumped slowly up the porch steps. Not the only one, she thought. Not the only one...
She had noticed the Clearwaters' battered, brown Suburban was parked in Charlie's driveway, so she wasn't surprised to see Harry when she entered the living room. But she was surprised to see Billy. In tears.
Her eyes flew around the room wildly, noting the crumpled tissues on Billy's lap, Charlie's "only on holidays" bourbon with three shot glasses on the coffee table, and Billy's family photo album lying open on the couch with pictures spilling out of it. Billy sat slumped with his head hanging low. When Charlie looked up at her, his eyes were teary, too.
"What happened?" she cried. "Is is Jake? Is he okay?"
Harry had his arm around Billy. "No, no," he said. "Jake's fine. Billy's just had a... bad day."
Bella looked to her father.
"Very bad day," confirmed Charlie. "Would you mind, uh...We need some time alone. Man stuff."
"Oh. Okay..." Bella crept up the stairs. Something was wrong, very wrong, and she knew it.
She hovered in her bedroom doorway, listening for their voices. But the murmur of their conversation only lasted a few seconds before Charlie hollered, "Shut the door, Bella!"
Fine. She closed the door to her room and sat down on her bed. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something awful must have happened. To distract herself, she logged in to her email account and checked her messages. Her mother had written her four times today. Opening the messages, she saw that they were all about a new psychic communication class her mom was taking, and a bunch of P.S. notes.
"You can talk with cats!" her Renee had written in the first P.S. "Actually hear what they're thinking!" The next P.S. said, "Phil's cat wants tuna. I just know it." And in the third P.S., "Okay, I gave her the tuna, and she thanked me. With her eyes. It was incredible."
Bella was glad that her mother couldn't see her thumping her forehead against the palm of her hand before she replied. "Dear Mom," she typed, "That's just—" one of many reasons why I'm glad I moved to Forks "—awesome. Thank you for telling me about..." Blah, blah, blah. She had been writing to her mother on auto-pilot for so long that the platitudes just typed themselves.
The ringing of the phone drew her attention downstairs. It rang and rang. Wasn't her father going to answer that?
"Bella!" Charlie hollered up the stairs again. "Get the phone!"
Apparently not.
She hustled down into the kitchen and lifted the receiver from its hook. "Hello?" she said.
"Hey." It was Jake. His greeting held that hint of masculine gruffness that was deepening his voice more and more lately. He told her that he was going to take his driver's license exam tomorrow morning, and he wanted her to wish him luck.
Even though Harry had already told her that Jake was fine, she was so glad to hear his voice that she noticed herself trembling a little from relief. She was thankful Jake couldn't see her; he'd read too much into her flustered state. She took a deep breath and smiled into the phone. "You'll nail it," she said. "You're already a good driver."
"Well, I'm a little worried because the Rabbit isn't finished yet, and Harry's going to let me drive his truck. It's kind of a land-boat."
"You'll do great," she assured him.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah..." she breathed. And then she noticed that she'd been twining the phone cord around and around on her finger like some moony-eyed dope. She had to turn her face away from the adults in the living room so they wouldn't see her blush.
"Bells?" Jake had dropped his voice to just above a whisper. "Are you... Are you twirling the phone cord around your finger? You know, that super-long cord of Charlie's?"
"What? Noooooo..." How could he know that? She dropped the cord instantly, hoping her ineptitude for lying wasn't detectable over the phone. "Why would you—?"
"Oh, no reason..." He sighed. "Hey, is my dad over there?"
"Yeah," she said, straightening up. "He's here. Harry, too."
"Well, finally!" said Jacob. "I've been calling all over the rez looking for him."
He went on to describe his frustrating afternoon. He'd had dinner with Quil, and when he came home, he saw the back door fly open so hard it smacked the side of the house. Embry shot out and went running across the grass, stripping off his shirt and flinging it on the ground. Then he dove into the woods. Jacob had gone after him and spent half an hour thrashing around in the trees, calling his name.
"It was like he disappeared. And his face. He looked like—like agony. I tried so hard to find him, till I was soaked and freezing cold. Then I went back home and was like, "Dad, what the hell?" and he just ordered me to chop more firewood. Again! I've been chopping wood all week for that fucker."
The pile of logs, he said, was as tall as he was now. "Why is he making me do this? I'm scared that he's dying or something and wants me to stock up in case I'm too much of a mess to do it later."
"No, no..." Bella shushed him. "Don't say that. It doesn't make sense."
She pressed the receiver to her ear, wishing she could be there with him. She knew where he was, slouched on the kitchen stool near the doorway. She could picture him stretching his long legs under the counter as he spoke. "And anyway," she continued, "he seems pretty healthy. Kind of upset, though." She described the scene in her living room.
"Weird," Jake said. "I tell you, Bells, I'm worried."
She could hear his breath ghosting over the phone as he sighed, and it made a delightful shiver run down her spine. Thank goodness he couldn't see her.
"And then, while I'm out there in the cold," he continued, "working my ass off at the woodpile, Harry shows up, and he and my dad just drive off."
"Yeah. They're all sitting around in our living room now."
"Well, what the heck? I chop wood and he—damn, I am having the worst day. My dad won't talk to me, Embry gives me the slip, I run around yelling for him till I'm cold and drenched, then my dad..." Jacob's words trailed off. Bella could almost feel his heart pounding in the weighty silence at the other end of the phone.
"What is it?" she asked.
"My dad...my best friend... Oh, shit. Oh, my God."
"What?"
"I just thought of something. Oh, shit."
"Something bad?"
"Yes. No. I don't know. Oh, my God."
"Are you ok?"
"Yes. No."
He was pacing, Bella was sure. "Jake? Do you... Do you want me to come over?" She would. She would do it gladly; she would jump in the truck and speed there so fast—
"Yes. No. I... Oh my God, I think I'm going to be sick."
Bella could feel his distress knotting her up inside, just as if it were her own. "What can I do?" she asked.
"Ask my dad to come home."
"Okay."
"And tell him... Tell him I love him."
"Okay."
"Please tell him," said Jacob.
"I will."
"I gotta go. Thanks, Bells. I'll explain this later, I promise." His voice shook. "I— I just need to talk to my dad right now. Tell him to come home."
She hung up the phone. Every cell in her body was buzzing with anxiety as she floated into the living room on feet that felt like they weren't touching the floor. Something big was happening, something she didn't understand, and it was hurting Jake.
The men looked up at her entrance.
"Jacob wants you," she said to Billy. "He wants you to come home."
Billy's expression melted into the same kind of agony Jacob had described on Embry's face.
"He says he loves you."
Billy gave a sob into his hands and Harry rubbed his shoulder.
"It's okay," said Charlie. "It'll be okay."
Bella stared at Billy. Was this the same man who had frightened her just a few days ago, who had grabbed her arm and told her that she didn't know what love was? Whether that were true or not, she did know what suffering was. She couldn't be mad at him anymore. Not when she could feel the distress rolling off of him and Jacob like the heavy waves in the winter ocean. She wished she could help, but the best thing she could think of was to bring him his coat.
Charlie and Harry helped Billy to the door and carried his chair down the steps of the porch. The night air had turned bitter cold, but the wind had died down. In the stillness, a heavy snow was beginning to fall. The fat flakes brushed against her eyelashes, her shoulders, as she followed them outside. Harry started the engine and turned on the windshield wipers as Billy settled into the passenger seat and Charlie stowed the wheelchair in the back of the Suburban.
Bella tapped on Billy's window. He rolled it down, and his face looked pinched and pained, just as she had pictured Jacob's face while he paced in his kitchen. The deep lines around his mouth and eyes shadowed some heavy grief, she was sure. "What can I do?" she asked him. "Can I— Can I do something?"
Billy recovered himself enough to give her a sad, crooked smile. "There's one thing," he said. "I was going to order a big cake for Jacob. For the party tomorrow. But I didn't make it to the store today because... Well, I just didn't make it. Charlie always talks about your cooking. Do you think—?"
"Done," she said. She looked him straight in the eye. She wanted him to know that she wouldn't let them down. Whatever else might be going on right now, they could count on a cake from her. "It can be my gift to him."
"Good girl," said Charlie. He put his arm around her and brushed the snow from her hair.
"No, no," said Billy. "That's too much. Please, take this." He passed a crumpled, heavy envelope to her through the window. "I was saving this money to buy the cake."
Bella tried decline his offer, but Billy insisted. As Harry was backing out of the driveway, she thought of another question and trotted after the truck. She had to put her hand on the hood to steady herself on the slippery pavement. She tapped on Billy's window again.
"How big a cake do you need?" she asked. "How many people?"
There was a twinkle in his eye that let her know he would soon be himself again. "Oh," he said, "about four hundred."
What?!
To her incredulous stare, he added, "I think about half the tribe is going to show up."
Harry rolled out into the street.
"Four hundred?" cried Bella, staggering after them.
"Of course!" said Harry, and Billy, leaning from the window now, gave her a genuine grin, the one that looked so much like his son's.
"He's our prince!" said Billy proudly. Then the truck sped off through the snow.
Bella stood there in the driveway, repeating, "Four hundred?" until Charlie laughed and thwacked her on the back. "You can do it," he said. Halfway up the porch steps, Charlie realized that Bella was not coming with him, and he had to go back and grab her hand, towing her inside.
She immediately telephoned Angela. "I don't think I can go shopping with you tomorrow," she said. As she described the problem, she bustled around the kitchen, opening cupboards and checking the baking supplies. She assembled them on the counter.
"Okay," she said, "I've got two sticks of butter, some baking soda—oh, no, it's expired—six eggs, a Hershey bar, and a bag of flour that looks like a mouse ate some of it."
Still holding the phone against her ear with her shoulder, she banged around in the broiling pan beneath the oven, where Charlie stored the pans he used least often.
"And there's only one cake tin!" she cried. "For a freaking Bundt cake!"
Bella threw the broiler pan closed with a bang and slid down the cupboards until she slumped, puddle-like, on the floor.
"What am I going to do?" she wailed. "Making this crap into a cake is going to be like...like spinning straw into gold! I need a fairy godmother."
Angela laughed. "Would my mother do?"
"Huh?"
Angela explained that as a minister's wife, her mom was adept at cooking for large numbers of people. "She bakes for weddings and church picnics all the time, so four hundred is easy for her. Especially if you only need to make dessert."
Bella groaned her thanks.
They made plans to meet early the next morning. Angela said they could use the church kitchen, which had plenty of counter-space and three ovens. "And we can still go shopping in the afternoon," she promised.
Charlie looked smug when Bella told him that Angela would help her. "I was going to suggest that," he smirked. "Your grandma used to bake for the church picnics with Mrs. Weber, you know. That kitchen is huge."
Bella was too relieved to roll her eyes at him. Instead, she told him that she would turn in early since she had a busy day of baking tomorrow. "Okay," said Charlie, bending to clean up the drinks and tissues from Billy's visit. Bella saw his smile fade as he turned away from her, and it set her to worrying again about Jacob. She climbed the stairs and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth.
What had happened tonight to upset Jake and Billy so badly? She had no idea, but she wished she could comfort Jake somehow. She imagined speeding to La Push in her truck, like she had offered, and rushing to his house to... to do what? That thought made her worry more, in a different way. She spat toothpaste in the sink and looked at herself sternly in the mirror. Edward! You. Love. Edward.
Lying under her grandma's quilts, Bella turned to the window. The moon was nearly full, casting a delicate light on the snowflakes falling past the glass. Already, the lawns and streets of Forks were blanketed with a deepening stillness, the branches of the pines draped in silver.
She was glad that she could make the birthday cake for Jacob's party. It would be a good gift. A friendly gift. A friendly gift from a good friend, given in friendship. Friend, friend, friend, she reminded herself. Nothing more. She decided that her mixed-up feelings for Jacob were probably temporary, like a silly crush. She would never speak of it to anyone, she resolved, and it would go away. Maybe.
She thought again about that moment in Angela's car, when she had realized she wasn't alone in her heartbreak. The web of ties that bound her to Forks felt stronger now.
Charlie's feet thumped on the stairs, then in the hallway. She heard the creak of his bedroom door. A few days ago, when they had worn the same green flannel shirt, Charlie remarked wryly that they were too much alike. Those words made more sense to her now, in a way that caused her to sit up suddenly in bed, her throat feeling hot and tight. Not the only one...
"Dad?" she called.
She heard his feet crossing the hall; her door opened a crack.
"Yes?" he said.
How could she speak what was in her heart now?
"I— Um, goodnight," was all she could choke out.
There was a long pause. When Charlie spoke, she felt that somehow, he understood. "Goodnight, sweetie," he said.
Outside her window, snow fell upon the forest, the town, and the sea. It fell upon the Swan house and upon the little red house in La Push, where a father and son talked and wept together. It covered the land in a quietude new and clean, falling in truest absolution, all through the night.
Thank you for reading, and thanks to my many new subscribers recently. I long to hear your opinions in a review!
A while back, I calculated that 5% of FF readers take a moment to leave a note for the authors. That can be a little discouraging for the writers. And that's why reviews matter so much. But then I realized that in MY story, that percentage is a little higher! My readers are awesome! Thanks, you all. Please know that I treasure your comments and take them seriously as I learn what works and what needs improvement in my story. It is especially helpful to hear if my humor is hitting the mark, or if the foreshadowing I'm sowing is sprouting in a recognizable way. And hey, even if you are reading this months after it was originally posted, I still would love to hear your thoughts. Merci!