20. HOME

EDWARD AND ROSALIE WERE WAITING FOR US WHEN WE ARRIVED BACK

at the Sea-Tac Airport around nine o'clock the next morning. I had been afraid Edward might come -- not that I wasn't happy to see my brother, but I was hoping to delay the mind-reading for as long as possible -- and I had to work hard to keep the inhospitable thoughts from my mind so as not to hurt his feelings. I wished he had stayed home, sent Bella instead. It was almost unbearable having Edward see what I was seeing, what I couldn't keep hidden. I wasn't ready to talk about it. I wasn't ready to face it.

Edward hugged Alice tightly for a long moment, whispering something in her ear too softly for me to catch. Alice buried her face in his chest and nodded. Alice and Edward had always been the closest of the Cullen siblings. "Freaks among those who were already freaks," Edward had said once. Edward freed one hand and clasped it around my shoulder compassionately. He nodded to me, letting me know he understood my feelings, understood that I was unprepared to share with anyone yet. And that was all.

Rosalie, dressed in a thin, clingy cashmere sweater-dress of eye-catching royal blue and knee-high stiletto boots, no doubt aware of the attention lavished upon her by every human with a pulse, ran and threw herself into Emmett's arms as though he were a soldier returning from five years of war. I was surprised she didn't jump into his arms and wrap her legs around his waist, too. They kissed passionately, half the airport watching, as though they were long-lost lovers reunited at last. I saw Edward grimace in agreement at my sulfurous thoughts. It was more than a bit ridiculous.

When we got down to the parking garage Edward kindly agreed to squeeze in with Emmett, Rosalie, Carlisle, and Esme in Rose's tiny M3. Normally I would have insisted he was being absurd, but today I was grateful for the gesture. It would be nice to have those last few moments of time alone with Alice before we reached the big white house and had to endure the well-meaning sentiments of relief for our safety, curiosity about what had gone on, and questions about the angel child. The two hour drive would scarcely be enough time for me to prepare myself. Maybe I would drive the speed limit. That would double the time I'd have.

Alice and I climbed into Edward's silver volvo drearily, both of us quiet and somber. I felt a little of the weight pulling down my stomach and the steel gripping my chest relax when I saw the familiar pines and spruce fly by, the pearl-gray cloud-covered sky overhead, and the shining wet pavement dispatched with heady speed beneath our wheels as we drove away from Seattle. This was home to me. It was so much more comforting than the immense oaks and enormous boulder cliffs and bright golden moon of Viselkeizedevia. I eased my foot off the accelerator, remembering my plan to take what time I could.

It wasn't until we passed through Port Angeles, only an hour from Forks as I drove sixty, that Alice finally spoke. I could feel her tangle of emotions, the confusion she was feeling -- not wanting to exclude or keep things from the people she loved, but not sure she was able to really let them in -- and I had been vacillating between beginning a conversation to try to let her talk it out, or leaving her alone entirely so she could think through her inner turmoil.

"What are we going to tell them?" she murmured, staring out the window at the passing town as though we had been carrying on a conversation this whole time.

"I --" I hesitated. I had no idea what I was ready to confess. "I don't know. What ... what do you feel able to tell them?"

"I don't know. Maybe Carlisle or Edward could..." she trailed off, still gazing unseeingly out the window. I spared a glance at her reflection in the glass. Her face was blank, devoid of the emotions I could feel so plainly inside of her. I wondered why she expended the effort to hide her feelings when she knew I could discern them as plainly as if she proclaimed them aloud. With a stab of guilt and horror it occurred to me that this outward show of composure might be the only way she was holding herself together, the only way she was keeping her grip on rationality and functionality. Pretend you weren't falling to pieces, and maybe you wouldn't.

"Maybe that would be best," I conceded, watching her cautiously from the corner of my eye, "They'd all understand."

She finally turned to face me. Only her eyes revealed how much pain she was really in.

"It feels wrong somehow, though, doesn't it? To let them tell the story, when they didn't even know her? When they never even met her? It seems like ... like we aren't doing her memory justice or something."

I bit my lip. Yes, it did seem wrong somehow to let others tell the tale of the beautiful angel child and her tragic death. Not only did it seem ... cowardly in a way, as though I were too weak to explain myself, but Alice was exactly right. It was like hearing the story of the assassination of Martin Luther King from a textbook. There was no emotion to the tale, no vitality. Edward and Carlisle could never possibly relay how incredible Kristalene had been. How could they? Even seeing her through my eyes, even seeing my feelings, it was like watching a movie. They were not Edward's memories, not Edward's emotions.

"Maybe we should just play it by ear," I hedged, not wanting to commit myself to the telling of a story that could very well prove to be too excruciating for me, "We'll see how ... up to it we feel when we get there."

Alice nodded slowly and then turned to stare silently out the window again.

As we approached the big familiar white house a sense of comfort and homecoming washed over me. I hadn't realized how much I had missed this place until now. It was silly, perhaps, as I had lived in dozens of houses in my century and a half of existence, but the glass walls and broad porch and wide, sprawling lawn were more than just a house to me. They represented the happiest times of my life. My family, Renesmee, Alice, the sleepy little nowhere town of Forks ... this was not just a house. It was home.

I opened the Volvo's door and breathed deeply the comforting, familiar scent of the spruce trees, the pine, the moss and ferns, the damp rich soil, the almost-overpowered oaks, the wide stream yards away. It evoked a sense of belonging and contentedness in me which I had not expected, but which I was very grateful for. I realized this was the first pleasant feeling I had felt in days. It was certainly good to be home.

I opened the door for Alice and handed her the smaller carry-ons, then pulled the steamer trunk from the back. We had barely gotten to the porch before we were assaulted with hugs and pats and squeals of welcome and relief from Bella and Renesmee.

"Oh, Uncle Jasper! I'll never forgive myself for letting you go to Europe! The worst thing we encountered in Cancun was a stingray! Oh, if you had -- well, it would have been all my fault--"

"Ness, don't be ridiculous," I asserted, prying her arms from around my waist so I could look at her. She had grown in just the week or so we had been gone! She was a sixteenth of an inch taller, and her face seemed slightly more mature, older. I wondered how old she was now, physically. Twenty-one, maybe? Twenty-two?

"Alice! Jasper! I'm so glad you're both all right! If anything had happened to you--" Bella was crying -- quite literally except for the lack of actual tears -- as she nearly crushed Alice and then me. "Thank heavens! What would I have done without you?"

It took nearly five minutes for the melee to die down and for Edward and Carlisle to convince Bella and Ness that we were fine and -- Edward whispered to them as I pretended I couldn't hear -- that we could actually use our space right now. I felt guilty, but I was indebted to my brother and his mind-reading capabilities, grateful for them for once.

"Where's Jacob?" I asked, realizing that the immense dark form -- and the accompanying smell -- was not present.

"Um," Renesmee hesitated.

"He thought it best to give you some time," Edward answered, discreetly watching mine and Alice's face for any reaction, "He wasn't sure how you'd feel about ... about him." Edward added when neither Alice nor I gave any response.

I nodded. I had been worried myself how I might react to Jacob and the other Quilieute wolves. I knew they weren't really werewolves, and they had no relation to the wolf I so loathed in any case, but I also knew I was far from rational right now. I was sure Jacob had stayed away out of polite consideration, but it was probably he who benefitted most from the decision -- I didn't feel my reason or my temper could be counted upon at the moment. I would hate to kill Renesmee's new husband in a fit of blind rage. Wise of him to stay away, I thought.

Edward nodded, understanding and perhaps slightly smug. I wondered if it had been his idea to keep Jacob from the house for a while.

As Alice and I stood on the front steps awkwardly accepting assurances of gratefulness for our safety and apologies for us ever having been in danger, I felt an odd sense of panic rising within me. I just couldn't do this now. I knew they all meant well, I loved them all, but their empathy and anxiety, carefully masked by small talk, was simply too much. I was right not to agree to anything -- I just couldn't bear to talk about Kristalene now. Even here, a world away from the tiny forgotten town in the ancient woods, surrounded by people who loved me and the place I called home -- even here she was too real. The memory was still too close.

"I think I should unpack," I mumbled as I hefted the steamer trunk over my head and started up the stairs, trying not to run from the gathered family full of love and concern and pity. The bedroom Alice and I shared probably wouldn't be far enough away to be free from their sympathetic emotions, but the space and walls would be a buffer, at least. I would try to make myself be polite and reasonable and not bolt from the house like a crazed recluse.

I could feel eight pairs of eyes upon me as I nearly sprinted up the stairs and down the hall. I wasn't sure if Alice was following, and again I immediately felt guilty and weak for leaving her alone to face what I didn't have the strength to face. I set down the trunk and was turning around to force my feet back down the stairs when I heard the soft "click" of the door closing. Alice dropped her carry-ons and stood there, her arms at her sides exactly as they were when she released the luggage, her face blank again, frozen like a beautiful forlorn statue carved from the finest alabaster. I waited for half a second, not sure what she needed. Then I saw her numbness crumble, and she began to fold to the floor as though she were fainting.

I caught her in my arms before her legs hit the ground and sank to my knees, cradling her shaking body against mine. I had been worried that the pain would overcome me, flashing back over me ten-fold what I would have felt if I had not pushed it down inside. I was so selfish. I hadn't even thought what the effort of maintaining the steely facade was doing to Alice; she always seemed so cool, so collected -- maybe they were habits she had picked up from me. But now, with a painful flash of immeasurable guilt, I realized just how small she was, how fragile in a way. She wasn't meant to bear so much pain. I was used to it, physically at least. True, this emotional despair was more than I had ever experienced, but I was built for pain in its various forms; hardened from a lifetime of war and cruel deeds. But Alice -- my sweet, kind, innocent angel, Alice -- was made only for light, only for happiness. I wished frantically that I could take her pain on myself, even if it killed me, even if it drove me mad. Alice should never have to suffer this way.

I rocked her in my arms, back and forth, as she shook again with silent, tearless sobs. It took me a long while to notice that I was crying, too. All the pain, all the loss, all the beautiful dreams for a full, sunny future that had been ripped to bloody shreds, all the tortuous desperation to ease Alice's suffering -- all of it crashed over me like a thousand waves of icy, steely, water, one on top of the other, stabbing into my lungs and throat and stomach and heart with every cubic inch, crushing me with their unendurable weight. I found myself again thankful for Edward's abilities so he could know to inform the others that we needed our solitude now, needed to be alone to grieve in private. I needed time to collect myself, to make myself be strong for Alice. I wanted more than anything -- more than my own sanity -- to help her, to take away her pain, even to ease it the slightest modicum of a fraction. And I couldn't help her while I was wallowing in this sea of despair. It wasn't for any outward appearances, not for any masculine pride or self-respect that I pulled myself together. I couldn't have cared less in that moment what anyone thought of me. It was purely for Alice -- purely for the fathomless depths of torment I felt overwhelming her body, purely for the racking sobs and agonized breaths that grated against my heart and made me want to fling myself in front of a train to stop the pain -- purely for her that I was able to stop, able to compose, able to come back. I took slow, deep breaths, pushing the memories to the back of my damnably spacious, unforgetting mind. They would hurt me later -- unbearably so -- but I locked them away tightly, trying to recall how I had achieved that wondrous numbness days ago. It took some time and great effort, but after several long minutes I was able to feel no pain but Alice's, no despair but hers. Mine was locked away, clamoring to escape and threatening to overwhelm me when it did, but it was secure for now. Alice's grief was all I felt, and it was enough.

I wasn't sure how long we sat on the cream carpet, rocking back and forth, as I tried to console and comfort the angel that was my world. Hours, certainly. It wasn't until the dull gray light out the window began to turn a rosy pink that I even thought to notice the passing of time. I hugged Alice's prostrate form to my chest and kissed her hair.

"I love you," I whispered, "We'll be all right. As long as I have you, I can get through this. And I'll help you get through it, too."

She wasn't crying anymore, though her eyes were still agonized and her face was still pained. She nodded slowly into my shoulder and stretched her neck to kiss mine, just under the scar made by her lifesaving bite. She pressed her head into my chest and we sat there, still rocking, as I stroked her hair and we tried to conceive of the future we would now have. One day at a time, we would live. One day we'd be able to talk about the angel child, to remember her mostly with happiness, with nostalgia and joy. One day the very thought of her name would not bring icy stabs of pain and knock the breath from our bodies. One day she would be a bright memory, golden and unstained by the darkness of the tragedy. One day.

"When do you think it will be?" Alice asked, seeming, as she so often did, to read my mind, "When do you think we'll finally be able to think about her without ... without all of this?" She gestured to our bodies tangled on the floor of our room with that exquisite grace that only Alice could possess.

"I don't know," I answered, looking at the window at the deepening pink of the setting sun. "Can you see?"

"Not yet," she murmured, "We can't decide to be healed."

"No," I conceded, wishing with all my heart that we could, at least for Alice's sake. If there were anything in the world I could do to spare her this process, I would. But what could ease her suffering? What could numb her pain without simply postponing the inevitable heartbreak? I was risking quite a lot locking away my own devastation so I could comfort her -- I would not risk it with Alice.

Muted laughter filtered up to us from the living room. I could hear Jacob's deep animated voice, though I couldn't make out the words. They must be trying to be considerate, I thought. I usually had no trouble hearing conversations on the first floor. I heard Renesmee's sweet soprano cut in and I heard the muffled ringing of Carlisle, Esme, Rosalie, Bella, and Edward's laughter, combined with the less subtle booming of Emmett's guffaw. I suddenly felt a sense of peace that I had not looked for, a hope that I had not expected. No, not suddenly, I realized. It had been there, all along, I had just buried it under my despair. It swelled within me now and I clung to it gratefully. Alice and I were not alone in this. My family may not truly understand our pain, but they loved us. I didn't know if I had ever truly grasped how incredible a gift that was. My family loved me. And they would do everything in their power to help me get through this bleakest of times. As desperately as I was wishing I could take away Alice's pain, they were wishing they could take away mine. They would do everything they could for us. They loved us and we were family.

"Shall we go see what all the fuss is about?" I asked softly, scrutinizing Alice's face for her reaction. Despite her sorrow, the thought of being surrounded by those we loved and who loved us in return, surrounded by happiness and laughter instead of despair and tears, seem to ease her pain the slightest bit. I suppressed my groan of relief and stood quickly, lifting Alice to her feet as I rose, "I'd like to hear about the honeymoon," I added.

"Yes, so would I," she agreed, retracting her tiny doll-like hands from mine. She dusted off her designer blouse before running her fingers through her ebony hair to re-spike the short locks where my stroking had flattened them. Despite everything, I couldn't suppress the hint of a grin. The action felt unnatural, my lips and cheeks unused to the expression after so many days of grief.

"You are beautiful, my love, no matter what happens to your hair."

Alice returned my half-smile with some effort and stretched up on her tip-toes to kiss me.

"A girls does what she can," she quipped half-heartedly. I knew she was still in pain, as was I, but I knew she felt the hope, too. It was black and dark where we were now, but we could glimpse the light ahead. The dawn was not so far away. I bent my head back down, wrapping my arm around her tiny waist and pulling her up so her lips met mine. I kissed her long and deep, pouring all my love, all my undying devotion, all my hopes and desires for our future into the kiss, trying to convey to her how very much she meant to me, and how very much I needed her, and how very much I would do for her if I could. Her arms wrapped around my neck and we melted into each other, one love, one hope. My Alice. My love. My angel.