A/N: So grateful for all your wonderful thoughts. Busy days make me a shitty responder, but I truly, truly love them. (And you guys).

Betad by the lovely Michelle Renker Rhodes. (Though all remaining mistakes are mine).

Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest is all mine.

Chapter 26 - The Woman Who Rarely Cries

Renee and Charlie Swan's backyard is small but well-maintained, much like the rest of what I've seen of the house. Various types of bushes and shrubbery line both the back of the house and the fence, which divides the Swan property from the neighbors. While the shrubbery doesn't appear professionally landscaped, it's obvious that someone spends his or her time gardening before everything grows too wild. Gray, stone pavers make up a patio only large enough for a basic barbecue grill, a six-seater round table, and a southwestern-style clay chimenea, which sits off to the side. The pavers taper off into a pathway over the grass and lead right to a tree a few feet away.

It's to the tree which Bella now leads me, her hand wrapped around mine. Moving closer, I see it's surrounded by a variety of flowers circling its stout trunk. We stop right under it, hidden from the sliver of evening moon by bluish, shaggy palms.

And I now know why we're here.

"It's a Blue Palm," she murmurs, "which means strong and hardy. We planted it right…afterward. It was my mom's idea - a reminder that life goes on. She named it the Anthony Tree."

My throat constricts too tightly to speak.

"She added the flowers – petunias, marigolds, sunflowers, and violets, while I was at school in Paris. She sent me pictures, and I thought they were a very pretty touch."

During the ensuing silence, we hear a bird chirping a quiet song from the tree. I find myself wondering if it's built a nest…a family...within.

"When Nessie was a little girl, we used to drive down every couple of years to visit my parents, and she would run out here as soon as we'd arrive to see how big the "Anthony Tree" had grown. Then she'd ask Grandpa to help her climb it. As she got older, she'd come sit under it and read a book or listen to music. She never knew who it was named for; I suppose she just assumed that was the tree's name – you know, like the Joshua Trees after which U2 named its album," she chuckles. "Funny, she hasn't asked about the tree since she was like…thirteen. I guess she's forgotten. And I guess…she'd old enough to be told who the tree is really named after."

"I would've wanted to be here when it was planted. I should've been here. I should've…"

"You should've had everything to do with it. You could've helped us pick out the tree. You could've picked out your own flowers."

"I would've brought him a basketball," I say, recalling the early morning dream.

"A basketball?"

A heady mixture of sorrow, fury, and guilt rolls around inside me and makes it impossible for me to respond without saying something I might regret. Bella must sense it because she doesn't push for an explanation.

"A basketball would've been a good choice. You could've brought him a basketball, and then you could've come back to the tree ten years later, like I did, and cried at how big it had grown while you'd been away. At that point, maybe you would've been able to smile and make your peace with it until another boy, who looked exactly like you would've imagined him, showed up in your life. Then you would've had to make your peace with it all over again."

As I stare at the tree memorializing our son, my chest heaves with the effort to breathe. My nostrils flare with the effort not to yell into the quiet of the night.

"I know this is only your first time trying to make peace with this whole situation, and I know it's going to take time." She turns her eyes my way. "Edward, you told me yesterday that you can't forget the past so easily. And you're right, we don't forget it. But we can build on it if we want to badly enough. And now…I'll give you some time."

She squeezes my hand and brushes her lips against my arm before walking away.

For more than a few minutes, I stand there stiffly, having no idea what to do or say. He was and never was. He was a million possibilities with no end result.

"What can I say when I have no idea who you would've been? I…dreamed of you last night, but that was just a dream – what I would've wanted but by no means what would've been." I draw in a deep breath. "But you would've been a part of her and a part of me, and that would've been enough."

I drop to my knees, and suddenly, the rest pours out in tears and smiles.

"I know you know you have a sister. But you have a brother too. His name is…Anthony - like you. Now I don't know how much like you he actually is," I grin, "but I'm sure there would've been similarities. He likes cars, and swimming, and he's got a great business mind – but with a mom like yours, I'm sure you would've as well."

The next hour or so is spent in conversation with a boy I never met, yet I talk to him about everything, and by the time I'm done, I'm…relieved. And although I won't say I've made my peace, I see it on the horizon.

I lay my palm over the stout trunk. "All right, Anthony. I'll bring your brother soon so that you can meet him. Or maybe…maybe your mom and I can have our own Anthony tree in our own backyard soon, and then you can meet your brother and sister there. I love you...son." I smile shakily before getting to my feet.

OOOOOOOOOO

When I approach the house, I hear voices from the kitchen - alongside the trusty baseball game still being aired further inside. At first, I have no intention of listening, but when I hear Bella's voice, I stand stock still behind the bush to the side of the screen door. By the time I realize the topic, I'm stuck where I am.

"Good Lord, Mom, are you kidding me?" Bella chuckles, but there's absolutely no humor in her voice. "He got me pregnant? You make it sound as if I'd been standing there minding my own business when it happened - a drive-by impregnation."

"Bella!"

"Seriously, I know you're from a different period, but things have worked more or less the same way since the beginning of time. It's always taken two to tango."

"Ugh, spare me the visuals, thank you very much."

"Visuals of what," Bella snorts, "a visual of Edward and me dancing across a crowded ballroom - maybe of him dipping me while I hold a red rose between my teeth, and Julio Iglesias croons in the background? Anything you may visualize beyond that is totally on you."

"Jesus Christ, will you stop?"

My admittedly smart-mouthed girlfriend snickers. "All I'm asking is why you never told me that Edward came looking for me. Just answer that for now."

"I won't apologize, Bella," Renee maintains. "You're my daughter, and it was and is my job to protect you. Now that boy was no good for you."

A long and exasperated sigh erupts from Bella. "Look, I know it's hard to…accept when, as parents, it's time to stand back and allow our children to make their own decisions. Trust me, I know. But whether Edward was good for me or not wasn't your call. You had no right to lie by telling him I was going to Paris."

A heavy silence descends between both women. Meanwhile, from somewhere in the living room, the bottom of the ninth inning really revs up on that TV. "And now the Diamondbacks are down by two!"

"Damn it!" Bella's father shouts. "Darn Dodgers!"

"When the hell did I ever tell him that?"

"The day I flew to Seattle to tell him about…the pregnancy. He called me that day, and you told him I couldn't come to the phone because I was busy with paperwork for AUP."

"I don't remember telling him that," Renee muses.

"Mom..." By this point, Bella sounds about ready to wrap her hands around her mother's neck. "He wouldn't lie about something like that."

"I'm not saying I didn't say it," Renee clarifies. "I'm just saying I don't remember saying it. And even if I did, Jesus Christ, seriously? He took that to heart?"

"It was a big deal, Mom. We were kids, and the distance was already killing us, and he was…afraid of losing me if I went to Paris-"

"Then he was a goddamned, selfish coward is what he was. He was a coward then, and he's a coward now if he's trying to blame me for everything that happened."

"He's not blaming you for anything, and frankly, that's part of the problem here. He's taking all of the responsibility when we - you and me - bear some of the blame as well."

"You bear no blame, Bella. You had a miscarriage because that boy-"

"I had a miscarriage because my cervix sucks. And yes, I hated him after that." Her voice quivers. "I blamed him because it was easier to blame him than to acknowledge the fact that it would've all happened anyway. And I made the decision not to tell him, and you decided, when he showed up looking for me, to continue that deception. So how is he to blame when he didn't even know?"

"Would you have gone to Paris had he known?"

"Honestly, I think I would have," Bella says, "and I've told him that. But at least he wouldn't be beginning to come to terms with something that happened twenty-five years ago just now. What would've happened after that, I have no idea."

"And what about Sam? You loved him, Bella. Don't tell me now that you didn't love him just because this...man is back in the picture. I know you loved him, and you and he had a wonderful life and a beautiful daughter together."

"I will never ever regret Sam, nor will I ever downplay what I felt for him. And Edward has never asked me to do so."

"He better not," Renee snaps. "Edward treated you horribly after he went off to college. Do you think I didn't notice it? Bella…sweetie…I know you're probably lonely without your husband, but don't try to replace him with-"

"I swear to God, Mom, if you finish that sentence, I will walk right out of here and never walk back in."

Renee is silent.

When Bella continues, she's clearly seething.

"One man has nothing to do with the other, but I'm not going to sit here and try to make you understand. I'm forty-two years old, not seventeen."

"That doesn't stop you from being my daughter."

"No, it doesn't. I'll always be your daughter, but in the past few weeks, I've come to realize that we as parents don't always know what we're doing. I didn't come for your blessing, Mom. I came to share Anthony's Tree with Edward, and when he comes back in, we'll be on our way."

Despite the argument, I hear the sound of a kiss being bestowed before a chair scrapes over the floor. The footfalls which follow pause somewhere in the middle of the kitchen.

"Mom, I do hope that someday you'll trust me enough to see that the boy you're comparing that man to no longer exists."

Her footsteps continue out of the kitchen and into the living room, where Charlie announces to his daughter that the Diamondbacks have lost the game.

For a few minutes, there is no sound from the kitchen. Just as I'm about to make my way in, Renee appears at the screen door. She stands there for a long while, staring out into the darkness. Then she opens the door and turns to flip a light switch, which illuminates the patio in a faint light. With a sigh, she picks up a watering can and a canvas bag full of gardening tools that are resting by the door before walking toward the tree. I watch her set down the bag and water the flowers around the perimeter, kneeling when she's done and pulling out her tools.

She doesn't acknowledge me immediately; although, she knows I'm behind her.

"Did she tell you what kind of flowers they are?"

"Yes, ma'am, she did."

"They're very delicate flowers." She carefully plucks a few leaves which have dried out. They dissolve into minuscule pieces and disappear into the soil. "They need lots of care – especially the violets, believe it or not. Violets appear hardy, and they're usually pretty self-sufficient, but when they're out of their native environment…they belong in Washington, you know, where the weather is cooler. I have to be very careful with them so that they don't wither."

"Thank you…for taking such good care of them."

She doesn't answer.

"As a father myself, I can understand why you hate me."

"I don't hate you, Edward," she chuckles. "I don't trust you, but I don't hate you."

"Either way, you're right. I was a coward back then - which is why another man earned the privilege of calling her his wife and the mother of his child."

She keeps her attention on the flowers, loosening the soil with a small rake and using the hand shovel to move it around.

"My daughter…is a very strong woman. She always has been. Even as a child, she had this innate…self-control. She kept her feelings to herself. Rarely cried. Those months after we moved here and you went off to college were hard for her. She was terrified, but she would never admit it, not even to me. Sometimes, she'd get off the phone with you, and I could see her practically vibrating with happiness. Other times, she'd get off the phone, and God, I wanted to fly over to Seattle and wring your neck."

"I would've deserved it."

"Here, help me with this."

When I kneel next to her, she hands me the rake. "We're going to loosen the soil."

"Yes, ma'am."

For the next few minutes, we're focused on our tasks. My job is to loosen and turn the soil, and then her job is to carefully water it. The moon is only a sliver tonight, and the patio light doesn't add much illumination, but she seems to know her way around the garden instinctively. I imagine she's spent a lot of time out here...under the tree...Anthony's Tree.

"I never suspected she was pregnant. She was too smart to be one of those girls; that's what I always told myself. You were a teenage crush, and she'd eventually tire of you, go to Paris, and that would be that."

She claps her hands together to get the dirt off of them, but it's also a gesture demonstrating how easily she thought I'd be out of the picture - like the dirt on her hands.

"We were more than a teenage crush, Renee."

She continues without acknowledgment. "One night, we received a phone call from Seattle General, telling us they'd admitted our seventeen-year-old daughter after she'd suffered a miscarriage on a flight from Seattle to Phoenix. The plane had to make an emergency return to Sea-Tac because she wouldn't stop screaming. My daughter, who never cried in front of me, couldn't stop screaming in front of a bunch of strangers."

"Jesus," I breathe, dropping the rake and swallowing back the bile in my throat, blinking back the sting in my eyes.

"That was both the most shocking and terrifying moment of my life."

"Renee, if I could go back…if I could choose one moment in my life to rewind…"

"Well, life doesn't work that way, does it? We can't hit rewind; we can only press play. Careful, careful! Don't hit the roots! We make mistakes, all of us. And I guess there comes a point where we have to leave them behind, not just our mistakes…but those of others as well."

I nod slowly. "I suppose we do."

"Well, most young girls would've shrunk into themselves after something like that, wouldn't they? But not my Bella. Bella's inner strength shone through even more. Despite the...terror she now had of flying, she got herself on that plane to Paris, and she prospered over there, even if…even if she now had this need to…control every aspect of her life. But then she met Sam, and Sam kept her happy; he indulged her."

"Then I'm glad she had him to take care of her."

I assume we're done because Renee pats the soil around the flowers with the back of the hand shovel. Then she lifts her gaze to me, waiting for me to meet her eyes.

"He was a wonderful husband, and she loved him. But…she's always been so self-sufficient, so independent – never allowing anyone, not even her husband, to help her, to completely take care of her. And now…now she's putting her business in your hands, allowing you to escort her across the country, and trusting your son with her precious daughter."

I'm surprised but pleased to know that Bella told her mother about Nessie and Anthony. We don't need any more secrets.

"Renee, I love Bella more than life itself. I always have; although, I didn't know how to do it right the first time. Now I've learned, and she and my son are everything to me, and I'll spend the rest of my life making sure she never feels the need for all that control again."

She holds my gaze for a long while, and when she turns away and to the flowers, the faint moonlight cuts through Anthony's Tree's palms and illuminates her slight smile.

"He would've been my grandson."

"He was my son. And I'll apologize to you now, from the bottom of my heart, for hurting your daughter, but I won't apologize for things which were beyond my control…or for being Anthony's father."

Her features are unreadable, and in that moment, I see what Bella inherited from her mother: her strength definitely, and maybe…maybe compassion as well.

"And I'll apologize for not telling you about...Anthony when you showed up that day, but I won't apologize for being Bella's mother. Now help me up. It's getting late, and you two should get going so you can get a good night's rest before that long, damn drive tomorrow."

OOOOOOOOOO

Our side trip to Phoenix cost us a deviation from our planned route. So the next morning, we drive east into New Mexico where we'll head north into Colorado and then back on course. I take the first few hours of driving, but then Bella is eager to get behind the wheel again, and how can I refuse when it's such a gorgeous sight? The flat, arid highway, with its pale yellow dry bushes and muted green tumbleweed stumbling over the faded road serve as a perfect backdrop for Bella in all her glory. She's literally color in a desert-land.

"I'm gettin' my kicks on Route 66!"

My hand creeps in between her legs, and I stroke her softly. "If I recall correctly, you got your kicks real good last night."

She smirks at the windshield. "Were you always this horny?"

"With you? Oh yeah."

We drive along for a while, and although I keep my hand on her thigh, I'm only absently stroking because I'm still lost in thoughts of the past few days. So when Bella suddenly makes a sharp turn and pulls onto the shoulder, the car's tires screeching in protest, my first thought is that she's run something over.

She puts the car on park, and I quickly scan the perimeter before wrapping my hands around her face.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

"You can yell at me, you know."

"What?"

"You can yell, Edward. You can get mad at me. I was mad at you for a long time."

I drop my hands and pull away, shaking my head and resting a palm over my racing heart.

"Jesus, Bella, you almost gave me a fucking..." Then I chuckle. "I don't want to yell at you, Bella."

"Why not? Edward..." she begins sobbing quietly, the woman who rarely cries. "I fucked up. I kept it all from you, and...I closed off one of your choices. I'm not saying things would've happened differently had you known or even that we would've wanted them differently. The paths we took gave us our children. But I didn't give you a choice. I chose your path for you."

For a long while, we sit there on the shoulder of the highway staring at one another. The New Mexico sun glares over us. A few cars pass back and forth, some honking. Her tears finally subside.

I draw in a deep breath and rest my arm on the open window frame. "You did fuck up. You should've told me. Everything else, I understand…and I deserve, but you should've told me."

"Then yell at me, damn it. Get mad. Get it all off your chest." She waves her hands around wildly. "I had years to do so, and I know I'm being a selfish bitch, but I don't want to wake up next to you a year or two down the line, and suddenly, you're pissed off at me. Get pissed off at me now."

"Bella, you're not being selfish, you're being egotistical," I grin.

"What?"

All the vehemence in her voice disappears with the confusion apparent in that one, small word. Yet her chest still heaves, and the fiery fire still dances in her eyes. She's a strong woman, indeed.

"You didn't determine my future, Bella. And as much as I understand your need for control, you don't control everyone's paths."

"But..." She frowns.

"Besides, I've moved past my need to yell at you."

"How can you move past that?" she asks indignantly. "How can you just skip that step? I couldn't skip that step."

I pick up her hand and knit our fingers together. "You were seventeen years old when all that happened. You held it against me, but you were young. I'm forty-four, Bella, and I'm past playing games of blame and recrimination. What's more...although you had Sam afterward, Sam was not our Anthony's father. I'm sure he loved you immeasurably, but he wasn't the father. You…" I cradle her jaw, stroking her quivering bottom lip with my thumb, "you are the mother of my son, of the son we once created and lost. And that's a bond that was never broken. Now I have you to understand me and to understand what that feels like. So I'm already ahead of where you were back then."

She throws her arms around me, burrowing her face deep into the crook of my neck, and kissing me hard. When she pulls away, the woman who rarely cries has tears in her eyes once more - but she's smiling.

"I know why you haven't let me say it."

"Do you?" I smirk, quirking a brow. "Because I'm not so clear on that myself anymore."

"It's because I never stopped either, Edward, and you were waiting for me to admit that."

Now I'm the one sucking in a sharp breath because fuck, she's right.

"And until this moment, I haven't been ready to admit that because admitting it would've felt like a betrayal to Sam. But it's not a betrayal. He and I were real, but you and I weren't finished. It's like…" she looks away, her brow furrowed in focus before another smile graces her beautiful face, and she returns her eyes to me. "It's like when you pause a movie because it's getting too hard to watch, and some parts of the movie are just hurting your heart too much. But just because it's paused doesn't mean that the movie goes away. It's there waiting for you to return to it. Maybe you move on to another movie that's also good but easier to watch, and for a while, you push that first movie out of your head. Yet when the second movie finishes, you realize that the other movie…the first one has been on pause all this time, and you've never really forgotten it. You realize that now, you're ready to go back to that first one, to brave those hard parts because that first movie was just so damn good, and you can't bear to not see it through to the end. And when you press play on it...it becomes everything."

I crush her against me then, kissing her eyes, her cheeks, and her nose until I find her sweet, smart, and delicious mouth and kiss the hell out of it. When she's out of breath, I pull away and grin.

"So what you're saying is I'm a good movie."

Her eyes sparkle. "Pay attention: you're a damn good movie."

I laugh at her, shaking my head. "Get up, and let me drive for a bit. I'm suddenly full of energy, and I've got to release it behind the wheel - at least until we find another hotel."

She chuckles and opens her door, walking toward the passenger side. We meet in front of the hood, and she presses herself against my chest, lifting herself up on her toes to meet my eyes.

"In case that weird analogy wasn't clear enough, I love you, Edward."

The grin that spreads across my face is as wide as can be.

"And now we'll always remember that I pulled over on a nondescript, nothing section of New Mexico's old Route 66 to tell you that."

"A non-moment," I laugh.

"Exactly."

Leaning in, I press my lips softly to hers. "Guess what?" I murmur against her mouth.

"What?" she breathes dreamily.

"It sure as hell didn't feel like a non-moment to me."

A/N: Thoughts?

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