In the Debris

Dirt

Victoria

The message ends, his voice gone, and the snowplow's rumble returns, farther down our street now. The snow itself has turned to rain. That fast. Everything changes.

In a flannel nightgown, fuzzy slippers, and pillow-smooshed hair, Aunt Cheri comes into my room. I called to her just after listening to Peter's message. I'm in my pajamas also, and haven't even brushed my teeth. I'm prepared to tell her everything. How I know where to find my mom, how she'll lead me to my dad. But at the first mention of my plans to find my mom, she starts shaking her head.

"Why not?"

"I've been protecting you from this your whole life, Victoria. Our hearts are tender enough without family members trying to rip them to shreds. I won't let you get crushed."

"Crushed how?"

"I told your mom years ago, when she gave me that letter and that dress that unless she could commit to being a constant in your life, she needed to stay out of it. No in and out privileges."

"But this is my choice."

"And you're my responsibility. It's my job to protect you." They start as a shine in the corner of her eyes, and with a blink they roll down her cheeks.

"Auntie?"

"I know you're growing up. You're an adult now, for god's sake. But I can't let her hurt you, and she will."

"How do you know?"

"I know what it feels like. And I'm her sister. Not her daughter. You only have a taste of how it feels. Just a taste. The way you feel about your mother now, that's all it is. A taste."

She wrestles the phone from my hand. I didn't realize how hard I'd been squeezing it. In actuality, I hadn't even realized I was still holding it. She sets it on my desk and then, taking my hands, she sits us both down on my bed, hip to hip.

I ask her what my mom has done to her. She pulls all my hair off my neck and plays with it, twisting it the way I do sometimes, as she answers.

"She had money problems. You moved around a lot. Do you remember that?"

"Sort of."

She scoots just far enough away so we can face each other. "Well, she'd write to me every-so-often asking for money, said she hated asking but she had to get bills paid, she couldn't lose electricity, or another apartment. I'd send it. Of course I would. There was you to consider. She'd write back, the most grateful person ever. I was the best sister, she told me. There was no better sister. She promised visits. Promising. Always promising. She couldn't even come to our mother's funeral. I sent her the money for the trip. She couldn't even come to my wedding. I didn't bother sending her the money that time. But on the phone, or in her letters, or the occasional face to face when I went to visit her, she was as sweet as pie. She was full of healthy smiles and hugs, and she jumped up and down when she saw me. You'll go and see her, Victoria, and she'll make you feel like the most important person on the planet, until you're out of sight. Do you remember that last visit you had with her? In the rehab? We told you it was a hospital. Do you remember that? You were seven."

It's the smiles I remember, the chipped tooth, the glistening eyes, the tight-squeezing never-let-go hugs that rocked me back and forth, that pulled me to the floor where she laughed and kissed my face and called me beautiful. Her beautiful autumn day.

I feel tears piercing at me now, just remembering it. I nod.

"Do you remember when we got home?"

I try to remember but I don't.

"You waited by the phone for six days. You ate your meals next to it. You slept wrapped up in blankets on the couch with the phone, cord stretched, to the coffee table. We tried to get you away from that phone but you would scream. She never called like she promised she would. Do you remember?"

I shake my head, and I know that tears on my face are falling as fast as my aunt's. She wipes mine, not hers.

"I tried to call her, but she wouldn't accept them. One night, while you slept, I came to take the phone away. You had left that book open that you used to draw in. I saw that poem you wrote about the mother who ate her baby. You named the baby Autumn. You wrote that the baby was happier inside her mommy's tummy. I knew the baby was you and the mother was Char. A seven year old thinking that way, that it was better never to have been born. Nothing in my entire life has broken my heart the way that poem did."

"I remember that poem. I still have it. I just didn't remember why I wrote it."

"That was when I knew you were a poet. I recognized you had a future, sweetheart, and it could be a future chasing your mother, or a future that could build you into someone wonderful. Who you are now." She smiles through tears and draws the backs of her fingers down my face. She lifts my chin. "You've become the beautiful woman I knew you could be."

.

Today's rain has washed most of the snow away in our neighborhood. There are little patches of it that survived, here and there, all of them dirty-brown. The air's scent is as fresh as the wind is cold. My aunt's garden flowers are all dormant or dead. They won't be back to life for a couple more months. A green vine chases itself, the way a dog might chase his tail, in spirals over the trellis. You can't get anywhere out here without walking the stone path under this trellis. It's my aunt's favorite part of our yard.

James finds me out back, sitting on the wooden swing my uncle sanded and hung from a tree when I was little. I'm here, pushing myself back and forth with my toes, thinking about what Peter said, what my aunt said, and what it all means for me.

"Mud said you were out here."

He's got his hood up, which means nothing now, other than that he's trying to keep warm. I drop my hood. I smile. "Hi."

"Your aunt's not home? It's just you and him?" He looks to the right, toward the kitchen window. I'm sure I spot a glare in his eyes.

"She's at work. He's inside. It's just me out here. And you."

James squats down, takes hold of the ropes with each hand, and steadies the swing. "Time to tell me what Peter said."

I tell him that the reason Peter took so long getting back to me is that he was trying to track Maggie down. He found her address on the back of an envelope, but not her last name. He also gave me the name and location of the retreat my mom had mentioned to him, where she likely still is. In the Sonoma hills. Wine country.

"Where's Maggie?"

"A small town outside of Mendocino."

He asks me what I want to do, and I tell him I want it to be just me and him, my aunt can't know.

"Me and you what?"

"Driving," I say, short, as if he should already know. "Driving to Sonoma."

"Why don't you want your aunt to know?"

I give James a condensed version of what my aunt talked to me about.

"She thinks my dad's a low-life, too. She thinks he'll do nothing but hurt me. I want to be able to come home and be like: 'Look, Aunt Cheri, you were mistaken, he's really this great guy.' But if I can't do that, then I want to be able to come home without her ever knowing anything different. Without her knowing that I'm, well, whatever I'll be feeling."

Fingers on my face, eyes inline with mine. "What will you feel? If this doesn't..."

"I don't know. I know this is like playing with fire, James. I'm not stupid. So maybe I'll feel, like... burned."

He nods, his face dropping a little, his hand still against my cheek. His fingers caress. "Hey, I'm here." His fingers brush a little firmer. "If you want to stop or keep going, I'll be what you need. And if it comes to that, I'll be your burn cream." He lifts his closed lips in a weak smile.

His comment about being my burn cream makes me laugh which turns his smile real.

My arms wrap around his neck and his wrap my waist. I'm barely even on the swing anymore. "I hope we find what you're looking for."

I'm compelled to tell him I love him. But I don't know if either of us are ready to get into it again. And what if... what if he acts like he did before? Like the time isn't right. But I have to say something. And maybe he'll catch on. Maybe he'll understand me.

"There's a boy and girl who fell in love in the eye of a tornado."

His hand moves over my back. "What happens to them?"

"I don't know yet." I cling tight. He clings tighter. He understands. He's giving it back.

.

When my next work day is over I tell Mr. Alistair I need some time off. James and I decided we're going to use the school ski trip in a couple of weeks as our excuse to get away. "I'm going to California."

He asks me what's in California.

"My mom," I say. "Peter gave me an address."

"Just a minute. Just hold on a minute." He goes into the back, I suppose to his office, and returns unfolding a map. "Do you have the address with you?"

He pulls a highlighter out of his back pocket as I bring up the address on my phone. I show it to him and he looks over the map, his nose leading the way.

"Here," he says. "This is the best route." He's highlighting lines on the map. "This is what you have to do." He folds the map up and hands it over to me. "Don't think I'm some old fogie who doesn't keep up with the times. I know all about the GPS. Unreliable."

I slide the map into my bag.

"You come back, you hear? Don't disappear the way your mom did."

"Never," I say. "I'm not her."

"Well you just - you never say never. But for now." He nods at me.

I'm staring at him - we're staring at each other - when it occurs to me slowly, the way a floating leaf might land in my lap, who this man, this baker, this pastry shop owner, my boss, could be. I can let the leaf sit there in my lap or I can pick it up. "Did you know I don't know who my dad is?"

And now it's like there are several leaves falling all around me, covering me up. They know I want to hide. But I don't hide. I watch him closely.

"I don't believe you've ever mentioned your-" His eyes widen for a split second. If I hadn't been searching his face, I'd have missed it. "Are you implying-"

"I don't know what I'm implying. But I know, I mean, I think it might not be so bad if - No, we'll just wait and see. I'm going to find out."

He gives me a single nod, and it takes him awhile to turn away from me. When he does he looks out at the shop.

"Would you look at that," he says, eyes narrowing. "Somebody tracked mud in here. It's still wet. Such a danger."

"I'll mop it up before I go."

Edward

My father's staying true to his word. It's been a week since I last found cash on the kitchen counter. The first few days I checked out of habit, but I've come to the point where I don't even look for it anymore. My wallet is only a few twenties short of being empty.

Max is happy that I'm back in the house. He comes into my room every night before he goes to bed. He could've done this even when I lived out in the pool house, but maybe he didn't know that. There must've been something in him making him think that as I was isolating myself from my father and Esme, I was also isolating myself from him. I should've made sure he knew that wasn't the case. Some things that you think never have to be said, just do.

I haven't told Isabella about what went down with my father. How do you tell the person you love that she's part of some fucked up experiment, an experiment your father expects you to fail? My father has already slapped her in the face with our money. And now I'm supposed to do it, too? I can already see the look on her face: the tilted head, the pursed lips, hurt eyes, and then the back of her. Walking away.

She wants the money not to matter. I want the money not to matter. And it doesn't. But my father, he's making it matter; he's giving it the power to run us down. It's in my mind now more than ever before. And I don't even have it. So how do I tell her without hurting her feelings? And if I do tell her, how can I be sure that she won't walk away?

I've been feeling a lot like I did back before I told her I loved her, except for now, instead of feeling like she's just out of reach, it's like she's barely in my grasp.

Even when she's smiling, kissing me, even when she's holding on to my arm like she never wants to let go, I can feel how slippery she is. I haven't tied her to me; nobody can tie a person to him. But she's tied herself to me, and she can just as easily untie herself.

And what will I be left with? A string with nothing at the end of it.

I've been running like mad every day just to blow off steam. At school, on the field, I run so hard Coach Stevens pulls me aside in the locker room after gym to tell me they can use someone like me on the track team.

Newton comes up next to us laughing. I know he's on the team, considered the fastest.

"You could blow Newton outta the water," Coach says, shutting Newton up.

I tell both of them I don't think so.

"I wasn't running my hardest out there," Newton says.

"Don't matter. I've clocked you plenty." Coach adjusts the cap on his balding head, looking years younger when the hat's back in place. "That's too fast an answer," he says to me. "Never make such a fast decision. It's dumb. And I haven't asked you yet. You just think about it. I'll ask you on Monday. Then you'll give me your answer."

.

Throughout English Newton's glare on me is hard to miss, and in the hallways, too. Sick of it, I throw a smile at him and flip him off.

After school I head toward the gym to meet Isabella.

I don't see her in the crowd yet. They're all headed toward the parking lot, except for Newton. He's coming straight at me.

"Hey, Cullen, you gonna run, or what?"

"I might," I say to mess with him.

He stops in front of me, crossing his arms over his chest. "I've been training four years for this. I hold the record."

"Cool."

"One hard run in gym doesn't change that."

"No." I glance over his head out toward the woods. "But one hard run at a meet will."

I see him clamp his teeth down, his eyes going slitty. He's pissed. It makes me laugh.

"You're still with Isabella, huh?"

"What's it to you?" I work hard at keeping aloof. I won't let him think he's getting to me.

"Kinda long for you and one chick, isn't it?" The attitude he's giving me has me noticing how much shorter he is than I am.

"You know me?"

"Just surprised you're not bored of her yet is all."

I shake my head, eyes threatening him to stop.

"Must be some lay."

I get in his face. "I'm not doing this with you." I back up an inch. "All right?"

I walk away from him, opposite the gym. Isabella will just have to find me. I'm already starting to rage. Mike's better off letting me go.

But the asshole's following me.

"It's her neck, isn't it? Pay a little attention to it and it makes everything easy, doesn't it?"

My eyes bore holes into the ground. Craters. My jaw clenches. One more word, Newton. One more.

"She still bite her lip 'til it bleeds when she comes?"

I turn and throw my fist. It lands at the side of his head. I don't even feel it. "Is this what you want?"

He pushes me off, and I come at him again. My thoughts rage from my mouth, spit following. "Don't talk about Isabella. Don't ever fucking talk about her!" I lunge for him and he dodges. Nothing's stopping me until I land another punch.

"Edward! Stop!" Except that. I turn at the sound of Isabella's voice. Newton clocks me in the jaw.

"Stop it! Both of you!"

I slam my fist into Mike's gut before I feel any pain in my face. He topples over with a grunt. I give him a shove and he's on the ground.

Isabella tugs at my arm. Newton, still fetal, holding his gut, lifts his head.

"I better not even hear a rumor that you said anything about her. Hear that?" I'm pissed because he's not answering. I bend over him. "Hear it?" I'm amped, ready to go after him again. "Answer me, you fuck!"

Isabella links fingers with mine, leading me away. I turn over my shoulder. "And I'm fucking running!" I notice the blurred crowd that has gathered as Isabella tugs on me.

I'm looking straight ahead now. If I turn back, Newton's done. We don't go to the parking lot, we head toward the forest. When I bring her hand to my lips, she yanks away.

"What were you doing fighting with Mike?"

She's mad at me? Me? I get mad back.

"You and that asshole?" My head's down and I'm stomping ahead of her like some twelve year old. I'm younger than Max right now.

"What? No!"

"Wait…" I press fingers to my temple as I turn to face her. As if our height difference isn't enough, we're on a slant and the sight of her looking so tiny calms me to the point that I know I have to try to get a better hold of myself. It's hard once you're pumped up like this, an unfinished fight just footsteps behind you. I don't want to scare her, though. "You're telling me nothing went on with you and him?"

"I mean, not after you, Edward. I didn't know you then. This is about that?"

My hand falls to my side and I stare into her eyes. "No." I sigh. "You with him, though." I turn around in a circle, confused, trying to keep my footing. This is dizzying. One day I think they slept together, then I think it was nothing but rumors, and now I know it was definitely more than nothing. I'm still shaken up by adrenaline, anger pumping through my veins. "Fuck! The way he talked about you." I have to punch something, my fist rising in the air. There's nothing but trees, which would hurt me worse than I'd hurt them, or plants that would just give. There wouldn't be enough friction for my fist.

Isabella pulls on my elbow. "Sit down."

I plop on the ground beside her, giving up my search for something to punch. My arms land heavily on my raised knees.

The scent of the wet earth is as apparent as the wetness creeping up my pants. "Fucking wet ground all the time," I say, although it has nothing do with anything. I take my coat off and put it under both of us.

"What did he say that got to you so bad?" She's rubbing my arm over my shirt and if that's meant to calm me, it isn't working.

"Forget about it." I turn toward her, and she's looking back at me with an expression I can't read.

There's still a lot about Isabella that I don't know, and I've given up my life as I know it for her. For the first time, I really think about what this means. What if she isn't in this the way I am?

I have no right to be angry with her for what I've given up, though. That's nowhere near her fault. I do have to know how far in she is before I get myself in any deeper.

"What was it with you and him? You were still a virgin with me. That can't be faked."

"What did he tell you?"

"I'm not saying it. It's not worth knowing. I'll tell you this, he said enough. How far did it go?"

"Is this something we need to talk about?"

"I know too much already. You have to tell me." It sounds like begging, and it is. I'm begging her to tell me.

She shows me fingers.

"That's it? Nothing else? No… tongue or anything?"

"In my mouth?"

"You know not your mouth."

An image flashes through my mind of my mouth between her legs, and to think Mike's could have been there - I dig my fists into the ground.

"Just fingers."

Okay, that's better. That's the right start.

"And did you, you know, return the favor?"

"Edward!"

"What about the neck thing?" I push hair over her shoulder and rub my thumb along her neck under the collar of her jacket.

"What neck thing?"

"How you like when I talk on your neck. Did he do that to you?"

"Edward, what?"

"Did he?"

She shakes her head.

I look down at the ground, arms on my knees.

"That night in your room, after my mom's accident. On your bed?"

"Yeah?" I look over at her.

"Your face was. Your lips were…" She touches her neck. "Right here. Your breath. And when you talked." She closes her eyes. Her chest rises. "I know. My mom was in the hospital, and there I was being turned on by you. On accident. It's awful."

"No, it isn't."

"But that was when I knew I liked when you talked on my neck. Nobody else-"

"And with Jasper it was just-"

"Edward, don't. Nothing more than kissing with him. It didn't feel right. Because he's your friend."

I frown. "But, back then-"

"Back then, I sort of liked you already. That day under the bridge, the first time you came over. I liked you."

I look at her lips remembering that first day at her house, how I wanted to touch her bottom lip just to feel it. And now I can touch it anytime I want.

She's pulling at the tiny trees growing around her.

"Was there anyone else? From school?"

"Why are you asking me about this? What about your past?"

"You don't know any of them. It's different when you know the people."

"I know Jessica and she said-"

"Lies."

"Okay…" She brings her hand to my arm. "There have only been three guys I messed around with here, including you. Mike was before I met you and Jasper was hardly anything because of you. And, really, I wish you didn't know about Mike as it is, or even Jasper."

I can live with that. That's better than I thought.

"What about you? Anyone since we met?"

"Nobody but you."

"All these months?"

"All these months, and more. Nobody else since my mom passed away." I nod. "Just me and my hand." I smile, trying to lighten things up. Then, with my next thought I remember Victoria. "Wait. There was almost Victoria. I forgot."

"Victoria? Edward..." Her face falls to a place I don't ever want to see on her and my stomach does that thing where it plummets. She can do this to me with nothing but a look. I bring my hand to her cheek.

"No. It didn't happen. Nothing but - just like you and Jasper. Okay? And I accidentally said your name anyway."

"You said my name?" She covers her eyes. "Oh god, poor Victoria. No wonder! I would've hated me, too."

"And there was nothing with you and James?"

"No. James was never interested in me like that."

"Victoria thought he was. We sat together watching the two of you at my party."

"Watching us do what?"

"Tease each other, I guess."

She elbows me. "You and Victoria are creepy together."

"We - we cared about people who didn't seem to feel the same way about us."

"Well, James never even tried anything with me."

"If he had?"

"I told you. I wanted you." She scratches her nails at the back of my neck. I lower my head, liking the feeling. "If I give you one more thing can we drop all of this?"

I give her a lazy nod, her fingers still raking my neck.

"I didn't reciprocate with Mike." She kisses me next to my ear. "Are you hurt?" She lifts her hand to my jaw, reminding me of the pain, the dull throbbing that really hasn't let up.

"Not by Newton."

"By me?"

I shake my head. "It's just. I am so deep in this thing - in you - and if you're not as deep-"

"What makes you think I'm not as deep? Just because of Mike? Or Jasper? Or this made up thing with James?"

"I'm not doubting you. It's... if you're not as deep as me, I need to know, because I'm all about you. All."

"I'm deep, Edward. Doesn't everything I've just said show you how deep I am? And the way you're talking now is scaring me."

I bring my arm around her and kiss her cheek. "I didn't mean to scare you. What's scary?"

"It's like you don't trust me or my feelings, and I don't understand why."

"No, it's... There's stuff messing with my mind that isn't your fault. I trust you." I push hair behind her ear because I want to see her face better, and I think touching her while I say this will help her believe it. "This thing with Newton. What he said, it blindsided me. I'm barely thinking clearly. Ignore me. Ignore everything I've said."

"Ignore that you're in deep?" I hear the smile in her voice.

"Except that. Remember that part." I push my leg against hers, and then she pushes back.

"Love can be terrifying sometimes," she says.

"Tell me about it."

She stands and holds her hand out for mine. "Come on. Let's get some ice on that jaw, you brute."

We walk, Isabella's arms around my middle, my arm over her shoulder. I kiss the top of her head. I have to.

.

My car is running on empty. When I stop for gas, I try one of my cards just for the hell of it. It goes through. I try another one and then another one, and they go through, too.

This doesn't make sense to me. There's no way in hell my father's forgotten. Maybe it's that they're in my name and there's nothing he can do about it. If this is the case, it must be driving him crazy. Feeling powerless will do that to a person like him. Still, it's only a matter of time before he demands that I transfer everything left in my accounts to his. This won't last forever. I start thinking about a job.

A/N: Hello and thank you for reading!

I'm loving all the different views on Carlisle from last chapter. They're all perfect. He isn't just one thing, and it was amazing to see what you all think of him.

I'll be posting a new short story soon, a novella. It's E/B, and if I can just give it a name, I can start posting it!

Thank you, as always, to myimm0rtal for her beta skills, and my writing girls, the DTCPS, for their amazing support, motivation, and inspiration!