Thank you so much for the response to the last chapter. I knew it would be controversial, but I had no idea there would be so many different ways to interpret my words.

Many thanks, as always, to Ipsita, Nic, VampyreGirl86, and SarcasticBimbo for your encouragement and support.


Chapter 28

I pull myself together and start seriously packing, falling back on old disciplines that have worked for me in the past. Starting my day with an hour of yoga, I stay hydrated and try to eat healthy.

Edward hasn't called, and each day it gets harder to call him. I don't know how to fix what I've done, but I know I must fix myself first, so I focus on the next thing and try to keep busy.

Everything reminds me of him: songs on the radio, a Mustang ad on TV. I can't wrap the Mexican star lantern to go in a box, keeping it plugged in next to my bed as one of the cherished possessions I'll take with me to Angela and Ben's.

Thinking about Rose and Emmett, I wonder what morning sickness feels like. I consider finding a way to contact Emily to apologize that I can't take the photos of Maya, but I chicken out, knowing she will hate me for hurting Edward—probably as much as I hate myself.

Garrett comes by, delighted with his sombrero, and I tell him I can't keep him on any longer. He takes it well, thanking me for my tolerance and for giving him an opportunity to learn from someone he admires. He insists he'll still assist at the wedding, and won't hear of taking any money.

Somehow, Angela wangles a session with Maria for Friday night. Her consulting room is at the rear of her house, much the same as my office. I'm not nervous because she has been telling me how welcoming and nice Maria is. Now I'm just curious.

"Bella Swan!" She greets me when she opens the door, picking up a cat at her feet and smoothing its head. "I've been wanting to meet you. I hear you are a fantastic photographer."

"Oh. Well, I do okay." Blushing, I wonder what Angela told her to secure this urgent session.

"And a park ranger. What a thrilling life you lead."

I notice her limp and stare at the walking stick propped against the single chair in a very informal living room.

"It's arthritis," she offers. "It starts to play up around this time of the year."

This is not the clinical white walls and leather couch I expected. I'm drawn to the photos adorning her walls.

"I like to start with a beverage. I make a great latte, or there's tea, a wonderful chardonnay from the Yakima Valley, and I think…" She opens the fridge to survey the contents. "Yes, there's orange and mango juice."

I like her already from the happy photos I'm seeing. "What are you going to have?"

"Well, I don't like to drink on my own, so I'll have the chardonnay if you'll join me."

"Okay, wine would be great." I turn back to the photos. "Who is this beautiful little girl? Is she yours?"

"Granddaughter. I have two now. She has a brand new sister."

"Congratulations," I say as she hands me a glass of wine.

"Thank you. I've been blessed with three caring children who still come and visit me often. Now, sit down and make yourself comfortable. Take your shoes off and put your feet up or sit on the floor—whatever you choose is fine as long as you talk."

I opt for the carpet with my back against the couch and my legs crossed, the glass on the coffee table next to me. She starts by asking questions about my background and scribbling down notes. Over the next hour, she stops me often to clarify certain points, writing a little more, but mostly, I'm just telling the same old story, adding the events of the past five weeks.

"You've had no counselling at all?"

"No, they offered it after the murder, but I didn't need it."

"Hmm."

I watch as she writes and then doodles on the page.

"Tell me more about Edward."

"After I broke up with Jake, I was nervous even thinking about going on dates, and I was not ready for a relationship so soon. We've only known each other for a short time, and Edward's the kind of man who could have any woman he wanted, so I don't understand why he's asking me to marry him."

"You don't return his love?"

"It's not that. I believe...No, I do love him, but it feels like I'm walking into another mistake."

Maria asks me to keep going, and I try to explain the reasons why I'm so conflicted about him, but end up singing his praises.

After adding more notes, she looks up. "Anything else?" I shrug, not really sure what's she's asking. "What do you want to achieve from this?"

I think for a minute before I answer. "I guess I...I want to find a way to move forward. It's like I've been treading water for so long, I'm scared to start swimming again, and I don't really know why."

"Okay, I'll look over these notes before I see you again. How often can you come to me? Twice a month, twice a week?"

"Um, I don't have plans to leave the city for a while. Twice a week suits me."

When I leave, she holds my hand between both of hers and says, "You're going to be just fine," and I nod, feeling hopeful for the first time in a while.

"How did it go?" Angela asks when I walk in the door.

"Good, and it wasn't like I imagined. She's just...easy to talk to."

She puts her arm around me. "Yeah, she is."


By lunchtime on Saturday, my house has already changed. With the help of Ben's father and cousin, the dining table and chairs are gone, along with the two spare beds, my desk, chair, and nightstands. It seemed stupid to put everything into storage when we needed it now. On Monday, the Happy Haulers are coming to take my mattress away. It's not that old, but I don't wish to see it ever again. The base, however, will go in the moving container.

Even though I've culled what I'm bringing with me, I still have a lot of stuff for one room. Arriving at the new townhouse, I survey my bedroom and lament the fact that I'm swapping a California queen for a double. Editing will have to take place in here, too. This is a nice townhouse, and I'm grateful to have somewhere to stay, but it reminds me of how much I've had to give up.

It's therapeutic cleaning and removing all traces of the previous tenants, but I go back to my house, knowing the new owners will probably do the same.


The container arrives while I'm still in bed on Monday morning, creating such a commotion that I visit my neighbors to apologize personally. Paul and Embry arrive an hour later, happily accepting my offer of my warm muffins before they start. With big grins on their faces, they tell me they're both in their final year at U-Dub, picking up work like this to survive, but I wonder what classes they ditch to do this all day.

They're cheeky and funny, strong and energetic, only stopping to quarrel over how to pack the container efficiently. The Happy Haulers come for my mattress before lunch, and by three o'clock, my car is full and the house is empty. I tip them fifty bucks each for making the day so easy.

Once they leave, I wander around inside the shell of a building that never felt like my home.

That night, I go to Maria again and sample her delicious creamy latte and cookies while we delve into significant events that happened. I have never recounted so much detail before, nor the emotions I felt at the time. Breaking down when I describe Leo's death, we explore the guilt I still hold over leaving my mother to deal with her grief. Encouraging me to talk to Mom and apologize, Maria thanks me for my honesty, saying she needed this session to fully understand.

We won't be visiting any of this again. She tells me to think of the past as something I can't change, like an online post I'm unable to delete. If I don't keep returning and re-reading, it will eventually become trivial, buried in new posts about the here and now. It reminds me of the cruel things Jake's friends posted online about me. At the time, it was devastating, but I hardly ever think about it now.

When I leave, I thank Maria for the session, but I'm tired and melancholy when I walk into the townhouse. The lovebirds are curled up together on the couch, and it sure would cheer me up to hear Edward's voice tonight.

"Heavy night?" Angela asks.

"Yeah." I dump my handbag listlessly. "I think it's time I called Edward. What do you reckon?"

Angela responds. "Depends what you're going to say."

"I need to say I'm sorry."

She unravels herself and sits up. "And then what?"

"Huh?"

"Well, you said you needed time. Have you worked out what you want already?"

Surprised she's not encouraging me, I stutter. "N...No."

"Then I'd wait if I were you."

"It's an apology, Ang."

"And he said he's waiting for an alternative, Bella."

Where is this coming from? I know what he said, too, but boy she's being harsh. If she's trying to give me a dose of reality, she certainly picked a tough night.

"Do you agree, Ben?" I ask.

He throws his hands in the air and heads for the coffee machine. "I'm keepin' out of this one."

"Ben?" Surely, they can't both feel a simple apology is wrong.

He shrugs. "I don't see a relationship while you're here and he's in Montana. If it was me, I'd want more than just regret. Otherwise, it's over."

My leg vibrates with indecision as sit on the arm of a chair. Two of my best friends, people whose opinions I trust, are telling me to wait. I haven't practiced what I'd say after I apologize, so I nod and say goodnight, more uncertain than ever.


Maria told me to expect emotion after last night's outpouring, so I'm not surprised I'm depressed as I unpack and set my workstation up. Seeing the Mexican star lantern brings mixed feelings, as if plugging it in will somehow keep me connected to Edward.

I call Mom and thank her for the weekend, saying nothing about what happened with Edward or my therapy sessions. She asks if I'm doing okay, and I tell her I'm sorry but I had to get away when a feeling of hate was consuming me, and what an awful place it was.

She says she understands because Dad has been in hell, too, trying to hang on to a lifelong friendship with Billy while firing his son. More people have come forward with stories of Jake's abuse of power, and while there's no evidence he broke the law, he'll never work for the police again. The tribe's council is meeting this week to discuss if lineage is as important as integrity when accepting the next chief.

When the significance of this news sinks in, I actually feel sorry for Jake. His future role as leader was so important to him, I know he'll be devastated, but the true chief would want what's best for the tribe.

I say how quiet the house seemed without Leo, and apologize that I left instead of supporting her through her grief when he died. We're both crying as she tells me how bad it was. When I eventually hang up, I know I should have done this a long time ago.

Lying in bed that night, I'm looking at star patterns on the walls when my phone pings with a message, and my heart leaps in my chest when I see it's from HOME. Reading the word, "Hi," I'm so happy he's thinking of me, but they're just two letters that could mean nothing or everything.

With trembling hands, I reply the same way, adding a smile so he knows he's very welcome to say hi.

"How's the time alone going?"

Sighing, I tap a response. "It's okay. Quite productive."

A minute passes as I stare at the screen and pray he'll send more.

"Enjoy the Lumineers this weekend."

I want to text back that he either has an incredible memory or must have looked it up, because I only mentioned it once—in a bar in Red Lodge with animal heads on the wall and Harleys out front. Back when I told him everything and he didn't judge me. Back when we swayed together and kissed like a real couple enjoying a band. Back when he gave me the best birthday ever.

But I don't, not when I still don't have a plan, and he deserves a proper answer.

"Thank you. I will."

Five minutes go by, and I know he won't send another—not if he's tentative, like me.


They pick up the container on Wednesday, and I finish cleaning the house. Maria must sense I've hit a low point because she feeds me dark chocolate and a delicious Portuguese tawny port, focusing on the positive things in my life.

Highlighting my achievements, she makes me look at myself through someone else's eyes. I'm the girl who followed my instincts, courageously staying to fight for a wrongfully accused animal and convict the real killer. I'm the winner of a photographic competition that paid for my college tuition, and now magazines pay for my images. When I tell her I've been very lucky, she scoffs, saying she's looked at my website, and the photos reveal a strong passion and appreciation for the natural world.

Smiling fondly, I tell her it was the reason Edward chose me to photograph the Cullen's harvest in Montana.

She says I have the support of great family and exceptional friends. A beautiful soul like Angela Weber has chosen me as her only bridesmaid, marrying a man I introduced her to. My other best friend is ready to fulfill his dream at Fashion Week, and Maria wants me to acknowledge I'm not a fringe dweller in this assembly of success, but the person who brought them together.

"I have to say," she adds. "Your face lights up when you talk about Edward."

My lips immediately curl up. "He sent me a text last night. Nothing really to report, but still…"

Fixing her stare on me, she says, "Well, if he's a smart man, he will allow you the time you need."

I'm buoyant when we finish the session, and she hands me a piece of paper ripped from her book with a written question she wants me to think about.

I read it aloud. "In a perfect world, what does Bella Swan's life look like?"

With a smile and a hug, she tells me to have a great time in L.A.


The City of Angels is fine and seventy-two degrees when our plane touches down. The forecast is for much of the same.

"Perfect weather." Angela squeezes my hand as she looks at the vivid blue sky, and it's hard not to get caught up in the buzz of her excitement. She's into the home stretch now, her dream of marriage to the man she adores within her grasp.

The word, "perfect," brings back Maria's question and what my own dream might be. She wants me to think about my own happiness, and the homework assignment will keep it uppermost in my mind.

It's not the first time either of us has been to Los Angeles. Mom refreshed my memory this week, reminding me we came here when I was twelve and stayed at a motel in Anaheim to be close to Disneyland, the main reason for our visit. I remember seeing the Spruce Goose and Queen Mary at Long Beach, and going to SeaWorld in San Diego. We flew from here to Tampa to visit my grandparents.

Angela came for a conference years ago, and spent a couple of days here before her big trip to Europe. However, it's the first time we have flown anywhere together, and we've planned the weekend meticulously.

After checking into our hotel, we catch a shuttle to the Citadel Outlet for some serious shopping. Ang is on a roll, buying clothes for the honeymoon, calling Ben when she sees a bargain for him. I can't seem to find anything that appeals, even though there are 70% off signs everywhere, but I'm content to hold her bags and offer an occasional opinion.

Later that afternoon, we meet up with Jane, a friend of Angela's from college, at Olvera Street, a cultural heritage site in the city. After visiting one of the oldest houses in L.A., we eat "world famous" taquitos from Celito Lindo's.

As we wander around and browse the street stalls, Jane gives us a rundown of what it's like to live here. The smog and traffic are just as bad as everyone imagines. The weather is always perfect. The celebrities she sees out running errands are not. I ask if she ever yearns for a white Christmas, and she shudders, saying she hates the cold.

I wouldn't want to live in permanent summer because each of the seasons has its own special appeal. My perfect world has four distinct seasons with snow in winter.

She says you get used to the earthquakes, but not the nut cases constantly warning the big one is imminent. Working out is a religion here, and most of her friends are in and out of Paleo and vegan diets, with mixed success. Angela laughs and announces she's eager to try an In-N-Out Burger, and Jane admits they are delicious, but not worth the forty minute wait on the weekend.


On Friday, we have a half-day tour, and our little open bus is like being on a city safari. They drive us past the original theater district on Broadway, then through the area called L.A. Live where the Microsoft Theater, Staples Center, Grammy Museum and The Museum of Contemporary Art live. We stop at the Hollywood Walk of Fame and see the Dolby Theater, Capitol Records, and wander into the iconic Roosevelt Hotel. No one seems to mind me taking photos. People actually smile and pose whenever they see my camera.

They let us out again at Rodeo Drive where we relive our favorite scenes from Pretty Woman, and fangirl over the Beverly Wilshire Hotel where they filmed the movie.

Huge palm trees line the streets, having survived pollution and savage droughts like immortals. When I look closely, I notice two or three alongside each other every so often that look sick, and one might be just a trunk without fronds, so some are not invincible. It would be good to ask someone like Emmett if they have a lifespan, or if some insidious disease is wiping them out.

Driving up Mulholland Drive, our last stop is the Hollywood Sign Lookout Point, and the haze of smog mars the view of the city. Jane wasn't quite right—it's worse than I imagined. Seeing this strengthens my resolve to do everything I can to reduce my footprint on the planet. It's time for every single one of us to stop thinking it's someone else's responsibility. We're going to lose this world if we continue to deny what's happening.

Angela is quiet, like me, on the drive back to downtown, but our gloom fades away as we get ready, because we're about to see the Lumineers!

The Greek Theatre is an outdoor venue in Griffith Park with 6,000 seats. We've splurged on section A, just behind the pit, and I'm hoping for good close-up shots with the lens I've brought.

I don't really connect with either of the opening bands, and Angela spends most of the first set on her phone texting Ben. Resisting the urge to send a message to tell Edward we're here, I look up at the sky, disappointed to see only a handful of stars. I know I'm not in a national park, but I remember the sky when I arrived in Billings.

In a perfect world, Maria, my nighttime sky is full of stars.

The whole place erupts when the Lumineers come on stage, and we grin at each other, being here to see them live. There are cheers when a powerful drumbeat and guitar riff introduces a familiar song, and from the moment Wesley starts to sing, "Sleep on the Floor," the crowd joins in. The sound is phenomenal, and I can't help singing along myself.

I take photos of the sea of heads, glowing pink as they tip up at the stage, and zoom in on Neyla's red lipstick, short bangs, and closed eyes as she waits with her cello, poised to join in. Then I focus on Jeremiah on drums. The man is a musical genius, skilled at so many instruments I want an image of him playing them all.

They play one of their well-known covers—a Talking Heads song called, "This Must Be The Place," but we only get a snippet, a single verse, before it transitions into the acoustic intro we both know well, and Angela looks at me with a grin spreading across her face.

It has always been her song, but now I feel like it's mine, too.

I point the camera at Wesley, observing his worn guitar and wedding ring, and the blond in his beard reminds me of someone else—someone dear to me. The man in my lens has blue eyes and a longer, gingery beard, but it's Edward I see playing Sam's guitar. When I lower the camera, Angela glances over, singing loudly. She misses the tears I wipe away before they roll down my cheeks, unaware I'm carrying this level of emotion, reliving the moment I knew I was in love with him.

The final song is "Stubborn Love," a big favorite with this vocal audience who sing with gusto. I love watching the members of the band hug each other with they finish, showing their gratitude and respect for the contributions to the performance tonight.

Angela is on the phone with Ben as soon as the crowd starts to disperse, raving about the evening, and I realize this would have been a perfect night if he was here to share it with me.


We have breakfast at Santa Monica, and wander around before strolling down to Venice Beach. I took a lot of photos yesterday, but today I can't stop. Everyone has a phone or camera capturing the feast of color and diversity on offer.

Metallic makeup is popular with those who have come here to perform. A homeless man looks incongruous against the backdrop of a vibrant mural. He's very sweet in allowing me to capture the image, telling me he's lived here all his life. A girl wearing gold roller skates and a bikini eats a burrito while leaning against a rusty dumpster. She arrived here two months ago from Oklahoma, finally auditioning for a part in a movie on Monday.

Enjoying the carnival-like entertainment are hordes of people, and the rules of public behavior are a little murky. Jarring music assaults our ears from a speaker riding past on the shoulder of a skateboarder. Someone is startled enough to tell him to fuck off. Apparently, it's acceptable to yell at the top of your lungs, anywhere and anytime, promoting a cause you feel strongly about, something you're doing, or going to see.

It's a fascinating place to visit and photograph, but we leave slightly shell shocked. I think living here would take some getting used to.

The next couple of hours at the Annenberg Space for Photography are a completely different experience—the only request I made for this trip. It's good to see the variation in how others interpret a subject, and I come away inspired and confident that many of my recent photos are as good as those here on display.

It takes only a few minutes to walk to Westfield Century City, and Ang is soon trying on swimwear at Seafolly. I hang around outside, glad to have a little time to myself, and look at my calendar. I'm on call with Tyler from Thursday, and getting close to the deadline for submitting the Rainier photos, so I'll edit before the madness begins.

Angela calls Ben when we come back to the hotel, and it's awkward hearing their smoochy conversation, so I put in my earbuds to give them some privacy.

Finding the track from the concert, the one they only played for a minute, I lie on my bed to listen.

Home, is where I want to be
But I guess I'm already there
I come home, she lifted up her wings
I guess that this must be the place

After last night's yearning for Edward, I've been trying all day to honor my friend and her trip, but tonight, these lyrics hit me hard. Edward said he wants to be somebody's home, the number I call when I want to share something incredible, and I see that kind of love in Angela and Ben, like two halves of a whole.

I'm just an animal looking for a home
Share the same space for a minute or two
And you love me till my heart stops
Love me till I'm dead

Closing my eyes, I see a life before me, layers of images blending to form something new.

In a perfect world, my partner is my home, my other half, someone similar but challenging. He's like my dad, who will love my mother till he dies. My perfect partner won't pout when I have to go away to work because he's confident in my love, and richer for having it, just as I am in his. He'll be a father who wants to spend time with his children, the kind of man who cares deeply for his family. He doesn't have to be perfect, but his heart is in the right place.

Thanks for reading xo