AN:
I made a decision for your guys... It was either wait for an incredibly long chapter in January or split Phoenix into three chapters and deliver this before the holidays. I chose to bring a gift. Hopefully, it was worth the wait.
I don't control this ship; Doucheward and Bitchella do. I also don't own Twilight.
Playlist for this chapter:
Change - Blind Melon *quoted*
Wayne - Chantal Kreviazuk
Surrounded - Chantal Kreviazuk
Good Mother - Jann Arden
Brave - Idina Menzel *quoted*
If You Were Here - Poe *quoted*
Hello - Poe *quoted*
Tissue warning in effect for this one, guys... This one's dedicated to my grandfather's memory, and to the memory of NL. I also strongly recommend cueing this video up when Bella sings: www[dot]youtube[dot]com/watch?v=luiRqbZ7t8U
Playlist! casket4mytears[dot]wordpress[dot]com/2010/05/11/tattoos-like-mile-markers-breaking-down-the-playlist/
Special note for FF readers: Due to their URL restrictions, you may see strange looking links in 'Tweets'. This is why I recommend reading this story in particular on Twilighted if you have the option. :p on you, FF!
February 27th, 2010
Phoenix, Arizona
She was already wide awake when Edward opened his weary eyes, jet lag still tugging him deep into the soft pillows of the bed. Her hair was damp and tangled, her fingers tapping furiously at the keys of her laptop as she bit her lip. Her entire body, cross-legged upon the end of the bed, was taut, her nerves strained to their limit. Without speaking, his hand reached to graze her arm lightly in reassurance. She startled briefly then sighed, her coiled frame relaxing slightly.
"Couldn't sleep?"
"Not long enough," Bella mumbled, iTunes springing open on her screen. "Been up since five."
Edward glanced at the bedside table, his heart heavy as his eyes connected with the alarm clock display. 8:07. Bella had been alone, fretting for hours. Pulling himself to sitting, he wrapped himself around her from behind, resting his head upon hers.
"You should have woken me, Bella," Edward gently chided her.
"Why?"
"To support you, of course," Edward replied, his fingers toying with the strands of auburn kissing her right cheek.
A soft acoustic guitar drifted from the tiny speakers on her lap as Bella shook her head slightly, leaning against him, "Edward, you can't be here for me twenty-four hours a day. I can be awake by myself for a while. "
"But today-"
"Is a shitty day?" Bella finished. "Of course it is. And I would have woken you if it was... bad. But Edward, you have to understand something, if we're going to work for the long run."
"What's that?" Edward's throat was cotton, old fears of losing this woman who had given him strength, brought him reasons to believe in himself, clawing their way to the surface.
Bella gently sat the laptop beside her, spinning around to face him, her knees tucked to her side. With a nervous smile, she reached for his cheek, tracing his jawline with a strange reverence. She'd wandered away; he recognized that look. Once, he would have panicked, would have shaken her and asked what was wrong, but he had learned in recent months that it was the way Bella now collected words to express her emotions. For her, it was taxing to string syllable and simile into a semblance of the world raging within her skull. His patience was rewarded in a minute as she met his eyes dead on, her hand falling to his knee.
"I'm never going to be normal," she said quietly. "You understand that it's different for us, right? That bipolar is this nasty bitch that chains herself to the cerebellum like an activist to a door and hangs on until the bitter end?"
Edward nodded sadly. Andy and Michelle had both taken a turn at defining her disorder, the gravity of Bella's illness a point they were compelled to hammer home. While she might be able to leave medication behind many years down the line, she would always struggle with stability, with the highs and lows. Her strong genetic inheritance would make sure of it.
"Baby, I will have insomnia. I will struggle to sleep, especially at times like this. You can't coddle me. I don't want you to coddle me."
"I'm not coddling-"
"Doucheward, you don't see it like that, and I fucking love you for it, but it's a well-meant coddling," Bella interjected. "I have to believe that someday, I can at least keep myself in good check in most circumstances. My control over the number of bottles in my purse is gone; let me have this."
Edward kissed her, cradling her face in his hands. She was so damn smart, far more insightful than he. Without the chaos of her mind reeling, without the frantic pendulum keeping time, Bella was astute in her conception of her illness and her weaknesses. Edward still found himself being tapped by his family and his love, ignorant to a bad day in progress until someone flashed a neon sign for him.
"But if you do need me, you'll ask, right?" It was more of a demand than a question.
"Of course. 'Bella, you're not Supergirl, so stop trying to be everything to everyone while holding a train full of passengers over your head', blah blah blah." They laughed at her imitation of her therapist, Bella leaning against his chest with a contented sigh. "I love you."
"I love you too, sweetheart. Want me to get in gear?"
"Yeah. Before I lose what little nerve I've cobbled together."
With another kiss, Edward stretched and made his way towards the bathroom. Although she edged the volume up, through the music, he heard a soft sob, a shuffling of sheets. Give her a moment to be in it, he ordered himself. She needs to cry. It was easier said than done, his steps hesitant and hands shaky as he made his way to the shower and flipped the water on. Bella suffering in any way made his chest ache.
He'd only just dampened his hair under the pulsing stream when her tiny feet padded across the tile outside the curtain, her breaths shallow as he heard her hop onto the counter. Forcing himself to remain calm, to be her rock, he called out to her.
"You okay, babe?"
"Sing for me?" Her voice was frail, child-like. "Please?"
"Any requests?"
A sniffle, then a soft reply, "Anything. Just sing."
Debating briefly, Edward shampooed his hair, tossing aside all criticism of his vocal talents as he sang to her, pouring his love into each note, each nuance. Anything for her. I will never deny her again.
"I don't feel the sun's comin' out today
It's stayin'in; it's gonna find another way
As I sit here in this misery, I don`t ever think, oh,
I'll see the sun from here
And oh, as I fade away
They'll all look at me and say
They'll say, 'Hey, look at him; I'll never live that way'
But that's okay - they're just afraid to change..."
Bella hummed along softly, her toes tapping against the cool floor as Edward scrubbed away restless sleep and jet sweat. His fingers tapped the shower wall in rhythm, keeping time in his skull, as he sang on, his senses honed on the delicate woman beyond the white plastic drape.
"When you feel that life ain't worth livin'
You`ve got to stand up and take a look around
And then look way up to the sky..."
Edward flipped the water off, not losing the melody, pulling the curtain open to find Bella singing along softly, formerly concealed beneath the water's din.
"And when your deepest thoughts are broken
Keep on dreamin' boy, 'cause when you stop dreaming, it's time to die."
Edward paused, accepting the towel Bella handed him. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes red, but that tentative smile was back as she hid behind her hair.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"Always, Bella."
With a nervous look, Bella rose to her feet, shuffling between them, "I should practice... I don't want to forget the words later."
Edward nodded, stepping aside as she padded away, her shoulder s looser, head a little higher. This is going to be a good thing for her... He had no doubt that she would crash hard, as he'd crashed with Alice, but her spirit was stronger than she ever understood it to be. She was a survivor, a Phoenix in the city of the same moniker, burning ever brighter since that day, where he'd held her cold flesh against his, believing her another casualty of his personal war.
She'll soar above this, he affirmed as he stepped out into the corridor, Bella's voice a whispering tendril grazing his ears. My Bella can do this.
It was a sixteen minute drive, if travelling directly from the Hyatt to Resthaven Park Cemetery, but their trip was nonlinear. A pivotal stop needed to be made en route, carrying them further north to a music store where Edward had prearranged the rental of an acoustic guitar for Bella's needs. Originally, they'd planned to bring hers on the plane, but after reading countless horror stories of broken instruments and other disasters, Edward refused to let Bella chance losing one of Ronan's first – and most meaningful – gifts. The store owner had been very gracious, the guitar requiring minimal tuning upon their arrival. With a Visa deposit for collateral, they headed south, the two of them sipping at their coffees as they wove through the mid-morning traffic . Bella had commandeered the radio and was drumming her fingers absently to the hard rock station she'd found.
Edward didn't dare break the silence; he knew that he had taken several hours to collect himself for his own pilgrimage, and Alice had thankfully allowed him space for that. This was Bella's time, made even worse in his mind by the circumstances she'd endured. Although he'd missed her last breath, Esme's death was anything but sudden; he'd spent hours talking with her, crying beside her, struggling to say all he ever longed for his mother to know. It was his choice, his fear, that kept him from visiting her headstone sooner. Bella, on the other hand, lost her mother in sudden, violent fashion, only to be uprooted by her father almost immediately after they'd lowered her into the earth. There was an urgency to this moment, the hands of time lodged in sticky molasses memories and 'might've beens'.
"That's the turn," Bella whispered, distracted by the guitar in the rear view.
Edward nodded, signalling and turning onto the small road carrying them into Resthaven Park proper. The colour fled his face, his anxiety churning wildly in his chest, but he quickly chastised himself, remembering Bella's grateful smile on Christmas Day, when she'd received his gift. Bella needs this. She needs you. The anxiety stammered and shuddered, subsiding a little, and his grip upon the steering wheel loosened, knuckles no longer bone white.
He pulled into the parking lot near the small building where those cremated were interred, feeling it better to walk to the actual spot. The fresh air, he reasoned, would do both of them good. Knocking back the rest of her coffee, Bella's fingers gripped her arms tightly – too tightly.
"Baby, your hands," Edward said softly.
Glancing down, she cursed, releasing her flesh and instinctively reaching for his hand. "I'm so fucking scared."
"What's the scariest part?"
Bella swallowed hard, her eyes meeting her feet. "The thought I might panic, like... lose it... But I don't take..."
"You don't have the Ativan," Edward inferred, "So there's no quick fix."
"Yeah..." Bella growled low, tapping her foot against the car floor. "You won't... If I get too..."
"I'll take care of you," Edward vowed. "You're safe."
Silence, palpable pressure on his sternum. Breathe. Bella's eyes pressed shut, her head leaning into the passenger seat, her chest heaving as a single tear made its haphazard descent along the porcelain of her cheek. She mumbled to herself, foreign prayers to a personal god, and threw open her door in a wild motion. She stumbled out into the cool air, her back slamming into the side of the car as she kicked her door shut, as if to say, No, you can't turn back. Edward slowly made his exit, locking his door and coming around the car from the rear, each step fraught with terror that he'd trigger some mental landmine, shrapnel flying and ricocheting in Bella's skull, obliterating all that she'd worked so long to rebuild.
"It was so cold... It was raining..." Bella mumbled to herself, eyes shut tight, cancelling out the overcast day.
"Talk to me, Bella," Edward whispered, edging closer.
"It just... It came back so fast and I can't... I can't breathe," Bella sobbed loudly, her knees wavering. "The f-footage... in th-the st-station... F-flowers on her g-g-grave..."
"Let me hold you up," Edward suggested, afraid to touch her in this state without her seeing his hands approach.
"Please," she whispered, and he pulled her close, her tears dampening his hoodie as he stroked her hair lovingly. "Ed-Edward, I... I want her back."
"I want her back, too," Edward murmured. "You never should have had to... She should still be with you. I am so sorry, Bella, so fucking sorry that life is a bastard and cruel and takes everything good so readily..."
Bella's chest heaved, her sobs louder, fingers tangling in his clothing as she pressed closer to him. "Sh-she would have g-given the m-m-money..."
"I know, baby," Edward agreed, holding her tighter. "Can you make it to her?"
"I... It feels so far, even though it's c-closer than ever..."
Edward nodded knowingly; every step in Forks had been a mile, each blind shuffle forward at Alice's urging a twisted knife in his wilted heart.
"I can carry you," Edward suggested, "If you can't-"
"N-no," Bella replied quickly. "I h-have to do this... She d-deserves this." Pushing back from Edward, she shook herself, smoothed her rumpled clothing, then forced a half-smile. "I'm sorry."
"You love your mother; that's nothing to be sorry over," Edward assured her. "Want me to carry the guitar?"
"Yeah..." Bella held up her right hand, which shook violently, "I might cost you the deposit."
"It's just money," Edward shrugged, reaching into the backseat and pulling the black hardcase from the seat. "Which way?"
He knew which way, roughly, having studied plot maps with the unlikely help of Charlie Swan, but he wasn't certain. That had been a very awkward and strange day: two men who had made a begrudging peace, peering at the tiny writing and outlines, struggling to find lot 1083. Brevity was Chief Swan's forte, but even for him, their sporadic exchanges were unusually minimalistic. And yet, Bella's father seemed to be relenting in his desire for bloody revenge upon the one who'd broken his baby girl's heart. Edward figured by the time she was thirty, he might even smile on a regular basis in greeting.
Either that, or he'd smile while driving him out the door with a shotgun to his back. It was tough to tell.
Bella's voice jostled Edward from his meandering musings, "I know it was that way," she said, gesturing to the northernmost corner. "It was far in. I remember that my feet hurt, from the service, and then... well... This."
His fingers slipped between hers, jigsaw perfection, "You lead the way. This is all you."
Bella's face was ashen, the foreboding grey of the sky lending a sicklier pallor to her anguished features. Wordlessly, she led them up a small hill, arcing around an elaborate tomb and meandering past old, scarcely legible stones firmly placed atop the earth. The grass was scorched, more of a muddy green than the crisp emeralds of Forks in summer. Even in winter, Phoenix burned brighter than the Olympic Peninsula ever dreamed it could. The weight of the guitar wore his arm down, his body still weary from the previous day's cramped and taxing travel.
"Renee used to come here, when I was little," Bella suddenly announced, her eyes glazed over, "She used to do rubbings of the older stones, the ones that were hard to see..." She halted sharply, diverting to the east, eyes scanning the ground. "There was one... Yeah. Here."
Bella knelt beside a flat stone with an ornate raised image of a shepherd leading a flock to the left of the name, Martha Elaine Beaird. Edward noted, with a deep sense of injustice, the dates of birth and of passing.
"She was only two months old," he said, his voice hoarse.
"I know medicine wasn't as advanced in 1951, but it still... This one used to make me so fucking sad. Two months... And how were those months spent? Was Martha ever happy? At peace? Was it a sudden death, or did she suffer her entire short life with some illness no one could spare her from?" Bella shook her head, running her fingers along the etched letters. "And who remembers her? Do any of her kin know?"
He lowered himself beside her, pushing back windswept tendrils from her eyes, "You're such a beautiful person, Bella."
"What?"
"You care so much about a stranger, this little lost child... You have so much heart, so much love." Edward smiled gently. "I have this... this wall inside of my chest that works to keep the world and its emotions, its worries, out of me. Because it's so weak. Because love hurts." His voice faltered and he paused, swallowing hard. "But you just... you love. Music, friends-"
"You. God, I love you," Bella whispered.
"I know. I love you, too."
"I'm delaying this," Bella confessed, her hand tangling near her scalp and tugging in frustration.
"There's no rush. If it takes us all day to make it there, well, that's what it takes." Edward tousled her hair playfully, attempting to lighten her mood. Her slight grin was reward enough.
"Onward?"
"Aye, Captain!"
Bella spun, hands on her hips as she feigned an angry look, "That's Chief Swan, sir.`
Edward groaned, "Okay, I think that's even worse than calling me 'daddy' in bed ever would be."
"Yeah, I think I threw up a little. My apologies, Cullen."
Bella rose slowly, picking her way through the graves, her eyes drawn to the cluster of trees near the wrought iron fence in the east. So many images, faded still frames, were flooding her now: trips to the cemetery, camera and art supplies in tow; peanut butter and honey sandwiches at the ball diamond near their house (Renee had a disturbing fetish for young baseball players); Mexican nights (the only food Renee could cook without burning down the house, inexplicably)... Her chest felt bound, suffocating within a cocoon of sorrow, but she forced herself to breathe, to press her ribcage outward against the unbearable weight. Edward held her hand, squeezing it lightly now and again, as if to remind her that the cloying scent of rain and blood was in the past, that there were no TV monitors, no procession of cars with tiny flags inserted in the front hood, whipping in the harsh winter winds. And she was doing alright, in spite of the tears that threatened to spill, holding it together as she took it one foot before the other, a steady march over grass and gravel-
Then it all went to hell as the grave loomed into view.
It happened in an instant that lasted hours: she was standing, then not. The rain pounded, yet she was impossibly dry within the eye of the storm. Voices whispered, ghosts of her past, all of them struggling to overwhelm Edward's frantic pleas to speak, to answer him. They were alone and also privy to a large gathering shrouded in black and dotting the sky with umbrellas, as a young woman with damp brown hair sobbed into the suit jacket of her stranger-father.
"Bella! What can i do?"
Nothing. But the words wouldn't form. Someone hummed Amazing Grace, and Bella's world reeled. Gunshot. A woman falls. The blood. Bella blinked hard, begging for her heart to stop rattling the bars of its prison, demanding it obey and serve within her chest.
"Mom..."
Her knees were damp, her arms wrapped around her waist, holding herself together on the outside in hopes the inside would follow. She breathed, breathed as Edward instructed through the murky din, in through the nose and out the mouth, one and two and three and four.
"Bella, don't give up..."
Warmth. Safety. Her mother's voice.
"Help me..."
"Bella, I'm here," Edward whispered, his tears striking her arm as he clung to her crumpled heap of limbs and loss.
"Count to three, and get up, baby..."
It was what she'd said that awful day when she was eight, when she'd fallen off a swing, trying to be brave like the bigger children and dismount by jumping. She was humiliated, their laughter razor-sharp. She didn't want to be picked up; it would be even worse. And her mother had known just what to do.
"One... two... up..."
Bella's palms pressed to the earth, shoving herself onto her jelly legs, and Edward quickly moved to assist her. She leaned against him, understanding better than her eight year-old self that help wasn't weakness; asking for it was just as strong as self-sufficiency, perhaps stronger in some ways. Brushing aside her tears, her chest heaved. I have to do this. Fucking hell, just breathe and walk, Bella! Breathe and walk.
"Are you alright?"
Bella sighed, her voice cracking, "Too much... all at once..."
I can't do this walk, Bella thought frantically. How the hell am I going to do this? I don't know how long I can hold this together. And then, it seemed so clear, so obvious, how she would reach her mother.
"Run," Bella murmured.
"What?"
"I have to run."
Casting all caution aside, ignoring the flickering memories slicing through her field of sight, Bella burst into a spring, dodging a bench, a trashcan and several graves, counting the steps to keep herself from the truth of her destination. She heard Edward behind her, easily keeping pace as she wove three rows up, then swung hard to her right, her destination a delicate stone cross between two cactus plants. Lara chose those, Bella recalled briefly, then counted anew. Can`t dwell or you`ll freeze, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, five more over, forty-three... With a stumble, Bella gasped, staggering and falling to her knees, cursing the thud and dull ache that followed. Her clumsiness had struck again – or perhaps dumb luck.
She'd fallen down beside her mother's plot.
"Bella!" Edward gasped, setting the guitar beside her, "Does it hurt?"
"No..."
He clued in then, his eyes fixed, as hers were, upon the inscription. "Renee Dwyer..."
"She changed her name back... You know, when we left."
Her fingers stretched tentatively, as if the stone would strike back, longing to connect with... what? Bella didn't know.
"Cactuses?"
Bella smiled weakly, "Yeah... That's her friend's... thing. Florist in Tucson."
Soft fingertips grazed the etched text, tracing the name of her best friend in the world, before... before she was taken. I'm so sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry... In the periphery of her vision, she noticed Edward was pale, his fists curled tight, and her heart ached for him. Of course. Cemeteries. Why did I drag him here?
"If... if you need to go-"
"No," Edward insisted. "It's just... I can't fix this for you, and I've seen too many names I know on these things..."
Bella leaned against his shoulder, nodding, "Thank you. For coming here." The tears fell anew, her eyes blinking wildly to flush them away.
"I'm going to give you private time," Edward said softly.
"What? No, stay."
"Bella, you and your mom-"
"I want you to hear everything, Edward, if you can stay. Please?"
With a light kiss on her forehead, he nodded, but shuffled backwards a few feet, settling nearby. With shaky hands, she fumbled in her pocket, tugging a folded sheet of paper free. As she unfolded it, the paper rustling loudly, Bella began to speak, her voice tremulous.
"Hi, Mom... That's Edward. He... Well, he's everything." Bella paused, gathering her thoughts, "Mom, I'm sorry... Fuck, I am so sorry I had PMS and I wouldn't go with you. I am so sorry the last thing I said to you was 'whatever, see you', because... Mommy, you were the best. You were always nice, and you never treated me like I was stupid." Bella gasped, choking on a sob. "And I love you so much. It hurts to b-breathe sometimes... And I'm sorry I tried to... You would never want me to give up life...Fuck..." Bella glanced at the page in her hand, the words blurring, "I wrote th-this... a few months ago..."
Her eyes closed, and she saw her mother's quirky smile, her sundress, their old kitchen filled with the smell of cookies Bella would bake them. Go on, her mother seemed to say.
"Edward..." Bella heard his surprise, and was grateful he didn't interrupt; he knew pieces of the goodbye she'd penned in October, but this was a part she'd kept for herself – until now. "I can't do this anymore. I know you understand me when I say that, because you and I wander the same dark roads in our hearts. The sun shines, but it's always raining for us, always cold. I think of my mom, and I know I've let her down. She lived – she really lived, each and every day. I tried, you know, for her, but in the end, I'm always back to where I started: some sort of gun in my mouth, like when I first moved here. Because I wish it was me. Not mom. Me. She lived her life; I just waste mine. I don't know what to do with this time, with the hours. I used to know with her. I thought I might know someday, with you. But without you, time is just a plastic hand spinning around in a circle. It's pointless. Repetitive. Greyscale. And life should be technicolour."
Folding the paper up gingerly, Bella bit her lip, "You were the colours, Mom. You were the entire spectrum. And all I ever did was absorb it, a black hole, a void. But you meant for me to reflect them, to be pure, to be a new light... I'm so sorry I failed you... But I promise to try harder, okay? I promise... "
Her eyes darted to Edward's, his brilliant greens clouded and moist, his face pained. She'd let him down, too, instead of fighting for him, fighting to life whether with or without him. Their fingers interlaced as she mouthed his name wordlessly, and he leaned in, pulling her to him, as if afraid she'd disappear. His heart skipped and pounded beneath her cheek, and she turned to kiss it through the cotton of his clothing, hoping to heal it.
"Guitar?" she asked nervously.
She settled into a cross-legged position, Edward popping open the case and gingerly handing over the instrument. Bella strummed a few times, checking chords, her mind wildly darting between lyrics and long-forgotten moments of childhood invading her head. Her hands still shook and she balanced the guitar carefully on her knee.
"Um... So, Mom, she was a huge fan of theatre," Bella said to Edward, "And she was such a Sixties child... So she loved Hair, and she loved watching Woodstock footage. But she also loved Rent, because she understood that... friendship over hardship. She always cried when we saw it." Bella chuckled to herself, "We drove around a lot to see it. This song..." Bella paused, her attention returning to the stone marker, "Mom, Idina Menzel made a new album, and I know... You'd love it. You always loved her. And this song... I always think of you, so... She uses piano, but I flunked those lessons, so guitar will have to do."
With an encouraging smile from Edward, Bella cleared her head, closed her eyes, and began to play for the woman who'd given her music, and with it, strength and survival. The woman who'd taught her to breathe melody. A woman who was always brave, even staring down the barrel of a gun.
"I don't know just where I'm going
And tomorrow is just a little overwhelming
And the air is cold, and I'm not the same anymore
I've been running in your direction
For too long now, lost my own reflection
And I can't look down, if you're not there to catch me when I fall
If this is the moment I stand here on my own
If this is my rite of passage that somehow leads me home
I might be afraid, but it's my turn to be brave
If this is the last chance before we say goodbye
At least it's the first day of the rest of my life
I can't be afraid, 'cause it's my turn to be brave
All along, all I ever wanted was to be the light
When your life was daunting
But I can't see mine when I feel as though you're pushing me away
Well, who's to blame? Are we making the right choices?
'Cause we can't be sure if we're hearing our own voices
As we close the door, even though we are so desperate to stay
If this is the moment I stand here on my own
If this is my rite of passage that somehow leads me home
I might be afraid, but it's my turn to be brave
If this is the last chance before we say goodbye
At least it's the first day of the rest of my life
I can't be afraid, 'cause it's my turn to be brave..."
Her voice wavered then, her fingers fumbling notes as she reached the part of the song that could have been ripped from her diary, salt on every proverbial wound. Edward's hand grazed her shoulder and she stifled a sob, sucking a deep breath and moving forward. Brave. Be brave.
"And I might still cry, and I might still bleed
These thorns in my side, this heart on my sleeve
And lightning may strike this ground at my feet
And I might still crash, but I still believe
This is the moment I stand here all alone
With everything I have inside, everything I own
I might be afraid, but it's my turn to be brave
If this is the last time before we say goodbye
At least it's the first day of the rest of my life
I can't be afraid. It's my turn to be brave..."
Fumbling, Bella gave the guitar to Edward, spent as she collapsed onto the cool earth, sobbing into the grass. I want my mom back; I want her back now! I miss you every second, and I wish I knew you loved me still, that you forgave me every stupid fucked up thing I've done since you left, that you were okay... Edward rubbed her back, whispering that she had done well, that her mother was proud, that she was brave... Her chest ached as she convulsed, weeping, releasing years of regret and longing in a stream of incoherent pleas to an unforgiving universe that wasn't listening. Rolling onto her side, Bella struggled to soothe herself, her face pressed against Edward's denim-clad thigh.
"Bella," Edward whispered, "Bella, look up."
She found his face through the rivulets coursing her features, only to watch him shake his head and jerk it upwards. Sun... The murky grey still consumed the Phoenix skies – except the cluster of clouds directly overhead, which were backlit in a gentle glow. No... Okay, I don't believe in... What the...?
"Impossible..."
"I thought it was impossible to be loved, but you proved me wrong," Edward mused aloud. "I don't know what's impossible anymore."
Light licked the edges of the clouds, their shape resembling a sofa in Bella's exhausted mind, then receded, leaving only the gloom that graced the city even as she watched the sunrise hours before. Mom? Shaking her head, feeling foolish, Bella's ragged breathing settled into a more natural rhythm as she crawled into Edward's lap, staring up into the sky, mesmerized by each nuance, each gradient of dismal colour somehow warmer, less foreboding. In her head, one of her favourite CDs sprung to mind, its closing message in a little girl's voice reverberating in her skull: "It's okay; you can go now..."
"I'm ready," Bella said softly.
"Are you sure?" Edward asked, stroking her hair. "We can stay all day..."
Bella smiled, "I know. But... I feel like I said goodbye now. Like she knows everything... Is that crazy?"
Edward shook his head, packing the guitar into its case, "Not at all."
"Oh, shit! I almost forgot..."
Bella reached into the pocket of her jacket, Bella tugged Ronan's gifted camera free of its confines. Pressing the power switch, Bella edged backwards slowly, remember the lessons of her mother, the little tricks 'to fake being pro', as Renee would say. Satisfied with the framing of the shot, Bella snapped a photograph, capturing the cactus on either side. Fumbling with the modes and switches, she took another, a close-up of the text. Morbid, but necessary: the scrapbook she and Alice were to make would be incomplete without it, in her eyes. Renee had an entire album of cemeteries; it was fitting to Bella that her own resting place be caught on digital film.
Pressing her fingers to her lips, Bella reached down to touch the stone one last time, "'Bye, Mom... I'll visit again, someday."
Edward rose slowly, securing the guitar in its case and pulling Bella to her feet, "Yes, we will. Whenever you want."
They retraced their steps slowly, the urgency and anxiety fading away into a comfortable sadness and reflection. Their hands swung lightly as they walked, neither speaking aloud, but exchanging thoughts all the same. Bella's head felt clearer, her footing sure, her future crystallizing. She would get better, and maybe go back to school, if she could settle on a major. She would laugh, as often as possible. And she would love, fiercely and fearlessly, and make sure everyone knew their worth to her – starting with Charlie. She was a shitty daughter, and he really didn't deserve her temper and distance, not when he was such a pillar of strength in her life.
Bella's gaze caught a familiar spot and she tugged Edward along, bringing them once more to the sad little grave of Martha Beaird. "Goodbye, little one," Bella said. "I hope you're not alone, wherever you are."
A song for everything, as Edward would say: in her mind, lyrics sprung forth and she dedicated them silently to her mother, to Edward's, to Liz and Rachel, and to Martha: 'No one should brave the Underworld alone.'
"Where to next?" Edward asked, reaching for the keys in his pocket.
As weary as she felt, as spent as she was, returning to the hotel seemed wrong, a betrayal of her mother's spirit. No, she needed to stay outside, and soak up as much of her old home as possible. Bella thought for a long moment, then nodded to herself. Yin and yang. Balance. It was obvious where she ought to be.
"Get in; I'll drive."
I need a hug... Enjoy your holidays, whatever you celebrate, and take care of yourselves, alrighty? And please, show me some review love for this one, because it took a lot out of me.
TWITTER PEEPS: Tweet a link and spread the story around, including an 'at' reference to my account (casket4myfanfic) and I will reward you with an early Christmas gift! I doled out the last gift recently and people were pleased... I'm just sayin' *wink*
Also, fact: Martha Beaird is indeed buried in Resthaven Park Cemetery, and did die at the age of two months in 1951. You can find her via find a grave and Google.