A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.
Here's a Saturday morning update for you all to read while you're on around-the-corner lines at the supermarket or at Costco today trying to get water and toilet paper. Good luck, all, and STAY SAFE AND HEALTHY.
We're almost done. :)
Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine as well.
Seven Nights – Chapter 16
DAY 6 – Early Dawn – Off the Coast of San Juan, Puerto Rico, USA
"She had chest pains. By the time I got her to the hospital, she couldn't breathe."
I clamp a hand over my mouth and double over to the keep down the mixture of bile and near-hysteria threatening to choke me. When I feel a hand on my shoulder, it's warm and comforting…but it's also far away.
I can't focus on that right now.
"Dad, is Mom okay?"
The moment that transpires before my dad replies is the longest moment I've ever experienced.
"Dr. Gerandy has her in ICU. They think it might be her heart."
"But she doesn't have heart problems. She's a healthy forty-two years old woman; at least, she was super-healthy until-"
"Dr. Gerandy said something about the chemo and her heart."
"What exactly did Dr. Gerandy say, Dad?"
"I don't know. I don't remember, Bella." His voice quivers. "I was just…I was just so…"
"It's okay, Dad. Is Dr. Gerandy there? Can I speak to him?"
My dad's sigh is that of a man carrying the weight of the world. "He was here a while ago, but I'm not sure where he is right now. He might be in with your mom. I haven't been allowed in with her yet."
"What? Why not?"
"They've been running some tests I…I don't know. I don't know what's going on, Bells."
When I picture my dad in the Forks' Hospital waiting room, bewildered, unable to even see his wife, and likely pulling out his hair from its roots, my heart aches almost as much for him as it does for my mom.
"Dad, who's there with you?"
"I didn't want to bother anyone, Bella. It was late. I didn't even want to bother you, sweetheart, but when you left for your cruise, Mom made me promise that if something happened I'd call you because she promised you, and she didn't want that promise broken."
Despite how I'm struggling to remain calm, when I pinch my eyes shut, it wrings a tear from each eye. In the ensuing silence, the warm hand stroking the nape of my neck exerts gentle pressure.
I draw in a deep breath and straighten. "All right. I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Honey, I don't want you rushing over here and possibly getting hurt yourself in the process."
"Dad, I'll be fine. Don't start worrying about me now. I'll be there before the end of the day. I promise."
He's quiet.
"Dad?"
When he replies, his voice breaks and the attempt he makes at masking it by clearing his throat makes my chest constrict.
"Okay, Bells. Okay. Be careful, all right? Are you coming back with Quil?"
"No, Dad. I'm coming back by myself."
The hand on my nape stiffens for a fraction of a second, then resumes its tender stroking. My dad pauses yet again, but I suppose he decides now isn't the time to ask about Quil.
"All right, honey."
I end the call and head straight for the cabin door.
"I've got to go."
"Bella, wait, and I'll come with you."
"I can't wait, Edward. I have no time to wait. This is urgent."
Yanking the door open, I cut a fast track for the elevators, while Edward's long legs easily keep pace beside me.
"My mom has been in the hospital for hours, my dad has been all alone and for some fucking reason, he hasn't been allowed to see her. You have no idea what that's probably doing to him. And I missed my chance to speak with her oncologist, who's God knows where now."
I fist my hair, and when he reaches for me, threading his fingers through mine and spinning me toward him, I expel an impatient growl.
"Hold on."
"What part of 'this is urgent' don't you get?"
"I get it's urgent," he fires back. "I'm just telling you to hold on so that we can figure out our game plan before-"
Shaking off his hand, I resume my quick stride. "I don't need a fucking game plan. I just need to get off this ship and get home as soon as possible."
"I know that, Bella, which is why I want to help-"
All the crushing fear and agitated frustration and confusion and anxiety and dread…they all come crashing down on me, and even as I round on Edward, even as the first bitter words cross my mouth, I know they're untrue and unfair; I know I'm shifting the weight of my failure onto his shoulders so that I won't crumble under the weight of it.
Yet, I can't stop myself.
"I don't want your goddamn help! It's your goddamn fault I didn't have my phone on me! It's your goddamn fault I'm just finding out now that my mom's been in the hospital for hours! It's your goddamn fault I didn't get to speak with her or with the oncologist and that my dad's been dealing with this all alone for hours! This is all your fault! You just had to have the last fucking word with Quil, didn't you? And it's my fucking fault too," I choke, "for getting involved with you in the first place. So just leave me alone, Edward!"
All the while, Edward stands there with his chest heaving, startled sea-green eyes growing wider with each successive accusation flung at him…yet allowing my venom to spew freely.
"I've got to go," I say, too bewildered to deal with him too.
I resume my lightning stride, and he follows. When we reach the elevators, he's the one to hit the call button. When the elevator arrives, he holds the doors open and jumps in with me.
"Do you even know where you're headed, Bella?"
I squeeze my eyes shut, temples pounding as I try to figure out my next move; my first move.
"I've got to get off this ship. That's all I know right now."
The heated intensity of his gaze seeps through my shuttered lids. "You don't have shoes on."
My eyes pop open. "I don't give a damn about shoes."
He exhales. "Bella, go to your room, get your things together, and I'll head to Guest Services and-"
"You just don't get it, do you?" I snort, shaking my head. "This game as you just called it-"
"I didn't call it a game," he retorts in a hiss while I wiggle a finger tightly between us.
"It's over, Edward. I don't have time for this anymore."
His angular jaw squares into a steely, rigid mass as he turns and bangs his palm hard over the 'Floor 5 – Guest Services' button. While the elevator descends, I crush myself against a back corner, and Edward stands stiffly mid-elevator, facing the doors.
"It was never a game."
"Let's be honest, it was a game for both of us, Edward – for the celebrity music producer who got his kicks sailing around the Caribbean with a stupid girl-"
"Bella, no."
"-who had no fucking clue who he was-"
"Bella-"
"-and for me, who allowed herself a distraction from the real world."
He shakes his head and snorts, turning to face me midway through my bitter rant.
"No. No, Bella. I know I should've said it earlier, I know my timing couldn't be shittier-"
"Oh yeah, it could be shittier!" The shouted words reverberate throughout our enclosed surroundings. "How about trying to say it while I'm down on my knees in front of you and giving you a bj?"
Edward's sun-kissed face pales, while his head jerks back as if I've struck him. The elevator pings, and the doors open, yet Edward just stands there staring at me, his feet seemingly melded to the elevator's glass floor. My eyes remain locked on his, nausea rolling in my stomach. In my periphery, I vaguely note a couple waiting to walk into the elevator.
"Uhm, excuse us, but may we…"
"That was a mistake, Bella. I shouldn't have-"
"Yeah, I know it was, Edward." I offer him a wry grin. "It's a common mistake in the heat of passion, to confuse lust for love and blurt out a few misplaced words you never meant."
The couple waiting for the elevator gasps.
"Is that what you think it was?" Edward whispers intently. "Just lust?"
I snort. "Don't pretend it was more than that. We both knew all along it was just a week-long, ship-board hook-up. You never promised me anything more, and I never asked for more."
When I shove past him and out of the elevator, the middle-aged couple dressed in matching Bermuda shorts and cruise tee-shirts part ways for me, both taking me in through matching rounded eyes and hanging mouths.
"Bella, wait! Wait!"
Meager bands of mauve sunlight filter through the large, floor-to-ceiling windows on the fifth-floor atrium. Beyond the hint of dawn, the bright lights of the next island in the ship's itinerary twinkle in the background. They've been visible since late last night when the ship pulled close to the Puerto Rican coast and then just…hovered.
A few more passengers now wander the ship, searching for an open bar serving morning Bloody Mary's or mimosas to go with the breakfast buffets that'll soon open. They stroll lazily, daily planners in hand as they configure their island day and their excursions. Since I'm the only one not currently strolling lazily, a few of them eye me with open curiosity.
Edward reaches for me yet again, the tips of his fingers brushing against the tips of mine, and for one moment, I want nothing more than to tangle our fingers and hands together, to grab onto him tightly and just…let myself believe that these past five great nights really were more than just five great nights.
"Let go of me!"
Edward lifts his hands, palms out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He pushes a hand through his scalp and fists his hair hard. "I did this so wrong."
"I have to go, Edward."
"I know," he breathes raggedly. "I know, and I won't keep you, but in case it means anything in the future…just know that it was never, never just sex for me."
The moment stretches out into eternity while Edward's piercing, sea-green gaze holds mine, and every moment we've spent together throughout the past five days and nights flickers through my mind – every sunrise and sunset in his arms, every shoreline stroll and fascinating conversation, every trivia game loss and win and the laughs in between, every moment poolside with his friends, with Alice and Jasper…and every private brush of his mouth and touch of his hands…
And at the same time, I know that moment is my last chance to reach out for him, my final opportunity to lift myself on my toes, wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, crush my mouth to his warm mouth, allow him to pull me close against his chest, and cocoon me in his warmth and tell me it was more than-
"Goodbye, Edward."
My head spins with the words.
"Goodbye, Bella," Edward says. "Take care of yourself."
"You too."
OOOOO
Unfortunately, when I arrive at Guest Services, there are two passengers on line in front of me. I wait my turn, tapping my foot against the marble floor, pressing my lips together to keep from releasing the screams bubbling at my throat.
My eyes wander aimlessly, not entirely sure what…or who I think they'll spot, who'll still be hovering around. But other than for the few early risers, this deck is pretty empty.
However, just a few short yards away is the ship's Photography desk. Thousands upon thousands of both candid and posed pictures taken by the shipboard photographers are neatly arranged on lined stacks that resemble library book stacks. Rows upon rows of pictures wait to be perused and hopefully purchased by wandering guests at leisure.
A picture of a couple, mid-row on the front stack catches my eye. The woman wears a flesh-toned, A-line, midi-length dress that was once described by a dress salesman as boring and unimaginative…but the man in the picture openly admires it. He, in turn, wears a dark blue, custom-tailored suit that fit him sublimely – a suit that wouldn't have looked out of place at an awards show. The couple in the picture were caught unaware, candidly and happily running through one of the ship's many decks hand in hand, grinning at one another as if they'd just hit the jackpot at the shipboard casino, gazes locked as if they'd known one another for years instead of days, and both wearing expressions of pure anticipation…of shared passion…of two people who knew they were about to click and were completely open to the possibilities-
I snap my eyes away before the sharp sting in them leads to more.
When it's finally my turn, the young mid-twenties-ish woman behind the guest services desk signals for me to approach. She wears a tag that reads "Siobhan - Dublin, Ireland.' Unlike the white polo and navy Bermuda shorts uniform of Brit Jessica and the rest of the entertainment staff, the Guest Services staff is attired more formally in navy slacks, crisp white button-downs, and navy blazers. Siobhan's bright red hair and green eyes-
Green eyes…
-contrast beautifully with her uniform.
"Good morning, Miss, howsagoing?" Siobhan asks with a friendly smile and a thick, Irish accent.
"Hi, good morning." I lay my hands flat on the desk. "I need to get off of the ship as soon as possible."
"Yes," Siobhan says, smile still in place. "Of course. Everyone is anxious to go into port later this morning, aren't they? Puerto Rico is a bang-on island, and it's our last stop before the ship returns to the port of Miami tomorrow morning. I'm sure you'll have a whale of a time. However, the Excursions desk," she flourishes an arm toward another empty desk a few feet away, "doesn't open until six-forty-five a.m., and-"
"No. I mean I have to get off the ship right now." I bounce my right forefinger off the desk.
"Oh." Her smile tightens slightly. "Well, the ship won't dock in San Juan for three hours yet, and as I said, the Excursions desk will open at-"
"Why haven't we docked yet?" When my voice rises, Siobhan's smile completely evaporates. "We've been hugging the island's coastline since late last night. I saw the lights then from my boy- from my balcony, and I see them now?" I wave wildly toward the ship's windows.
"Well, we're not scheduled to dock in San Juan until eight-"
"But I have to get off-" I grip my hair in both hands and fist it hard, knowing I'm not explaining myself properly. By now, Siobhan's bright green eyes appear somewhat alarmed, and she warily examines her surroundings as if she's afraid more like me might be looming around.
"Look, Siobhan, I just received an urgent call from my dad in Washington State telling me that my mom is very sick." My voice breaks. "I have to get home as soon as possible."
"Oh," she breathes. The shoulders that had stiffened now loosen while the wariness in her expression is replaced with sympathy. "I'm sorry, Miss. Well, as I said, we'll dock at the port of San Juan in about three hours, at which point you may certainly elect to end your cruise and your stay with us with no repercussions. There's a major airport in San Juan, and while I'm not sure whether they have direct flights into Washington State, I'm sure you'd be able to catch a connecting flight to the mainland U.S. I can help you look up flights if you'd like," she volunteers eagerly.
"No. No, Siobhan, I can't wait three hours for the ship to dock. My dad's been by himself at the hospital for hours, I have to speak with the oncologist, and my mom…I don't even know if my mom will…"
When I choke back a sob, Siobhan watches me sympathetically.
"I'm so sorry, Miss, truly," she murmurs. "I wish there was more I could do, but the ship simply doesn't have permission to dock until eight a.m. As I said, in the meantime, I'd be happy to help you look up flights-"
"No! I need to get off this ship now!"
"Is there a problem?"
One of the other guest services attendants approaches, this woman tall and lean and in about her mid-thirties with a tag that reads ' Zafrina – Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.'
Siobhan turns toward her and speaks in low murmurs, explaining the situation. Then, Zafrina turns to me.
"I'm sorry, Miss, but Siobhan is correct; we're not set to land in San Juan for three hours yet. But we can pull up flight schedules for you on our laptops-"
I rest my elbows on the counter and cradle my head, pulling my hair.
"Is there no way to get me on the island sooner? I'll pay money. Look, I know three hours sound insignificant, but they can make all the difference."
"Miss, it has nothing to do with money, I promise you. But only the ship's captain may make the request and determination to disembark someone off a ship while we're still officially at sea. What's more, the entire process usually involves calling the coast guard, and it's usually only done when someone on the ship is sick and needs to be transported urgently, not when- Excuse me."
The phone rings, and as Zafrina promptly answers it, my brain feels as if it might implode. Meanwhile, Zafrina shifts her eyes away from me and straightens as if a ruler has been shoved up her back.
"Oh. Good morning, Captain. I see. Oh, yes, yes, right here and- Oh, yes, sir." Her eyes sweep back to me before she turns her back and murmurs quietly into the phone. "Yes. Yes, sir. Very well. Right away, I understand. Very well. Thank you."
Hanging up, she clears her throat and her fingers begin flying over her laptop.
"All right, Miss Swan, let's work quickly then. Please give me all your relevant information so that I may contact the U.S. Coast Guard serving Puerto Rico and have them send a speedboat to collect you. In the meantime, Siobhan will contact the port and inform them that we have an emergency and that we'll be sending one of our passengers down shortly. She'll arrange the best possible flight for you as well. And Senna here" – she snaps her fingers, and another guest services attendant suddenly appears – "will accompany you to your cabin to lend you assistance in packing your belongings." She looks up and offers me a compassionate smile. "Don't worry, Miss Swan; we'll have you on your way home as soon as humanly possible."
"Thank you," I say, my voice thick. "Thank you."
"No problem, Miss Swan."
In the hectic yet ordered frenzy that follows, it's not until a half-hour later, while I'm in the cab that was already waiting at the port, racing toward San Juan International Airport to catch the flight that's miraculously waiting for me at the tarmac, and distractedly watching the island palm trees sway back and forth on an island I wasn't able to explore, that I realize I hadn't yet given Zafrina my name the first few times she called me, 'Miss Swan.'
"Edward," I breathe.
And then I hang my head and break into chest-racking sobs.
A/N: Thoughts?
Almost done.
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