A/N for 2020-07-24: My sincerest of thanks to Eeyorefan12 for nudging this chapter out of the nest and helping it fly.

On another note: if any of you would like to meet yours truly via Zoom, you can do on September 5, 2020 at 8 PM Central time (North America). I'm participating in this series of Zoom 'meet-your-favourite-fandom-author' program to help raise funds for fandom writer Carey Anne Williams, who has been suffering with and recovering from Covid-19 for several months now. How do you join the Zoom call? Make at least a $5 donation to Carey's go-fund-me page and then email Authors4carey AT gmail DOT com. You can find links and information in my FaceBook group: FlamingMaple's Stories.

Happy reading!

Erin

As with the first three eggs Bella had tried to crack, this one exploded, but with slightly less force. She shook the goop from her hand into the sink, then rinsed off her hand.

"You're getting better," Charlie mused from where he sat nearby. His habitual cup of hot water sat in front of him.

"Yep," Bella agreed. She was. She drummed her fingers on her hip, recalling the precise force with which she'd made the last egg explode and the one prior to that. She determined to make the next one crack as it should. The Denali's kitchen counter was spread with the ingredients she needed to make pancakes, not that she was any closer to making pancakes, much less seeing her children. While there wasn't anyone around for whom she could cook, doing so was a practical exercise in gaining control, as well as a refresher in human skills that would otherwise fade with human memories. Practical or otherwise, it wasn't going very well, though. Bella sighed, momentarily resting her hands on the granite surface. It felt warm to her touch, which was still a bit of a shock. Of course, having Edward feel warm to her touch was still a shock only a fortnight into her new life. Thinking of his hands, she let her mental gaze wander up his arms to his shoulders. How she loved to bring her new and exceptionally effective hands up and over his shoulders like a wave, sliding them down his back to—

"Maybe try the knock-knock method."

"What?" Bella blinked, abruptly recalled to the present, to her mound of cracked shells and her father's somewhat amused expression.

Charlie put his gaze back on his mug of hot water. "It's the kid's method. Tap it three times on the counter, in the middle." He demonstrated with his hand without looking. "That's how my mom taught me."

That his mother had taught him anything kitchen-related was startling enough, but that he remembered it—Bella quirked an eyebrow. Charlie seemed to recall, with far greater ease, a great deal more than Bella did of her human life. She wondered if his age at his transformation had something to do with it.

Holding in her sigh, she nodded. Charlie seemed to be doing a lot more things better than she was.

Focus, she told herself, looking at next ovid-shaped victim in the paper carton.

"You can do this." Muttering was still a habit from which she had to break herself. She could hear Emmett snickering on his way out the door to the garage. "I can always practise by throwing them at you, Em," she called out. There were more snickers.

Egg nestled in her hand, she tapped it lightly on the granite surface, then again, and then once more, hearing the hoped-for sound. Bella froze with anticipation, not wanting to spoil her possible success with any kind of eagerness.

"Now just kinda get your finger tips in there." Charlie mimed the action.

Instinctively holding her breath, Bella did as he instructed. "It worked!" She grinned at her egg, yolk intact in the mixing bowl, its translucent white haloing it.

"Good job." Charlie lifted the cup in salute.

"Thank you, Dad." She meant it. She needed all the support she could get. Determined to see her children again, and soon, she was learning to curtail her many wandering thoughts and instincts. Her mind was so capacious, it took herculean effort at times to focus on a single task. Pausing before she tried again, Bella repeated the steps she'd taken in her mind, again calibrating the precise force required to accomplish this simple yet intricate act.

When the second yolk joined its partner in the bowl, Bella stared at the two eyes they made. Without looking, she grasped a third egg, trusting herself to instinct, tapping the shell and—watching it explode all over her apron.

Charlie said nothing. When she glanced at him, he appeared to be staring out the window. Bella watched with him, catching a flicker of movement in the distance. Emmett and Jasper were putting up Christmas lights—in November. Although Thanksgiving had just passed and Bella supposed it was close enough to not really matter that it was early, it wasn't because her brothers-in-law were attempting to bring any holiday cheer. No, they'd made a bet on which of them could produce the best display. She shook her head. It was silly. Watching Charlie though, she wondered if there was something more to their juvenile antics.

Gathering the threads of her attention back together again, Bella attempted cracking another egg, again successful. Again, something of a surprise. Yet, if she could crack eggs, she was a step closer to being able to touch her children. She thought of Maddie's fragile little body, determined to acquire the delicate control required to be near her young family once again.

Upstairs, Edward was making phone calls, some to Carlisle, others to various contacts, clearing the way for a smooth return home for Bella, and for Charlie, should he wish it. The Denalis had gone hunting. As the most recently made newborns, Bella and Charlie had a kinship for human ritual that still hadn't quite faded and with which the Cullens had encouraged them to continue. They gathered in the kitchen more often than the others, Charlie for a cup of hot water over which to stew, Bella to learn the control required for reintegrating herself into the human world.

"Have you thought about the Cullens' offer at all?" Bella bit her lip, hoping.

"I have."

His tone alone told Bella that she was not to have the answer she'd wanted.

"I'm sure they could pull off my resurrection without a hitch, but . . . I just can't see the advantage, honey." His fingers pinged quietly as they tapped the cup.

God, he was so good with not breaking things and with retaining some human mannerisms. It made her envious.

"By the time I learn enough control . . ." He shrugged. "I'd be old enough to probably need to be dead. I couldn't be part of the kids' lives."

"That's not true." She thought of the Cullens' stories along with those of the Denalis, each of which had been offered in some perfectly natural context over the last two weeks. They'd all managed enough control within a few years to at least be able to walk amongst humans.

"It could be phone calls for now, Dad. Video calls, too, if you're up for contact lenses. And you wouldn't need those for long, Alice says."

"Yep. Phone calls to a grandpa they might not ever see in person, supposedly a man who lost his memory and was found wandering in the wilderness. More likely to draw questions than prevent them."

Wasn't that something that they all wanted to avoid. They both shuddered a little, recalling the Volturi's 'visit'. No, they didn't want to draw attention to themselves.

"I think it's safer if I'm dead, Bella. The risks—just from work friends alone wanting to see me, or to investigate the story . . ." He shook his head.

She knew the love in the answer. Even so, she didn't agree with it.

"I don't think that's at all insurmountable, Dad."

"They'll still have Carlisle and Esme. They won't lack for love from their grandparents. And you'll still have me, whether you want me or not." He chuckled. "Apparently forever."

She smiled. There was no loss for her there. This brought her to thoughts of the other things they'd gained through this new life.

"You can still talk to Leah and Seth. And, maybe . . . Billy." It was something.

"Maybe." This was more complex. That he was now the same type of creature that had robbed Billy of his son, and Charlie himself of the woman he'd loved, was not lost on him. He hadn't said much about this, but the little he had spoke volumes. While he wasn't suicidal anymore, his new state was far from without profoundly conflicted feelings. Jasper stayed close by Charlie much of the time. Bella did not wonder why.

She tried a different tack. "And Tanya seems . . . nice."

Charlie's face looked like it would be blushing if it were possible.

Bella hadn't meant to embarrass him, and certainly hadn't meant to allude to the . . . activities in which her father and Tanya had engaged. Some human taboos remained etched in her consciousness, and discussions of her father's sex life fell squarely into taboo territory.

"It's not . . . it's not like with Sue, honey. Tanya's a good friend."

A good friend my ass, Bella thought. Friend with benefits more like. "Oh, okay." She kept her eyes on the eggs, picking up the whisk and ever-so-gently beginning to mix them. There seemed to be an unnatural curve to the whisk-handle. Crud. She put down the bowl and whisk, not wanting to risk more damage. One thing at a time. "What will you do, then?"

Charlie twirled the liquid around in his cup. "I thought I might build a boat."

Bella smiled to herself, peering at the recipe she'd written down. Picking up the jug of milk, she poured it into the eggs and then added the oil. The pyrex did not crack. Success! Putting the fragile container down, she let her thoughts turn back to Charlie with another grin. Of course he would build a boat.

"Grant's got a pretty nice woodshop set up out back. He said I could use it if I wanted."

Bella thought that was rather nice of Grant, all things considered. Although Charlie had apologized to him for his snappish behaviour, she felt it was big of her former colleague to be so kind. It was heartening, too. It meant another friendship, and another link to this new life.

But a boat. Her eyebrows nudged together. They were miles inland. Not that this would stop Charlie. He'd find a way to get a boat to the nearest body of water.

"Will it be a fishing boat?"

Edward had given Charlie the bad news about fishing. He'd taken it remarkably well.

"Nah, just a boat. There's a lot of peace to be found sitting on the water."

There was, Bella mused, especially for Charlie.

"That's too bad." She spoke quietly, hands pressed safely onto the countertop again. Her hands, she had discovered, could do a great deal of damage all by themselves, her 'gift' notwithstanding. She'd already apologized to Carmen multiple times for the antique vase that had fallen victim to one of her careless gestures.

Charlie frowned. "Why is it too bad?"

"Well, I mean . . . who's going to teach the kids how to fish?"

Charlie snorted. "You hated fishing as a kid. Even if we were both human, you'd never have pushed me to take the kids fishing."

Bella fixed him with a look. "Mer's always talking about how you promised to take her fishing with the rod you gave her for her birthday."

"Mer is always talking about princess dresses."

Fair point.

"A girl can have varied interests."

Charlie stood with an ease and grace that Bella envied. The chair slid back uninjured for his relatively abrupt movement. "It'd be years, Bells. Years before I could even possibly be near them. And years are like a lifetime to a kid."

"Like a year without seeing your dad?" She spoke softly. She didn't like prodding at this tender spot in their relationship.

She watched his face crinkle at the edges. "That was—I didn't—"

"I know." Her stomach squirmed with guilt. "I understand why you couldn't see me that often. I get it. I just don't get why you're so eager to let it happen again with your grandchildren when you don't have to."

Carrying his cup, Charlie moved to the sink, setting it inside and washing it out. After he dried it and returned it to the cupboard, he leaned back against the counter, folding his arms and then unfolding them. He looked nervous. "I can't ever risk hurting them, Bella. I'm sure Edward's told you . . . "

"He's told me." Her voice was a low whisper.

Charlie shook his head. "I love you, and I love them. I can't—"

"I would never let you hurt them." She met his gaze, her red-eyed gaze unflinching in the face of his.

"They could resent me for not seeing them. They won't know—"

"They could have you in their lives. They could have a chance to know you, to love you."

Charlie turned away, looking out the window. Jasper was responsible for decorating the wing of the building visible to them now. His work so far was impressive. Bella recalled, with the now-familiar human murkiness, her past Christmases as a parent, an adult, a teenager and a child. Foremost in her mind were the small moments forged with the people she'd loved. She wanted that for Charlie—and for her children.

"A chance," Charlie said.

"It's all I'm asking," she said.

She watched his jaw work and his chest expand as he took an unnecessary breath. The afternoon sunlight had fully faded from the window when he spoke again. "I'll try."

"Thank you." She smiled, letting her eyes close for a moment of gratitude. Her mind conjured several possible future scenes with Charlie and the children, all of which involved the giving of thanks. "Thank you," she said again.

Charlie nodded, folding his arms back over his chest again. Then he chuckled. "Maybe you can explain my continued absence because I've gone cuckoo and run off somewhere to make a living building boats."

She smiled. If he was planning, this was a good sign. She looked at his hands, which could now be so certain around a fragile thing as a cup. She recalled the several times he and Billy had muttered what seemed like incantations over the motor of Harry Clearwater's boat, fiddling with its mechanical bits. Charlie would be good with his hands. He would enjoy making rather than destroying things.

She was certain he could enjoy his grandchildren, too, given time and the right circumstances. Not yet, but someday.

Pulling a wooden spoon from the canister beside the cooktop, Bella began mixing together the dry and wet ingredients for her pancakes, one step closer making food, one step closer to returning to her children.

Her comfortable silence together with her father resumed, Bella began carefully spooning batter onto the griddle, thinking about how they were making peace with this eternity together.

DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.