Bella jolted awake, blinking at the light in her room and at her room in general. Home, she reminded herself. I'm home. She'd been dreaming and not having the kind of dream she wanted to remember. From downstairs, she heard the clank and clang of a pot or pan being set on the stove, then the sound of water running. Was Charlie cooking?
She dressed quickly, her ears still attuned to the noises coming from the kitchen. Sure enough, Charlie was in the kitchen, cooking.
Whoa.
He had butter in the pan, several eggs cracked into a bowl, and a whisk at hand.
"You gonna stand there making me feel inadequate?" Charlie asked, not turning around.
Bella smiled, feeling a little sheepish. "Morning."
"Morning," Charlie replied, tipping the eggs into the pan.
When he set the bowl in the sink, Bella approached, wrapping her arms around him. Her father didn't quite startle, but he was slightly slow in reciprocating.
Neither of them said anything, and if she was honest with herself, it felt a little awkward when she pulled away. Charlie's face was slightly mottled, more pink in his cheeks than not.
"Want some eggs?" Charlie had picked up the spatula, pointing it toward the pan.
"Yeah. That'd be great. Coffee?" She had the canister in hand.
Charlie frowned. "You're a bit young to be needing coffee every morning."
She shrugged and smiled a little. "Italian influences. You'd have coffee every morning if you were there too. It was really good."
Setting the coffee maker to perk, she leaned back against the counter, looking out the window. It was another grey day in Forks, but rather than offering disappointment, the layer of clouds felt comforting.
"What're your plans for the day?" Charlie asked.
"Studying."
"Okay. And?"
"There needs to be more?" Bella asked. The coffee machine spat water into the grounds, making a slow trickle into the carafe.
"All work and no play . . ." Charlie shrugged, then dished the eggs onto two plates, handing out one to her .
"Thanks." She forked a bite into her mouth. They were really good. She eyed Charlie. When had he learned to cook?
"Sue's recipe," he said, seeming to read her.
Ah. Sue. This was not the first time her name had come up. "You guys seemed awfully . . . friendly the other day."
Yes, there was that Swan blush. "We've been friends a long time."
Sure. And Edward was just a friend, too. "Uh-huh." She didn't press further.
Their breakfast was mostly silent, each of them contemplating their coffee, passing sections of newspaper back and forth. While Charlie read up on sports scores, Bella's eyes drifted over the news in the local Port Angeles paper, lingering on the announcement of the reopening of one of the small city's largest bookstores. She'd long ago exhausted the resources of the little library in Forks along with her own collection of books. After having reread the contents of her bookshelf, as they had been reproduced for her in Volterra, the familiar stories were not so appealing anymore. It would be nice to get something new to read. "Maybe I'll head over to Port Angeles."
"Sounds nice. Will, um, anyone be going with you?"
'Anyone' her butt.
"And would it be a problem for you if Edward did?"
She swore she could hear his teeth grinding . "Your choices are your own," he muttered.
She put down her cup. "Do you really feel the need to bullshit me about this?"
"Language."
Fuck the language, she thought, catching herself before she said it aloud. Taking a deep breath, she murmured, "Sorry." Clearly, anything she interpreted as a controlling statement was still a trigger for her, and his continued animosity toward the man she loved was equally as frustrating. She knew Charlie had spoken out of love and concern for her, but this was getting old.
"To answer your question, no, but you know my feelings about him," Charlie said.
All too well, Bella thought wryly. "Okay, and to answer your question, I don't know. I haven't asked if he's free." Not that there was any doubt as to whether or not he was free. He was likely sitting in a tree somewhere outside her house. The idea made her smile. Tree-Edward.
Charlie didn't roll his eyes, but the level look he gave her conveyed the same sentiment. Clearly, he had a good read on her relationship with Edward.
"Drive safely," he said, leaning over to kiss the top of her head as he cleared the dishes.
"I will."
She waited until the sounds of Charlie's cruiser had faded from her hearing before speaking again. "Want to go shopping with me?"
The answer was a knock at the door, Edward standing there when she opened it. "I'd love to."
Almost an hour and several household chores later, Bella and Edward were in his car on their way to Port Angeles. Edward had pointed out that the truck offered little refuge if the sun did make an appearance, and his smaller vehicle with darkly tinted windows did. If he had other commentary to make about her truck—and from the look he gave it, she was sure he did—he kept it to himself.
They trailed through the aisles of the renovated bookstore, making a general tour of its offerings. As with all things book-related, Bella couldn't help but think of Marcus and Erastus, wondering how their work in the library was going. Would they have indexed the entire collection yet? Likely, given their dedication. She could check, of course, if her username and password had remained unchanged. Would that raise any alarms? Surely it wouldn't, given that the Volturi knew where she was. She made a note to ask Edward about it later. Shaking off these musings, she returned her attention to the physical present. As her fingers trailed over the colourful cookbooks in front of her, Bella realized, with no small surprise, how much she missed Marcus and Erastus. They'd been something like friends. Would she see them again, that way? She let the thought trail away, focusing instead on the book in front of her. She'd come with the intent to buy books for herself but also for Charlie.
"What're you looking for?" Edward asked.
Bella scanned the options in front of her. "A good, general cookbook for my dad." He could make eggs, which was commendable, but she wanted to teach him a few more things and at least leave him a text that wasn't intimidating. She would be leaving him soon, and while there wasn't much she could impart to him, she could make sure he would eat well.
As always, it seemed, the lid on her emotions was loose. Tears brimmed. "Damn." She wiped her eyes with her shirtsleeve.
Edward held out a tissue from a small package in his pocket.
"Thank you," she said, taking it with a tiny smile. "Don't you know me well. Sorry."
"Why are you sorry?"
Why indeed? "I was not a weepy mess when you met me."
"Well, first of all, I don't think you're a weepy mess, and second, I'd be worried if you weren't crying at least once in a while."
With the tears still rolling down her face, Bella laughed. "I suppose it's better than keeping it all in." Then something occurred to her as she was still dabbing at her eyes. She had her tears. What did he have? "How do you . . . deal with everything?"
"It's not really the same for me," he said quietly, not really looking at her.
"I don't believe you." Bella surprised herself as she called him out, but this felt important. There was no way he was as unaffected by everything that had happened—and was happening now—as he claimed. She needed him to share this part of himself with her.
He stared at the floor for a few moments before peeking up at her through his eyelashes. "I run."
"Have you been, though? Running?" She thought of the vigil he kept near her. Although other Cullens were supposedly taking shifts, she suspected Edward only allowed it when he needed to hunt. He was never gone long, she knew. Were those short reprieves enough for him?
"I'm okay, Bella."
She wasn't so certain. "Sure. So am I," she scoffed teasingly, waving her hands to indicate her tear-stained face. "I want you to take care of yourself, too."
"Noted."
"And ignored?" Bella could be stubborn, too.
"No, not at all." Edward shook his head, reaching out and pulling a thick cookbook from the shelf, clearly attempting to change the subject. "This," he said , "is the same cookbook my mother had."
Bella lifted her eyebrows, eyeing the glossy hardback, The Fannie Farmer Cookbook.
"Not the exact one, of course. Then it was known as The Boston Cooking School Cookbook." He flipped open the cover, pointing to the notes on the information page. "See?"
"Huh." They were within arm's reach of each other, and though her heart sped at his proximity, she didn't stiffen in fear. Progress, she told herself. Progress.
Edward flipped through some of the pages, grinning as he reached the section on cooking meat.
"What?" Bella asked.
He shook his head. "Some memories still surprise me, things I'd thought I'd forgotten about."
"Like what?"
His smile appeared wistful. "This edition doesn't have it, but the original had instructions on how to manage the butchering, preparation, preservation, and cooking of an entire cow which, I'm sure you can imagine, was quite the production for the average housewife in 1918."
"Yes, I can imagine." She peered over his shoulder, eyeing the text on the open page. "I don't think Charlie will need quite that much meat, but it does have a handy chart of the different cuts and what to do with them." Still thinking about the merits of the text, she stepped closer to examine it, abruptly realizing they were only inches apart. She could feel his breath on her hair. It felt nice. "It looks like a good book."
"I think so." He breathed the words more than spoke them. Very, very gently, very softly, his hand came to rest on her lower back.
She closed her eyes, focusing on drawing air in and out of her lungs, acclimating herself to this touch.
"I really like that you're touching me," she whispered, still keeping her eyes closed.
"I really like it, too."
Opening her eyes, she put her hand to his chest as she had the day before. No ugly memories assaulted her, and no shudder made her tremble. With a deliberate motion, she brought her other hand to his cheek and tilted her face up, bringing her mouth closer—
"I'll beat you there!" A child's voice squealed as a little figure darted right beside her, another child hurtling after.
Edward's hand snapped to Bella's arm, bracing her. His grip was firm but gentle. She did not need to fear bruising from his touch.
"Curtis, Mandy—no running!" a woman's voice called. "Sorry!" she said, brushing past Edward and Bella.
Edward cleared his throat, slowly releasing his hand and moving it back to his side.
She had a sudden stab of longing for the privacy of the Volturi's library, thinking of its deserted stacks.
Another distinctly human throat being cleared made Bella turn to face the source of the sound. An elderly woman smiled politely. "May I?" she asked, gesturing towards the cookbooks.
"Of course, sorry," Bella murmured, the spell broken. She and Edward moved out of the narrow aisle and into the wider space between the shelves. Her eyes remained on Edward, who preceded her, his hand still holding the cookbook.
She'd almost kissed him. Almost. And she still really wanted to.
Edward's eyes, so bright in the morning light, seemed darker now. He'd turned around and had fixed his gaze on her; and it took her a moment after his lips moved to realize he was speaking to her.
"Pardon?" she asked.
"Are there any other books you'd like to buy?"
The shelves, customers, and books had faded into the background. "No, um . . . Fannie, Boston, cow. I'm good." She waved at the book in his hand.
How other people walked by his smile without being blinded, stunned, or made stupid, she had no idea. She stared, limp-lipped, dazzled, and happily dumbfounded by how easy it was to simply be with him in this moment.
"Well," he said softly, stepping closer, "perhaps we can go find a quiet spot for you to peruse this rather gripping piece of reading?"
The sudden realization that there were other things she wanted to "grip and peruse" made her breathing come up short.
Stumbling towards the cash-register, she recovered, pulling in a sharp breath as Edward's hand brushed her back again.
Breathe, she told herself. Breathe. Thinking of only these words, she realized she didn't have to tell herself anything else. It was the delight of his touch, the comfort of his presence, the goodness that was him—and no ugly feelings crawling up from that seemingly endless well that stemmed from her time with Demetri.
In a pleasant haze, she walked from the bookstore with Edward. They were outside before she even realized she'd forgotten to buy a new book for herself. It made her think of the Lower Order and her earlier and unspoken query.
"Do you think I could check on the Volturi library?" she asked Edward. They'd settled on a bench, the book in Edward's hand.
"Is there something you're looking for?" He looked back towards the bookstore.
She shook her head. "I was just wondering how the librarians were doing."
Edward smiled. "You did some good work there. They regarded you very highly."
"Did they?"
"Did you really think otherwise?"
She shrugged. "I wasn't sure what to think. They seemed so . . ." The word "beaten" came to mind.
"Downtrodden?"
"Hmm." It was close.
They looked out over the street, hands resting adjacent to one another. She considered asking him more about what he knew of them but decided not to ruin this peaceful moment with memories which were less so.
"Ready?" Edward asked.
For anything, Bella thought. "Sure."
- 0 -
Bella pecked at the keys on her keyboard. The dial-up connection had finally gone through, the low screech of the final sound buzzing away in the background. From her memory, Bella plucked the address for the Volturi library, typing it in slowly on the clackety keys. She hesitated before clicking on the login page. Edward had said this would be safe. It was safe, right?
Not as if her hyper-protective boyfriend would say it was safe if it wasn't. She giggled at that thought, shaking her head. No doubt he would ask her what she was laughing about later. Would she tell him? Maybe.
She had time to reconsider her actions as the page loaded. Almost half-heartedly, she wished she'd thought to bring her laptop with her from Italy, not that she'd really been in any mindset to do more than breathe at that point—if that. Though it was simple to use, this computer was old to the point of obsolescence, she was realizing. By the time all the text displayed, she had made her decision, quickly entering her username and password. Then she was in.
After bringing up the latest additions to the library's collection, she laughed out loud. While there was quite a variety of topics that had been updated, there was one topic that had lately been expanded quite liberally.
Well, at least they have things they like reading about. She wondered if the members of the Lower Order had discovered the many fan websites for their favourite show. She clicked on one of the new books, laughing even more when she saw how many times it had been checked out and returned already.
"Oh, Erastus." She was happy he had good books to keep him company—or, well, at least books on his preferred topic.
She checked the latest books that had been borrowed. Scrolling through the long list of entries, she saw that yes, indeed, the only borrowers of books on the new electronic system were all members of the Lower Order. Either the members of the guard didn't read, or they didn't use the new electronic system. Not that it surprised her, but they seemed loath to change unless absolutely necessary. She recalled how often Demetri had lamented the modern world's preoccupation with all things electronic. The self-effacing members of the Volturi's claustral echelons embraced technology in a way Demetri never would.
"Good," she muttered to herself. She wished he could get a paper cut right up his luddite butt.
Her eyes returned to the page, landing on a new entry entitled Roses and their Variants. It was no surprise to see who had checked out that volume. She paused before clicking on the "notes" section for the text, thinking about a message that would not cause trouble for the man who had been something like a friend—her only friend—in Volterra: I hope you're well, Marcus. It's lovely to see the collection has grown so much since I left. - Bella. She read it over twice before saving it. She doubted the guard would see it, and if they did, she was certain it didn't violate any rules. Edward would have cautioned her if it did.
She turned off her computer, wondering if the one that had been hers in Volterra was still there. Recalling how the first one had been destroyed, she jerked her thoughts away from the topic. She tried not to think about Demetri if possible, and she was surprised she'd been able to at all without being reduced to a quivering ball of fear.
"More progress," she whispered.
Charlie's steps thumped slowly up the stairs, interrupting her thoughts.
"Night, Bells," he called, peeking in through her door.
"Night, Dad." She smiled at him.
"And thanks again for the book." He chuckled, a nervous sort of sound. He'd looked almost frightened when she'd presented him with his new cookbook.
"The Swan cooking school starts tomorrow," she said solemnly, enjoying watching his eyes widen and then laughing at him a bit.
"Geez." He rolled his eyes. Then more seriously, he said, "But sleep well, eh?"
"I will." It was an equally solemn promise. She would try. At least now when she was rattled by nightmares, it was Edward who woke her before the screaming began, and it was he who soothed her with his voice. She closed her eyes, relaxing as she imagined hearing it. He would be here soon. Although he no longer spent nights watching over her in her room as he had in the past, she welcomed visits from him so they could say good night, and she left her window unlocked, fully trusting that he would only come in if she needed him.
Of their own volition, her thoughts circled back to the Lower Order and their books. She moved over to her bed, kicking off her shoes and sliding under the covers. Plucking her Jane Austen anthology from her bedside table, she began reading, losing herself in a romance whose participants knew only the suffering brought by human cruelty, utterly free of savagery wielded by creatures with bright red, violent eyes.
A/N for 2020-10-23: There is nothing like working with people residing in different geographic locales to learn about the many idiomatic expressions tied to said locales, as well as the different nomenclature that reside there, too (for example: sofa, couch, chesterfield, divan, and davenport). I discovered that the intended title for this chapter, 'the whole cow' is a very local idiom (meaning the 'entire thing'), and had no meaning for my betas, Eeyorefan12 and Chayasara. Credit for the current chapter title goes to them, along with my thanks for all their work on this chapter and story.
And in case you're wondering, yes, I do have a copy of The Fannie Farmer Cookbook in my house. I swear by their Cream Scone recipe, but alas, I lack the ability to comment on the quality of instruction in butchering a whole cow, or preparing sweetbreads, despite the repeated pleas of one of my children to do so.
Until next week!
Erin
DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.
