September
November
December
Her heart is beating, and for the first time in what feels like years, she can hear it. She can hear the roar of it in her ears, feel it beating so hard against her ribs they feel ready to crack and splinter. She can feel the flush in her cheeks and the tears spilling down her cheeks, staining paths on her skin.
"I'm not going anywhere!"
Her parents are shouting too, both of them and Renee is crying. When did Renee get here?
She's been speaking all this time. If she hadn't been speaking then Charlie would have called Doctor Gerandy again, so she knows she's been speaking, but it's the first time her voice feels like it's coming from her own mouth. Her mouth feels like it's stuffed full of cotton wool, but she can feel it forming words and dragging in breath for the first time in what feels like a century.
She surprises herself with some of the things she says.
"I'm not leaving and you're not taking my fucking coat!" She catches herself, unfamiliar profanity catching in her throat but spilling out like acid, loaning her that little bit more power and certainty, making her feel that little bit more powerful.
Why is she standing on her bed? Why are her clothes everywhere? She doesn't know, but she doesn't stop. Whatever she's holding in her hands she hurls it at the wall, hearing plastic crack and splinter.
December 17th 2005
She can hear the sound of raindrops tapping on her window pane. Her eyes open slowly, surprised to hear the sound as if she'd forgotten it. Everything: the sound of rain on her window, the grey light filtering through her curtains, the thick quilt against her skin seems to have come into sharp focus. It's loud and bleak but it's so… Forks. She's still in Forks; the sound of raindrops on the glass proves it. "It can't get this grey in Florida," she rasps, rolling onto her back and hearing a familiar roughness in her voice.
There's a familiar heaviness in her eyelids too, but she isn't as tired as she had been when she crawled into bed yesterday afternoon, and that's nice. Her eyes snap open suddenly when she realises why this morning feels so different. Her voice is rough, it always is, but her throat isn't raw from screaming herself awake. It's so early that the sun's barely risen behind the clouds, but it can technically still be classed as the morning.
She slept the whole night.
She has nowhere to go but she peels away from her mattress, the alien feeling of waking peacefully putting her off balance. The wooden floorboards are cold and she picks her feet up to avoid tangles of clothes and trash carpeting her floor as she makes her way over to the window; shut against the rain but not locked. Never locked.
She reaches out her palm to the glass that's foggy from the heat of the house and the cold winter air outside and wipes away the condensation. She can watch fat raindrops rolling down the glass, feel the gentle tap each drop makes. She pulls her hand away and her palm is pale white, wet and cold from the window and she shouldn't be surprised but she is - because she can feel the chill on her skin. And she can feel how warm she is by contrast.
She knows she's alive in theory. She inhales deeply like she's trying to prove it to herself. She's kept herself alive; she's cooked and eaten, she's gone to school and taken notes - shoddy notes when she flips open the chemistry book on her desk for proof and finds doodles and unfinished sentences and homework assignments she didn't turn in. She's alive, but when she checks her phone and finds out it's December 17th she can hardly remember one day out of nearly two months. Does that count as being alive?
The tree outside her window is bare. Apparently, it's been bare so long that there aren't even any leaves on the ground anymore, they're just gone, blown away in the wind or turned to mush by the rain. Last time she remembers looking they'd been just starting to turn orange and brittle in the Fall. She's never seen a real Fall before, and she missed it.
Did Renee come to take her to Florida for Christmas? Is that why she'd been so upset when Bella had said no?
She rubs her eyes so she can stop looking at her room. Was it always messy, or did she manage all of this while she was screaming at Renee? There are clothes everywhere and her CD rack has been upturned, shiny cases cracked and splintered from being stamped on. Bella has to guess that Renee has gone home by now, but she can't remember if she'd said goodbye. Maybe not, after the way she had acted.
She has the presence of thought to know that she shouldn't have done it, but she barely remembers doing it and it's difficult to feel remorse for something that she feels so removed from. She only really has the evidence scattered at her feet and in the rawness of her throat; the memory doesn't feel like her own.
Her mom and her sunshiny attitude had strolled in as if she belonged in Forks, trying to brighten up Bella's bedroom with attitude and amiability alone. She'd talked about all the things they'd do in Florida like Bella wouldn't suddenly be too tired to get out of bed. She talked like the last time they'd seen each other Bella hadn't been in a hospital in Phoenix. Like the last time she'd seen her mom, He hadn't been sitting at Bella's bedside.
She folds at the thought, pain raking through a hollow, empty space in her chest and falls heavily to her knees, arms knotted around her stomach like she's trying to keep her organs locked inside her chest. It's like a slideshow, the memory of Him pretending to sleep on a short couch, of Renee leaning over her in her hospital bed. She tries to breathe again but it's like her lungs have rotted away inside her and won't fill with air. "I think that boy might be in love with you", Renee had said like it was obvious; like it made any sense.
The rain on her window is so loud she covers her ears, gasping for breath that just doesn't quite sustain her.
December 20th 2005
She feels bad about Renee for days. She knows it's been a few days because she's making an effort now. She's paying attention to the date, and because she knows the date she knows what day it is, and that means she's bringing the right books to school, and deciding that on Thursday she'll go to the Thriftway, and on Friday when she finishes her shift at Newton's she'll try and make a lasagna. Going backwards she works out that it was Friday she'd come home to find Renee parcelling her stuff into suitcases and trash bags.
It took Renee trying to donate her raincoat to Goodwill to really set her off, that memory came back when she found it tangled in her bedsheets like she was trying to protect it while she slept. "You won't need it - it's humid but not that humid!" It's a blur after that, but she can see evidence of what happened and she can remember hearing Renee cry. The next day she remembers better: barricading the door with her back just in case Renee was going to break it down and force her into the back of a van aimed at the sunshine state.
She could see what Renee was trying to do in her own muddled way, with some distance she can allow her mother that. Renee had done it herself years ago: boxed up her things and threw away what she didn't want and walked out of Forks with no plan of coming back. But Bella wasn't Renee, and Renee would never understand what it felt like to be the one left behind. She wants to go back and have the chance to explain it to Renee properly - calmly - but she doubts her mom would understand even if she could say it aloud. Charlie has his yellow kitchen cabinets to remind him of Renee in a house they lived together, but she doesn't have a sliver of proof that He was here and that she loved him more than she's ever loved anything. He always felt like a dream and she's terrified he'll fade like one.
Even so, she knows for certain she shouldn't have thrown a tantrum when she slips on the river of CD cases beside her bed and falls hard on her tail bone because then looking at the mess is unavoidable. She scowls down at the broken and cracked cases like it's their fault she upended their nice safe stand and left them there to stomp on. Her behind hurts, and she can already imagine the bruise she'll have as she curls up her legs and reaches for a handful of them.
She hasn't been listening to music lately. It demands an effort and thought beyond survival that she just doesn't have in her anymore. The last time she heard the kitchen radio playing, it had been a classical station and she had wanted to scream. The jewel cases in her hands have sharp edges and she makes a pile of those that might still play. She hurls the broken ones sharply in the direction of her trash can.
She isn't thinking as she snaps up from her seat and starts to pick up discarded shoes, tossing them to lie in their proper place beneath her window sill instead of scattered all over. It's not neat exactly, but they're all in one place and it's a semblance of order that clears a little more of the floor so she won't trip over them again. There are still clothes she can slip on though, and she snatches them up, stomping around her small bedroom like a caged animal, muttering underneath her breath as she tosses most straight into her laundry basket and some on her bed to hang back up in her closet.
Her head is throbbing, and maybe that's because she's hungry or thirsty or tired or sad, but she knows if she stops now she won't try again and she wants it done. She wants to do something while she has the energy to do it, and when she came home from school she hadn't crawled into bed right away, and that has to mean something. She is as needlessly aggressive with the task as she is unsteady. It's like she's recovering from the flu and she has to take a break, sit down until her head stops spinning and her legs stop shaking, but there's energy that feels foreign pent up inside her, a flush on her cheeks and her hands balled into fists. Sitting on her bed, surrounded by clothes she can't stop looking at it. The mess she made and how angry the memory makes her.
Amongst the scattered clothes, she finds her compilation of classic novels ripped in two at the weak binding and she's actually not as heartbroken about that as she thought she'd be. It's not like she wants to read about a woman falling in love with a name she can't say anymore, and she trashes it without remorse.
In the corner, underneath an old T-shirt is a familiar lump of metal and wires poking through a torn-up garbage bag. It looks ugly, it looks almost monstrous, like something her truck chewed up and spit out. It's sharp, she knows and had some memory of her fingers bleeding by the time she'd ripped it out of her truck's dashboard and scratches on her arms from dragging it up here. She doesn't want that memory. She doesn't touch it, but she shoves it across the floor with her toe until she can dump it in the back of her closet.
The floor's clearer, and because it's clear she can see dust bunnies in the corners, and with a dirty t-shirt balled in her fist she sweeps them into a corner, telling herself she'll bring up a brush later. She's being loud, and she's not doing a very good job but it's making her feel better.
The sound eventually attracts Charlie, and she can hear his heavy footfalls on the stairs before he ducks his head around the door. He watches the scene in silence and she starts folding the clothes on her bed. Some of them need ironing, but she's not going to do that so she throws them in the direction of the laundry basket to put off the task a little longer.
"When did mom leave?" She asks eventually, feeling guilty that she needs to. Charlie looks at her with wide eyes, like he expected the toaster to ask a question before his daughter.
"Sunday," Charlie says, brushing his thumb over the bristles of his moustache, smoothing it down in a nervous action she didn't see often. "She was pretty upset, Bella."
"I'll give her a call. Apologise." She swallows the action so loud and so difficult that for a minute she feels like it might swallow her tongue by accident. "Sorry. I just didn't want to leave."
Charlie sighs and neither of them can look the other in the eye. Charlie's focusing on the wall behind her head, and her eyes are fixed, folding a t-shirt with more precision than anything else on the pile. "Well if you want to stay, I want you to stay too. So long as it's what's good for you."
"It is."
December 23rd, 2005
On the last day of the semester the rain is coming down like a river, and when Bella walks into the den after her shift at Newton's she freezes when she sees a rich green tree taking up a corner and a thoughtful look on Charlie's face. He jumps at the sound, and he looks awkward and guilty, eyes darting between her and the tree like he's not sure what he's done and why he's dragged it inside.
"Dad?" She asks, standing in the doorway like an idiot. Her eyes must be wide as anything because she's never seen something like this outside of the movies, but the tree kind of suits the faded walls behind it and the old plaid blanket he's spread beneath it.
"Christmas?" He says, raising one hand, waiting for her to confirm this is something she wants, something that makes her happy, something she recognises. But she doesn't. Christmas with Renee rarely felt like Christmas; Arizona heat was one surefire way to kill a festive mood, and real trees are expensive, so the last couple of years they'd used a silver plastic one that leaned to the left and wasn't strong enough to hold any decorations. This tree is huge and strong and smells like pine. When she opens the dusty boxes on the couch the decorations are old and shiny and red and tangled up with lights and plastic holly laurels and there are tall candles wrapped in newspaper.
Christmas. She nods to herself, picking up the tail end of a string of lights so tangled they look like a tumbleweed. She nods to herself again, and then a third time to Charlie, meeting his gaze and giving him a small, weak smile. She sits on the arm of the couch and starts untangling with far more vigour than the task demands.
She sees Charlie nod his head a few times as well out of the corner of his eye and he leaves and comes back with the kitchen radio and a rag. She takes in a long, deep breath, preparing for the sound to hurt, the memory of hearing that classical song still raw in her heart. He fiddles for a minute, tuning into a jazz station as she bows her head and sets her jaw. But the radio is full of static, and the volume is low and the DJ interrupts with ads and call-ins. It hardly feels like music, just noise. It doesn't hurt, and she's barely listening as Charlie hums off-key to himself. He sits down on the other end of the couch with a dust rag and starts cleaning up the old baubles, setting clean ones on the coffee table. When she asks, Charlie insists that he gets a tree every year, he says that he always decorates for Christmas and that this is totally normal. But the candles are wrapped in newspaper that's more than ten years old, and there's only so much dust you can blame on a year.
They don't say much. It's obvious that neither of them really know what they're supposed to do for Christmas, but he's clearly trying to figure out how to do this, and she's too busy figuring out how to be a person again to come up with any suggestions. It's nice. Awkward, but nice.
When Charlie goes to bed she pulls out the gift she'd bought him after her shift at Newton's: a new set of fishing lures wrapped in the brown bag they'd come in because she forgot about wrapping paper and doubts they have any scotch tape. It looks a little pathetic, and the gift wasn't inventive, but she's trying. Honestly, she's just happy she remembered Christmas at all.
The next morning Charlie's added a few gifts of his own wrapped in plastic bags with store names on them and a bright orange gift bag that must have arrived from Renee. He has to work the night shift but in the morning he finds a faded cookbook that reminds him of his mom, and when he goes to work she uses it to make lumpy sugar cookies, cutting them into stars with a steak knife because they don't have any cutters. They taste like sawdust because even when she was better she'd never been a great baker, but it feels conventional and somehow familiar.
It's different from anything she's ever done before, and she wants things to be different.
December 31st, 2005.
Charlie spends New Years at La Push, no surprise there. Hell, she's surprised they made an overcooked ham for Christmas instead of just setting up camp at the Clearwaters or the Blacks table. So a bonfire on the frigid beach on New Year's Eve holds an appeal, even if she's wearing two pairs of leggings underneath her jeans. It's not raining really, just that misty sort that soaks through you without your notice and it's bearable wrapped up in her thickest sweater and her raincoat.
She and Charlie join the elders at the community party in a restaurant just off the beach, but after a half-hour of following him around hearing 'Oh how you've grown!" She tells him she wants to check out the bonfire. It's bitterly cold and the fire is tended by a group of wildly underdressed teenage boys, but it's dark and the people bracing the cold are closer to her age and don't know her face, so she can wander around freely on the sand.
"Bella!" she hears, shaking her from her solitary wandering and in the darkness, it takes her a long second to recognise Jacob Black. She gives him a wave and he dives towards her like she was sending up neon lights. The smile on his face makes her flinch. The last time she saw him was prom when he'd told her she should stay away from Him. He wasn't wrong, but she still doesn't want to be reminded that everyone except her could see it was only going to end up killing her. What had Jacob said? 'We'll be watching you.'
"Happy New Years, right?" He says with a grin that's so wide it had to hurt his jaw. He's gotten taller she thinks, craning her neck up to look at his youthful, happy face.
"Think we still have a couple hours left before that," she replied, trying to make a joke, but her voice is flat. It's strange, she's made progress with Charlie, but it looks like she has a long way to go with anyone else. She licks her chapped lips when Jacob doesn't reply, and she gets that because she hadn't given him much to work with. The silence between them is just a little too long before she finally finds something to stay.
"So are your sisters home for the holidays?" Jacob looks thrilled the conversation isn't over, his white teeth gleaming as he grins.
"Rebecca stayed with her husband and his family this year," he says, and Bella feels bad for bringing it up. She knows the Black's aren't the happiest of families - in the back of her mind she remembers Charlie mentioning Rebecca had gotten married to a surfer not long ago and hadn't visited since. "But Rachel's here! She's not staying long but she's right -" Jacob pauses, pointing one finger like an arrow circling around the silhouettes on the beach, seeking out his sister and finding her with a group of three standing a few feet away from the bonfire "There! With Leah and Hannah. Oh, you probably remember Leah - Harry Clearwater's daughter? - but I can introduce you to Hannah. She and her husband moved here a couple months back." Before she has time to answer Jacob swings an arm around her shoulders and propels her over to them. When they get there he doesn't move it off and it feels like a weight that might make her sink into the sand.
"Guys - you remember Bella?"
Rachel does look familiar when she turns into the yellow light of the fire, and Bella waves a greeting from a distance, hampered by Jacob's hold on her. Would it be rude to shake him off? She experiments, jostling a little but he doesn't seem to get it or she hasn't tried hard enough and it stays. "Hey, Happy New Year," she says lamely and with about half the enthusiasm Jacob had. But next thing she knows there's an arm offering her a loose embrace and she takes it, using it as an excuse to shrug off Jacob's arm and keep it off her, standing a little closer to the trio of girls.
"Of course! Charlie's daughter," Rachel says kindly enough, but there's a little trace in her voice, some saccharine sweetness she's finally come to recognise in her last week of school. It has a cushion, like bubble wrap. It's pity, and she knows immediately that Rachel knows.
"Bella Swan?" The shorter of the other two girls says suddenly, her eyes wide, bringing up one palm immediately to cover her mouth like she hadn't meant to speak. So there was another one that knew. It takes her a minute, but she figures that this girl is Hannah, the girl new to the reservation because her face doesn't ring a single bell. There's a spark of hazy recognition for the taller girl, maybe because she's looking Bella up and down like she's trying to remember her too. Leah's got about two inches on Bella, and her face is so fine-boned in the half-light that she feels like she should be looking at a charcoal drawing of a woman. It's intimidating, but at least she doesn't say anything while Bella shifts her feet, trying to ignore the obvious conversation Hannah and Rachel are having with their eyes.
"In the flesh," she says, trying to make them stop. "So you're in college now right?"
"Yeah Washington State," Rache's attention is captured quickly enough, and she tries to temper the spark of pride that she's finally picked the right thing to say because Rachel nearly glows at the chance to talk about it. "It's going so great! I mean it's hard, obviously, but I like living in Pullman, and it's a nice change from things around here. You must be a senior by now, right?"
She doesn't need much input, and Bellas glad for it because she doesn't have much to add, nodding along dumbly as Jacob chimes in occasionally, talking about what Bella and Rachel had missed at La Push like it's a WS vs Home contest.
"God here we fucking go," Leah says suddenly, interrupting the stream of conversation, her eye turned to the waters edge where - what? Bella's eyes widen like she can't quite tell what's happening, but she's pretty certain there are six figures at the water's edge stripping off their coats, then their shirts, then the rest of their layers like that's a normal thing to do in December. "The annual 'look at us swim-a-thon'." Around them, most of the party has moved a little closer to watch them like it's a show, even Jacob does, darting away from her side and towards a pair of boys he seems to know well.
"What are they doing?" Bella says, appalled and hugging her arms closer as if their near nudity was making her colder. It makes her feel old, but the way the frigid air is stinging her face she can't imagine that water is safe, and she tries to remember how to treat hypothermia before they've even dipped a toe in the water.
"Some of the guys do it every year, it used to be this big thing up in Canada and they do it in Seattle, I guess it just made its way here too, I've never seen Paul join in before though," Rachel explains quickly, and Bella notices that Leah's face is set in a scowl and her eyes are on the ground, kicking up sand with her boots.
"Who is it?" Bella asks, squinting through the salty sea spray and smoke from the bonfire.
"Sam Uley and Jared - they've done it the last couple times, that's Paul and those two are older than me, I think they work at the Fishery - and the other one's my husband," Hannah says with an apology in her voice. She nods a goodbye and heads for the crowd, either to stop him or to egg him on or just to see him shirtless. Bella's not really sure what the protocol for husbands is, the Cullens may all have been married, but they weren't conventional and she realises she's never really known anyone married before.
At the water's edge, there's a girl cheering like her life depends on it as the silhouettes of the swimmers disappear into the black water. There are a few fans of the display doing the same, laughing, cheering them on to go deeper and to stay in longer. There are cries from the swimmers too, high screams like it hurts and she imagines it probably does.
Behind her, she can hear Leah telling someone to go fuck themselves.
"You said you'd give it a try one day if I remember right, Leah," Rachel said, her voice a little waspish to match Leah's.
"Really?" Bella asks, not turning, her eyes still fixed on the black water. The waves aren't high but the six disturb the water: all flailing limbs trying to stay warm and keep their heads above or below the waves. They look ridiculous, like kids that never learned to swim, but they're roaring with pride and the crowd watching is laughing too like it's supposed to be fun.
"You're remembering wrong. I like my toes attached to my feet and my clothes on my body," Leah snipes back quickly and Bella snorts, agreeing with her. Honestly, she'd prefer less nudity all around if anyone was asking. When she looks up Leah's looking at her, she smirks a little and digs her elbow into Rachel's side.
"Surprised your brother isn't joining in - any chance to impress his little crush, right?"
"Don't embarrass him!" Rachel jabs her right back "Or give him any ideas."
"Better be careful, Swan, if his puppy dog eyes are anything to go by Jacob might be hoping for a kiss at midnight."
"Huh?" Bella looks around, her eyes wide like that's crazy. Then it hits her. She's at a New Years Party, and if the movies are anything to go by, that's not unheard of. But It takes her a second to realise they were talking about her and Jacob as if there was any chance. She snorts at the idea, still watching as the shrieking guys start dunking each other under the water. "You mind if I hide behind you when the countdown starts?"
Leah cracks a smile. Even if it's tiny, she actually smiles more a twitch or a spasm than a smile, but she still smiles at something Bella said.
"You're pretty small, it shouldn't be too hard."
The swimmers start to move out of the water, and maybe she gets why they'd want to do this when people laugh and embrace them while they shiver and throw coats and blankets around their shoulders. Soaking wet and towelling off they're given pride of place at the fireside. They're shaking and they look awful, faces still and slow with shock but they're alive, holding out their hands to the fire and she can almost feel the pins and needles, the stabbing of warmth pushing back into frozen fingertips.
January 3rd, 2006.
She's trying to keep busy. She can't lie to herself when she's so desperate to keep busy that she's scoured the house twice over for junk she can donate to goodwill or trash.
She could call Jess, she supposes, but she doesn't want to talk to her again. She'd tried the day before, and Jess had been whimpering down the line, trying to pass off a New Years hangover as the flu and hinting that she couldn't talk because her mom was listening in for gossip. Even if Jess has recovered by now, she doesn't want to ask what she got for Christmas and check-in to see if Jess and Mike are on or off these days. It's too banal, too numbing, like sitting in the lunchroom staring at the walls and letting the world go on around her again. And she doesn't want to hear Jess say 'Bella?' down the line like it's so shocking for her to call, even if it is. She's tired. She's still so tired that all she wants to do is crawl into bed, but if she does that then there's no guarantee she won't wake up with another month missing and look out the window to see leaves on the tree again. How long will it be this time? A week? A month? Will she graduate and not even notice?
It feels strange, to realise that the house around her seems too big, too quiet and too cold in a way that she would usually call happy solitude. In Phoenix, she'd been alone most of the time, and keeping tucked quietly away on the couch or in her bedroom while Renee was out at classes or work or on dates never seemed as daunting or infinite as it has since the holidays had begun. Maybe He had spoilt it for her. Being alone had become so rare that even in the middle of the night there someone to talk to. Maybe his family had spoilt it for her as well, with Alice always seeming so pleased to see her, trying to parcel time to be together as a pair or with the entire family. Maybe they spoilt her with all that time and attention, all those arms open wide and ears always there to listen.
She dials the Clearwaters number because she can make up an excuse to talk to Sue if she picks up. If Sue picks up she can ask if these Pyrex dishes are hers, or if they came from another donor that's brought them food at some point in the last two months. If Sue picks up Bella can have something close to an easy conversation, go back to her pointless sorting of the kitchen cupboards, and forget she even called.
"Hello?" it isn't Sue.
"Hey, Leah?"
"Yeah who's this?"
"It's um - it's Bella - Bella Swan?"
"Oh, you need my dad?" Leah's voice fades out as if she's already ready to hand off the phone to someone else.
"No!" Bella says too loudly, the phone making a strange streak of feedback at the sudden volume. She swallows, face heating and tries again more quietly. "No, I was actually calling to talk to you."
Leah doesn't respond, and the silence stretches on just a little too long until Bella carries on.
"I just - I don't know if Rachel was kidding, but do you maybe wanna try that cold water swimming thing?" she says the words before she even realises she wanted to try it. Sure, at the bonfire she'd thought she could see a spark of something appealing in diving into the cold, black water for a few minutes, but not enough that she actually wanted to try it. Apparently, she does though.
There's another long pause, like Leah's questioning her sanity and anxiety creeps in. Leah hadn't exactly been the warmest or most welcoming person she'd met in Washington, and even if Rachel had been serious and it was something Leah wanted to do, she had plenty of opportunities to try it with people she knew and liked better than Bella. But Bella didn't think Angela or Jess would even entertain the idea, and that put her out of options.
"Why?"
"I don't know, I guess I don't have anything else to do today?" or most days.
Leah sighs but maybe it's a groan like she's annoyed, and Bella nearly hangs up then and there.
"Did someone tell you to call me?"
"No I just - look never mind I just thought -"
"Not my parents or Charlie or Rachel or anyone at the party? No one told you to call me up to hang out?"
"No, why would they?"
Leah sighs again, but she sounds less annoyed, and less like she's doing Bella some big favour.
"If I say no are you going to do it anyway?"
"I don't know, maybe?" she hears Leah mutter something on the other end of the line that she can't hear.
"I'm working today, come by."
Notes:
The title is taken from 'With the Ink of a Ghost'
*Hannah is made up bc there are no other named female characters anywhere close in age with Leah, Rachel and Rebecca. Her surname is Wilde even though it's Jacob's mothers's maiden name but honestly who even gives a shit
** if Bella can jump into the sea in a storm in March and end up pretty much fine then some dumbass werewolves and a bunch of teenagers can go for a swim in January. Polar Bear plunges apparently happen on New Years Morning in Seattle so I've appropriated this for La Push.