I don't own Twilight. Or any quotes from other authors, obviously.

16.

Bella's POV

There are a thousand ways to describe the look and feel of a raindrop, especially when it hits your cheeks - gliding down the pours of your skin and slipping away into velvet green grass. And as this tire swing twirls me around in circles and I lift my head up to the clouds I can feel them watching.

The monsters - they're watching from the trees. I can hear the sound of flapping bat wings and the goose bumps on my skin rise.

Though, the droplets take that all away, if just for a little while. The thought of a cracking bat hitting a ball into the distance takes it all away for just a few seconds. It's the haunting shrill that I can't let go of even if I wanted to. When I begin to shiver from the cold, I still stay. I stay with my dreams and wishes, letting them drop crystal coins through the air around me. Maybe this is the god's idea of a fountain and it blankets you in each small desire.

Halting the round swing, I stare down at the paper in my hand. It was delivered this morning by Charlie. According to Esme, he was "too busy" to make sure I received it. There's another drop - only this one warm, curving out of the corner of my eye and sliding down to mix in with the colder liquid.

Did I push him away with my flaws?

Instead of thinking about it, I gaze at the letter.

Brown Eyes,

It's not the same without you, obviously. Most of the time I spend trying to gather more clues...more evidence. I've actually liked to think I've done pretty good with it too. I'm happy to know you're out of this place. You should know that bastard John went missing - there's an investigation going on. Thompson seems to be dead. They found his car just a few miles from here...or what was left of it. Good riddance I say. There were also some remains of John found not too far from here. They think it's been one of those wild animal attacks again.

I hope things are getting better for you. I never had the chance to ask but have you ever heard of Salvador Dali? I ask because he was Ila's favorite artist - he did a painting called, Atavistic Vestiges after the Rain. Personally, I never liked Dali's distortion - maybe you could let me know what you think sometime. Look it up or something.

-Confetti

There's a PS in which he quotes someone but I read it and stuff it in my pocket before it can sink in. Knowing I have to head inside now, I sigh to myself. But when I look up, an ivory hand holds out a cup of hot chocolate. Swallowing hard, I'm tempted to fling it away.

Who knows what they put in it, they probably want to put me to sleep.

I shake off the thought and stare back at the woman. She swallows too as her eyes spell out nervousness. "You don't have to drink it, I just...I thought you looked a little uncomfortable without something to keep you warm."

In the other arm she holds a quilt.

My eyes fix on one and then the other. I reach out, hesitantly, and take the china cup from her. As I cup it in my palms, she spreads the quilt over my back and around my shoulders.

"This is very pretty," I tell her, studying the painted flower pattern on the outside of the small dish. She settles in the grass next to me and smiles warmly. "It was my grandmother's, and one of the few things I took with me when I was married for the first time."

Frowning, I glare away in self-disgust. "And I smashed all the others."

Esme chuckles, "You're worth more than a few broken dishes, Bella."

"Am I?" I reply sarcastically. It hadn't seemed that way when they left.

"After what happened, I wouldn't care if you did that to everything I own. There's no excuse for what we did to you, Bella. No excuse for being a bad parent."

I swing back to her in shock. "You think of me as...?"

"From the moment I met you, as hard as it may be to believe now." She sighs. "My own parents weren't as supporting as they should have been."

My chest constricts thinking about Esme and her lost little boy. "What were they like?"

She stares at the side of the house for a minute, then back to me. "My father was stubborn. Strict. I was always taught that a woman needed to be seen but not heard. It wasn't something I liked. I went along with it more out of self-preservation than anything. My mother went along with everything without a second thought and it always frustrated me to no end - especially when the arranged marriage came."

She pulls a lock of hair behind my ear. "I wanted to be anywhere but there. I decided to try my hand at teaching - something I have always loved. But the job was in a very rural area and my father didn't think that a lady should live somewhere like that alone - it wasn't 'proper', as he termed it. In 1917 I agreed to marry a man named Mr. Evenson...he had a very different side to him when he wasn't surrounded by people."

For a minute, my mind flashes to the hospital. "Didn't, didn't your parents find out - didn't they try to do something about it?" I can feel the dent of the swing wearing into my palms.

For perhaps the first time I have ever seen, Esme scoffs, narrowing her eyes and clenching her fists a tiny bit. "My parents told me to remain silent." She picks up a sliver of grass, playing with it. "You see, Bella, Carlisle didn't want to believe the same as his father...but I never want to become my mother."

Esme tosses the grass to the ground and we both stand. "So... they won?"

"No, none of them won. Charles suffered from his own demons, that's for sure. He tried to make me bear the burden of them, but I didn't. I didn't allow him to."

"And then you got away and found out about the baby?"

She seems to almost tear up at that, "Yes." The sun is starting to peek out from behind a cloud and it hits her hair just a tad, shining fiery coppers blended in with dark caramel. "I would like to show you something if you'll let me."

"Okay," I breathe at the sight of her beauty. She gathers up the blanket and I take a sip of the hot chocolate, about choking however and she casts a worried look. "Does it taste wrong? Maybe-"

"No, it's delicious. I uh, I taste cinnamon, I think?"

"Yes, your dad gave me the recipe this morning with the letter - he thought you might enjoy it with some mixed in," she replies.

"Mm. Renee used to make it like this."

"Oh." She squeezes my hand. We head around the end of the house toward the woods. "It's just a few steps in through here." She starts to recite a poem as we walk and the end catches my attention.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

At the end of the path I see the roof of a building - clear and wrapped in glaring sunshine from over the treetops.

"Robert Frost?"

"Yes, I really enjoy that poem. Especially the ending."

We come to the large building and Esme opens the door - inside there are tables and tables filled with all sorts of plants. I take a little step forward and Esme urges me on quietly. At the end of the long room there is a row of large cactuses - I make my way over to them and gaze on, running my fingertips over the prickles. Esme has tons and tons of flowers, plants, even vegetables in this place.

"My nurturing side never left," she laughs. Stepping up next to me, she gasps - her gaze on a small orange flower in the sharp garden. "I always love when they bloom - it reminds me of a relationship. With Charles, I was never allowed to grow." Esme glances to an unopened rose in another corner and I follow her stare. "But with Carlisle, there's always been plenty of beautiful flowers." Her eyes pull themselves back to the table in front of us.

"I'm glad you were so strong, Esme." The sun shining through the plastic walls causes her skin to cast its own glittering light against the plants. The colors seem more vibrant this way, each with its own hue.

"For what it's worth, I'm so sorry. It's not easy, I know. It won't be for a long time...but allow yourself to bloom again for your sake." I put down the china on the table and hug her - remembering the PS in Confetti's letter.

If you shut up truth and bury it under the ground, it will but grow and gather itself such explosive power that the day it bursts through it will blow up everything in its way."

-Emile Zola