CHAPTER 13
I'm sitting in the studio with Helen. She helps run the town library: has done so for the last ten years. I'd learned through the grapevine she had recently lost a close cousin. This week she'd called to set up a last-minute session just because. She doesn't know that I realize immediately what her true intentions are for this session. She's the last scheduled for today. She shares the same goal as the others who I'd worked with today: connecting with a spirit. They don't say it—almost fearful—when I vie them the news that no one has come through. It's almost as though they believe it will happen every single time. They don't realize or understand it's potentially a good thing if no one comes through. It means their loved ones may have crossed over…they're at peace. And that disappointment I see on their faces sends one silent message—they doubt me.
It's the same with Helen, much to her dismay. No one has come through.
"You're sure there's no one?" she asks. She's doubtful, unsure.
"I'm sure Helen," I tell her truthfully.
"But it worked when Susan came," she suddenly states. "Emma too."
"What are you trying to say Helen?" I place my camera down carefully to the side.
"How do I know you're not picking and choosing who to help?" she says. She doesn't look like she means what she is saying.
"Do you believe I'd lie and not share a message?" I ask, hoping she doesn't believe I would do such a thing.
"I'm not saying you would Bella," she says. "I don't know what I'm saying. Maybe Clara's confusing me."
"Clara?" I ask. I dread to think what she tells me next in connection to Clara.
"Yes…she's been pretty angry you haven't taken a photo for her." Helen shares with me.
"Right." I say. I don't quite have the words. I'm not sure how to even process this information.
"Helen," I start. "As much as I want to, whether spirits come through or not is beyond my control. But I can say, is if someone were to come through for you or anyone else, there is no reality where I would withhold that information. You deserve closure. Spirits deserve to be heard and to have their chance to move on and be at peace."
"So someone not coming through is not a bad thing?" she's hopeful.
"It could mean they're already at peace," I tell her. "I would never disrespect you or your loved ones in that way."
"Im so sorry Bella," Helen looks down. "I don't know what's going on with you and Clara. But I'm so sorry it made me doubt you. So sorry."
I walk her out shortly after. I don't have much more to say. It would be a lie to say it was ok. It wasn't. It was offensive. It was hurtful. I felt betrayed. My feelings are mixed up all over the place. If I'm honest, it all feels too much and is weighing heavy on my mind.
I don't blame people for being skeptical or having doubts. But at the core of it all, I'm not posting neon signs inviting people to come to me if they want to connect with their loved ones who had passed on. People in this town who know my family's history and of my family's ability…they always seek me out. They come to me. They use me. "Exploit me" as Rose had said. And I give them what they want even though I really would just like to focus on my business. But it all ends up circling back to my family legacy and my need to make sure I made my Gran proud. How could I let her down—let my family down—by not being the connection between the spirit realm and the living? Who else could? Who else would not take advantage of the pain of others?
And then, I let my mind go there. To Betty's suggestion: my mother.
My mother…who had abandoned me when I was a little girl. I hardly remembered her if I was being honest. I didn't know or understand the circumstances around her leaving. All I felt when it came to her was abandonment. I had no clue if she could do what Gran and I could. But I knew the possibility was strong. And I couldn't help but wonder if the expectations and pressures of this town made her leave. But then why not take me with her?
Over the years, mom would send occasional letters and at times, but never addressed who they were for. To me? To Gran? I wasn't sure who she was sending them to. But the fact that even in recent years they kept coming…surprised me the most. Gran had been gone ten years.
I'd kept a box with all those letters and post cards at my house. I feel at the very least, maybe I should finally suck it up and go through all of it. Perhaps she isn't far away from Forks and I can finally reach out to her. Get answers?
I hadn't thought that far ahead but figured, there was always a starting point. And as I'm getting ready to lock up, my phone is vibrating letting me know I have a message.
Might be able to come by before 5 if that works for you- Edward
Crap.
For a moment, I had forgotten we had plans before Edward left for Seattle.
Sounds good. I'll see you.
I worry as I walk home that I won't be able to hide how upset I truly am after today's events. How hurt I am. And I desperately want to confide in Edward. I want him to know all of me. It's this that makes me realize that I need to tell him. But I fear as soon as I do, that'll be it for us.
The walk home feels like it went by faster than it normally did and I have half an hour or so before he could get here. I figure I could at least find that box I'd hidden away and put it aside for later.
It doesn't take long—surprisingly—to find where I'd hidden it away. I put the box behind me so I can position everything back to its original place. I close the closet door and turn around to pick up the box of letters only to find it's not where I left it. Annoyed, I'm looking around trying to see where it got moved to. I'm looking under the couch, in my bedroom, in the dining room. Nothing.
I move into the kitchen and see it. In the trashcan protruding out.
"Seriously?" I say aloud. I don't know if I'm talking to Charlie or if I'm talking to Gran. Because whoever moved it, isn't making themselves visible to me and that's annoying as all hell. I try taking it out but am met with a strong force trying to keep the box in its new place.
"I think we know I'm just as stubborn!" I say through gritted teeth. "I'm not giving up."
The tug of war continues. Whoever is keeping this box from me isn't winning but then I'm not either.
"Oh come on!" I scream. "This is juvenile!"
"What's going on in here," I hear Edward laughing behind me. But I won't let his appearance deter me. If anything, I'm more determined than ever to get this box and hold on to it for the sole purpose of protecting it from another relocation.
"I didn't hear you come in," I say over my shoulder.
"I did knock, I promise," he tells me, coming to step to my side. "I heard you scream so I came inside thinking something was wrong. But it's trash incident?"
"I'm trying to get the box out," I tell him.
"Why did you throw it out if you needed it?" He laughs.
"I didn't," I tell him. "It ended up in the trash can but I need it out."
"Let me," he reaches over to grab it and I figure, why not. Let him play tug of war for a while. I move around him and take a seat on the kitchen counter. He has a smug look on his face as though he thinks this will be super easy and he'll have it out in less thana second. But the smug look disappears when he's tugging and it's not budging. And quite frankly, it's an otherwise empty trash bag. So there was nothing for it to be stuck on. "What the hell?" He grumbles.
I cross my arms.
"Did you think it would be simple?" I laugh.
"Kinda?" he's smiles but is unsure. He's confused. I look past him and see Gran. Ah, so not Charlie. Gran is keeping me from these letters. She's determined and focused with her arms crossed. "What's in the box anyway?"
"Letters and postcards my mother has been sending over the years," I tell him. He looks surprised.
"She's kept in touch?" he asks. He lets go of the box. Gran looks smug, like she thinks she's won.
"She's sent letters. I've never opened them," I tell him. "But I intend on going through them one way or another." The second bit is more intended for Gran who doesn't look pleased.
"Why now?" he asks, coming over to me and stepping between my legs, placing his hands on either side of my waist. With Gran here, it feels weird to be in such a position. I try to ignore her. But it's hard. He can sense my discomfort and makes to move but I stop him, wrapping my legs around him to keep him in place. I hug him and use this moment to raise a challenging eyebrow at Gran. She takes the hint though and vanishes. For now.
"I guess I'm hoping there's answers in those letters," I tell him as I pull back. He cups my cheek, offering me comfort. And I do feel comforted. For the first time all day, I feel at ease.
"You're looking to see why she left?" he asks.
"I just want to understand why," I tell him. "See what she was feeling that made her want to leave."
"You've never opened them before," he determines. I shake my head no.
"I never cared before," I admit. "I'm not saying suddenly I care and want to rekindle some mother daughter relationship. But maybe reading those letters with give me some clarity."
"Do you want me here when you read them?" he asks.
"I think it's something I need to do on my own," I admit. However, I feel if I do get my hands on those letters, Gran won't be far behind and maybe, maybe she'll let me communicate with her once and for all.
"Should I leave?" he offers, though I can see he hopes I'll say no. And I don't want him to leave.
"I want you here as long as you're able to stay," I tell him. He's looking at me…I sense there's something he wants to say but isn't. There's much I want to say but am not. Which I know can't continue.
"Bella," he whispers. I almost think I missed it. I look at him, curious. "I…" he starts but stops. He's second guessing whatever it is he wants to say. "I'm going to miss you while I'm in Seattle." He finally says. I smile at him.
"I'm going to miss you too," I tell him, sincerely.
"I, um, brought some dinner with me in case you were hungry," he tells me, unsure.
"I'm starving," I smile at him. I barely had anything all day and didn't realize it until he mentions food. He helps me down from the counter and turns his attention again to the trash can, leaning down cautiously to get the box. This time, there is no resistance, and it comes out easily.
"Huh," he stares at it. He's looking into the trash can itself to see what had the box stuck. "It's empty?" He turns to me, surprised.
"Yes," I tell him as if it was the most obvious thing.
"But…" he stops. He's looking back and forth between the box and the trash can. "Ok that's weird. I thought the music stuff was weird…but this?" I come over to him and take the box.
"What music stuff?" I ask him.
"You remember that night I took you home and that one song from ABBA started playing?" he looks unsure.
"I do," I tell him. "Your car was turned off. It's hard to forget that happening with on power for your car." I laugh.
"Right," he laughs as well. We're headed into the living room to get more comfortable. "Well, that wasn't the first time "Dancing Queen" started blaring through my car radio." He's got my attention now. That night in the car was Gran. Her way of sending me a message—a message I had yet to figure out to be honest. But I assumed it was because of me. But Edward's experienced this on occasion when I wasn't around…what was Gran doing? What was she trying to communicate?
"I'd also had an incident with my hammer going missing," he tells me.
"Your hammer?" I'm confused.
"Yea, that first night I drove you home. I was working at Alice's shop and only called it a night because my hammer went missing," he tells me. "If it hadn't, I wouldn't have seen you walking alone at night and you probably would've stubbornly walked home alone."
I sit back and process what he's telling me. Gran's way of what? Bringing our paths together? I look around the room but she's not in sight. Or at is intending to keep herself unseen.
"You think it's weird, don't you?" He tells me. I've stayed quiet too long. It's made him nervous. "You don't believe me."
"No, no," I assure him. "I do believe you. I'm not the skeptic, remember?"
"Well, I don't think spirits are behind it," He laughs. I frown. "What, you do?"
"Does it matter what I believe?" I ask.
"Of course, it does," he is trying to assure me. He's reaching for my hand. But I pull away.
"It doesn't matter if you think what I believe is nonsense, Edward," I tell him. I stand up and start pacing.
"Bella, these things have logical explanations," he's trying to tell me.
"So, what had my box stuck in the trash can Edward?" I ask. He remains silent.
"Ghosts aren't real Bella," he tells me. "Even if they were, they're dead. How could they move physical objects?"
"If they haven't crossed over, if they're emotions are strong enough, if they're angry or confused enough, they build up energy over time and can manipulate objects." I tell him. I'm being truthful. And I'm no longer hiding. He's staring at me.
"You say that as if you know this for a fact," he says.
"Have I ever lied to you?" I ask him. "Would I?"
"No, you wouldn't," he admits. "But this isn't something I can believe."
"Right, because you've been manipulated and fooled one too many times that if the real thing was presented to you, you couldn't bring yourself to open up to that possibility again," I say. He looks confused. I feel he's trying to think back to if he's ever openly said this to me. "The way you speak about psychics made it easy to read between the lines." I tell him.
"My mom said to me once that there's a family well known in this town who claim to be able to communicate with spirits," Edward says. I stop pacing and turn to look at him. Worried she'd told him before I could. "she said that a family member from that known family helped her a long time ago. That she knows she wasn't fooled."
"She mentioned it to me as well," I tell him. "The night of the dinner."
"I'd hoped to find out who this family was," he says. "And now I'm more curious because they've not only fooled my mother long ago, but you as well?"
"What?" I ask, offended.
"I get you're open minded and believe in spirits," he says. "We don't have to believe in the same things. But there shouldn't be people out there taking advantage of others, filling them with false hope and promises. What'd they promise you? Did they claim to reach your Gran?"
I can't help it. Tears fill my eyes. Not for what I know will be lost but for his implications about me. About my family. I'm being open without quite literally spelling it out and he doesn't believe in me.
"No one has ever connected with my Gran," I tell him.
"They've convinced you somehow," he shakes his head, trying to figure it out.
Tears are now spilling over. He's on his feet, confused at why I'm crying and is moving towards me. But I step away from him. "Don't come near me." I say. He stops, confused.
"That family? The well-known family who has the ability to communicate with the other side?" I say through my tears. "That's my family."
He's frozen. He doesn't have words. He's processing.
"Your family," he says.
"Me," I add. I don't know what he's thinking.
"You…" he says quietly. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying my family for generations have been able to communicate in some way with spirits," I'm wiping away my tears. "I'm saying that after my accident, my ability to do the same kicked into high gear and with the right equipment I have a way of communicating with them if they have a message to pass along. I'm saying I see spirits almost everywhere I go. That's my reality. My truth."
"Your truth," he repeats. "This is what you've been keeping from me?"
"What?" I ask, confused.
"I could tell there was something you weren't telling me, "He says. I can't read his face. I can't tell what he's thinking. He looks detached. "I figured; we're getting to know each other. With time, you'd tell me. This was it?"
"Yes," I whisper.
"You were keeping the fact that you are just like all those others out there, exploiting the pain of others." He says. It's not a question.
"Excuse me?" I say through gritted teeth. I see movement in the corner of my eye and glance to see Charlie is here. And Gran is here. They both look at each other, then at me. They're worried.
"How many people have you fooled?" he demands.
"None," I tell him. He looks angry. "Let's be clear about something. I didn't ask for this." He scoffs, rolling his eyes.
"They all say that." he says. His eyes are full of hate.
"And you're going to listen," I tell him. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't know anything about this until after my accident. My Gran never bothered to tell me and yet after it happened, the people of this town suddenly knew more about what I'm supposed to be capable of doing than I was. But it's my reality. And as much as sometimes I wish I couldn't do what I can do, I've helped many people get closure."
"And how much do you charge, lying to people." He pushes back.
"Nothing," more rogue tears are falling. I knew he wouldn't take it well. But I don't think my worst-case scenario could have prepared me for this. Quite literally, I felt like my heart was being split in two and it was hard to stay above the surface. "I don't seek people out. They come to me."
"Right," he rolls his eyes. "And I'm sure you want to tell me how you've supposedly seen my wife."
I stare at him. I look back at her. He notices. Of course, he notices.
"Oh please, you want to tell me that now, of all moments, she's here?" he puts his hands on his hips.
"I'm sorry," I say.
"I don't accept," he says but I cut him off. I wasn't looking at him when I apologized. I was looking at Charlie. Because I warned her if he ever asked, I would not lie. She nods her head in understanding.
"I wasn't talking to you," I tell him. My eyes are now cold. I am aware where the two of us stand moving forward. "I was talking to Charlie."
"This isn't a game you want to play with me Bella," he eyes grow cold. Charlie moved from across the room to my coffee table, where my camera is. She's motioning for me to use it. I move to grab the camera. "What the hell are you doing? Now is not the time for this Bella."
I ignore him and snap a picture. I look down at it and then up at Charlie again. Only this time, I can hear her.
"I'm so sorry Bella," she tells me. "I knew he wouldn't take it well. But I didn't expect this."
"Me either," I tell her.
"You either what?" he's not part of the Bella-Charlie conversation.
"He was always so so stubborn," she shakes her head. "Tell him he never knew when to quit while he was ahead. I was always telling him that."
"She says you were always so stubborn," I tell him, looking down. I can't face him. "That you never knew when to quit while you were ahead."
"This isn't funny Bella," he tells me. But I won't look at him. Charlie keeps going.
"Tell him to get his head out of his ass. He's always wanted to believe this was possible. He's being presented with the real thing and an opportunity for a new love and he's ruining it by running his mouth."
"I can't tell him that," I shake my head.
"Yes, you can," she tells me.
"Tell me what," he pushes. I look up at him. He looks so uncertain.
"Charlie says you need to get your head out of your ass," I tell him. His eyes go wide. I don't talk this way, he knows that. "She says you always wanted to believe this type of thing was possible. And she says you are being presented with the real deal and an opportunity for a new love and that by running your mouth, you're ruining it."
"That…that.."he has no words.
"That sounds exactly how I would have spoken to him, and he knows it," she tells me. "I never minced my words. I'm not sorry."
"She never minced her words," I tell him. "She's not sorry."
"How do I know this is even real," Edward is confused.
"I would have hoped you know me well enough by now to know my intentions, in everything that I do, are genuine," I tell him. "That you would know that I understand your history with this very thing to know I wouldn't' take it lightly by opening this door to you. That hurting you, especially with this, is not something I would do to you. Ever."
"This can't be real," he whispers.
"The night she died you told me she went out running," I tell him. He looks at me. "But that is all you told me. She was wearing grey leggings and matching top with her hair pulled up in a tight ponytail."
"Anyone could have looked that up," he back pedals.
"Ok," I agree. They could have, he's right. "She had an infinity tattoo on the inside of her left wrist."
"He was with me when I got it," Charlie tells me. "I was such a chicken shit about it. I hated needles with a passion. But I was determined to get it. So, he poured me a couple shots of tequila before we went to the tattoo parlor." She's laughing. "I don't recommend that, by the way."
"She's telling me how much she hated needles," I explain, he doesn't understand why I'm suddenly laughing. "That she was so determined but so scared to go through with it, that you gave her a couple shots of tequila before you two went to the tattoo parlor." He gasps.
"How can you know that?" he wants to believe me; I can see it.
"Because Charlie told me." I tell him.
"You can really see her?" he asks, unsure. "You can hear her?"
"I can," I tell him. "She can hear you."
"I always thought I needed something like this, a way to connect with her one more time and it would bring me closure," he says.
"But he didn't really need to reach me," Charlie says.
"She says you didn't really need to reach her," I tell him. I'm not sure what she means. "I'm not sure what she means though."
"He's finally moving on," Charlie tells me, "He's finally happy. That's what I want for him."
"Is she saying something?" Edward asks.
"Yea," I'm looking back and forth between them. "That you didn't really need to connect because you're finally happy. Finally moving on and that's what she's wanted for you."
He looks down. He looks lost.
"I hope he didn't royally screw his chances with you Bella," Charlie says, coming closer to me. "He wasn't thinking when he made those accusations. Will you forgive him?"
"I don't know that I can," I tell her.
"You don't think you can what, Bella?" Edward asks, he's taking a step closer to me but frowns when I back away. I need him to stay away from me. I'm doing this for Charlie. But also, because I promised myself, I would make sure to finally tell him this part of myself, hopeful he would be accepting.
"Well, you two are surely perfect for each other," Charlie rolls her eyes. "You two are so stubborn." I glare at her.
"Don't look at me that way," she laughs. "He messed up. Yes. And you don't need to be forgiving today. But don't shut that door. Also, your Gran says your mother is in Phoenix. Renee Dwyer." She vanishes, breaking the means of communication and I'm left with just Edward and that unexpected piece of information about my mother.
"Bella?" Edward asks.
"She left," I tell him.
"Left?" he's confused. "As in, crossed over or.."
"No she's stubborn about crossing over," I tell him. "She just left. She's not here. I don't have more information to pass along."
"This wasn't the first time you've seen her," he surmises.
"It's not," I tell him.
"How come you never told me?" he asks. He doesn't look angry. I figured he would be.
"Because you were so receptive to me finally sharing this part of myself with you," I grumble, and he looks down. He looks regretful. "I didn't tell you because she didn't want me to. And I have to respect that."
"When did you first see her?" he asks.
"Alice's grand opening," I tell him. "Came through in one of the pictures I took."
"I don't understand," he admits.
"I honestly don't think I have the energy to explain all of this right now with you," I tell him. "I think you should go."
"Bella," he starts. He's figured out by now I need him to keep a distance. "I—"
"You need to get to Seattle," I tell him. "And I need to be alone."
"Bella—" he steps forward closer to me.
"No," I shake my head. "I really need you to leave. We can talk when you come back from Seattle. But right now, I can't be near you." I move to the door and open it, hoping he understands how serious I am.
Several minutes pass. He hasn't made a move to leave and I'm still standing with the door open, hoping he would just leave. I won't look at him. I refuse. I'm barely keeping it together and am fighting back the tears I know are just waiting to push through. He broke my heart
He must sense I'm not changing my mind because finally, he's moving to the door.
"Bella," he starts as he crosses the threshold. I won't look at him. "I'm so sorry Bella." I say nothing, worried my words will betray me. He looks remorseful. I can see it. But right now, I am guarded and heartbroken. Ever so slowly, I close the door and finally succumb once more to the tears as I sink down to my knees.