A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE! Love you all. have a wonderful day. Off to bake. Enjoy this one. We're getting there. Xoxo.
Chapter 37 - He Comes Closer
Bella opens her eyes. She wasn't sleeping. She hasn't been. Her eyes close and she just sees Edward. Pain and hurt. That's what she feels when she thinks of him.
This is what she deserves. She knows karma plays a part in this … mess. What did she expect? That he'd come running? He'd take her in his arms and accept? Just accept.
He wouldn't.
Even if she would've found him, how would this change things? 'This' being the movement in her bulging belly. The baby living, growing. It digs into her lungs, her bladder, and these are just reminders that she's indeed alive; not lifeless as she feels. The baby reminds her every second how real life is, her surroundings. She can't take a numbing break.
She sits up, and heartburn is another reminder. The normalcy of life. Everything at its base. This is not a fantasy. This is a woman with a child she'll have to feed and care for. Despite her pain and hurt, this child won't stop growing just to give Bella a pause.
This is actually happening.
So she stands, she washes up, and she makes breakfast, because Charlie has to eat, and this baby begs to eat. It kicks and kicks until Bella moves and makes human decisions.
She sits at the table, Charlie across from her, and she wishes she could say it. Dad, it's Edward's, the hermit, the one everyone despises, but me. I love him.
She sips tea, and she lets it go. Dread. Fear. He'd kill her. Definitely.
She drags herself back to bed. Everyone is appeased; food in bellies, now it's time for her to grieve.
She stands in the middle of her room. She stares out the window. Bright sun out there shining over happy people. She looks around and imagines Edward coming in here, seeing her things. So close yet so very far. Her eyes fall on that picture, the one of her and Jameson. She sighs. He's good to her. He's a good man. He helps her. He deals with her bullshit and erratic life.
Then she notices another set of eyes staring back. She snatches the frame off the wall. She brings it close to her nose.
Edward?
He's hiding in the background, behind her and Jameson in the photo.
Bella's life sinks to the floor.
It's so clear. His face barely pixelated. Enough to know it's him. Just waiting between the trees.
She remembers that day. So many people around, who would notice?
She didn't.
Her mouth gapes. Her blood rushes from her face.
Edward, in an image, a stranger who would have such meaning to her life, just beyond the trees, casually existing in her midst. Well, a photo at least.
She falls to her bed and stares at the irony, the sickest joke piercing her heart. Yet her fingers rub over the glass, down his face.
A rap at the door to her room but Bella doesn't look up. Jameson just peeks in and pushes the door wider to look at her.
Somethings wrong. He can instantly tell. He quietly steps in and lets whatever sad news add to the heaviness he's been around for a week.
"What is it now?" he asks, tired.
Bella looks up with watery eyes and hands over the frame.
He looks. Then he glances at Bella. "Yeah, it was nice then, wasn't it?" This is uncomfortable. Why is she staring at their photo and reminiscing?
She sighs. "Yes, it was. But …" She points.
Jameson sits by her, and he sees what she sees.
"Oh." That's him. The guy on the shore, giving Bella breath, lips to her lips. His height bent over her. His hand over her chest as he dipped to breathe into her. Then his hands would meet to press down over her chest. Jameson sat by helpless, not wanting to interrupt, not after the stranger's insistence. Him.
"That's … weird."
She scoffs. "Understatement."
They sit silent, both tired. It's been a trying week.
"We have to find him, James," she says. He doesn't answer. He doesn't say he's already given up. And now this.
"I'll get dressed," she adds. The one thing Jameson was dreading from her, one more instance. Every day he walks into this cabin, and he hopes she'll let it go. Every day his temperament and determination to find that low life simmers down to fatigue. Fuck it. This isn't worth it. What Jameson would like to do is stay in bed, go fishing, swimming, just fucking veg on a hammock after the hectic semester he had. Feeling like he barely made it out by a hair. His studies never come easy.
But no. This asshole and his books tucked in corners of a tent, used as weights, while Jameson struggles to absorb and study those every day. Now he's made it a goal every evening to read material for next year to get a head start.
How enraging; a stranger setting a fire under Jameson's ass. Now this has become competitive for him. If an absolute nobody was able to get his hands on material and casually read them to learn, why shouldn't James?
He begrudgingly leaves her room to wait in the living room, thinking about the chapters he'll read tonight.
"Going out again?" Charlie asks. Jameson nods and shrugs at the same time. He's under the orders of a very pregnant woman. Charlie feels pity for the guy, a little.
"What the hell do you guys do all day anyway?"
Jameson is speechless.
"Things for the baby. What's it to you?" Bella speaks, walking out. She sits by James to get her shoes on. That just makes her hold her breath, then puff it out when she's not bending, until Jameson pulls her foot over his lap to help her.
Charlie sees she's struggling. "Well, sit it out. You look tired, Bella."
She rolls her eyes. "I need my vitamins and other things."
"James can get them."
James is quiet.
She sighs. "No need. I'm fine."
"Then, I'll get them. You look pale."
"Just leave it, for crying out loud!" she shouts. It takes up the entire cabin.
Charlie watches her. His hands slap at his thighs, bewildered, her anger firing up, making him confused and frustrated.
She raises a hand. "Please …"
Charlie raises his in response and leaves, slamming the door behind him.
Great. Now both the Swans are pissed. That's what Jameson thinks.
Bella stands and holds her side. A hiss just quiet enough where Jameson doesn't hear it, just like all the other pains from yesterday. But once again, she straightens and gets her courage together once again for this trek.
The sun is shining over the lake. Not in here. In here, there is a cool shade. The breeze moves through the trees. The new leaves sway on branches and it makes Jameson's eyes drift closed.
That fucker.
Every time he feels comfort and peace, his patience fires up. He thinks of him, his doing, all of this. He usually straightens in his seat and shakes it off. This time, he lets his eyes close easily. He listens to the early morning sounds of the lake, everything at this man's disposal.
Jameson can hear conversations of hikers, the shouts of kids playing in the water, the thunks of canoes hitting the dock, or slicing through the still water. Here, you can partake in life, yet only do so through sounds. And you don't feel so alone. You are cocooned in a sheltered room no one, nor anything can touch.
Damn him.
Damn this man who lived here, set this up for complete and utter success. The goal to make eyelids flutter closed, to rest, to quietly be in half slumber as the breeze puffs the gentlest kisses to your cheeks. Jameson feels the weight of this tension lift for just a few minutes, and he accepts.
Bella sits quietly at her crate. Her eyes stick, too. Her arms rest on the bump, and maybe the unborn sleeps, too. Christ, even the critters are quiet; the campsite is fast asleep even though it's close to noon.
Jameson cracks an eye. He watches Bella. The undeniable determination, the persistence, a fog over her. He guesses, her motherly instincts already in practice. She won't give up, will she? Now that the photo in her room has given her a push, new energy to keep going, to move, to hike all the way here to wait for no one. He won't come. He has to tell her, someway, somehow.
"You'll live on, won't you?" he speaks. Bella's eyes pop open, staring at the treetops. "For the baby. You'll go on just for him or her, even if this doesn't work out. Right, Bella?"
She's quiet.
"He'll disappoint you. This will tear your heart apart, but you'll muscle through this anyway. You'll finish school. You'll start an amazing career. And you'll move even if you're hurt. You have to. I know you will. You're like no one I know. That's why I'm really here, you know that, right?"
Bella's heart is already tearing. It has been. Wednesday, it came crashing down. Thursday, she was sure of it. Friday, she let tears stream down her cheeks endlessly. James; none the wiser.
Well, it's Sunday. A full week has passed since James arrived, and maybe she's sure now.
Edward won't come.
Maybe.
Jameson doesn't get an answer, but every day he plants a seed. He hopes the seed flourishes in her heart. That this is reality, and time goes on with or without Edward. She has to react. She has to find a way to move on, even if the first step is out of here.
He pulls on the backpack and takes out the canned soup. He works the stove. He checked the tank yesterday and already knows. Well, if they're sitting here, might as well make use of it. His stomach growling at him.
Bella barely turns her head to look at him fire up the stovetop and use that pan and spoon hanging from the clothesline. It sang for them, now it'll cater to them, as it should. Jameson is making music now; the tap and clanks while he's stirring.
She'd protest but, honestly, what of it? It's not the worst idea. Her stomach protests involuntarily through this frustrating vigil.
She comes alive a little. Her back straightens. She sits up, as the hot bowl James passes over wedges between her palms. She sips. Sips again. With each taste comes rationality with it. She knows she must move on. His words, though angering every day, are right.
What will she do? Sit here for years? Let the baby crawl around its father's tent. What would it do but expose the child to the cold? No fatherly lessons here, no help, but a ghost left in his wake. A single mother for the rest of her life.
Edward won't come.
Maybe.
The next day they come again. They must. She's arguing with herself, but her hope of 'maybe this once …' is still so strong. They trek back, this time slowly. Jameson already knows the way. He leads this time. He goes with it. He endures. Because he knows deep inside every day is a step toward reality. He's getting to her. His words are working. But also, there's this bubble of excitement, like walking into a library and feeling the expanse, the quiet, the smell of old books. He comes here, and it's like a labyrinth getting through another pile of books to make him curse under his breath. He's starting to like it here. That he doesn't like.
Here comes his daily proverbs; the bad news with hints of encouragements:
"Bella, it's inevitable. We'll come as much as you like, but it won't change anything. You're strong. I know you're better than this."
"Bella, you were born for so much more than waiting."
"Bella, you can help others like him. This doesn't have to be the end."
"Bella, your baby will be lucky to have you. You'll be an amazing mother."
She slowly lets his words sink in. Every time, they're like balm, not needles.
And just as they settle in for the day—another set of canned soups and snacks in their bag, ready to be made at the right hour—something does change. It sinks their stomachs to the cool ground. It changes the air, the lightness, and ease. They both cut their eyes toward the noise. Right there, across the clearing.
Bella gasps sharply. Jameson's eyes grow wide.
"Fuck," he mutters. The blood drains from his face. Bella doesn't look any different or dares to look away.
"What is this?" Sam asks as he looks around. He steps through the boulders and he comes closer.
….