Chapter 32- Fade To Black
November 16, 2009 - Ithaca, New York
Three years later
00000000000000000000
My iPhone alarm shrieks incessantly on the nightstand, yanking me out of a tranquil sleep. I snatch it up with half-lidded eyes and activate the snooze function. Today is my lazy day. I can do whatever I please - including sleeping in late if that's what I want.
As I lay bundled underneath the blankets, my hands can't help but blindly search the bed for an additional (and much more arousing) source of warmth. All I find are cold sheets. I groan into my pillow at the discovery. While I love that I have no classes on Mondays, Edward isn't as lucky. He has two today, one which is cruelly scheduled for the early morning. He usually tries to leave the house without waking me up since he is aware of how much I enjoy sleeping in. Although it's nice that he strives to be so considerate, I don't find it so convenient at the moment. If he had woken me today, I would have begged him to skip that first class. There's a vague dream haunting me that I can't stop thinking about. All I remember from it are teasing lips, roaming hands, and one very happy me - which gives just enough detail to make me wish Edward could have stayed home and helped start my day off with a bang. After living with him for over three years, I have found reality is much better than any fantasy I could dream up.
Ten minutes later, my phone squawks again. I turn the alarm off and decide to go ahead and get out of bed. I sleepily shuffle to the master bathroom and stand in front of the mirror. As I brush my teeth, I frown at my appearance. My hair is tangled into a rat's nest. One side of my face is red and has creases in it from the pillowcase. And there's a glob of crusty stuff in the corner of my eye. If this is the very first thing Edward saw this morning, no wonder he chose not stick around longer than he had to. I look gross. Thank goodness there's that "for better, for worse" part in our marriage vows to keep him from abandoning me completely.
After a quick shower, I ditch my pajamas and pull on a cozy black sweater over my head. It's November and it gets chilly in Ithaca - just like it does in Forks. Though, I have to say Ithaca beats Forks in terms of wintertime hardships. Back in Washington, there might be a few inches of snowfall a year to deal with. In upstate New York, it isn't unusual to get at least a foot of snow a month during the winter season. I have survived three winters here so far, but I still don't like the cold climate any better than I did when we first arrived. Snow is wet and annoying. It melts in your hair, freezes your skin, and the road slush dirties up your car when you drive. Despite those negatives, I have to confess that I do love it here. Ithaca is a nice place to call home - even when the blizzards start blowing through. Most of the people are friendly without being too nosey, the neighborhood we live in is safe and charming, and Cornell is the best school around in my opinion. Those are just a few of the many reasons why I haven't yet talked Edward into us moving someplace where snowblowers aren't required to get your car out of the driveway.
As I walk downstairs, I give my thousandth silent thank you to Esme for ordering anti-skid treads to be applied to each step before we moved in. She also oversaw additional safety measures to improve the house, like strengthening the hand rail, covering sharp edges of tables with padding, and securing the heavy furniture and the TV to the walls so they won't tip over onto anyone. Esme claimed the precautions were put into place in case we ever have any friends with kids over to visit. However, since the safety measures extend into our private bedroom where no visitor would wander, I firmly believe they were solely for my benefit. Once I became aware of this, a part of me wanted to complain about being treated like a bumbling idiot who can't walk without tripping over a loose rug. But I changed my tune once I realized my injuries have been minimal since moving into this house. I've only gotten small bruises occasionally instead of concussions and broken bones. I can't fault Esme for being a genius.
The smell of something sweet hits my nose as soon as I enter the kitchen. Edward made breakfast. I peek into the warm oven and find French toast served on a plate. After adding some butter and pouring on the syrup, I take a big bite and softly moan at the taste. It's very good - as I already knew it would be. Edward has taken it upon himself to cook in the mornings while I handle most of our dinner preparations. It's a perfect arrangement from my point of view since I hate slaving over a stove right after I wake up. He doesn't mind it as much and says he likes feeding me. Even though that's sweet of him - just for kicks - I enjoy indulging in a nice bowl of Lucky Charms or Rice Krispies every so often just to watch his scowling facial expressions. He hates it when I eat anything with artificial colors, tons of added sugar, and grinning cartoon mascots. I feel kind of sorry for him. As a child, he never got to experience the joy of finding a prize at the bottom of a box of Fruity Pebbles. He likely would be more understanding of my lifelong attachment to kid's breakfast cereals if he had.
While I eat my French toast, I check my phone's emails. I breeze past a few spam messages and soon notice a Facebook group notification email from last night. I already know what it says. The English Literature study group I belong to is notifying everyone that our last meeting before the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday is this Thursday. The reason I'm aware of the message's contents is because I wrote it. I lead the group.
Being in such a prominent position never appealed to me much before college. But there's something special about literature that persuades me to want to talk in front of others about the consequences of Heathcliff returning to Wuthering Heights, or analyzing the metaphors in Dickens's writings. I soon realized that not everyone understands the subject as well as I usually do. During freshman year, a girl who sat next to me admitted she couldn't get past page five of Joyce's Ulysses and would always end up throwing the book across her dorm room due to her frustration. I had read it at least three times before, so I offered to go over the book with her after class. She eagerly agreed. I must have helped her at least a little bit since she immediately asked if we could work together again soon. We met up a few days later at the campus library. I was surprised when I found she had brought along someone else who had been having trouble with the book, too. That was the first meeting of our study group - comprising of me, a girl I barely knew, and her equally confused roommate. The group I'm heading now has seven members and normally meets twice a week. Together, we go over the study material our professor assigned us, discuss our thoughts, and try to help anyone who may be having trouble. It's a fun and rewarding activity to be a part of.
Edward and I are both in our senior year at Cornell. At the start of the fall term, I noticed a sharp uptick in the number of people asking what I'll be doing after I earn all my credits. I honestly don't know. I'm sure I could get an entry level position somewhere checking for errors in book manuscripts, though that career doesn't sound like something I would want to do permanently. Attaining a master's degree in English Literature is a possibility that interests me. I would be the very first Swan to achieve that feat if I can pull it off. However, what I would do afterwards remains uncertain. But I'm still young. Twenty-two. There's plenty of time for me to make up my mind. I don't need to rush. It's not like we're desperate for money and I need to find a job right away. Thanks to the Cullens' financial guidance and wizardry, our net worth grows by leaps and bounds every day. So even if something terrible happened - like a stock market crash - Edward and I would still be set for life.
Taking another bite of my breakfast, I push away the nagging pressures of my future and decide to focus on the mindless entertainment that is Facebook. I close the email app on my phone, open up the browser, and log in. A couple of years back, Alice insisted the site would be the next big thing. She urged us to create accounts so Edward and I could stay in contact with all of our old friends from high school. But Edward isn't into social media very much. He prefers to stick with phone calls, snail mail, and the occasional text. So I created a profile to represent us both in case anyone back home wants to say hello.
When Facebook loads up, I smile at my profile photo and reminisce about the day it was taken. Edward and I had spent an hour raking the backyard one afternoon a few weeks back. We stood there a moment and stared at the enormous pile of dead autumn leaves we had amassed. The colors were varied and glorious. Deep reds. Cheery yellows. Warm orange and browns. It was as if the trees were sacrificing themselves so we could experience some beauty before the winter dullness came. However, I assumed the next step would be bagging the leaves up and setting them out at the road for the garbage truck. I was wrong. Edward apparently had alternate plans for them first - namely, to stir up some mischief by tackling me into the mound. The leaves we spent all that time and energy collecting flew out in every direction as we fell. I couldn't find it in me to get mad about it, though. Because once his lips began moving against mine, I was too happy to care about the extra work we would need to do. It wasn't long before his iPhone crept out of hiding while we lay there. The photo he snapped is almost comical. I'm laughing with my eyes crinkled shut. He's pressing his mouth against my cheekbone, a trace of a sneaky smile on his face. Dried leaves are scattered on our clothes and caught in our hair. We're a mess. And I think it's my favorite photo of us so far.
I tear my gaze away from our picture and scroll through Facebook's news feed.
Angela Weber had a blast at the Seattle Zoo with the guys.
The photo accompanying her status update has me laughing. Ben Cheney and Angela's two younger brothers are posed in front of an aquatic display - each one mugging a silly face into the camera. Behind them, a couple of curious penguins photo bomb the moment.
It's great seeing how well Ben gets along with Angela's family. The twins adore him. Her parents love him, too - even after they made a surprise trip to Seattle and discovered that Ben had been living in their daughter's apartment for more than a year. I'm sure it's only a matter of time before he pops the question. I know this is true because we've been secretly corresponding behind Angela's back these past couple of weeks. He's trying to find her the "perfect" ring and has been begging me for advice. I keep telling him that she's the type of person who cares more about the sentiment than the actual looks of jewelry. But he's nervous. And excited. So every few days he sends pictures of rings and asks which one Angela would like the most. That poor guy. If he keeps stressing out about it, I guess I'll ask Alice if she minds helping him out. She'd know what to do.
Scrolling further down, I pass by the status updates of a few friends and acquaintances Edward and I have met since moving to Ithaca. Most of them talk of watering pixelated crops, or boasting about how much imaginary squash they harvested today. Stupid Farmville. I can't wait until this farming simulation gaming trend runs out of steam. A boy from my Sociology class is pleading to all of his Facebook friends to join him in playing Mafia Wars. No thanks, Ryan. Living a life of crime - even if it's only done in a game world - doesn't sound fun to me. I'll pass.
Renée Dwyer ate at Athena's Greek Restaurant.
There's a lot of tiny photos attached to Mom's post that I can't make out clearly enough. I click on the link, assuming they will be shots of her kindergarten class. Those are always adorable. Instead, I heave a despairing sigh at what I see. She took pictures of everything she and Phil ate yesterday and then uploaded them to Facebook. This is a disturbing trend that has caught on around the globe in the last year or so. I don't understand it myself. Who cares that you had chili cheese fries and a Sprite an hour ago? Not me. Though, I am impressed Mom garnered quite a few likes and comments for the Greek restaurant food photo. I have to admit that it looks delicious. But, she's had absolutely zero attention for the pic of the homemade tuna fish salad she prepared two days ago. This isn't a shock considering her disastrous track record in the kitchen. I think everyone in Jacksonville knows by now that her food is hazardous to your health. There's raisins floating around in there, and something oddly slimy and pink. I'm getting squeamish just by looking at it. Fighting my gag reflex, I give the tuna fish salad picture a like. Mom adores Facebook and gets hurt when no one acknowledges a post she made. I think what I did is indisputable proof of how much I love her.
Going back to my news feed, my eyes light up at the next thing I read.
Jessica Stanley just got a callback for a MAJOR motion picture! If I get it, I'll be Waitress #2!
I give Jessica's new status a like and click to comment.
Bella Swan Masen- That's great, Jess! I'm sure you'll be perfect for the part. Good luck!
I read through some of her other recent posts as I nibble at my stack of French toast. Jessica really blossomed after moving away from Forks. She and Mike broke up for good not long after she moved to Southern California. Neither one had felt dedicated enough to maintain a long distance relationship. I believe it worked out for the best. The energetic lifestyle of LA seems to fit her well. Her skin has tanned up, she exercises more, and there's always something new for her to do. Initially, she studied business in college, but that only lasted a semester. Her roommate was a member of the campus theater and often asked Jessica to help her study her lines. It soon became apparent Jessica had a talent for drama - which everyone in Forks could have vouched to years ago. She switched majors and has been studying acting ever since. When she's not studying or rehearsing on stage at her college, she's searching for acting gigs constantly. She's gotten a couple of small commercial roles and was an extra in a TV show not long ago. I'm glad she finally found something to make herself happy.
I navigate back to my news feed and resume reading what everyone has been up to lately.
Mike Newton just had his biggest sale ever at Newton's Olympic Outfitters! My gal and I celebrated in Port Angeles. We had a great night!
I enlarge the picture Mike uploaded. There's lots of tables and dinnerware in the background. Looks like he and his date were at Bella Italia last night. He holds the camera out with one hand as he poses for the shot, his pearly white teeth gleaming. To the left sits his new girlfriend. At least, I think it's her. It's hard to tell. Mike usually takes selfies and has the habit of accidentally cutting most of her out of the frame. This time I see half of a feminine eyebrow, part of a red lip, and some long blonde hair. If I find some spare time, maybe I can comb through the other partial photos of her he's uploaded and finally piece together what she looks like. It'll be fun. Like solving a jigsaw puzzle.
A Facebook request pops up out of the blue, distracting me from my current thoughts.
Tyler Crowley wants to be friends.
My eyebrows rise to my hairline. Edward and I haven't seen Tyler since we moved away from Forks. Out of curiosity, I add him as a friend and immediately check out his Facebook page. Tyler's profile photo shows dusty blonde hair hanging down below his neck, a style much longer than it was during our high school days. There's a few goatee-like hairs sprouting from his chin, too. He looks a lot like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo.
A string of comments from yesterday on his wall catches my attention.
Tyler Crowley- Anybody know what to do if you t-bone someone's car? Need to know asap.
Eric Yorkie- Is this a joke?
Tyler Crowley- No. I think my bumper ripped off their passenger side door. Should I leave a note before I leave?
Eric Yorkie- That's called a hit and run, man. Stay where you are and call 9-1-1! Is anyone hurt?
Tyler Crowley- Nah. I was wearing my seatbelt. And whoever owns the car I hit must be shopping right now. Everybody's fine.
Eric Yorkie- Wait. Where are you?
Tyler Crowley- The mall parking lot near where I live. Why?
Eric Yorkie- You crashed into ANOTHER vehicle in a parking lot? I thought you ran into somebody at a red light or something!
Tyler Crowley- Lol! That's funny! Hey, do you know what it means when you see steam coming out from under the hood?
Hmm. Well, that was an interesting read. I don't know if I should laugh or cry. Tyler may technically be a man now, but it's clear to see he's the same glazed-eyed doofus he was at seventeen. I heard recently that Eric is studying computer science somewhere. Maybe he can invent and manufacture Tyler a replacement brain one day. Anything would be better than what Tyler has now.
I turn off my phone's screen and concentrate on breakfast. When I finish, I head into the living room, grab my laptop and textbook, and take a seat on the couch with my legs curled underneath me. For the rest of the morning, I study for a Sociology test coming up at the end of the week. By noon, I'm worn out mentally and ready to do something else. I wander back into the kitchen and open up the cabinets in search for lunch. I spot a can of beef stew hiding behind a box of oatmeal. I dump out the contents of the can into a pot and heat it up on the stove. As it cooks, I decide some crackers sound good, too. I'm disappointed to discover we're all out. In fact, we're running low on a lot of our staples. Looks like a grocery store run is in order for today.
Thirty minutes later, I slip on a lightweight jacket and lock the front door. By force of habit, I check out what's going on at the light pink house across the street. The boxy, '80s era Cadillac remains parked in the driveway. The rocking chair on the front porch sits empty. It's unusual for things to be so quiet over there when it's light outside. Our elderly neighbor who lives there, Effie, practically holds court on her front porch every day. She talks to the mail carrier while he's working his route, waves to people walking their dogs down the sidewalk, and keeps her eye on the neighborhood better than any security guard. Last year, Effie noticed that a cable company van was pulling into the driveway of a house nearby. It was a late Sunday evening, an odd time for them to be doing repairs - especially since no one was home yet. Effie said he was constantly scanning his surroundings as he walked to the back of the house, as though he was casing the joint. She suspected he was a burglar and called the police. It turned out the guy was doing something wrong, it just wasn't illegal. As the cable guy was being questioned by the cops, he admitted that he and the owner of the house had been engaged in a months long affair. They would meet up at her house whenever her husband was called away on business, and on this particular day, the cable guy had arrived much earlier than planned - which I believe is a first considering his occupation. Word of the incident made it back to the husband and he immediately filed for divorce. Effie still isn't sure how to feel about her part in the whole mess since she's the one who exposed the affair. I assured her that she did the husband a favor in the long run.
As I step into my Honda Civic, I tell myself to stop worrying about Effie. She may be eighty-one years old and not as strong as she once was because of her arthritis, but she isn't helpless either. She's probably busy doing something inside her house today. Just because I haven't seen her yet doesn't mean she fell in the shower and broke her hip. I'm sure she's fine. But I'll stop by later just to make sure.
There's a couple of errands I need to do today. I drop off a shirt of mine at the dry cleaners, return some library books, and before I know it, I'm pushing a shopping cart down the aisles of my favorite supermarket. Just as I lift a gallon of milk out of the refrigerated section, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and glance at the caller I.D. It's a very familiar number. It rings up my phone at least once a day. "Hey, Alice," I answer.
"Put it down and get another one," she instructs from across the continent.
I glance at the plastic jug in my hand. "Why?"
"Check the Use By date."
Turning it around, I read the black inked print. November 14. Two days ago. Yikes.
"Do I want to know what would have happened if I drank that?" I wonder, my nose crinkling.
Alice laughs. "Probably not."
I put the jug back and find fresher milk. "Thanks for the heads up."
"No problem. I planned on calling you 'round about now anyway."
"OK. So what's up? Anything interesting going on?"
Alice sighs. "Not really. With Rose and Emmett out of the house, things have been quiet around here. They won't be back from their trip abroad for at least another month. And Esme's still been scouting for a new place for us to live, but nothing looks attractive enough to warrant moving yet. It's going to be difficult finding a place as nice as Forks."
The Cullen coven has lived in Forks for over six years now. Carlisle thinks it's only a matter of time before the people in town realize the pale, golden-eyed folk haven't aged a bit. I understand his concern. He's supposed to be thirty-seven. He looks about the same age as Edward and me. It's definitely time for the Cullens to leave Forks.
"So..." Alice drags out. "Where are you and Edward going for Thanksgiving this year?"
My mouth curves into a smirk as I make my way to the grocery store's selection of cheeses. "Why are you asking? Isn't this the sort of thing you should be able to easily foresee?"
She makes a huffing noise into the phone. "I don't see everything, Bella - and that's usually due to decisions which have yet to be made. If you would make your mind up about it, maybe then I can get a decent vision."
I select a wedge of Cheddar and a nice Gouda cheese before continuing to shop. "I know. I was only teasing. But to answer your question, I'm not sure yet. Mom keeps hinting that she wants us to have dinner at Phil's mother's house for Thanksgiving. Personally, I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not? I thought you liked Phil's family."
"I do like them. Or, at least most of them," I add in a grumble.
A moment of silence passes. "Oh... I get it. You're still not over the Dwyer Christmas Eve party of '06," Alice accuses.
My mouth pinches together as I throw a tub of butter into my cart. "Well, can you blame me? Phil's younger sister followed Edward around like a puppy all evening. I was tempted to write 'He's married, Leslie' on Edward's forehead just as a friendly reminder for her to back off."
Alice snickers into the phone. "I think you're taking things too seriously. The girl was only fourteen back then and harboring a little crush. Kids that age are harmless."
I snort. "Sure. Leslie seemed plenty 'harmless' when she tried cornering him under the mistletoe."
The soft giggles from Alice changes to a belly laugh. "Oh yeah! I'm SO glad my visions were working well enough for me to witness that event. Edward looked like a sprinter in the Olympics once he realized what was hanging above his head."
In spite of my annoyance, Alice's humorous take of the incident makes me smile a little. Edward had refused to leave my side for the reminder of the night, as though I alone had the power to protect him from the lovesick teenager.
"OK. I guess that was kind of funny," I confess.
"I'm glad you can finally agree. I told Seth about it right after it happened and he STILL brings it up occasionally. That boy sure does like to laugh. And by the way, I ran into him this morning while I was out hunting. He told me to tell you that if you guys do decide to come to Forks for Thanksgiving this year, he would like for you to make enchiladas. Evidently, they are irresistible."
I cock my brow. "Enchiladas? Seriously? That's not exactly a part of a traditional Thanksgiving feast."
"What can I say. You brought this upon yourself. You know how addicted he is to food. He said he dreams of them whenever he takes a nap. I think he's been searching for a decent excuse for ages just to get you to make them again."
"But that makes no sense," I say, crinkling my forehead. "I made those enchiladas five months ago, right before Edward and I went to our summer home in Hampshire to spend the rest of our vacation. I gave Sue the recipe right after dinner. She asked for it specifically since everyone seemed to like it so much."
"Oh, she made it again," Alice chuckles gleefully. "But completely meat-free. Seth said he could tell right away, but Charlie either didn't know or didn't care because all that cheese and sauce partially disguised the taste."
Charlie eating a vegetarian dish puts a big grin on my face. Ever since I was small, I remember him as a meat and potatoes every night type of guy. I guess you could call him a creature of habit. He was accustomed to having things set up a certain way and had little desire to change them. I think that's partly the reason why the divorce was so hard on him. When he married my mom, he intended it to be forever. It lasted less than two years. Mom admitted she wasn't happy anymore and moved far away, taking me along with her. After that, he spent many years alone in the house they bought back when they were still in love. I don't think he ever really moved on. He never dated. And he kept their wedding photo in a prominent place on the mantel.
Charlie seemed content to remain by himself for the rest of his life. But there was a change hovering over the horizon that I wasn't aware of until well after I moved away from home.
It was a day in early 2007, and Charlie's birthday was going to fall during a time when Edward and I would be having a few days off from our college classes. Charlie sounded pleased when I said we would be coming to visit. But as the date approached, things quickly spiraled out of control where we lived. I nervously watched the weather forecast. The Finger Lakes region was set to have an ice storm hit the same day Edward and I were supposed to catch our flight to Forks. At the spur of the moment, we decided to pack our bags a day early and leave town while we still could.
We arrived in Forks that afternoon in a rental car and drove directly to my dad's place. His patrol car wasn't in the driveway, which frankly wasn't a surprise since he usually was on duty at that particular hour. With Edward carrying our luggage, I unlocked the door and we entered the house. Everything looked neat downstairs except for a couple of soda cans on a table. I was impressed the living room looked so clean. Edward dropped our things at the foot of the stairs and followed me to the kitchen. I rummaged through the refrigerator and pantry, trying to come up with a decent meal for Charlie. I knew it would make him very happy. To him, food is better than actual birthday presents.
I pulled out a pack of frozen trout from the freezer and placed it on the countertop to defrost. With that done, I glanced around the kitchen. One of the first things I noticed was Edward sitting at the nearby table. A sudden sense of deja vu struck me. That was the very spot he would sit every day before we began dating. For weeks back then, all I could do was watch him do his homework from across the table and pretend he didn't affect me. And I couldn't touch, fondle, or kiss him at all. What a terrible way to live.
On this particular day, Edward was bent forward slightly, his arms resting on the table's wooden surface. His leather jacket hung on the back of his chair, leaving him in the gray v-neck shirt I gave him at Christmas. He looked fantastic. An overwhelming urge began simmering in the back of my mind the more I stood there admiring him.
I could get him out of that shirt in five seconds flat, I thought strategically. His pants and boxer briefs will probably take a little longer since they're kind of tight on him. Twenty seconds maybe. Thirty at the most. I wonder if the table is sturdy enough to support two people...
"You know, staring at someone like that would normally be considered rude," Edward joked, his eyes dancing.
I snapped out of my trance and cleared my throat. "Sorry. I guess I got lost in my thoughts."
"Oh? What were you thinking about?"
I stood up stiffly. "That's private."
Low chuckles vibrated in his throat. "Private, hmm? And you won't tell me at all?"
It had always been a preference of mine to keep as much of the crazy to myself as I possibly could. My brain could be a scary place sometimes. If Edward wanted to believe he married a normal person, who was I to dispel that illusion? So, I shook my head from side to side, refusing to answer the question.
"I bet I could get it out of you," he smirked.
That's what I was afraid of.
My tongue swept nervously over my bottom lip as Edward rose from his chair. Like a man on a mission, he stalked across the room until he had me backed into the countertop. His lips brushed over the curve of my wrist. "What were you thinking about, Bella?" he breathed, his voice unwittingly doing its best Barry White impersonation.
"Nothing," I exhaled sharply. Every kiss and peck of his lips felt like he was administering Truth Serum. I knew I wouldn't last long if he kept it up.
His lips glided up my arm, past my elbow, and over my shoulder. He stopped to nuzzle my neck. "Your mouth says it was 'nothing', but your eyes tell a different story," he countered.
"Well, if you're so smart, how about you tell me what I was thinking," I shot back, though my panting breaths didn't make me sound nearly as forceful as I would have liked.
Edward lifted his head away from my clavicle and stood tall. He squinted as he studied my facial expressions. "I have a feeling it's similar to what has been passing through my mind all day."
I began watching him just as closely as he was watching me. "Umm... And what's that?"
He seized me by my hips and drew me flat against him. I gasped at the impact. Leaning in, he whispered into my ear. "That we were in such a rush this morning, we never had the time to do anything but pack our suitcases and leave the house. I had plans for us today - none of which included catching a last minute flight out of town. Were your thoughts anything like mine?" His mouth went back to delivering sweet torture to the hollow of my throat.
"Maybe..." I trailed off coyly. His guess had been very close, though not close enough. Hot sex on my dad's kitchen table was in a higher class of perversion than what he was probably thinking about. My fantasies were apparently more graphic than his - unless he was holding back information, too.
He placed a soft kiss to my lips and backed away. "That's what I thought. Too bad we have to grin and bear it for a few days."
"What do you mean?"
Edward's thumb stroked my cheek and sighed. "We won't be back in Ithaca until Sunday. That's four days of chastity, I'm afraid, love."
"Why? It's not like you'll be sleeping on the couch, Edward. My old bed can handle two people."
"Yes, you are quite right on both counts. But knowing your father sleeps twenty feet away will banish any carnal thoughts I may have entertained," he deadpanned.
My entire body shuddered involuntarily. Edward was right. Any hanky-panky beyond kissing would be plagued with danger. Charlie's house was built with thin walls and an echoing hallway. And I already knew from months of late night research that me being quiet with Edward was out of the question. My dad could wake up, hear what he thought was an assailant attacking me in my old bedroom, and walk in to find his daughter and son-in-law tangled underneath the sheets. That thought alone was enough to make me want to go celibate. Sex would be physically and psychologically impossible with Charlie at home.
Yet an idea crept into my head and brightened my outlook on life. I glanced at the clock on the wall and smiled. "But Edward. It's 3:30."
A blank expression enveloped his handsome face. "And?"
"Charlie won't be home until after five o'clock," I hinted. "Which means we will have an empty house for at least the next hour and a half."
"Isn't that risky? What if he decides to come home early?"
"He won't. As far as I know, he isn't sick. And since we weren't supposed to come until tomorrow, he doesn't even know we're here yet. I'm sure he won't be leaving for home anytime soon."
I watched a battle take place behind his eyes. "Bella," Edward breathed out with unmistakable hesitation.
My hands slipped underneath his shirt and moved down his happy trail (the only trail I don't mind exploring) until my fingers hooked around his belt loops, drawing him close again. "Four days, Edward," I reminded him in a raspy voice. We had only been married for about six months at the time. Technically, we were still in the newlywed stage. Going four whole days without making love was unheard of unless one of us were sick or dying. Even when we were swamped with college exams and household duties, we found the time.
His mouth contorted hard to the side as he stared into my eyes. Within seconds, the conflict raging inside him raised up a white flag of defeat. He shined an amused, crooked smile. "That is an excellent point." He bowed and waved his hand towards the kitchen door. "After you," he said politely, though the suggestive look he was giving me was anything but sweet.
While I led the way out of the kitchen, Edward took up position behind me. His arms held me close, pressing my back into his firm chest as we walked. I smiled and hummed with pleasure as he sucked at the exposed skin behind my ear. By the time we reached the stairs, he was more or less holding me up. I didn't mind. We took lazy steps up to the second floor. I extracted myself from his arms once we reached the top and turned around to face him.
"I need to use the bathroom first. You go sit on the bed and wait for me," I directed.
He kissed my cheek and grinned. "Yes, ma'am." We shared a laugh before we separated.
I headed to the only bathroom in the house, did my business as fast as I could, and turned on the sink faucet. As I soaped up my hands, my eyes drifted around. It didn't take long before they landed on the toothbrush holder. My hands went immobile under the lukewarm water. There were two toothbrushes sticking out of it. One toothbrush was the regular, cheap kind you could find nearly everywhere. That was Charlie's for sure. The other was electric. With a flamingo pink handle.
I shut the water off and stared. Then I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn't seeing things. Both toothbrushes remained on the vanity. Highly suspicious, I studied the other objects in the bathroom with a critical eye. There was shaving cream. A man's razor. Q-Tips in a jar. And...
I knew it, I thought.
"Edward? Come here, please," I shouted.
He appeared within seconds, his shirt already off. "Something wrong?"
"I don't know." My head tipped towards the vanity. "You take a look and tell me."
Edward conducted a quick survey and met my gaze. "What? I see nothing out of the ordinary."
I snatched up the perfume I had spotted and held it out for him to examine. "This, Edward. Look at it."
He took the bottle and read the label. "Hmm." Holding it up to his nose, he sniffed. "Smells like daisies."
"Yeah. So what's it doing in here?"
"Are you sure it's not yours? Maybe you left it by mistake."
I snorted and rolled my eyes. "Alice packed up my personal stuff and sent everything to our house while we were on the honeymoon. It definitely isn't mine."
A long pause commenced. I could tell he was mulling over the information. Then he broke into a soft chuckle. "Perhaps Charlie has been working undercover as a woman."
I flashed him the side-eye and pointed my finger at the second piece of evidence. "Then what about that? There's TWO toothbrushes sitting there." Exhaling sharply, I placed the bottle of perfume back on the shelf from where it came. "I think Charlie has been keeping something from me. Something big."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Remember that time a couple of months ago I called him and Sue answered the phone?" Edward nodded his head. "I thought she was there just to visit. And Charlie sure made it sound that way. There's been a few other times, too, since then. When I would ask, he would always say things like, 'she came by to drop off a casserole she made.' I had a funny feeling there was more to it than that but I never confronted him. But maybe it's more than just visiting they're doing. Maybe they're... dating." I said the word with amazement haunting my tone.
Edward slipped a comforting arm around my shoulders. "They do seem to get on well with one another. So it's certainly possible."
"If it's true, why hasn't he told me?" I asked, furrowing my forehead.
Edward shrugged. "I'm sure he has his reasons."
The more I thought about it, the more it ticked me off. I had informed Charlie about Edward and me dating right away. And in return, he hides his relationship from me? How was that fair?
"Well, we are going to talk about it," I decided on the spot. "Tonight. As soon as he walks through the door. Between you and me, we'll get the truth out of him."
I dragged Edward to my old room so he could help take my mind off stressful things for a while. He did an excellent job as always. Afterwards, we straightened the bed, checked for visible hickeys which could tip Charlie off on what we had been doing, and smoothed out our clothing of wrinkles before heading back downstairs. Dinner was nearly ready when I heard a car pull up outside. I peeked out the living room curtains into the darkening outside world. Charlie was home.
At the same time, I spied movement near the front door. Edward was slipping his black leather jacket back on. "What are you doing?" I blurted out.
"Going out for a little while," he replied breezily.
"What? No! You can't leave now. You're supposed to help me get answers out of him!" I exclaimed.
Edward smiled as he zipped up his jacket. "As much as I love bearing witness to heart-warming father/daughter moments, this particular conversation will not be one of them. I sincerely doubt Charlie would appreciate having his deep, dark secrets exposed in front of me. I'm leaving that task in your very capable hands."
"But, Edward-"
The front door flew open at that very moment and Charlie stepped inside - interrupting our argument. His dark brown eyes lit up. "Hey! I didn't know you were coming today," he greeted as he gave me an unexpected hug.
Once he backed away, I tucked a clump of hair behind my ear. "Yeah. We decided we had better come sooner than we had planned since the weather wasn't looking so great where we live. But if you're not ready for us, I'm sure we can stay with the Cullens tonight..." I drifted my words off, suddenly feeling like we were intruding.
"No, no. It's fine," Charlie assured me. "This will always be your house, Bells. You're welcome to come whenever you want." He turned and saw Edward standing near the door. "You going somewhere, Edward?"
"Yes," Edward answered. "Bella noticed that the pantry was running low on a few necessities. So, I'm going to the Thriftway to pick up supplies for your birthday feast tomorrow night."
Charlie appeared faintly surprised. "Oh. Well, thank you. That would be a lot of help. I meant to do some chores last night - like go to the store and clean up the house before you arrived - but I never found the time to tackle anything."
Edward caught my eye and flashed a quick smile. "You are very welcome, Charlie. But Bella already made herself useful and straightened up a few places for you. The kitchen. The living room. The bathroom." My eyes narrowed at his teasing hint. He huffed a laugh and twisted the door knob. "I'm sure you two have a lot of things to talk about. I'll be back in a few minutes." Then he made his escape out the front door.
Traitor, I thought.
Charlie dropped into his recliner and watched me take a seat on the couch. He didn't even turn on the TV. I guess not seeing me for a while made him more inclined to pay attention to me and not ESPN.
We quietly stared at one another. The ticking of the clock on the wall filled the silence between us. I wasn't sure what to say. Launching a full-scale investigation into his love life right off the bat probably was not advisable.
"So..." he drawled out, pursing his mustachioed lip. "What have you been up to lately?"
"Just school. Chores. You know, the usual," I replied. He nodded, and we went right back to silence. I forced myself to make an effort to contribute. "And you?"
Charlie's eyes darted away, his shoes suddenly capturing his interest. "Same old, same old."
He is a terrible liar, I thought. He must be where I get it from.
"Right." I stretched the word out and continued observing him. "So no friends over lately?"
He coughed into his fist and sat up a little straighter in his recliner. "Billy came by a few days ago."
"With Jake?"
"No. Billy said he went on a camping trip. Jacob's back now, though. Said he had a great time."
Jacob on a camping trip? I found it doubtful. More than likely, he traveled to Alaska to visit Tanya. Those two are infamous for fighting like tigers and then going at it like bunnies.
"I'm sure Jake had loads of fun," I mumbled under my breath. I held my tongue from making further snarky remarks and said nothing against the bogus story Charlie had been fed. "But if Jake didn't bring Billy over here to visit you - who did? Billy can't drive."
Charlie sucked in his cheek for a split second before responding. "Sue brought him over. She helps Billy out a lot. Good woman." I waited for him to add, "and - surprise! - I've been lying to you and seeing her behind your back!" But he didn't utter another peep.
"Yeah. She is a good woman," I agreed. I paused for several beats while I gathered courage to get this conversation moving in the right direction. "And speaking of women. I was wondering lately something about you... When's the last time you went out on a date, Dad?" I asked point blank.
Charlie's mustache fluttered around so much that it looked like it was about to detach from his lip and take a flight around the living room. "It's been a while," he replied evasively.
"How long is 'a while'?" I retorted, using air quotes.
"I'm not sure..."
"You're not sure?" I repeated with a scowl. "If I asked the owner of the pretty pink toothbrush up in the bathroom, would she know?"
His face scrunched together, as though in distress. "Saw that, huh?"
"Yep. And the perfume, too. I'm sure if I looked harder, I could have found tampons in the medicine cabinet. And don't even try telling me that they're yours," I warned sarcastically.
"I wasn't," he grumbled.
I relaxed my glare and let out a sigh. "Just tell me. Are you seeing Sue?"
"Yes," he utters with frowning lips.
"For how long?"
He takes his sweet time before answering. "Five or six months."
My chin dropped a few inches, shock evident on my face. "That long?"
"Yeah..." he admitted reluctantly.
"Were you planning on ever telling me, Dad? Or was it going to be kept secret forever?" I questioned, the hurt registering within my words.
He shifted uneasily on his recliner. "I was gonna tell you...eventually. But..."
"But what?"
"I couldn't tell you right away. Sue needed time to get used to it herself. She had only lost Harry early last year, so it was tough for her at first. There's a lot of guilt left behind when your spouse passes away. You get lonely but worry about how your friends and family will react once you're dating again. So, we decided to keep things private until she felt ready to be more open about it."
"Oh." I twiddled my thumbs as I thought. Forks had always been a hot bed of gossipers. Sue deserved to be comfortable with their relationship before revealing it to the world. "I understand. How is she now?"
"Good. Very good. She - err - told her kids about everything a few weeks ago. They seemed fine with it."
My hands went still on my lap. "Then how come you didn't let me know, too?"
"I wasn't sure how to break it to you," he replied.
My face scrunched together, staring at him in disbelief. "What? Did you think I was going to throw a temper tantrum because you're dating? Or cry?" I asked, beyond exasperated.
Charlie nodded. "Something like that."
My face fell into my hands. "You've got to be kidding me." I sat back up and tilted my head accusingly. "I don't get it. Why would you assume I couldn't handle it?"
He crossed his arms defensively over his chest. "I've seen what happens sometimes to children of divorced parents. One parent starts dating almost as soon as the divorce papers are finalized, and then forces the kids to put up with the new person in their life before they're even sure they love 'em or not. Then, just as the kids get used to things, the new relationship falls apart and they're off dating someone else. That can cause a lot of resentment in a family. Fights. Mistrust. Hurt feelings. I didn't want to do that to you until I knew for sure it was going to work out with me and Sue."
I smiled sadly. "Dad. You've been divorced nearly seventeen years. The ink dried on those divorce papers a long time ago. You can date who you want, when you want. I don't mind."
He looked at me as though I were trying to trick him. "Is that right?" he drawls out.
"Yes. Of course. I want you to be happy - not forever alone. It's about time you started dating again. Honestly, I'm surprised no one around Forks hasn't tried to set you up before."
Charlie pouted with unamused eyes. "Who said they hadn't? The lady down at the pharmacy has been on my tail for years. She's got some daughter in Sequim who's single. Showed me her picture once. Had more hair on her upper lip than I do."
I grinned. "Well, Sue is a better fit for you anyway, I think. I like her a lot... And you don't even have to feel emasculated by her superior mustache. She's clearly the best choice."
He humphed, but it was more of a laugh than annoyance. "She is."
"Since the secret is out, when do I get to finally meet her as your... girlfriend?" It was strange saying that term in connection with my dad. Not bad. Just new.
"Soon - if that's what you want."
"Tonight?"
His dark brows rose. "That's fine by me. I'll see if she's up to it." He shoved himself out of the recliner and began heading to the kitchen to call her.
At the same time, I pulled out the cellphone Edward talked me into buying soon after our marriage and dialed my top contact. "And while you're doing that, I guess I'll let a certain somebody know it's safe to come back," I muttered, still a little ticked at how Edward left me to do all the dirty work.
"What?" asked Charlie from fifteen feet away.
"Nothing," I answered quickly.
"Bella! Watch out!" yells a chirpy voice.
Blinking hard, I shake my head to clear my thoughts. At the same, my feet slide out from underneath me. I fling an arm out and luckily hook it around the handle of the shopping cart I've been pushing at the supermarket. I just barely keep myself from smacking my face into the hard tile floor.
I take tentative steps until I stand upright again. Looking down, I spot a pool of blue liquid in the walkway. Someone must have dropped dish soap in the middle of the aisle, cracked the bottle, and neglected to notify anyone to clean it up.
"Are you OK?" the chirpy voice squeaks. "Bella?"
I suddenly remember there's a phone pressed to my ear and a very worried immortal being on the other end. "I'm sorry, Alice. I'm fine. I just slipped. Should've been paying closer attention, I guess. I think I zoned out there for a little while," I confess.
"What were you thinking about?"
"Charlie and Sue. And how you kept their relationship secret from me," I add, half teasing.
"It wasn't my business to rat them out," she defends. "Just because I knew about it didn't mean I could tell the whole universe. Heck, I wasn't even supposed to know! I can't help that I kept getting visions of them necking in the backseat of the patrol car!"
"Too much info, Alice," I groan, feeling queasy. I move carefully around the spill on aisle four and make it safely to the canned food section. "They've come a long way in the last three years."
"They really are good together," Alice agrees with a trace of a sigh. "But I wished they'd have more than just a tiny backyard wedding with a few guests apiece. It's very anticlimactic."
"That's what they want," I say lightly, shrugging a shoulder.
"Don't you think they'd be happier with a live band? And a nine-layered cake?" she urges.
"No."
"How about releasing a couple of doves at the end of the ceremony to symbolize their love? Wouldn't they like that? I could handle the arrangements," she offers.
"Nope. They don't want to make a big fuss. They want a simple spring wedding, and that's it. Besides, I don't think it would be a good idea to have someone like you in charge of live animals," I hint, smiling.
I hear the tsk in her voice before she speaks. "Whatever. It's not like I'd be tempted to feast off them. Doves don't have much to offer blood wise, and they taste really bland. It's like sucking on stale air. I'd rather feed from a buzzard. At least they have more of a flavor."
I laugh out loud once. "That's one thing I never thought I'd ever hear someone say," I remark.
When I reach the checkout a few minutes later, we give a quick goodbye so I can get the stuff out of the shopping cart without dropping anything. I fill the trunk of my car with a few bags of groceries and crank up, heading for home. As I drive, I notice Friedman's Bakery sitting around the corner. Flashes of cakes and pies and ooey-gooey cookies come to mind. Any one of those things sound great. My stomach must think so, too. It's rumbling.
It's mid-afternoon on a Monday, so the bakery isn't too crowded. I browse through the huge glass display case and allow my sweet tooth to be my guide. There's a gorgeous blueberry cheesecake sitting on the top row. Edward loves cheesecake. I love cheesecake. So I buy the cheesecake.
A silver car is parked in the driveway when I arrive home. I smile as I pull in next to it. I load my arms down with as many bags of groceries as I can and head up the front steps. As I unlock the door, I take a look over my shoulder. The elderly widow from across the street, Effie, must still be inside her house. This is very unlike her. I check my watch. It's around the time when the neighborhood kids start getting out of school. She enjoys watching them jump off the school bus and race towards their homes. She must be very busy if she's willing to miss it. Or she's fallen somewhere and can't get up, just like that Life Alert lady on those commercials. But that's a very pessimistic thing to assume. I'll try to stay positive until I can get over there and check on her.
I enter through the front door and am immediately hit by a wall of sound. As quietly as I can, I head to the kitchen to drop off the grocery bags and then creep to the back of the house. The Music Room door is wide open. I peek inside. Edward sits on a bench in the center of the room, his broad back turned in my direction. Long fingers move flawlessly over the keys of his antique grand piano. His body sways hypnotically to the notes he coaxes from the instrument. The music flows through him as easily as the blood in his veins. It's an incredible sight to see. And hear. He's very talented, and he seems to only get better with each passing day. Whenever someone asks me what Edward plans to do after college, all I have to do is show them a video of him performing. They are invariably left speechless.
Afraid that I'll interrupt him, I tiptoe back to the kitchen and empty my pockets of my keys, wallet and iPhone. I put away the groceries but continue listening to the song. I've never heard him play this tune before. My task is nearly complete when the song comes to a halt mid-note, offering no satisfactory ending. Then he starts it over from the beginning. I concentrate on the melody. It's soft and peaceful, like a cloud drifting along on a calm summer's day. But there's something else to it. A beauty. A sweetness that leaves me stunned. When it stops in the same place as before, I realize this is no song he has picked up from the radio. Edward must be creating it on the fly. In the last year or so, he has become more interested in writing his own piano solos. Some of his creations show a lot of promise even though he has yet to complete one to his liking. But I have to say, what he's working on right now blows everything else he's ever written out of the water.
Edward plays it through twice more before the piano goes mute. I walk to the counter, cut off a slice of blueberry cheesecake, and take a seat at the kitchen island. As I eat, I wait for him to start again. He doesn't. Minutes tick away. I finish the pie on my plate but not a sound has come from the Music Room. I grab a clean plate from the cabinet and place another slice on it. Not for me. For him. Since I plan on visiting Effie, I put a piece in a plastic container for her, too. I walk through the house and set the container on a side table in the hallway. Once I make it to the Music Room, I find that Edward hasn't budged an inch from the piano bench. Shoulders hunched. Hair messier than usual, as though he's been on the brink of pulling it out. He looks exhausted - something that often occurs when he's trying to refine a song and not finding much luck. He must also be deep in thought because he doesn't notice my presence until I place the cheesecake beneath his nose. With startled eyes, he turns to find my smiling face.
Before he can utter a word, I take a seat beside him on the bench. "It looked like you needed a mental boost."
He heaves out a long sigh and takes the plate. "Indubitably. I've needed something deliciously sweet all day." His upper torso twists as he sets the cheesecake on a nearby table. My mouth opens to ask what he's doing but the kiss he delivers causes me to forget my own name. Warm breaths and talented lips wander around my jaw and neck. Edward takes my earlobe into his mouth and sends a shiver through my body. "Umm... That's exactly what I needed. Thank you," he murmurs.
A low moan slips through my lips. Edward knows how to play me better than he does the piano - and that's saying something. It feels too good to stop. But somewhere deep within my sex-starved brain, a guilty voice screams for attention.
Effie. Possible broken hip. Your fault if she doesn't receive help in time.
I reluctantly push Edward's chest away and look up into his steamy green eyes. A smile perks up the ends of my mouth. "As much as I would love to continue to feed you, I need to go check on Effie. I haven't seen her all day."
"I saw her when I came home. She was sweeping her porch steps and wearing flip-flops in forty-eight degree weather. She seemed perfectly fine - for her," he stresses with an arched brow and amused gaze.
My smile relaxes now that I know Effie is alive and well. "OK, but I'm still going to check on her. As you can see, I went by Friedman's Bakery for the cheesecake. I think she wouldn't mind having a slice."
"I'm sure she would like that."
"Yep." I find a small elastic band in my front pocket and twist my hair up loosely in the back. "So... How far have you gotten on the piece you've been working on?"
Edward's head jerks back at the question. "Not far at all. Just a few notes," he answers. He squints slightly before continuing. "How long have you been back?"
"About half an hour."
Hs mouth dips into a small frown. "Then why didn't you come see me sooner?"
"I didn't want to disturb you," I say with a half shrug. "I heard some of it while putting away the groceries. It sounded nice. Is it new?"
"Yes, it is. It came to me this morning, but I wasn't able to get it down on paper until just an hour or so ago." He looks at me through his dark bronze lashes, deepening his gaze. "But, you need to understand that you are free to come in here at any time. You are my primary source for inspiration, after all. I could compose an entire symphony if you would only stay near me while I worked."
I roll my eyes but almost laugh, too. "Flatterer."
His arms slide around my waist and nearly drag me onto his lap. "No. It's the solemn truth. The melody came to me this morning when I was getting out of bed. You looked so peaceful as you slept. Like a slumbering angel - gloriously beautiful and divine. Truly inspiring."
This particular "compliment" of his is a punch in the gut to my self-esteem. I saw my reflection this morning after I got out of bed. The only angel I looked like was maybe the Angel of Death.
I flash him a cold glare. "You were watching me sleep again," I snap. More than once I've caught him doing this. He may be the only person on Earth who would willingly watch their wife drool into her pillowcase and then think it's cute. Sure, every now and then I may wake up and stare at him for a minute - or twenty - but that's because he makes sleeping look good.
Instead of showing remorse, his eyes gleam in the afternoon light. "Only because you called for my attention. When you hear someone calling your name out with that much vigor, it's almost impossible to ignore it."
The hardened expression slips away from my face. Things just got more humiliating around here. Not only did I look generally awful this morning, I was also talking in my sleep? Wonderful. Please let it be only a few mumbled words...
"What did I say?" I ask, my tone lowering to borderline depression.
A sly smirk lifts his cheeks. "The real question is - what did you not say?" he teases.
Oh, no. This is bad.
Edward strokes my cheeks, a smile still attached to his face. My eyes flutter shut to escape. With each pass of his thumb, I feel the heat of my skin and the annoyance aimed at myself increasing. Apparently, I was a real chatterbox in my dreams today. Plus, I'm an adult woman who still blushes like a schoolgirl. That's just more salt added to the wound.
"I'm going to convince Carlisle to prescribe you a strong sedative to help you sleep through my night-time ramblings. I wouldn't want you to miss out on sleep," I grumble sarcastically.
"Oh, I don't mind. It's my favorite part of the night...or day."
He sounds truthful, so much so that I can't help but reopen my eyes and stare. "And why is that?"
"Because, when you talk in your sleep, I can hear that you care for me in your dreams just as much as when you're awake."
The icy irritation within my heart melts a little. "You could just ask me, you know."
"Ah, but I love hearing the unedited version as well. I wouldn't miss it for the world," he states, now cupping the side of my face.
My bottom lip slides underneath a tooth and bites hard. I can't recall much of the details from my dream from this morning, but I'm sure it wasn't any cleaner than a pole you'd find at a seedy strip joint.
"How 'unedited' are we talking?" I ask hesitantly.
The smile's back, with a wink added in to make my lady parts tingle. "Shockingly so."
Knowing that I, Sleeping Bella, talk like a phone sex operator when I'm passed out cold in bed keeps me from fully enjoying his playfulness. I knew I mumble in my sleep sometimes, but I never imagined Edward could guess what's going on in my dreams. It's taking everything I have to keep from hiding my face in shame.
His crooked grin slackens. He leans in, eliminating the last spare inches separating us. Gently, his fingers move a piece of hair away from my forehead that had escaped my messy bun. "If you don't mind, I can show you just how shocking it is," he whispers. "I think I can remember most of what you were saying this morning. I feel certain that we can reenact it - if that's all right with you."
I don't know if I should be annoyed, embarrassed, or seduced. Amused wins out in the end. A laugh tickles my throat as I create some breathing room between us. "I'm sure we can, but I need to go over to Effie's. If we started that reenactment now, we wouldn't finish until late tonight. And you know Effie goes to bed by nine o'clock," I remind him.
He breathes out a heavy sigh. "Very well, love. I understand. You have good deeds to do and I'm only delaying you."
I rise up from the bench and look down at his handsome face. Sad, emerald eyes. Pouty lips. He must have really been serious about that "reenactment" offer and now he's sexually frustrated. Good. I am, too.
I softly kiss the side of his head. At his ear, I allow my voice to drop to a throaty purr. "You know... I won't be away for long. You be sure to eat what I brought you while I'm gone. You'll need the energy for later," I smirk.
Edward's eyes glaze over with that same look I frequently wear whenever he's dazzling me. Knowing I have only moments to retreat before he comes to his senses, I back away from the piano bench. I successfully dodge his attempt to recapture me within his arms and make a mad dash to the hallway. He doesn't follow, which is fortunate since we both know he could easily catch me if he really wanted to. I grab the plastic container from the side table as I pass by and head towards the front door. "Tease!" Edward shouts from the Music Room. I laugh triumphantly and exit the house. It isn't often that I win the little games we play. But when I do, I relish it.
It's a clear, beautiful day outside even though the air temperature has cooled significantly in the past thirty minutes. I forgot to slip back into my jacket, but I suck it up and keep on walking. I focus my attention instead on the light pink house across the street. It's decorated with a few touches of autumn, giving it a homey ambiance. Hanging baskets of yellow chrysanthemums. A pile of multicolored pumpkins and gourds sitting on the wide porch steps. A wreath of dried corn hanging on the front door. It's a quaint, welcoming place. I press the door chime once and wait. A shuffling noise can be heard coming from the other side. The door opens and I do a quick scan of the figure standing before me. Hair the color of steel wool? Check. Huge eyeglasses that take up almost half of her wrinkled face? Check. Bright fuchsia muumuu dress that could burn your retinas if you look at it without sunglasses? Check. Looks like Effie is right as rain.
"Hello there!" she greets.
I beam back at her. "Hi, Effie."
She pushes the door open to its fullest extent and grasps me by the shoulder, encouraging me inside. "Come in, come in! I was hoping you'd drop by."
The front door closes behind us. Then I hand her the plastic container. "I brought you dessert. Do you like blueberry cheesecake?"
"I do. Thank you! This will go nicely with my cabbage and fried beef liver tonight."
I try not to crinkle my nose at her meal plans. "So, what have you been up to today? I noticed you weren't outside very much."
"Oh, I've been doing this and that. But mostly that." She points at a cardboard box in the corner of the room. I read the words printed on the side.
"You bought a computer?" I ask, almost stupefied.
Effie has never struck me as being technologically advanced. Her microwave has a dial instead of a digital screen. The TV in the living room weighs approximately two hundred pounds since it was purchased back when RCA thought encasing them in a wooden cabinet was a good idea. And there's a black rotary phone sitting on a table nearby that looks only marginally more modern in design than what Alexander Graham Bell used back in the 1800s. A computer just doesn't seem to jive with her lifestyle.
She chuckles. "Oh no! My son bought the thing and had it delivered here. You remember Steven?"
I nod once or twice. Over the years, I've caught a few glimpses of her son when he visits her. He lives far away with his wife and two, almost adult, children. Where his mother primarily wears muumuus and fuzzy slippers, he dresses himself in only the best. Tailored business suits. Designer slacks. I doubt the man owns anything you could relax in comfortably. He couldn't be anymore different from Effie.
"Well, Steven's been on my case lately," she begins. She releases a breath and shakes her head slowly. "He doesn't like me living alone and makes that clear whenever he calls. He's been saying it's time for me to move closer to him so he and Patricia (that's my daughter-in-law) can look out for me. What that really means is that they plan on treating me like an invalid. Now I love them both to pieces and I know their hearts are in the right place, but I had to put my foot down and let him know that I'm not leaving this house until I absolutely have to."
I take a moment to recall where her son lives. "He wanted you to move to Dallas?" I gasp.
"Goodness me, yes! Can you imagine me living in some big place like that? All those skyscrapers, and bumper-to-bumper traffic? No, thank you. And the weather there is horrible. It was 68 degrees in Dallas today. It's almost the end of November! How can you enjoy the Thanksgiving season if it still feels like June?" Her thin lips pinch together at the thought.
My bottom lip purses out, impressed by the information. "It was 68 there today?" I repeat. Having no cold weather in November would be a blessing in my eyes.
"Yes. I don't see why Steven likes it there so much. Dallas barely has a winter at all! Did you know they only had a quarter of an inch of snow last year? And then they thought that was a lot!" she laughs.
"Really?" I ask, my tone hinting at my longing. I don't understand Effie sometimes. Dallas doesn't sound so bad. I bet the odds of losing a toe due to frostbite is drastically reduced there.
She nods her head in acknowledgement. "Obviously I refused to move to such a place," she explains, waving her small hand dismissively. "I've lived in Ithaca all my life and have no intention of leaving anytime soon. Steven didn't like that, though. He huffed and puffed about it for awhile, but he got over it soon enough."
"So, how does the computer come into this?" I ask to steer her back to my original question.
"We came up with an arrangement. I stay here as long as I can take care of myself and if I agree to a few safety improvements around here. At first, he wanted to give me one of those Life Alert necklaces that notifies 9-1-1 when you fall, but I gave him a big 'no' right away. That's for old people," she sniffs. I smile and nod as though I agree, conveniently neglecting to mention I had been thinking of the Life Alert lady in connection to her only half an hour ago. Effie pulls out a tiny flip phone that definitely doesn't have internet capabilities before continuing her story. "Since I refused, he offered a compromise. A cellphone and a computer. I have to keep the cellphone on me wherever I go in case of an emergency. And each evening, we will have a face to face conversation using the computer to make sure everything is going fine. Steven said there's some computer thingamajig that lets you do it. Now, what was it called?" Her face wrinkles further as she tries to remember.
"Skype?"
"That might be it. Do you know how it works?" she wonders with hope clearly evident in her voice.
"A little. I use it sometimes to talk to my mom in Florida."
Effie's eyes light up behind the thick lenses of her glasses. "You have a computer, too?" I give a silent confirmation. She grins widely. "That's wonderful! I've spent most of my day trying to figure out that ol' computer but haven't had much luck. Do you think you could help me?"
I glance at the cardboard box again before I answer. We had Jasper set up our computers and network, so I don't have a whole lot of knowledge when it comes to this stuff. I wish now that I had brought my iPhone. At least then I would have had Google to assist me.
"I don't know how much help I'll be, but I can at least try," I agree with a shoulder shrug.
Effie happily hands me the paper instruction sheet her son had sent her on how to set the computer up and how to operate it. I read a few lines and give up trying to understand it. He works in the tech industry and is very intelligent, but evidently he has not heard of the concept of using laymen's terms when writing up instructions for your elderly mother. Instead, I tackle the job on my own. Within fifteen minutes, it's on a table and whirling to life. I'm proud of myself until I realize there's no wifi router or Ethernet around her house to connect it to. It takes many minutes for me to get her to understand that computers don't come out of the box hooked up to the internet. Then I have to explain what the internet is for. That's when she remembers her son sent a second sheet of instructions that tell her how to get service. Effie and I both agree that the task would have to wait until tomorrow.
"Do you need help with anything else?" I wonder as we turn the computer monitor off. Effie has arthritic hands and a bad back. No matter how independent she is, sometimes she could use some extra help around the house.
She taps at her lips. "Let's see... Hmm. I don't think I've given Reggie his ear drop medicine yet. I could certainly use your help there. He hates cooperating sometimes." She takes a quick scan of the living room. "Now where did Reggie get off to?" I follow behind her as we search the bottom floor for her fat orange cat. We find him in a fancy room located at the back of the house. He's curled up on the seat in front of an old upright piano, the afternoon sunshine warming his body through a window. "There you are, you old devil! I should have known this was where you would be!" Effie chuckles. She scratches behind the cat's ears until he purrs. "I'll go get those drops. All right, Bella?" I nod my head before she leaves the room.
My fingers stroke Reggie's soft fur a few times as I look around. This part of her house if more formal than the front. The furniture is old but valuable. The walls are covered in works of art rather than the family photos which hang in her living room. But the upright piano is the centerpiece. Effie doesn't play the piano. In fact, no one in her family does. She explained to me once that she bought it secondhand years ago, hoping her son would eventually want to learn to play. He ultimately showed no interest. It's been sitting here unused ever since.
However, as I admire the piano's exquisite walnut color and beautiful carved panels, I come across something odd. There's a book sitting there on its music stand. It's a song book, already opened to a page yellowed with age. And, the piano's keys are no longer hidden out of view. Someone lifted the lid and didn't close it back.
At the same time I'm noticing these things, Effie returns.
"Effie? Have you been trying to learn to play?" I ask, pointing towards the piano.
"Me? Oh, Bella! Heavens no," she laughs. "Edward came by yesterday and played for me."
"What?" I croak. Edward never said a word about it.
"Yes. You see, I couldn't find Reggie yesterday morning. It was time for his breakfast (and he gets grumpy when he misses a meal). Anyway, I looked high and low but couldn't find him anywhere. I checked the back and front yards, too. Edward had been washing his car, so I asked him if he had seen Reggie. He hadn't, but he offered to search the house with me. Can you believe Edward found him wedged behind that piano? I don't understand why Reggie was hiding back there." Effie clicks her tongue at the cat's antics.
Yesterday I had been working on a paper for one of my classes. I must have been in deep concentration. I hadn't realized Edward had left the house.
"And then Edward started playing?" I press out of curiosity.
"Not exactly. He asked when's the last time the piano was tuned. I told him it had to have been at least two years. He volunteered to check it for me. Afterwards, I asked for him to play something on it. Other than the person who comes and tunes it every so often, I don't think it's been used in over thirty years." She lifts the song book up from the stand and smiles affectionately before handing it to me. "I tracked down the box of sheet music the piano's last owners had given me, and this little gem was hiding in there."
The old song book is fragile but has no tears. In elegant cursive print, the title on the page stands bold above the black staff lines and musical notes. It reads, "On Moonlight Bay".
"It was my mother's favorite song," Effie says softly. "I haven't heard it since - oh! - the early '60s at least. Edward did a fine job playing it. And I couldn't believe he didn't have to glance at the paper even once during all that time! He must have an excellent memory to only need to look at something one time."
Pushed on by a new suspicion, I close the song book and study the cover until I find what I'm looking for. And there it is, located in the bottom corner. The year the song was written. 1912.
Of course.
Now I'm picturing little eleven year old Edward proudly performing this song in old Chicago, surrounded by his family. They must have been amazed at his progress.
"Yeah. He remembers things very well," I mutter. I carefully place the music book back where it came.
"He has a nice singing voice, too," she adds.
My mouth parts open in shock. I can count on one hand the amount of times I've heard him sing. It just isn't something he does very often - especially when it's around someone other than me.
"Excuse me. Did you say he sang for you?" I stress, raising my eyebrows.
"Well...yes. We both sang. He's no Sinatra, but he's not bad either. He helped remind me of how the song went." She clears her throat and sings as best as she can. Her voice is high, with a slight scratchy quality to it. "We were sailing a-long. On Moonlight Bay. We could hear the voices ring-ing. They seemed to say. You have stolen my heart. Now go a-way. As we sang Love's Old Sweet Song...on Moonlight Bay!"
We burst out laughing once she's done. I'm so going to tease Edward for this impromptu duet.
She closes the piano lid and we work together to give Reggie his medicine. I do the drops while she comforts him. We allow him to run off afterwards and follow him into the living room. "You sure that's all you needed?" I ask. Sometimes Effie could use help opening bottles or performing certain tasks that require a lot of strength in the hands.
"You've done enough, Bella. I'll be all right now. Do you have any plans for tonight?" she wonders.
I recall the dream I had this morning and Edward's kind offer to recreate it.
"Oh, we're just gonna hang around the house, I guess," I answer carefully. "And you?"
"Nothing much. Since it's getting late, I think I'll eat my dinner before I call Steven."
I check the time. It's 4:20. I try not to laugh. This is what happens when a senior citizen wakes up hours before dawn every single day.
"OK. I'll try to swing by again in the morning. If we're lucky, maybe we can have your internet up and running by tomorrow night," I comment as I walk out the front door.
"That sounds like a plan," Effie says cheerfully from the doorway. "Hope you have a nice night!"
I smile. "I will."
The front door closes as I go down the porch steps. I make it to the walkway and take a look at the neighborhood. There's a few more cars parked along the street. I hear children playing nearby. The guy who lives two houses down waters his plants but pauses to wave a friendly greeting. My focus, however, remains centered primarily on the old, sky blue house only a few dozen steps away. The house is too big for two people. And it's costly to maintain. But it's perfect. It's home.
I arrive at the street and squeeze between two vehicles parked at the curb. I look both ways. There's a SUV turning onto the street, but it's far enough away to give me enough time to get to the other side. I take a step forward. Something pulls me backwards a few inches. I look behind me and find that the bottom of my sweater has snagged around a part of a truck's front grill, making it feel as though I'm on a dog leash. I roll my eyes at myself. How come this stuff always happens to me?
My fingers attempt to free the sweater without damaging it at first. Quickly, I accept that the only way to deal with this is by using force. I tug a little in the opposite direction. Nothing happens. I yank harder. The sweater comes free.
The sudden momentum has me stumbling.
Like a domino effect, my sense of balance fails me. My legs wobble. The world spins. I take teetering steps to keep from falling. But I end up doing that anyway.
I grunt as one hand scrapes against the hard asphalt of the street, partially catching my fall. The left side of my body aches from the impact, from my shoulder to my hip. At least I kept myself from hitting my head.
Slightly dizzy, I sit up and blink my eyes a couple of times. And that's when I see it.
The SUV.
It's driving at an average speed for this residential neighborhood. But only a few car lengths separate me from it.
In the eye blink it takes for me to absorb this, the driver must come to realize it, too. I hear the screaming sound of brakes griping tires. With unsteady limbs, I hop up and try to make a run for it. I know it's useless, though. There's not enough time to dodge what's coming.
It's been said that in your last moments on earth, you may see your life flash before your eyes. Now I know it's true. Because right before the vehicle hits me head-on, my mind gives me my final memory. I see a man with a crooked smile and love in his eyes.
Edward.
A heartbeat later, my body slams into unyielding metal.
Then it's nothing but black.
00000000000000000000
A/N- Ruh-roh. Did you see that coming?
Next Chapter- Bella's life takes an unexpected turn. Sorry, but that's as much as I can say without giving anything away. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Thanks for reading! :-)