Chapter Notes: I won't waste time with a long-winded explanation, but I will say that I'm so sorry for keeping everyone in suspense these last number of weeks. I had planned to finish the entire Florida chapter before posting it, but it's so massive and I just can't bear to hold it back from all of you anymore, so it's been broken up into two parts.
I hope you enjoy it.
The stark florescent glare of the terminal's lighting battles with the soft yet vivid peach-rose of the sunset, visible overhead through the many rectangular skylights as we mingle with other disembarking passengers in Jacksonville International Airport.
I collect our bags from luggage while Bella waits a dozen or so yards away in a small lobby. My sensitive hearing strains to keep a lock on her pounding heartbeat amidst the commotion and the swell of mental voices inside my head, and I have to remind myself not to move too quickly or shift the insignificant weight of our belongings with too little effort.
Once I have helped her adjust the wide strap of her bag across her shoulder – I could carry everything, of course, but pretense is a critical aspect of maintaining appearances among humans – I reach for her hand and begin to move at a leisurely pace towards the food court. Bella slept through the in-flight meal, and she is bound to be hungry.
"Edward, where are we going?" she asks suspiciously as the heavy smells of cooking oil, deep-fried batter and grilled meat saturates the artificially cool breeze swirling out of the air conditioning vents.
There is the slightest resistance in her grip on my hand, but I continue to guide her forward, murmuring, "You haven't eaten dinner yet, love, and you barely touched your lunch. You need nourishment."
She tugs at my arm – a butterfly attempting to topple an oak. "I'm not hungry, really. I'm fine."
As though on cue, her stomach growls. I glance sideways just in time to watch her face flush a delicious shade of red. Chuckling, I steer her to a nearby table and pull out a chair. "You were saying?" My smirk is teasing as I gesture for her to sit, which she does with a huff, pouting adorably.
My eyes dart around, examining the brightly colored vendor signs, searching for an appropriate restaurant. Luckily, there is one only a short distance from us, and the line is relatively small compared to some of the others.
With my back to the food court and Bella's pulse singing in my ears, I manage to catch brief glimpses of her fiddling with a strand of her hair while I wait to place an order through the eyes of an older gentleman reading The Wall Street Journal three tables over, and within the refreshingly uncluttered mind of a young boy with his family as he cranes his head over the back of his seat to study the surrounding patrons with unabashed curiosity.
Minutes later I present her with a turkey sandwich prepared exactly as she likes and a bottle of lemonade – a purely nostalgic choice on my part.
Bella eyes me first, then the sandwich, and heaves a sigh, her slender fingers pulling at the wrappings. She takes a bite, rolling her eyes in exaggerated annoyance when I grin at her broadly, steeping my fingers together beneath my chin.
Between less-than-satisfying nibbles on her sandwich and swigs of lemonade, Bella and I discuss my previous visits to Florida. Her chocolate brown eyes grow wide in fascination as I relay the tale of Alice's quest to learn all forms of dance in the world, which is how I ended up with her, Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie in Miami in the late 50's.
Though she and Jasper hadn't been with our family for very long, Alice managed to convince all of us to take a weekend trip so that she could study salsa directly from the Cubans migrating to the United States.
Of course, what ended up happening is that Jasper had not yet established a tenuous grip on self-control among overheated, gyrating humans, and secluded himself in the motel for most of our stay. And since Rose and Emmett had been typically absorbed in each other, Alice recruited me as her dance partner at every cantina and block party within a fifty-mile radius of the city.
"Wait." Bella stares at me with an awestruck expression, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile. "Are you telling me that you know how to salsa dance?"
I exhale slowly, nodding in sad confirmation. "Regrettably, yes. Alice wouldn't take no for an answer, and she already knew of my musical ability so I had no problem keeping with the rhythm…"
A perfectly unrestrained giggle escapes from Bella before she smothers it with a hand. The sound warms my cold body from the inside out, prompting me to try and incite that response from her again. Pretending to be indignant, I say, "I'll have you know that I am quite an accomplished dance partner, Miss Swan. In fact," I scowl a bit at the memory, "Alice was so impressed that she wanted the two of us to enter a local competition, but Jasper's well-being came first, and he was anxious to return home."
She laughs, whether at the story or my disgruntled look, I do not know nor care. "I would have liked to have seen that," she comments, a trace of wistfulness in her voice, and flicks the discarded bottle cap towards me with her thumb and forefinger.
I trap the circular piece of plastic beneath my palm, and then spin it between my fingers, creating a makeshift top that whirls across the middle of the table. Her eyes follow its blurring revolutions while I watch her face and offer mildly, "I could give you a demonstration." She blinks up at me in surprise, her mouth dropping open. "But," I hold up a finger, stipulating, "you would have to promise to allow me to teach you how to salsa, as well." A single eyebrow lifts, daring her to accept my terms.
She grimaces, wrinkling her nose. "Edward, you know I don't dance."
"It's easier than it looks," I assure her. Despite my earlier embarrassment, the chance to instruct Bella in this dance is suddenly a highly appealing notion. "The steps are fairly simple – most of the movement is in the hips."
Faster than I would have believed possible, her cheeks flood with color, the rosy glow warming the air a fraction of a degree, and she drops her eyes, her heartbeat jumping into a rapid thrum.
I stare at her lowered head, confused, though it quickly shifts to frustration. What is going on in that captivating mind of hers? What had I said that triggered such a strong reaction? "What are you thinking?" I blurt out, desperate for some sort of explanation.
Her head whips from side to side in downright refusal.
"Bella…" A low growl rumbles in the back of my throat. One day, I will truly go mad with the suspense. I reach out my hand and gently tilt her chin upwards, prepared to use whatever coercive means at my disposal to gain an answer.
Her eyelids flutter, and then she reluctantly meets my gaze. Purposely, I breathe out, her nostrils flaring ever so slightly as she inhales the sweet scent, and her pupils dilate while I hold her captive within my relentless stare. "Tell me. Please?" It is half command, half plea.
Bella takes a sharp breath, and the tip of her tongue darts out to moisten her lips before she mumbles, "Um, well…" She bites down on her full bottom lip as though to prevent the words from being spoken.
Continuing to hold her eyes with my own, I gently tug the dusky rose flesh away from her teeth with my thumb, my impatience burning hotter than the constant sting of thirst, though I try to uphold an earnest, attentive expression.
A little sigh of defeat escapes her, and then she says almost helplessly, "It's just…"
Shrill electronic notes tinkle out a melody from inside Bella's carry-on and she blinks, a look of deep relief crossing her flushed features. Turning her head, she slips out of my grasp and digs in her bag for her cell phone.
My jaw bunches as I grit my teeth, inwardly commanding the incessant curiosity to recede while at the same time griping about Renée's ill-timed call.
I lean back in my seat, unable to hide my disappointment, and Bella gives me a quick smile that is somehow triumphant and apologetic as she presses the answer button on her phone. "Hi, Mom."
"Oh, Bella, baby, I'm so sorry!" Renée practically wails. "I was cleaning, and then Phil called… I completely lost track of time! What a great way to start your weekend – your own mother forgets to pick you up at the airport." The disparaging way she talks about herself causes me to wonder fleetingly if perhaps Bella's own lack of self-esteem is a learned behavior.
Naturally, her daughter proceeds to soothe her by speaking in a soft, patient voice, "It's okay, Mom, really. We're fine. We just had something to eat at the food court." She glances up at me conspiratorially, knowing full well that I literally cannot stomach human food, and I wink at her. "Are you here now?" she then asks.
"Yes, I'm pulling up to the front right now. I'm so sorry, Bella," she apologizes again. "I'll make it up to you, honey. We'll go shopping tomorrow, okay?" Her tone brightens considerably at this suggestion.
Unbeknownst to her, Bella visible cringes in dismay, but manages to respond positively. "Sure, that'd be great. See you in a bit." She hangs up and places the phone back in her bag, muttering to herself, "More shopping. Alice would love to have her around." Slinging the strap over her shoulder, she moves to stand.
Quicker than I should have, I dash to her side and pull out her chair, remarking, "I doubt Renée could keep up with Alice's voracious appetite for the latest bargain."
"You'd be surprised," Bella counters darkly. She straightens, and then frowns, her head tilting to the side a little. A handful of her mahogany locks are trapped underneath the bag's strap. I carefully free the strands from the added weight and tuck them behind her ear, absurdly proud of the action when she sends me a grateful smile.
Taking her hand in mine, I lead the way through the terminal, dodging the occasional absentminded passerby while ignoring numerous stares and a barrage of internal commentaries until we reach the row of glass doors to head outside.
A blast of hot, humid air precedes our exit and Bella balks a little, a mildly repulsed grimace on her face. This surprises me; I had always assumed that she craved the heat and brilliant sun since she had often spoken of her home in Phoenix with obvious wistfulness, but perhaps the cool, wilder air of Forks has begun to appeal to her.
My nostrils flare once out of instinct, marking the different smells in a fraction of a second. The warm, burning scent of human blood pales in comparison to the scorching sweetness emanating from the woman at my side, yet both are easily dismissed as I breathe in the lingering traces of rain from the thunderstorm Alice had promised. I also detect a spicy fragrance that seems vaguely familiar, the oily aroma of car exhaust, the sharp bite of jet fuel, and just the barest hint of salty tang from the ocean.
"Bella!"
Her heartbeat stutters at the sound of her name, and she slips out of my grasp to race into the open arms of her mother, waiting about six cars down the line.
Renée does not seem to notice as Bella's bag crashes against her shins before falling to the ground, and she kisses her daughter's cheek, murmuring, "I've missed you, sweetie."
"I've missed you, too, Mom," is Bella's choked reply.
The well-known sting of guilt stabs into my mind, sullying the simple joy of this moment. Although Bella has voiced repeatedly that she wants to spend eternity with me, I wonder if she has fully come to terms with the realities of that choice.
They hold onto one another for a few more seconds, and then Renée catches sight of me hanging back several steps over Bella's shoulder. "Ah…" She pulls back, wiping her eyes with her fingertips, and smiles ruefully. "Sorry about that, Edward. I'm sure you weren't expecting to deal with a bunch of weeping women." She holds out her right hand in greeting and I close the distance quickly to clasp it.
Her eyebrows arch in surprise, but she smothers it with a wide grin, thinking, Wow, cold hands. Must be from the air conditioning. "I'm glad you could come with Bella this weekend. I know you're very important to her," she adds, while her mind flits briefly to the memory of a brokenhearted girl huddled on her bed, tearstains on her cheeks. It is replaced a beat later with a vibrant, joyful image of her daughter from just minutes ago.
"Mom…" Bella groans, blushing.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Dwyer," I reply politely, struggling to banish the desolate picture Renée's thoughts had conjured from my mind. "I'm pleased to have been able to come. Bella is very important to me, too." I glance at her from the corner of my eye and she ducks her head, her mouth bowing into a faint smile.
Renée beams at us, amused by our display of 'young love', as she labels it. Then she waves a hand, remarking, "Please, call me Renée. Mrs. Dwyer just sounds so…matronly." She titters and loops an arm through Bella's, steering her towards the car parked next to the curb on our right – a bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle convertible with the top down.
"Um, wow." Bella stares at the vehicle in amazement. "I didn't know you'd bought a new car."
"It was time for something different," Renée announces, as though it should be a perfectly valid reason. "Do you like it?" She gestures at the glossy paint like a game show hostess, inwardly hoping for her daughter's approval.
Bella studies the car for several seconds, lips pursed in speculation. "I like it," she says, smirking. "It fits you."
Delighted, Renée opens the trunk to stow our bags and then the three of us climb in – Bella in the passenger seat and me directly behind her in back, just in case something should happen out on the road. It seems unlikely, but Renée can be a bit flighty, and Florida's highways are notorious for speeders.
We drive along the shoreline, the waning glow of the sunset only a thin line of orange on the horizon. The waves sparkle in the blue-violet twilight, and the crisp aroma of the sea mingles with Bella's freesia scent and the smell of patchouli clinging to Renée as she prattles non-stop during the entire trip.
Bella seems content to listen – I glimpse her tiny smile in the side mirror – and for the most part her mother acts oblivious to my presence, as though I am merely an extension of her daughter. The idea of me being perceived as a permanent fixture in Bella's life is tremendously satisfying, I must admit.
Once, however, Renée notices my rapt attention to the way the wind plays with Bella's mahogany tresses and comments to herself, He seems so committed to her. And he's such a nice-looking boy…and so polite! Maybe Charlie's wrong about him…
His terse voice echoes in her thoughts, recalling a phone conversation they'd had while we were en-route. "I don't care how respectful he seems, Renée, do not trust that boy with our daughter. Make him sleep on the couch, don't let them go anywhere alone together, and under no circumstances do not let him get near her bedroom."
Renée had laughed, affectionately calling him an overprotective father. "I think you're being a bit paranoid," she'd added. "I know you and I were…concerned about what happened six months ago, but obviously that's not an issue anymore. Bella told me that things have been settled."
"Yeah," he'd said darkly. "That's what I'm afraid of." A sharp gust of breath rattled into the speaker. "He's no good for her, Renée. First he got his hooks into her so deep that she hardly left his side, and then he left her high and dry without so much as a 'call you later', and now he's back, pulling her away from her friends…her family…" His voice trailed off, sounding forlorn.
"Or maybe she's just growing up," Renée said gently. "Bella's not a little girl anymore, Charlie." She chuckled. "She never was. She's going to college in the fall, and it seems pretty clear that Edward will be in the picture for at least that long. You have to let her go," she murmured, while wondering if she should take her own advice to heart. "Bella is smart, practical. She won't run headfirst into anything drastic."
"Like her parents?" Charlie questioned gruffly.
Renée didn't answer. Her mind was full of staring eyes, condescending words and a rounding belly that had betrayed her choices to the world.
He'd sighed again, long and sad. "Just…promise me that you'll keep an eye on him. On both of them."
She had made that promise, more to appease him than anything else, and then they'd said their goodbyes.
My jaw muscles feel tight with strain. I turn my head sideways in the guise of watching the ocean while attempting to digest all the information that Renée has unwittingly given me.
Bella's mother does not see herself in her daughter, thinking her too smart and practical to make the mistake of marrying young and birthing a child right after high school – but Charlie seems to worry that Bella might be more like Renée than either of them will admit.
And the way he described me… my presence in their daughter's life…
I am pulling her away from all that she knows. Every moment she spends with me, she treads deeper into the dark realm of my world, and someday soon she will leave this one behind forever. I had tried to push her back into the world she had come from; I had removed myself from her life in the hopes of restoring what she was steadily losing…and that mistake had nearly cost us everything.
We both know that we can never be apart. But can I endure the rest of forever with Bella at my side, knowing that my selfishness robbed her of any chance of seeing her loved ones again?
…didn't hear me? "Edward?" Renée's puzzled voice seeps into the fog coating my mind, but does not completely divert my awareness from the gloomy future that my subconscious has created.
Then an angel calls my name, fraught with concern. "Edward?"
Looking away from the crashing waves, I focus on the pale heart-shaped face peering around the side of the passenger seat, brown eyes wide and anxious. I blink a few times and rake my fingers through my wind-tousled hair. "Sorry," I tell both her and Renée, smiling a little. "I guess I was daydreaming. Did you ask me something, Mrs. – Renée?"
"I was just curious if you'd been to Florida before," Renée repeats generously, her eyes touching mine briefly in the rearview mirror.
"Once or twice," I answer, acutely aware of the fact that Bella is still staring at me, her gaze filled with silent questions. I keep my tone light as I go on. "It was a long time ago. Although I do remember the humidity," I joke, pretending to wipe sweat off my brow.
Renée laughs, once again thinking that Charlie's warning is unfounded, and then launches into a reminiscence of her first trip to Orlando.
Bella continues to watch my face, so I meet her eyes and shake my head the tiniest bit, smiling crookedly in a manner I know she cannot help but respond to. Sure enough, she grins in relief before settling back into her seat.
Ten minutes later, we pull into the driveway of a modest split-level, a trio of palm trees occupying the front lawn. The pale yellow paint covering the house is slightly weathered, but with its red shutters and white trim, the overall picture is quite charming.
After pointing out that the beach is only a short walk away – "Just follow the sidewalk until it ends and you're there!" – Renée ushers us inside, chattering about the new furniture she and Phil had bought for the living room.
A quick examination of the main floor makes it very clear that Bella's mother prefers warm, bright colors. Compared to the light neutral tones of my family's home, this house is a virtual explosion of desert red, gold, umber, and a soft ivory. The patchouli fragrance that I have come to associate with Renée fills every space, along with a rich, earthy smell that must be from Bella's stepfather.
We march along dutifully as Renée gives us the tour, commenting at various intervals about certain décor and so forth, until eventually we reach the upstairs bedroom that had been chosen for Bella.
The area is at least twice as big as her room at Charlie's, and the walls are the lightest cream, reflecting the warm glow of the ceiling fan. Gauzy curtains hang over the windows, and the dresser in the far corner plays host to memorabilia from Bella's childhood. I notice several framed pictures, a battered seashell, a small plaster cast covered with signatures, and a potted cactus that could be the twin to the one sitting on a shelf back in Forks.
Fascinated by this rare glimpse into her life before we'd met, I vow to study everything in detail later as Bella walks slowly towards the bed. She tosses her bag on the floor and then brushes her fingertips across the unusual-looking quilt draped over the mattress. "Mom, what is this?" she asks wonderingly.
"An early graduation present." Renée joins her beside the bed, grinning in excitement. "Do you recognize these?"
Her head whips up as she gasps, amazed, "Our old trip t-shirts!" At Renée's nod, Bella turns back to the quilt, craning her head to the side to study every image. "I can't believe you made them into a quilt," she murmurs very quietly, and I can tell by the slight catch in her voice that she is touched by the gift.
"It was easier than you might think," Renée says, feigning nonchalance, but her thoughts are vibrating with celebration. "Your mom has become quite the crafter." She smoothes a wrinkle in the fabric, and her expression is almost solemn, although a faint smile still curves her lips. "I just wanted you to have a little reminder of me when you go off to college." So you'll think of your scatterbrained mother once in a while. "And besides," she remarks, her smile widening, "if you do decide to go to Alaska, you'll need all the extra blankets you can get." She looks up, and frowns at the distressed look on Bella's face. "Sweetie, are you all right?"
Taking a deep breath, Bella forces a grin and nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Her gaze starts to move in my direction, but she stops herself. I swallow hard to combat the thick lump in my throat, reminded yet again of the consequences of her choice to become like me. "This is great, Mom," Bella declares, her dark eyes swimming with emotion. "It's perfect. Thank you." And she launches herself into Renée's surprised arms.
"You're welcome," she murmurs, stroking her daughter's hair, a hundred memories of holding her little girl flitting across her mind's eye.
I stay silent for a minute, every breath heavy with a sense of loss for Bella's limited humanity, and soon I shift my footing out of habit, the floor creaking softly beneath my weight.
They move apart, both embarrassed at forgetting my presence – as evidenced by Renée's internal apologies and Bella's reddened cheeks – and then Renée glances over at me as she says in a lighthearted tone, "We're not usually like this, Edward, I promise." She exhales, smiling, and gives Bella a meaningful look before announcing, "Enough with the heavy. Let me show you the guest room."
I step aside for her to walk through the doorway. Following her mother, Bella pauses for a heartbeat to squeeze my hand tightly, gratitude shining in her dark eyes. She does not release my fingers until we join Renée in the guest room.
Situated directly across the hall from the master bedroom, the guest suite shares the second bathroom with Bella's room. That would really not sit well with Charlie, I smirk to myself.
One large rectangular window sits above a full-size bed made of scuffed honey-colored wood, and the navy quilt is almost totally covered by garment bags and shoeboxes, with more cardboard shapes stacked on top of one another against the far wall.
"Sorry it's such a mess." Renée attempts to move several garment bags, slinging them over an arm and stumbling towards the closet, where she throws them on the floor and then shoves the door closed. "We're still trying to get unpacked." She shrugs helplessly. "I cleared out most of the junk that still needs to be sorted so you'd have a place to sleep."
A stifled laugh ripples out from Bella as I reply with sincerity, "This is fine, Renée. Thank you." I walk forward to the half-buried mattress and set my bag down in a show of acceptance.
Downstairs, the jangle of keys accompanies the sound of a pulse quickened by exertion, and a jumble of baseball plays echo in the back of my head.
"Oh!" Renée looks around me to the hallway. "Phil's home. Wait 'til he sees you!" She latches onto Bella's hand and begins to pull her towards the stairs, as giddy as a teenager. Bella glances over her shoulder to make certain that I am following just as her mother calls, "Honey, look who's here!"
I have never officially met Phil Dwyer, but Bella speaks of him fondly and is pleased that he makes her mother happy. So it is with deep curiosity that I slow my pace on the stairs and examine the dark-haired man standing in the living room below. He is dressed in khaki shorts and a dust-splattered, sweaty polo embroidered with the words 'Assistant Coach' and a picture of a shark, a worn gray ball cap on his head.
Phil finishes taking a swig of water from a nearly empty bottle and sees his wife leading Bella down the steps. His eyes light up and he grins, shouting, "Well, hey there, stranger!" He bounds over and enfolds her in a brief, affectionate hug. "I didn't get you dirty, did I?" he asks as he backs away, noting the changes since the last time he saw her. She seems happy. And confident. Whatever is in Forks has made her more…alive.
"No, I'm good," Bella assures him with a laugh.
"So you here for the weekend? Or did you finally decide to put your mother and I out of our misery and move back home?" He turns to Renée and loops an arm around her shoulders. She leans in to give him a quick kiss.
"It's just a visit." Bella smiles at the two of them, seeming satisfied about the state of their relationship. "A last-minute visit," she amends, shooting me a halfhearted glare, "but we really wanted to come before graduation."
Phil tracks her gaze to me, his eyebrows arching in surprise. So this must be the mysterious boyfriend, he thinks. "Who's this?" he inquires aloud, not wishing to assume.
I come away from the wall to stand beside Bella. She fidgets nervously and then starts the introductions. "Phil, this is Edward Cullen. Edward, this is Phil Dwyer."
As a product of the post-Victorian era, I extend my hand first. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Dwyer," I say courteously.
Impressed by my good manners, Phil grasps my hand, noting the chill of my skin but, as Renée had earlier, attributes it to the air conditioning. "Likewise. And you can call me Phil." Maybe the changes in Bella have more to do with whoever is in Forks. He eyes the sliver of space between her body and mine, and the way that our gazes drift back to one another every few seconds. Seems like a nice kid – respectful, good-looking – A burst of color blooms on Bella's cheeks when I offer her a lopsided grin. And she's crazy about him, Phil ends his thought with certainty.
"Okay, no more awkward silence." Renée slides out from under Phil's arm and gestures to the glass patio door just visible through the kitchen doorway. "Let's go sit out on the patio and chat. I want to hear all about what's been happening up there in rainy old Forks." She bustles into the kitchen, collecting a lighter from a drawer for some reason, and then disappears outside.
Bella and Phil share a loaded glance. After, he claps me on the shoulder, remarking, "Don't worry about spilling your life story. You probably won't get a word in once Renée starts on all the reasons why Bella should go to the University of North Florida." He chuckles and strolls after his wife, stopping to grab some cans of pop from the fridge.
Once the patio door clicks shut, Bella turns to me. "Is everything okay?" she mutters worriedly.
I blink at her, puzzled. "Yes. Why do you ask?"
Like always, she counters with another question. "What happened in the car?"
"Nothing," I reply in a soothing undertone, reaching out to cradle her face in my palms. "I was just lost in thought. Don't be anxious." Unable to resist, I touch my lips to her forehead, relishing the heat of her skin and the searing fire in my throat. She lets out a little sigh and I can almost feel the tension leaving her tiny frame. "We should really get outside before Phil and Renée become suspicious," I suggest, and motion towards the kitchen.
The patio is a smooth slab of concrete covered by a wicker table and four chairs, a tall wooden arbor laced with flowering vines and multicolored paper lanterns arrayed overhead. Flickering candle flames border the edges of the patio and light up the table, the humid air saturated with the lemony bite of citronella to ward off the mosquitoes.
Bella and I sit down, her eyes turned upward at the strings of lights, patches of velvety black sky peeking through the leaves and wood slats. "Wow," she murmurs in an awed voice. "This is beautiful, Mom."
For the better part of an hour, the conversation touches on a variety of subjects. Renée asks after Bella's friends at school, her job at Newton's Outfitters, and thankfully does not mention the dog. The email Bella had sent must have clued her in on their strained friendship.
Renée also wonders about my family; she had briefly met Carlisle and Alice at the hospital in Phoenix last year. I gloss over most of the specifics and simply reiterate for Phil's benefit that Carlisle and Esme adopted my siblings and me a few years ago.
During the discussion, I marvel at the differences between Renée's mind and what I know of Charlie's, speculating as to how such a combination had created the only person in the world whose thoughts are hidden from my talent.
Like a young child, Renée is prone to shift her attention from one thing to another as easily as a bird changing direction in mid-flight. Whatever pops into her head, she immediately speaks aloud, but sometimes a thought or observation disappears from her awareness just as quickly.
In contrast, Phil is straightforward and focused, less attentive to behavior and more alert to the words being spoken and how they are delivered.
I had gathered from the first time we'd met that Renée was incredibly insightful despite her erratic thought patterns, but she somehow manages to catch me off-guard while Bella is talking to Phil about the high school baseball team he is assistant coaching.
A surprisingly sharp image of Bella and I floats into view, and she focuses on the shrinking distance between her chair and mine, and how our bodies are angled towards one another, almost so that our shoulders are nearly touching. They're like magnets, she muses, always closing the distance between them. Even before, in the house, they were never more than arm's length apart.
As though to confirm her mother's assessment, Bella adjusts her posture a half-inch and presses her shoulder against mine without breaking off her conversation with Phil.
It's like she doesn't even know it. Renée's eyes grow wide in realization. Like they're so in tune with each other that every movement is unconscious. She stares hard at her daughter, trying to uncover the truth in her expression as she laughs at some comment Phil made. Bella said last March that it was just a crush. But she was so broken up when he left…and now that he's back… it seems a lot more serious than some high school fling. Her gaze flicks to me. For both of them.
Elation and unease churn within my complicated thoughts, as Renée is not far off the mark with her insight. I knew from the first moment that Bella whispered my name as she slept that I would love only her until the end of eternity, and her actions in Volterra and the forgiveness she bestowed upon me after I committed the most heinous sin has proven that her feelings are as strong – if not stronger – than my own. My elation has sprung forth from the knowledge that Renée, as an outside observer, can perceive the bond between us and understand that it is not a one-sided infatuation.
On the other hand, my unease is for Bella and how she will react if or when her mother decides to address what she has seen. Renée obviously instilled in her daughter an intense set of opinions regarding matrimony, and I know Bella fears what her mother will say about her only child getting married right out of high school, which is part of the reason why she has not yet accepted my proposal.
She calls my name a second later, drawing me into Phil's talk of baseball, and I insert a few sentences about the game my family enjoys – leaving out the fact that we have to wait for a thunderstorm to play, of course – and my stature in Phil's eyes elevates exponentially.
At the same time, I monitor Renée's thoughts closely. I hope to field any of her attempts to broach the topic of our relationship, but she surprises me by dismissing her astute notion as an impossibility.
Don't be silly, Renée, she chides herself, watching the three of us converse. Bella is only eighteen – just starting out in life. She has plenty of time to earn a degree, get a good job and then think about settling down. I mean, who knows enough about love at eighteen? I sure didn't. Smiling a bit wistfully, Renée twists off the tab on the can of pop in front of her. But Bella's not like me. She was born middle-aged. She's too practical to leap off that cliff now. Still… She glances up from the piece of aluminum pinched between her fingers, her eyes moving from Bella to me and back again. Then the half-formed thought drifts away like dandelion fluff in a breeze.
A half-hour passes without incident, although the strength of the citronella has waned and I have to flick seven mosquitoes off of Bella's soft skin before they can draw blood. She beats me to the eighth; the tiny pest is squashed into her palm as she slaps the side of her neck, grimacing. "That's my cue to go inside," she mutters, brushing her hand on her pant leg. Then a yawn stretches her mouth wide. When she recovers, Bella announces in a sleepy voice, "I think I'll just go to bed."
"Of course, sweetie, you both must be exhausted from the time change." Renée flutters her hands towards the sliding door as though shooing us away. "Get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning about what to do for fun while you're here." She grins brightly, already counting on a mother-daughter shopping excursion and maybe lunch at a favorite beachside bistro. Bella merely smiles in a resigned sort of way and stands up. I immediately follow suit.
Just before we head indoors, Phil calls out, "We're right across the hall. In case you need anything."
"Phil!" Renée hisses, smacking his arm.
A deep blush colors Bella's whole face and the tips of her ears, and she stomps through the doorway without another word. I bid them both good night with a self-conscious little smile and close the door behind me. The glass only slightly muffles Phil's chuckling murmur as he says, "I was just teasing. I like him."
I move slowly through the house, my primal instincts noting every available entry point and committing the layout to memory, while upstairs the rustle of clothing and the heartbeat of my entire world signal that Bella is nearly ready for bed.
Walking up the steps, I notice that the hallway is totally dark except for a thin sliver of light beneath the bathroom door. The rush of water pouring from the tap echoes behind it. I continue to the guest room and open my bag, pulling out a gray t-shirt and a pair of loose cotton pants – a suitable form of sleepwear – and swiftly put them on.
The bathroom door squeaks, and Bella pads barefooted to the guest room, hovering just outside the doorway. Her skin is flushed from being washed, and traces of mint toothpaste spoil the perfume of her breath when she remarks quietly, "So I guess you'll have to stay in here tonight." Her chocolate eyes are darkened by disappointment.
I nod once, trying not to notice how she is dressed for bed – a matching blue tank top and shorts that exposes far too much of her delectable creamy skin. "That's probably best." I have already proven in the last few days that my self-control is beginning to crack under the overwhelming temptation she presents to the man in me instead of the vampire. "We'll see how it goes tonight and perhaps things can be…more like normal tomorrow night."
Her downcast expression lights up at this prospect. Then she holds out her hand, asking hopefully, "Tuck me in?"
As if I could ever refuse her anything. I wrap her small, warm hand inside mine and let her lead me into her bedroom, making certain that Phil and Renée are still out on the patio, and wait beside the bed as she climbs in and curls onto her side.
Her eyes never leave my face as I fold the covers around her, breathing in deeply so as to hold her scent within my lungs while we are apart. Brushing my knuckles across her cheek, I whisper, "Good night, love," and bend down to kiss her forehead, her eyelids, and finally her lips.
She holds me there for longer than I had intended, teasing my bottom lip by pressing it so gently between hers, but when her hands start to tangle into my hair I force myself to pull away, my ragged breaths in perfect synchronization with hers. "Good night," she whispers, her voice throaty with desire. "I love you."
"I love you." The words float back to her in the darkness just before I close her door, though I decide to leave it open several inches for the sake of propriety in case her mother should check on her. I do the same with the guest room door, and then clear a few more shoeboxes and things from the bed.
Afterward, I stretch out on the mattress, hands tucked behind my head, and prepare to wait for an opportunity to call home.
Around 11:30, Renée and Phil shuffle inside and head upstairs to bed. As I had expected, she peeks in on Bella, smiling at the balled-up figure beneath the handmade quilt. Footsteps then pause for a few seconds outside my door and I regulate my breathing and close my eyes, but Renée is apparently satisfied and moves on to the master bedroom. Phil shuts their door with a soft click, and mere minutes later they are both asleep.
It is still too early on the West Coast to call home for an update, so I keep my eyes shut and focus on the gentle rhythm of Bella's pulse echoing from the other room. The sound is truly the only thing that can soothe me and make this tedious waiting more bearable.
Yet after an hour of losing myself in the music of her human life, the sudden, powerful hunger to feel the delicate warmth of her body in my arms, to hear her heartbeat reverberating against my stone flesh and see that tiny sleepy smile as she dreams becomes excruciatingly difficult to ignore. I have stayed by her side almost every night since our return from Italy, and this imposed separation is agonizing punishment. But really, is the situation any different from when I sneak in through her bedroom window and leave before Charlie wakes up?
A low hiss escapes through my teeth. I push the greedy ache deep down, vowing to make a phone call to my family before indulging my irrepressible need for Bella.
At half past three, I hit the speed-dial number for the house. It is picked up in the middle of the first ring. "Have you finished with your self-torture yet?" Alice scolds. "Really, you're making both Bella and yourself miserable, so just go to her already. It will be fine, trust me." Her tone is so smugly confident that I roll my eyes while at the same time a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. She sighs happily a beat later, no doubt witnessing the change in her vision in light of my decision. "There, much better."
"What's happening?" I ask in a low, urgent whisper.
"Nothing has shifted the course of the vision – at least not yet," Alice replies, her high voice abruptly weighed down with disquiet. "But the wolves have increased their patrol numbers, and they're concentrating heaviest on the treaty line." A hollow laugh warbles through the speaker. "I would guess that they think we're up to something."
Helplessness burns a ragged hole into my chest. "I should be there," I mutter fiercely. "I could hear their thoughts –"
"No, Edward." Alice's stern retort leaves no room for argument. "You are right where you should be, which is with Bella. She needs you more than we do." She sighs, and her voice softens, murmuring gently in my ear, "We can take care of this together, Edward. You protect Bella, and the rest of us will look after Charlie and the town. And once she's gone –" a low snarl punctuates her reference to Victoria "– we'll have one less thing to worry about."
"I know." I exhale the admission in defeat, raking a hand through my hair. "Thank you, Alice. You always help me put things into perspective," I tell her honestly.
"One of my many talents," she answers, giggling. Then she sobers, instructing, "I'll contact you early Sunday morning to let you know what happens. I still can't see very well past tomorrow night… I'll send a text message before I call." There is a slight pause, followed by a gasp. "Bella's going shopping tomorrow with her mom? Why didn't you tell me?" I can hear the exasperation in her words.
Shaking my head, I slide my thumb to the end button, saying, "Goodbye, Alice."
"But you need to tell them to go to –"
The call cuts off and I snap the phone shut, tucking it into a side pocket in my bag.
I rise soundlessly from the rumpled bedclothes and move towards the door adjoining this room to the bathroom and thereby Bella's and pull it open. The hinges squeak just a bit as I slip through the gap, the pitch darkness of the bathroom of no consequence when I shut the door behind me and hesitate at the entrance to Bella's bedroom. Her heartbeat is much too fast for her to be asleep or suffering from a nightmare, so I make my way across the room in less than two seconds and curl up behind her on the bed.
The mattress is considerably larger than the one in her room at Charlie's, and it takes her a moment to recognize my presence…until my arms snake around her waist.
She jolts against me, her pulse accelerating, and splutters in an alarmed whisper, "Edward, you shouldn't be in here!"
She squirms, trying to turn around, but I hold her fast. Every cell in my body is soaking up her warmth, the knot in my chest slowly unwinding with each fiery breath of her intoxicating scent. Besides, she has no reason to fear any repercussions, and I tell her so while nuzzling the curve of her jaw with my nose. "Why? It's not any different than when Charlie is sleeping in the next room, and both Renée and Phil are fast asleep." I press my lips to a particularly soft spot beneath her ear and she shudders, the stiffness in her small frame weakening a little.
"But…" Stubborn as ever, she wriggles halfheartedly in my arms.
Doubt instantly pierces the bubble of contentment surrounding my mind. Does she not want me to stay with her tonight? Have I been smothering her with my constant closeness? I had been fighting to withstand the craving to be near her all night, but in my selfishness, I had not even bothered to consider what she might need.
Appalled by my behavior, I loosen my embrace, rolling backward until I am perched on the very edge of the mattress. Bella shifts to peer over a shoulder, bewildered. I cannot summon the courage to meet her gaze. "Unless you'd rather I leave…" I mumble, using the low volume to disguise the dejection, and prepare to sit up and return to my room.
Faster than I would have believed possible, she latches onto my shirt with both hands and yanks her body towards mine. "Yeah, right," she says, dark eyes aglow with the same longing that has plagued me.
Before I can register my surprise, she molds herself against me, burrowing her head underneath my chin, her palm flattening above my still heart. A quiet sigh seeps through the fabric covering my chest and warms the chilled skin, and every ounce of tension disappears from Bella when my arms instinctively encircle her fragile form. Relief chases away the doubt as I bury my nose in her hair, inhaling deeply.
We lay together in peaceful silence for some time; I almost think that Bella has fallen asleep, except that her heartbeat has not slowed beyond the usual rhythm. Craning my head to the side, I kiss her temple, watching her eyelids flutter while she fights to stay awake. "Sleep, love. I know you're tired."
"It was hard, before," she tells me softly. "I kept waking up." She rubs her cheek on the collar of my shirt, and my breath catches when her flushed skin sears the base of my throat. "I missed you."
The whispered confession is a soothing balm for my raw emotions and I tighten my hold, wondering for the thousandth time how I had ever convinced myself that I could endure my existence without this, without her.
"Sleep…" I croon in her ear. "I'm here." A gentle kiss graces the top of her head. "I won't leave." Never again, I add silently, renewing my promise to stay by her side for as long as I am afforded the privilege.
She breathes out, slow and deep, at last succumbing to her exhaustion – but not before murmuring a scarcely audible reply. "I know."
The last dark hours before dawn pass by in a blissful haze. My concerns for my family slowly recede as the heat of Bella's supple body warms my stone-like shell, her quiet breaths and measured heartbeats filling the night like the sweetest music.
For the first time in weeks, mine is the only name she utters in her sleep, along with her dislike of shopping and an odd mention of sharks. I swallow back my chuckle in response to that one, and continue to shelter my reason for existing in my arms as the milky moonlight trickles through the palm leaves outside the window.
Author's Notes: Lots of love to my dear, devoted readers and reviewers. I adore you all for your patience and your enthusiasm for this story.
icrodriguez – you are an angel. Your personal note and review came at the perfect time in my hectic life, and helped me remember that writing is not just about making other people happy, but about finding myself and the love I have for these unforgettable characters. Thank you.
Many of you must have noticed my teeny little homage to The Twilight Saga: Eclipse movie. I loved the scene between Bella and her mother so much that I wanted to include the trip t-shirts quilt in my story.
The second half of Bella and Edward's time in Florida is more than halfway written, and I won't make any promises about when it will be completed because I'm afraid of jinxing it again. I will say that lots more interesting things are going to happen, and the chapter is fittingly entitled, Sunlight and Shadows.
Let the speculations begin.