CourtShip
By Esme Incognito
Inspired by Stephenie Meyers' Twilight series. No infringement intended.
Posted 8/2/14
Story Summary
In cleaning out a house, sorting through a lifetime of memories and possessions, she happens upon the journals, his and her stories of how it all began: a 50th anniversary, a graduation trip, a cruise that set them on a new course. AH 20-something Bella & Edward. A little angst, but mostly fluffy, romantic fun.
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CHAPTER 2
"…Yeah, Marie and I are just getting back to the house now." I pulled my car into the driveway as Mom argued into the phone. "We'll do as much as we can, but it's a big job."
"No, we're definitely not going to be able to finish today. Are you sure you can't come over after work?" She rolled her eyes and scowled at his response. "What's so important that you can't come and help? Why is this all falling upon… Oh. Ok."
I glanced over as her tone changed from irritation to resignation. "Is there any paperwork you need from their files here?"
We made our way to the front door and she chattered on, discussing details and decisions and other arrangements for the business at hand as I worked my way through each key on the ring. After three failed attempts, Mom reached out her free hand to take the keys from me, pinching the one that would grant us access between her thumb and finger, impatiently handing it back with the losers dangling, jangling.
As soon as we crossed the threshold, it struck me again, just as it had when we'd arrived that morning: Emptiness… It was the same house—yes—with the same furniture, the same decorations which I normally found to be comforting, homey; the same family photos adorning the walls; everything was the same.
But it wasn't. Nothing here would ever be the same. The day was bright, but there was no light, no life.
I turned to hang my coat in the closet near the front door, and my eyes were pulled immediately to the floor inside, looking for the bin. It wasn't there anymore, of course. It hadn't been for years. The large, lidded plastic bin had been moved to the shelf up above, still full of toys and books, but now out of the way until the next time a child came to visit when she would ask him sweetly to lift it down, thanking him with a kiss and a wink.
I'd delighted in playing with the things in the bin hundreds of times. It was an icon, etched in my childhood memory.
And that was my trigger. With that memory it hit me: the permanence, the loss. The toy bin wouldn't be there ever again. I'd never see children of my own digging to the bottom, seeking out a missing puzzle piece or the little plastic fireman who never could seem to stay in his place behind the wheel of the ladder truck.
Unless I decided to keep a few of those childhood toys, or anything in this house, to stash them away in my closet or under my bed, they'd be lost to me forever, preserved only in my memories. The fireman would swim among the debris at the bottom of another child's toybox, a child who had no knowledge of me or of the children a generation ahead of me who had all been careful not to lose him, to set him in his driver's seat before pushing the firetruck down the long hallway in this house, its bell clanging with each revolution of the wheels. Would the fireman stay with his truck? Or would he be separated, torn forever from his trusty "Ladder #57?"
Tears that had been prickling at my nose all day now spilled down my cheeks. With a gasp I reached a hand toward the door frame, needing something, anything to help keep me on my feet.
Mom quickly ended her phone call and wrapped me in her arms, holding me, rocking me, patting me on the back like the baby I'd once been to her until my sobs subsided.
And I understood. I got it. I knew then what had hit her.
When we'd arrived earlier that morning, entering through that same front door, we had smelled something sour, spoiled and followed our noses to the kitchen.
One moment, one glimpse toward the breakfast table was all it had taken for Mom to break down. Sobs wracked her body, wails like I'd never heard before passed her lips. I stood in shock, frozen momentarily at the sight before us until the sound of her collapsing to her knees next to me demanded my attention.
I helped her to the couch in the family room, grabbing a box of Kleenex along the way, and consoled her as best I could.
"Thank you, honey," she'd said when she was composed enough to speak. "I just need a few minutes." I nodded and gave her a kiss on the forehead, mothering her for a change, and left her to her thoughts and memories. Her grief.
I took a deep breath, bracing myself against the smell and the sight I knew would assault me just past the kitchen doorway. I braved into the room, eyes averted from the table, and quickly filled the kettle, setting it to warm on the stove next to an eggy frying pan before gathering the trash can from under the sink, along with a pair of rubber gloves I found there.
Steeling myself, I turned toward the breakfast table and slowly raised my eyes to it.
With a hitch in my breath, I quickly approached the tableau, anxious to remove all traces of it. Her breakfast of 9 days ago stood untouched, pristine as a still life but for the greying of the scrambled eggs. I quickly emptied the plate's contents into the trash can, depositing it and the full cup of ice cold coffee into the sink.
I then turned to the chaos that was his place: meal half eaten, coffee sloshed across the table, marring the cheerful embroidered tablecloth with an aggressive brown stain, chair pulled out haphazardly at an angle from which no one could eat, fork fully laden with egg on the floor, its once sunny soft yolk now a mess of congealed gunk.
Especially disturbing were the pill bottles she must have rushed across the room to retrieve in a desperate attempt to revive him from his sudden collapse. Aspirin tablets and some kind of smaller pills from an amber colored prescription bottle were scattered everywhere, spilled in her haste to open the darn childproof lids and get them to his mouth. If only they'd worked…
I shuddered, blinked back a new round of tears, and cleared away the evidence of his last moments before taking my mother some tea.
…
Tears dried; toy bins and dirty dishes shuttered from our sight, Mom and I returned to the stations we'd abandoned that morning and continued with our work. I transferred all of the scrapbooks and photo albums and journals to the "keep" pile—all but the pair of cruise journals, which I promised myself another peek into upon the sorting of one more bookshelf, the completion of one more goal. I needed something to lift my spirits on this grey day, after all the sadness and despair of the past week and a half.
The first entry in his journal brought a much-needed smile to my face:
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His Journal
Cullen Family Reunion 2014 – Celebrating Nanny & Pops' 50th Wedding Anniversary
Aboard the Twilight Eclipse
July 8, 2014 - Tuesday
I'm certainly glad I made it on time! I almost missed the cruise.
I was supposed to arrive yesterday with everyone else, but Dr. Snow, the advisor for my internship, called and asked if I could come in to observe a procedure. It's pretty rare, and he said it would probably be years before I had another chance to see this particular surgery live—if EVER as a student.
I called Carlisle and he agreed that it was a really good opportunity. There was an early flight out of SFO that was supposed to get me to Long Beach in plenty of time. Right. How an hour-long flight turned into four is beyond my comprehension. It's not like they have bad weather in California in July.
If I had missed the ship and missed Nanny & Pops' 50th anniversary, I would have been pissed. Thank god, I made it—barely.
The whole family—all 20 of them—were waiting for me in the cruise ship terminal, letting everyone else go ahead of them in line. They've got kids to manage and Great Grandma Didi is still recuperating from her broken hip, yet they were all waiting for my sorry ass. That made me feel like shit.
I finally arrived and Alice screamed across the terminal and ran toward me as quickly as her ridiculous shoes would allow, so excited that I was finally there. She practically knocked me over. I love my baby sister to death, but sometimes she needs to turn it down a notch. I lifted her up and gave her a great big hug, because it really was great to see her.
I feel bad for not going home this summer, but the chance to work with Dr. Snow before I start med school in the fall was too good to pass up. I set Alice down and she kept hugging me and bouncing around until I kinda pushed her away and told her to save it for later. All those people waiting for me, remember?
I wanted to go say hello to Nanny and Pops first, but Mom had to grab me and give me a big hug and a kiss. Then Carlisle gave me a hug. And that pretty much started the whole family—all 20 of them—passing me along: hugs, kisses, greetings from every auntie, every uncle, every cousin. It was great to see everyone, but jeez!
My favorite greeting was from Jasper, who laid his slobbery little mouth on my cheek. God, he's great. I hadn't seen him since Christmas and that's like, half of his lifetime ago. So, my man Jazz and I worked the rest of the line together. He gives awesome high fives.
I ended up talking to Great Grandma Didi as our group finally moved into line. She was joking about how she'd wanted to bring her physical therapist, who's like, my age and apparently "quite a looker," along on the cruise when some girl a couple of rows over in the line shouts out that her friend is in dire need of a man and her goal in life is to find her one. I guess Alice isn't the only one with volume control issues.
Said friend had her face buried in her hands and was trying to hide behind her long brown hair, so I couldn't see her, but Pops and Didi started in on me, urging me to go meet her since I apparently won't have much time once school starts. WTF? It's bad enough that Mom plays matchmaker every time I'm home. And now the grandparents are trying to hook me up, too?
I saw the brown-haired girl later, during the emergency drill. She's… gorgeous—big, brown eyes; fair skin; wavy hair; and she looked at people like she was studying them, trying to figure out what made them tick. Hmm. I wonder what she'd think of me and all these crazy Cullens?
She and her two friends were wearing shirts from Cal, so I wonder if she's from the Bay Area? That would be nice! Yeah—getting a little ahead of myself, there. Anyway, Pops may be on to something about this girl. She's really pretty…
She must have felt me watching her, because she looked up, right into my eyes for a split second before Emmett pulled my attention away, boasting about how he was going to school me in some new video game. I had to teach him a thing or two about respecting his elders. Little twerp can't go talking that trash about me! He wouldn't shut up about it, though, even later, on the ship when Alec and I trampled him and Alice at ping pong. So, I picked him up and threw him in the pool. That shut him up for the rest of the day.
Our family took up the whole row tables along one wall in the dining room. The food was amazing. I dared Emmett to get the frog legs, which he kept holding up to Alice, squicking her out.
After dinner, I spent the evening catching up with Mom and Carlisle and Uncle Garrett and Aunt Kate in a lobby area where a half-decent jazz duo was playing. God, I've missed them.
It's going to be so weird not going home to Chicago with them after this trip. I guess "home" for me now is my little apartment here in California. I wonder if I've already spent my last summer at home with my family?
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I heard the telltale creak in the hallway just outside the door to the guest bathroom. That creak had gotten me into a lot of trouble the summer I was 17. Dad had a business trip to Europe and Mom tagged along, but I couldn't go—mandatory practice for the swim team. So, I stayed here with them for two weeks, two excruciatingly long, quiet weeks.
When I got an alert about a keg party at the meadow, I jumped at the chance. I told them that Bree and I were going to the movies. I tried to leave the party at 11:00, but our DD had disappeared. We found her 45 minutes later, making out with a football player in the woods. When I finally got home, all I wanted to do was brush my teeth and drop into bed, but—CREEEEEAK—busted!
The look of disappointment in her eyes just about killed me. The story he told about one of his patients—a boy he'd kept healthy since he was a newborn baby who'd died of alcohol poisoning the night before he was supposed to leave for Harvard—made me wish I was dead. They were masters of guilt. They loved me so much and I'd let them down.
Anyway, I knew that creak well. It meant Mom was approaching.
I slammed the journal shut, not wanting to get caught reading on the job when we had so much to do.
A/N
For those who don't know: Cal is the nickname for the University of California, Berkeley. It's across the bay from San Francisco.
Ever have something that triggers an emotional response, like the toy box did for Marie?
Please leave a comment. I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Thanks,
Jen
