Chapter 3
I dug out all the money and savings from my bank account, as well as a little dish of spare change in Grandma Esme's old cash box which Carlisle and the others had not bothered taking. Then I left the rented apartment Aunt Alice and I had stayed in, as it brought back far too many sad memories for me to take. I started looking for
another place to live.
I knew I was being silly; whoever quit their apartments just so that less memories would come flooding back? Well, I knew the answer. Me, of course. So what if I was being odd. I was used to being unusual and being treated like I didn't belong; I hardly knew anything else in cases in which your family had all fled or been murdered and your soul mate, your other half, the one you just knew you were destined to love
forever...even if your heart broke...left. Because, if life is a dream, I can hardly wait to wake up. But it isn't, you know. Life is plain reality in itself, and every step is real. Neither can you take it back.
I received news that someone was willing to rent out living quarters to me. Living quarters, it had specified, not apartment. My new landlord seemed to be a rich lady under the name of Leanne Willow MacKenzie. She reportedly lived in a house all by herself in the heart of Lavender Beach, Jasmine Beach's neighboring town. I shuddered when I thought of Jasmine Beach. Sebastian...ohmygod. I packed my belongings in Aunt Alice's old, scruffy black carrier bag. I kept the photo of Jacob and I at the very top, in the best cardboard box I could find, and stuffed it with layers of soft cushion cotton wool. The first day I arrived at Leanne's a dark silhouette stood in the doorway, a woman's silhouette, a willowy figure with perfect posture and curves in all the right places. Her long hair fluttered slightly even though there was no breeze. The figure seemed all too familiar, and I was sure I'd seen her before, somewhere. However, I couldn't quite put my finger on it...
"Renesmee," the woman said. Her voice was smooth, rich and perfect, like the ones of supermodels modelling jeans on television. If I had been a man, though, that voice could have killed me in an instant, that woman had a voice and figure to die for. But that could not all cover for the surprise and shockwaves that voice sent rippling through my entire being, tearing and shredding my heart apart.
Leah Clearwater.
I would have recognized her perfect voice and beautiful face from the moment I set eyes on her, lest I even be burned to ashes. I stepped into the room and tilted my eyes at an angle I could see her face.
It was Leah, all right; her flawless, milky-white skin would have given her identity away at this point. No other women I knew had such pearly skin, with a sort of faint attractive glow surrounding her. But her hair, her eyes! Her hair was the same shade of jet black as I'd remembered, silky and needless to say like satin to the touch. Her eyes, well, I had never defined their exact colour. They were dark, perhaps something like a cross between chestnut and sapphire, but I remember looking straight into her eyes one day several years back. I'd always remembered that look she gave me, shortly before Jacob had left. It was a look of determination, dignity…and tons more expressions I was too immature to yet comprehend. I remembered seeing spots of dark mauve in her eyes, as well as something like wine or burgundy, mixed in with all the others. Whatever it was, it was highly unusual…perhaps she had inherited her family's line of different dark eye colours.
"Oh," I managed to choke out. "Leah." I used the time that she was staring perfectly still at me to check her outfit out. She had always been fashion-conscious: a sleeveless navy top with lace trim, a tailored black pencil skirt and strappy red feminine sandals. There was a silver pendant on a thin silver chain around her neck, polished, smooth silver in the shape of a heart. My own heart clenched, thinking of Jacob. Being close to Leah, the air around her smelled a sweet aroma of rose and green apple, sort of like a classic scent of hers.
"Welcome, Renesmee," Leah said, smiling what seemed to be a sweet smile, but I could feel the glaring death rays from her dark eyes, sense her threatening presence, and I could see the frozen smile she kept through the scowls she must be hiding. "Oh, no, I'm sorry…I promised Jacob I wouldn't hurt his darling Nessie."
Before I had time to fully digest the meaning of her strange last comment, she grabbed my hand, locked her fingers around my wrist in an iron grip, and tugged me around the back of the room and down a series of steep steps, to arrive at the basement.
Leah pressed several numbers on the combination lock to the door of the grand, all-white basement. Leah's basement was unlike anything I'd ever seen. A fluffy white carpet stretched across the entire floor. In the middle of the basement living room was a glass coffee table draped with sapphire silk, and it was laden with vanilla rolls, muffins, tea, and all sorts of little treats and beverages for tea between two elegant women. Behind the table was a plush leather sofa, a perfect cross between peach and shell pink, loaded with cushions of both satin and denim, the denim ones were embroidered with sequins and sprayed with masses of glitter. In front of the table were three gigantic beanbags that looked like heaps of soft, mushy mound, one each in baby blue, aspen green, and chrome yellow. The blue and yellow ones were trimmed with burgundy lace. The high-definition plasma flat-screen television near the counter, directly in front of the beanbags, the scene looked something like an ideal party girl's sleepover setting. The curtains in each and every basement room were the same, mauve with ivory trim, with floor-to-ceiling windows.
I shall not describe all the other rooms, for that shall take too long. All I shall say is that there seemed to be a room for every function. But the question on my mind…what had ever gotten Leah so rich?
Then there were the multiple bedrooms…five, I suppose, three of them with connecting doors. The bedroom Leah assigned to me was by far the grandest and largest; though I had but asked for a small, simple room, just plainly furnished enough, perhaps with a bed and mirror would have been suitable for me. The three bedrooms with connecting doors looked exactly the same but for the paintings hanging above to the right side of the bed; Picasso and Van Gogh originals, no doubt. The fourth bedroom was slightly larger than the three, at one end of the incredibly long corridor furnished with wood panels, and at the other end was the fifth and last bedroom…mine. Leah seemed all too pleased to welcome me to my new home now, the sudden change of expression and tone she had used on me. She was so inviting.
My new bedroom had a bed with 3000-thread count silk sheets and matching pillows. They were all white, save for the blanket cover that was a deep shade of navy blue. The lace canopy above the bed was white, too, with an elaborate lace pattern that seemed to me Victorian-style.
The same kind of black television in the living room was opposite my bed on top of a wide chest of wooden drawers and pull-out cabinets. Only the curtains here were different; the layer of inner day curtains were a gentle purple, gentle like a wisp of smoke and sweet-looking like Leah's hundred-watt smile, the outer night curtains were a strong blue, strong like a stormy ocean and protective-looking like Jacob's warm arms. The bathroom was white, too, and the floor was covered by a plush, fluffy rug, only that it was not white but instead, blue, several shades lighter than the blue of the night curtains.
The aroma within the room was indescribable, but what I can say is this: it smelled like a mixture of all sweet things under the sun. Honey, green apple, flowers, milk chocolate…
Of course. All these things were sweet, and one might feel as though oneself were trapped in a fairytale, where Snow White or Cinderella might just appear…did I just use the word 'trap'?
Anyway, over the tough years, if there's anything I've learned at all, it's that things that appear sweet on the surface might not actually be sweet at all…or perhaps too sweet.