OH EM GEE. SHE DOES EXIST?!?!

Yeah, I know I'm supposed to update every Sunday, BUT school decided to douse out an extra dose of "kick me in the ass."

So, mi amours, je trés désolée.

I'm on spring break this week, and while I'm on mah cruise I'll be writing. That way ya'll will get some updates faster.

This as always goes to the betah. siDEADde. j'adore. And Amelia, yew know that I love you. I'm just trying to find you some pom-poms.

Now, go and enjoy some EPOV.


EPOV

Driving to my house when no one was there was the worst way to end my day.

Everett was off with Esme and Renée doing whatever it was that Everett had wanted to do today. Probably playing cops and robbers with a can of Lysol as his gun. This past week Esme and Renée had become best friends. They had tea and crumpets then knitted, while gossiping about the children and whatever atrocities that they were partaking in these days. Or whatever else it is that moms do when they get older.

A week ago, I had no intention of actually going through with the advice from Esme about actually speaking to Bella: telling her of our life, my love for her, and the home that we'd built.

My confession in the church did a little bit of help, for me, at least. I'd bargained with myself to give it another week to see if she showed any signs of improvement,to see if God really did hear my prayer. Apparently, he's a busy dude. I still haven't heard anything from him.

Upon leaving Bella tonight, I decided that when I got home this evening, I'd find our family photo album. The album starts with our first date and ends with Everett's 6th birthday in July.

Esme, I hope you're right.

The drive home and my entrance into my house was all on autopilot, and I didn't notice anything until I had dropped my bag and keys on the corner table. The wooden table had more dings and dents from my keys than my workbench out in the garage. It had one mismatched leg because Bella and I couldn't make it to the bedroom one night. Despite all the fallacies in its exterior, I loved it still. It was my grandmother's, from our old house in Chicago. I'd had it fixed, refinished and polished, so it would be the best looking it could possibly be.

Hmm, a lot like life. Who knew that you would find stuff out about yourself from a table?

My stomach grumbled, telling me that it needed sustenance. So, first things first, I wanted to pop in a mini pizza from the fridge and feed my fatigued body.

While I waited for the pizza to warm up, I searched for our family album. Bella took meticulous care of our photos. She was always doing some sort of crafting that I think she called 'scrapbooking.' I never paid attention because it just never seemed important. Now, I struggled to recall anything that she'd said,to hear it in that sweet timbre of her voice. I'd even settle for her calling me an asshole again.

The timer dinged on the toaster oven and I slumped my way over to it, and burned my finger on the hot rack that supported my college-like prepared dinner.

One paper plate, and three-hundred and forty-six channels later, I clicked on the Florida-Georgia basketball game. After I inhaled my pizza and decided that Gator Basketball would demolish the Dawgs, I flipped off the TV and grabbed the blue cloth-covered, hand-embroidered book that housed the recorded version of our life.

I stared at it for a while, debating with myself as to if I can open it and see her smiles: the happy, genuine one, her posed smile, and her adoring-loving smile that she sends my way when I look at our family photo above the mantle or play with our son. There's a smile that says 'come rescue me' that she usually uses with the PTA parvenus or with my Uncle Bruce when he's talking about his fish-farming business. A smile that she uses when she's pissed but is trying to hide it, that's the one that Ev usually bears the brunt of, because I had just done something to piss her off.

To see this much of her, I needed a little courage. I whipped out my stash of Wild Turkey along with a low-ball glass, unscrewed the lid, and poured myself two fingers. I downed it and poured another two.

Letting the bit of Kentucky love do it's magic, I reached over to grab the book.

I opened it, and was completely accosted with her smell. How did it get in here? How did it stay? That beautifully wonderful aroma that had my heart beating frantically, and that reminded me that she is real and not a figment of my imagination.

Pushing down the threat of tears, I tucked the album under my arm, grabbed my glass, and walked over to the baby grand that I also had taken from my mother's house.

I stroked the wooden cover lovingly, recalling my first lesson on it. I couldn't help but grin at the memory. Mrs. Drennan was such a bitch, always making me practice for hours on end.

"Edward, did you not practice this week? You know that you must spend ninety minutes a day practicing if you wish to improve," she wagged her acrylic fingernail at me with the other hand firmly planted on her hip.

That woman couldn't speak in a normal decibel. I swore that she could awaken dogs with her voice. I didn't remember much about her playing, but apparently, she was phenomenal. Just as long as she didn't speak.

I set my glass down on the left side and placed the opened album in the sheet music cradle. I slowly sat down on the bench that Bella had bought for me. Not many knew that she had it branded on the bottom. She wasn't really all that religious when she was younger, but she heard one hymn that she said had always brought a smile to her face. 'May it be a sweet, sweet sound, EC' is on the bottom of my bench to forever remind me that when I sat on this bench, I would only produce beautiful music. For her.

Lifting the cover, I let my fingers touch the often forgotten beauty that I now sat in front of. I watched in amazement as I began to feel closer to home with every plunk of the keys.

I looked up and there she was. Smiling at me. On our wedding day. She is home.

Tat smile would get me to do anything it wanted. It was the light in my world. The moon to my stars. All of it. The only thing that I am dependent upon.

My eyes started to sting, but I willed my fingers to continue to glide across the keys, to harmonize and echo the magnificence of her smile.

Tears streamed down my cheeks. My fingers started to slip on the keys, but I couldn't seem to stop this melody that flowed so freely from the core of my being. Just at a glimpse of her smile. My smile.

I looked down to memorize the notes as I played them, but I couldn't see them.

I saw the black keys, equivalent to my soul without her; the white keys, purely demonstrating her life, her being, her personality, and then I saw my tears. Water, salt, and emotion, the only possible way for the two to coalesce.

The black keys stole a part of the white. They have shoved their existence into the white; teeth eating away at the perfection of the ivory. Infiltrating the innocence of the white, corrupting it with it's malicious intent. The ebony trying to be good and pure like the ivory, trying to show her that they can and will be one.

And the only time in which it can be like the other is when they work together. Harmonizing and balancing the melodies with its sound, while still being it's complete opposite. One larger and untainted, the other smaller and sullied.

All ebony wants is to be close to the ivory.

The next morning, I woke with my head pillowed on the keys of my piano, and the photo album clutched tightly in my hands.

I fought the sleep that had cemented my eyes shut, then peeled my face off of the keys and took a deep breath.

When I was able to refocus, I looked up and saw her face.

This picture was from our first year of marriage. It was our first camping trip. She had never been camping before. Ever. I scoffed at her and told her the next weekend we were going, just me and her. We woke up at 6 a.m. to go to my favorite spot.

It was a small area just north of us in Canada, and it wasn't known by many. My family and I used to come to this part of the mountains when we had one of our "family vacations." I hated them throughout my teen years, but now that I was older, I wanted so many more. I hardly got to spend time with my parents anymore,and we live in the same fucking town too.

The first eight hours, Bella had learned that there were no flushing toilets, no sinks, no showers, no grocery store, and everything that you ate or washed or wiped with, was natural.

This picture however, was from the first morning. Bella had been curled up in her sleeping bag, fetal position, whimpering in her sleep saying "my bear's ass will see green." I couldn't help it. I had to grab the camera to take the picture of her. I'd unzipped the backpack slowly, so I wouldn't wake her, grabbed the camera and turned it on.

I'd forgotten about the start up music and it had woken up my sleeping beauty. She'd had a disgruntled look on her face and when she saw me awake and making noise, she was not happy. She got even more pissed when she had seen I'd had the camera in my hands.

She'd scowled at me and lunged for the camera at the same time I'd snapped the picture. Her face in this picture was one of pure ferocity. Her eyes are bright with amused anger and her lips are curled into a snarl fully bearing most of her front teeth.

It would make a WWII veteran cry.

We'd always joked about this picture and how no animal would mess with her; she'd scare the shit out of them before they got close enough.

I laughed. A full belly-hurting laugh.

I remembered what it was like to wake up with her in my arms and see her sleepy smile in the morning. How she would grumble "g'morning" to me, groaned and she would just lock her arms around my waist when I tried to move away. She was such a cuddler. And I loved it. No, I love it.

I heaved myself up off my piano bench, grasped the album, and headed into the kitchen for breakfast. I picked up a quick pop-tart, scarfed it down with a small glass of milk, and headed upstairs to finish getting ready to go see Bella.

After the three S's, I was ready to go.

I had the album tucked under my arm and a slight spring in my step. I wanted to believe that this new idea or action would bring her back. For the first time in three weeks, I had hope.

I locked up the house and turned to my Audi, when my phone started ringing. I glanced at the screen and it showed me a hilarious picture of Emmett at his wedding reception. He had a bottle of champagne in one hand and Rosalie's garter belt around his head like a sweat band. He was belting out "I Will Survive" with some of his EMT buddies.

I smirked and hit send to connect the call.

"Hey Em, what's up?"

"Wow, you sound chipper, did something happen yesterday or last night?" He sounded concerned.

"Nah, but I have a plan. And I think that it might work, so I'm looking up."

"Of course, you have a plan. It's your nature. So, um, I was wondering if maybe I could stop by Be-the hospital room today to see her."

"Yeah man, I bet she'd like that. She always did like you. I don't know why though…" Bella always loved to joke around with Emmett, as he would always fall into her traps. Plus I think it was good for her to joke around with him. He was the big brother type. Giant. Loyal. Occasionally mean. Likes to play practical jokes, usually on me.

"Well, what can I say, the ladies like my goods," I could just imagine him huffing on his finger nails and polishing them on his shirt.

"Emmett, this is my wife you're talking about." I growled back at him.

"Aw, shit. Yeah man, I know. It just felt good to joke around with ya. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. I miss ya man. You've been totally M.I.A. lately and I've had to deal with Rosalie all this time. MY, uh, DARLING LOVE OF MY LIFE, ROSALIE. SHE'S THE ORANGE OF MY EYES." I chuckled at him on the phone because I guessed that Rose walked in while Emmett was on the phone with me and heard his comment. Of course, he chose now to make up for it, while I was on the phone and he's yelling into the receiver. Thanks Em.

"Yeah, I know Em. It's not intentional. I just got a lot going on right now. But I do want to ask you a favor. Could you bring over any photos that you might have of Bella? It's part of my plan."

I heard whispering on the other end of the phone and then a lip smack. Sounded like Rosalie forgave him. He wouldn't be on the phone for too much longer.

"Okay Eddie. I gotta go. Talktoyoulater."

And with that he hung up. Figures.

I turned back toward my car and hopped in. Before I started the engine, I looked ahead, took a deep breath and gave myself the pep talk that Emmett gave me the night I asked Bella to marry me.

"Stop being a douche. Grow a pair or I'll start calling you Edwina. Go getcha girl."

Yeah, I'm ready to see my girl. I've got a life to tell.


So what'dya think? Eh? Things get tah looking good?

What'dya think is gonna happpppen??????