Disclaimer: Twilight's not mine. Just borrowing.

4

I'm alone in Row 6 of United First Class at 7.30am bound for Los Angeles. After all these years of business travel you may think I'm used to it but I'm not, the novelty wore out a long time ago and I'm sick of it now. The envelope is in my laptop bag stored overhead; I'm not sure if I'll have privacy to read it once we land but there's too much inertia and fear in me to reach for it now.

My nerves are on edge as I run through the day's meetings on automatic. I keep thinking about the parcel but I'm afraid to find out what's inside. I'm a coward, just like my mom, who upped and left when I was six. She used to send me postcards from all over the country, but I could never write back: there was no return address. The last time I heard from her was after Charlie's death, when the bank served me foreclosure papers. My shithead of a mom mortgaged her share in our family home and was unable to cough up when values plunged. It was the final straw that pushed me away from Forks. I've not heard from her since.

I don't want to end up like my mother, who's probably penniless and slumming it out in some trailer park in Florida. It's why I throw everything into my work, and own my first home before the age of thirty. But I find myself becoming more and more like her in other ways as I grow older, and it terrifies me. I don't have a problem with professional relationships; at work I'm charming and gregarious, hiding the real me behind the smiles. It's the personal ones I can't seem to get right.

On the evening flight back to SFO the seat next to me is empty again. My heart skips a beat as I take out the brown envelope and peel off the tape. There's a clear plastic folder with some legal documents inside, and something heavy wrapped in cloth, but it is your note, scrawled on the Forks 101 Motel stationery that draws my attention. The paper is brittle, as though it'd been wet, and theres a blotch of smudged ink at the top left corner.

Bells,

I suck at words but guess I don't have a choice.

I just want you to understand that you don't have to keep running. Please come and find me at the house.

Love,

Jake

Leaning forward, I sink my head in my hands. Past and present bleed into each other as I struggle to make sense of your words. Why do you still care, even after all I've done? No matter how much or little I could offer, you accepted it, accepting me for who I am, giving me more than I ever asked for in return. We evolved over the years from childhood partners-in-crime to a steadfast friendship that held strong, even while I was away at college. But it couldn't survive Charlie's death; not his passing away but what happened between us during those few mad months. Every memory of us is etched in indelible ink-stolen kisses and desperate touches in the triage room; the taste of passion laced with bittersweet tears. When he passed away I was overwhelmed with grief, guilt eating at my insides for the pleasures you gave me in his final days. I thought letting go of you might help me come to terms with my father's death. But I only ended up losing the two most important people in my life.

My shoulders quaver as I fight back tears. Something soft rolls off my lap, jingling as it hits the carpet. It's a cream coloured cloth pouch with a drawstring closure. I loosen the mouth and a set of keys falls onto my lap.

Confused, I go through the contents of the envelope again. There's a legal letter on top, requesting my signature on the attached documents to indicate my acceptance. At the bottom I draw out a thick, stamped certificate which reads:

Title Deed

This deed entitles Miss Isabella Marie Swan to the full and unequivocal rights to the property and land situated on Parcel 631-5A, Forks WA 54092.

The address looks familiar. I leaf through the papers and find a map of Forks, marking the land parcel which supposedly belongs to me. The pre-landing announcements start in the background and the stewardess is at my side, asking me to fasten my seatbelt, but I can't move or think, my eyes frozen on the title deed. As the plane descends, the keys in my hand grow heavy and the enormity of what you've done hits me.

These are the keys to my old house.

A/N Short update, I know. The next chapter's a whopper.

Thanks as always for reading and to Leelator, Micah's Moonbeam, Mharrison, Anon & Cecilia Waters for your lovely reviews.

Please review! Otherwise it feels like no one is reading and I might just be tempted to pull this story off ...