A/N: Please be sure you've read the correct first chapter. I originally posted two chapters, but went back and consolidated... and then proceeded to add an entire new section.
Chapter Two
Last night I dreamed of a mahogany desk. It sat in front of my window, overlooking my tree, glowing in the thin sunlight. I saw myself running my fingers over its top, curling my hands around its scrolled legs and clawed feet. It was antique and beautiful and felt like it had been waiting for me for years. I woke up confused, but wrote it down in my journal. Not everything makes sense. Sometimes things just happen.
My first morning with Charlie was surprisingly comfortable. I had been fending for myself with my mother for years, waking myself up in the mornings, making my own breakfast, doing all the housework. I made bacon and eggs for two, making a mental note to head to the grocery store later that day, and was thrilled that Charlie ate every last bite. I've never minded cooking, but cooking for one is lonely. It will be nice to provide for more than myself on a regular basis.
Charlie presented me with a bank card to take care of household expenses. A speech was made about not spending the money frivolously, but his job keeps him busy most of the time, and he told me he realized that there may be things that we needed that he wouldn't always be available to ask permission for. It was a wonderful gesture, and I wondered why my mother had never thought to do that before. I offered to take over the bill paying, but Charlie assured me he was a grown man and would take care of us. I offered to get a job to pay for my upkeep, and he seemed offended, telling me my job was to get good grades and keep out of trouble. I thanked him and excused myself to my room, where I cried for twenty minutes because I had a father who wanted to take care of me.
There is, apparently, only one grocery store in Forks. It is cramped and dingy and more than a little depressing. Grocery shopping has never been my favorite activity, but the store was scary enough for me to vow to make a list next time, just to try to speed things up. I kept my head down as I walked through the aisles, trying to study people without them studying me. I saw a few familiar faces from my dreams, and decided that they had to be high school students. The checkout clerk read the name on my new debit card and welcomed me to Forks, telling me Charlie had spoken of nothing but me for years. This was confusing, since we had only begun talking again two weeks ago, but I thanked her for her warmth and hospitality and was on my way. It was raining by the time I left the store, and I reminded myself to ask Charlie where I could get a good jacket. Phoenix had never required one.
I returned home from the market to find a circus on my lawn. A large Jeep was pulling away as a man in a wheelchair glared daggers at its departure. There was a beat up VW Bug in the driveway next to Charlie's cruiser, and a teenage boy was leaning against a black truck parked against the curb. Charlie was sitting on the front porch, speaking rapidly to a large man with long, grey hair. I had no idea who these people were, what was going on, or where in the hell I was supposed to park.
"Charlie?" I called, pulling into the driveway and blocking in the cruiser. "Is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine, Bella-bear. These are just a couple of friends from the Reservation."
My chest tightened painfully for a moment, not having heard that nickname in over a decade. It was nice, though. The sentiment. I felt the tears trying to fight their way out, and it was all I could do to beat them back.
"Isabella, I'm Billy Black." The man in the wheelchair rolled over to me, extending his hand. His skin was dark and weather-worn, like tanned leather, and his silver hair hung in a braid down his back. Still, his plaid shirt and the Blackberry peeking out from the pocket belied his modernity, and though his handshake was firm, his smile was warm.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Black," I replied, returning his smile.
"Billy, please, Isabella. We're old friends, you and I. I've known you since you were born."
"Really?" I asked, sort of glad to learn that I had a history with this man. With anyone, really.
"Absolutely. You and Jacob over there used to play in the mud together." He gestured at the boy leaning against the truck, cocking his head to invite him over.
"That was a long time ago, dad," the boy named Jacob mumbled, obviously embarrassed by his father's trip down memory lane. "Anyway," he added, coming to stand in front of me, "it's nice to see you again, Isabella."
"You too," I returned with a distracted nod. Jacob looked exactly like Mark. He was built wider, stronger, but his big almond eyes, his black hair, the small dimple that appeared in his cheek when he smiled at me. Jacob was obviously younger, probably fifteen to my seventeen, and more muscular, but everything about Jacob screamed Mark to me. I was at once repulsed and attracted by the familiarity of it.
"Where'd you run off to before, Bells?" Charlie called from the porch, bringing me out of my musings.
"Oh! I was buying groceries. Everything's probably melting right now."
I bolted to the passenger seat of the truck Charlie had leant me. Everyone seemed to drive trucks here. They were absolutely everywhere. I wondered if the residents of Forks had to sign a contract with the city promising to drive the macho vehicles. I reached into the cab, grabbing for the bags, only to be thwarted by Jacob, Charlie, and the man who had yet to introduce himself. They shrugged off my protests that I could carry them in myself and proceeded to march the purchases into the house. Again, I had to beat back my emotions.
I cooked lunch for four men. Harry Clearwater, the man I had seen on the porch with Charlie, had apparently come baring fresh caught fish, and I fried them up for the lot of us, feeling content in the kitchen as Charlie joked and laughed with his friends. They thanked me heartily for the meal and told more stories about my childhood visits to the Reservation, visits that I couldn't for the life of me remember. Maybe if I concentrated hard enough I would dream of them tonight. I'd have to test that theory.
I cleaned up the mess from lunch with Jacob as everyone else watched a baseball game in the living room. He was a nice boy, genuine and with a lovely smile, but I didn't like being reminded of my old life so quickly after moving into my new one, and his uncanny ability to remind me of Mark was not helping. Still, he dried the dishes as I washed them, telling me stories about his friends from school, about cliff diving crazies and bonfires at the beach. It sounded like he had a nice life. Happy. I couldn't relate to much that he told me, but the conversation was nice, anyway.
When the game ended the house emptied. Charlie and I walked everyone outside, joking and laughing. I was thanked again for the lunch and wished luck at the new school. Jacob apparently went to a school on the Reservation. I couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. Harry Clearwater jumped into the truck I had driven to the grocery store, and I shot Charlie a questioning look.
"Harry lent it to me to get you from the airport. I didn't think you'd want to be picked up in the cruiser."
I smiled at my father and he shrugged and smiled back. That had been thoughtful of him. But then I realized that left us with only Charlie's cruiser, and I wondered how I would be getting to school. Charlie's smile widened and he eyed me knowingly before handing me a set of worn keys from his pocket.
"I meant to give you these this morning, kid, but you distracted me with that delicious breakfast. This key," he held up a small bronze one from the ring, "opens the front door. This one," he held up a tiny silver one, "opens a storage space I got us down the road. All the stuff I moved out of the attic is there, and you're welcome to keep anything in there you like. Last, though, and I hope not least, is this key."
The key was long and silver, with a rubber cap on the end that connected to the keyring. It looked like a car key. Wait... it looked like a car key?
"Welcome home, Isabella," Charlie smiled, gesturing to the VW Beetle I had noticed before in the driveway. "I'm so happy to have you here."
"Take care of her, Isabella," Jacob called to me from the truck parked out front. "It took me two years to restore her."
And with smiles, waves, and much honking of horns, the two trucks pulled away, leaving me on the front lawn of my little white house, still gaping at Charlie as though he'd sprouted a second head.
How had I not dreamed about this? How had I not seen it coming?
It was nice, really... to remember what surprise feels like. To know that I could be surprised anymore.
"Bella-bear?" Charlie asked, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Is it alright? You can tell me if you don't like it. I can drive it back up to LaPush and we can find you something else. Really, Isabella, it's no big deal. It will be gone by tomorrow. We'll get you something you li-"
I rushed towards my father, tears streaming down my face, wrapping my arms around his chest and holding him as tight as I could. Nobody had ever done anything like this for me before. I had gotten my drivers license on my own. My mother never even noticed. And to come to this man's home, this man who hadn't seen me or spoken to me for twelve years, just to have him open his arms and welcome me... to have him buy me something that ensured my independence... it was amazing. It humbled me. And I didn't know what to say or do. So I hugged him like I was drowning.
Charlie had finally gotten me to let go with a few awkward pats on the back. He was a warm man, and clearly very generous, but I doubted he was well-practiced at expressing his feelings or showing any kind of affection. To be honest, I wasn't much better. But the emotions of the past few weeks had caught up with me, and it seemed all I could do was cry, hug, and cook.
The car wasn't new by any stretch of the imagination, but I loved it all the same. It was rust-colored and ridiculous looking and so charming that I couldn't stop smiling. The seats had been covered in some sort of tan, tweed fabric. The vinyl of the dash wash cracking in places. It smelled like tobacco and Febreze. And it was absolutely perfect. I drove it around the block a few times to assure Charlie that it was running fine before heading upstairs to get back to unpacking.
"Isabella," Charlie called when I reached the second floor landing, "I forgot to tell you. We found you a desk. They dropped it off right before you got home."
"We? Who's we?" I called back.
"Esme Cullen. She does decorating as a hobby, or something, and she offered to help me get your room together when I found out you were coming. Anyway, it had taken her a while to find something suitable, but she found something this morning at an estate sale and had her boys bring it by while you were at the store."
Esme Cullen. Interesting name.
"Thanks," I yelled on my way up the attic stairs. "I'll let you know."
And, of course, the first thing I saw when I walked into my room was a beautiful mahogany desk. It had been set in front of my window, facing my tree, glowing dimly in the rare late afternoon sun. Elated, I approached it slowly as though it would disappear at any moment. I ran my fingertips across the surface, smiling at the warmth of the wood, the feeling of inherent rightness that this simple piece of furniture brought me. I opened each of the three drawers that ran down the front, planning out what I would keep in each, delighting in the antique key sticking out from the bottom one. I retrieved some of my full dream diaries and shut them into the last drawer, delighting in the click the key made when I turned it in the lock. This was wonderful. My most carefully guarded secret would be kept private, hidden away from prying eyes. I'd never really had that before. I'd never really had much of anything before.
It was with a room full of empty boxes and suitcases and a dreamy smile on my face that I eventually made my way downstairs to prepare dinner. Charlie walked me through what I would need to do at school tomorrow morning, and offered his opinions on some of the teenagers he'd run into around town. It seemed that the more time we spent together, the more comfortable we were communicating.
I went to bed that night feeling as though something was about to happen. Nothing terrible, there was nothing ominous about the rushing in my chest. Just anticipation. Blank anticipation.
I dreamed that night of a locket hidden in a secret compartment of my desk. When I awoke, it was still dark. There was rain splattering against my window and wind whipping through my tree. I flipped on the lamp on my nightstand and crossed to my desk, not even bothering to journal my latest dream. With some effort, I managed to slid the desk away from the wall, running my hand along the back of it, pushing and pulling when I found a loose board.
The drawer was, as I had dreamed it, hidden behind the rear lip of the desk. It was wide and shallow and had probably once held documents or pictures of some sort. Something inside the drawer rattled metallically as I eased it out and there, just as I had seen it only minutes before, was the locket. It was large, about the size of my thumb, and looked to be silver or pewter, with some sort of engraving on the front. I moved the desk back into its place and climbed on top of it, settling cross-legged to examine my find by the meager light of my window.
There was a lion. Above was an open palm. Below him, a scroll with three fleur de lis. It was heavy and clearly old an situated on a rope-like silver chain, which I brought over my head. The locket sat securely between my breasts, and I lifted it to examine once more, this time trying to find a way to open it. There was clearly a hinge on one side, but I couldn't find a catch anywhere to get it open. After a few minutes, I gave up and simply held it in my hand, enjoying the weight of it. Ordinarily, if I found something so clearly valuable, I would try to return it to its rightful owner. But this... this felt like it was supposed to belong to me.
I sat there on top of my beautiful new desk, in my beautiful new room, holding my beautiful new locket, and watched the storm ravage the forest. Lighting ripped through the sky and wind tore the branches off of trees, but I felt safer than I ever had. I felt protected. I stole a pillow and blanket from my bed and curled up on the desk, my forehead pressed to the cool glass. I felt like I was approaching something important. Like any minute now, I would come face to face with my destiny.
Smiling for the millionth time that day, I closed my eyes and let the thunder and wind and rain sing me a lullaby. And I went back to sleep.
A/N: I would like to reiterate that this is still a rough story idea. I am not sure if I'm going to stick with it or not. Let me know if it resonates with you.