DISCLAIMER: Same as the previous two Chaps and all following Chaps. Nothing but the storyline belongs to me... Everything else belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

"Love is so holy, so confusing. It makes a man anxious, tormented.
Love, how can I define it?"
Gao Xingjian

CHAPTER 3: CONFUSION

Once Carolyn had dropped me off at the airport, I had started feeling slightly apprehensive about making this trip to somewhere I'd never even thought about going to before, to see someone that didn't even know I was coming. I hoped that Ms. Masen, or 'Lizzie,' would welcome it—this intrusion into her life from her far away publisher.

Angela had convinced me with what she'd told me about Lizzie already; otherwise I could never have gotten up the nerve to make the trip. I didn't mind traveling by myself, I was just unsure of how I would approach Ms. Masen. Hi. I'm an editor with your publisher and we were wondering what in the world has happened to you. I rolled my eyes. Good grief. I'd just be honest. I'd do my best to find out what had happened and let my boss know as soon as possible.

As the plane starting coming into Hartford, I thought of Angela fondly. She was a really, really good person. This wasn't about contracts or money or even the promised book. It was concern for a person, a lady that had brought joy and excitement to so many people with her writing.

I hadn't realized until I'd picked up my rental car that all the stories about Connecticut in October were true. The grand autumn foliage was already beginning to be displayed. The trees had already begun to turn yellow, gold and orange, with every shade of each of those colors shimmering on all the trees except the pines. There was still a lot of green but that only enhanced the effect of the warmer colors. It was truly an amazing sight.

I had of course taken my laptop and I had plenty of maps. I'd also done research before I left California about the area Lizzie lived in. Old Lyme was a small town located off the Connecticut River, not far from Long Island Sound. The town itself had been in existence since approximately 1665 but hadn't been incorporated until 1855. It was quite diverse; there was a Fine Arts College and my dad would be excited to know that Callaway Cars was headquartered there (purveyors of fine Chevy Corvettes). I had to laugh at that. I'd better go by and take a picture of the building or something…

There had been a plethora of prominent American Impressionist painters that lived in an art colony in the town in the early part of the 20th century. I would definitely make some time to go to Griswold House and the Lyme Academy College of Fine Arts… But, I reminded myself sternly, this was not a site-seeing trip. I was there to find out what was going on with Lizzie.

When I reached the town and had secured a hotel room, I immediately went to the library. I wanted to check the local newspapers for any news of Lizzie, in case… Well, in case something awful had happened to her. When that thankfully didn't bring me any information, and originally being from a small town myself, I asked the librarian if she knew Ms. Masen. She didn't know her personally but she told me that the local Post Master knew her fairly well. Pay dirt! I was so excited I could hardly stand it. This is too easy… I suddenly felt like I was getting paid to be on vacation.

I went to the post office to speak with the Post Master. Apparently a lot of people in the town knew that Lizzie was a published author, which helped my cause tremendously. After getting past his suspicions by showing him several of Lizzie's original manuscripts and my business card from the Libellus Publishing Company, he let me know what had happened. He was actually very impressed that we would send someone to check on her.

She'd gotten very, very sick a month or so before, with what he didn't know exactly. But she was finally improved enough that her doctor was letting her go home in a few days. I thanked him and told him that I would tell Lizzie he had said hello and headed over to the convalescence hospital that was in town.

After going through something similar with the head nurse like I had with the Post Master, she had a junior nurse go and ask Lizzie if she was accepting any visitors and took one of my business cards to give to her.

I'd had the good sense to pick up some flowers on my way from the post office. I was rearranging them for what seemed like the hundredth time, when the nurse came back to the reception area to have me follow her back.

I smoothed my hair and walked brusquely, following the nurse to a room that faced out to the back of the sanatorium, with large picture windows that looked out on its beautiful central garden.

Standing in front of one of the windows, with her hands folded loosely behind her back, was Lizzie.

She stood straight and tall. She looked slightly taller than me in actual height but the way she was standing by the window made her appear much taller. She had her gray hair in a loose bun at the crown of her head and was dressed in white linen pants with a denim, sleeveless shirt on. Her arms were not flabby like my grandmothers had been. She was obviously used to working hard and I could imagine that she wouldn't suffer fools. I gulped a little as she turned around to meet me…

She smiled warmly while she reached out with her right hand, "Hello. I'm so pleased to meet you, Isabella." She had a strong voice, a little gravelly, like what I would anticipate Demi Moore sounding like when she reached her 70's. I said hello in return a little late because I was taken aback by the color of her eyes; they were deep green and very sharp. I could tell that there wasn't much that this formidable lady would miss.

I shook her hand sincerely. "I can't tell you how honored I feel to meet you." I let go of her hand and handed her the flowers I'd brought. She looked surprised, and then…

She set them on the small table that was by the bed and turned around and held her arms out to me. "Well, the deliverer of these beautiful flowers deserves a hug!" I reached up hesitatingly and she gave me an immediate and tight hug. "My goodness! You need some good, home cooked food! You seem rather slight."

If anyone else had said that to me I probably would have been mortified. But it was so obvious that she wasn't being critical, she just said what she thought and she clearly thought that I was a little too thin. Which, in actuality I was… Mainly because as I'd started reading everything I could find of her writings, I hadn't really been concentrating on my eating habits.

I blushed and giggled in response. "I don't think my hotel has that great of a restaurant but since you're the local, maybe you could pick somewhere for me to take you."

She laughed heartily. "Oh, no, dear. My handyman 'slash' caretaker will be here in about twenty minutes to pick me up and take me back home to Sandy Beach." She patted me on the shoulder. "I'm inviting you to dinner with me and George."

"Oh! Goodness! I couldn't do that! You're just getting out of the hospital and I'm sure you want to get settled back into your home for a little bit, and…"

She cut me off with a look. "You've come all the way across the country to see if I'm alright and you think I'm going to send you back to some crappy hotel, all alone, until I decide you can come visit?" She shook her head sadly at me. "I don't think so. In fact, once George gets here, we're going to swing by your hotel and pick up your stuff and check you out of there."

She narrowed her eyes at me and nodded her head. "You'll come stay with us at Sandy Beach. Not to brag but I have a very, very nice home on the coast."

I realized that arguing with her was pointless. And, really, it made sense. "Um, o.k." I sounded like I was asking a question.

She laughed kindheartedly. "I like you, girlie. You've got an honest face and heart."

I didn't know what to say to that.

After George arrived and we were introduced, he treated me like I was a long-lost relative. It was a little bewildering but also really nice. He helped her with the paperwork that the sanatorium required before they would let her leave and then we were on our way. I followed them all the way to her home on Sandy Beach.

Her home was really part of an estate. It was actually situated on a slight peninsula east of Hawks Nest Beach and south of an area called Point O'Woods. It was off a private drive, through dense trees… The trees opened up to show me a view of a rambling, large, single story residence, all white clapboard. Water surrounded it on two sides in the distance so there were gorgeous panoramic views of the Atlantic Ocean.

As we exited the vehicles, I was speechless. George took Lizzie's things into the house, through the dark, wooden front double-doors, and she came back to link my arm with hers and began regaling me with stories of when she and her husband had first started building their home in the 40's.

She sounded like she was still just as in love with him as she had been then. I was enthralled. It was like having her read her stories out loud to me. She was, simply, an incredible story-teller.

We ended up in a sitting room off the kitchen, in large, denim-blue love seats that sat across from each other. We didn't really have any kind of a dinner, we just snacked on cheese and crackers with big glasses of ice cold milk. We stayed up until 2:00 a.m.

I told her about my job, my friends and coworkers Angela and Carolyn, my dad, some of my college experiences, and, of course, Jacob. She grew quiet when I told her what had happened to my husband and that I was, like her, now a widow.

Without saying a word, she reached over to me and placed her hand on my knee, giving it a squeeze. "I'm so sorry, dear. I know this doesn't even begin to cover it but I do understand what it's like to lose someone you loved that dearly." I nodded my head but didn't say anything more.

"Well, I think we'd better get you off to bed. You must be bushed!" She was right, I was.

"Oh! I'll need to call Angela first thing in the morning to let her know that you're o.k. I'd better not call her now…"

"No! Of course not. George will probably have breakfast ready at about 10:00 a.m. since we've been up past our bedtimes tonight." She gave me a smile that lit up the room and then laughed.

I couldn't help but laugh along with her. "O.k. Well, again, thank you so, so much for inviting me to come stay with you here at your beautiful home." I suddenly felt a little embarrassed, so of course I could feel my cheeks get a little flushed.

"Oh! Look at that blush!" She laughed again. "Aren't you a cutie! Well, I figured you'd want to start on my manuscript right away for this book I've been makin' you all wait on me for."

"Oh? Oh! Of course! I'd be happy to help you get anything you've already started sent to Angela tomorrow." I smiled encouragingly at her.

She got quiet and then looked up at me with some chagrin in her eyes. "Well, here's the thing…" She seemed to be struggling with something suddenly.

"I haven't been able to start it, you see. I stopped hand-writing my manuscripts years ago but I've never gotten one of those computer-thingy's, and my wrists aren't what they once were, so my old manual typewriter isn't very helpful to me any more…"

I waited for her to tell me what she was really trying to get across to me. "See, I was hoping that you'd be able to stay and help me get the manuscript written." She smiled shyly at me.

"I… I'd be honored, Mrs. Masen." I felt very insignificant.

"You listen here, missy," she got a bit stern. "You don't call me anything but Lizzie from now on, o.k.? And you're the one doing me the huge favor, alright?" She grinned at me.

"O.k." I felt like I was in over my head but I trusted Lizzie. She simply wouldn't let me fail at this. I just knew it.

~~:::~~

The very next day, after I'd spoken with Angela for what seemed like hours, Lizzie and I got to work on her manuscript. The three of us decided that I would stay as long as it took to help Lizzie finish her novel, since she actually had pages and pages of notes and a well written outline already.

We agreed I would stay for two weeks at a time, sending what we had at the end of each two-week period to Angela via e-mail and overnight post.

After our second day of working on the large, marble kitchen island she looked over at me mischievously. "You got your Bachelors in English Lit, right? With emphasis on classic American and English authors?"

"Yeah. I really love English classics especially." I grinned at her.

"Well, I think it's time we moved this party into the correct venue, then." She got up from the island and beckoned me to follow her and bring my laptop and all our notes.

We headed out of the kitchen and to a doorway that was not very far down the hall. As she opened the door, I gasped.

It was a very large, French colonial style library. It even had several large, light green leather chairs and ottomans. There was a French gaming table, with four fancy petite armchairs around it. There were two love seats, also in the Louis XV style. There was an off-white, baby grand piano and a dark red harpsichord. Everything, even the wood on the walls, was in varying shades of white. And, of course, there were hundreds of bookshelves…

I didn't say anything. I didn't need to. The joy I was feeling was all over my face. Lizzie clapped and laughed. "I KNEW you'd love it." As I walked along the wall that had the most book cases, I caught glimpses of first editions of Emma and Sense and Sensibility. I was awe-struck. My fingers carefully trailed along the spines, mesmerized.

In between periods of actually working on her novel, we would take walks along her beach, talking. Always talking. Angela had been absolutely correct. Lizzie was like a long lost grandmother. She was, as she'd put it, smart as a whip. Strong willed. Courageous. Loving. We connected like I never really had to another woman before. Growing up without a motherly influence in my life, without grandparents, spending time with Lizzie was like someone had thrown me a life vest I didn't even know I'd needed.

One afternoon several days after my sudden arrival in her home, as I was on my way from the library to the veranda that was on the side of the house that faced towards the ocean, I stopped to look over all her photographs that lined the hallway. Most were in thick, black frames, with a few in gold-toned ones. As I slowly walked down the hall, I noticed there was a pattern to the way the photos were displayed.

At the start of the hall, there were several photos that appeared to be from the very early 1900's. Next were photos from probably around the 20's, then the 40's, and so on. There were pictures of Lizzie's daughter riding her first bike, her first year of college, her wedding, and several pictures of a pixie-like girl and a lanky boy.

By the time I'd reached the end, the photos seemed to be from only the past few years. There were pictures of who I thought was the pixie girl all grown up, with her husband and their two small children, who I assumed were Lizzie's great-grandchildren.

I didn't see any recent pictures of the tall boy but I didn't think too much about that.

Looking back, I probably should have asked Lizzie about it so I would have had some warning…

~~:::~~

We had begun our second two-week period; I'd been with her for not quite three weeks when she received an unexpected visitor.

"Oh my! It's so wonderful to see you dear!" I heard Lizzie exclaim. I headed into the hall from her library to find out who she was so excited to see.

I gave a small gasp, so low that neither of them heard me. Her visitor was unbelievably handsome. His bone structure was even attractive, for goodness sake… Slightly chiseled. He was tall, standing at just over six feet I guessed. He had the most amazing hair—not auburn but not brown, either. Sort of bronze-colored. Even though he looked very clean cut his hair was sort of messy… But in a sexy way. I blushed at my own assessment. He had an endearing smile, slightly off, as if his mouth and lips needed to go a little crooked when he smiled just to prove that he wasn't perfect… Even though his teeth were flawlessly straight. His eyebrows were a little darker than his hair, so they framed his eyes nicely. His eyes... They made him the male model that he must be… They were the deep green of the ocean, off of an enchanting, tropical island… I couldn't take my eyes off of him. I blushed deeper…

"Isabella!" Lizzie exclaimed. "I'm so glad you decided to take yourself away from my silly little hobby and come join us!" She had a smirk on her face, as though she knew what thoughts had just been going through my mind regarding her guest.

"Hi." I said a little weakly. She waved me over to meet him.

"This is my grandson, Edward Anthony Masen-Cullen." She smiled warmly at him and then back at me. "He's come all the way across the Pond to check up on his 'ol Gran!" She laughed.

"Um, across the… Pond?" I asked, confused.

"From England. I live a few hours south of London." He answered for her in his soft English accent. His voice. My God. I thought he looked great but his voice… It was not particularly deep but sort-of musical. Soft, like… Velvet. Yes, that's what it sounded like. The sound of velvet or silk in movement. And there was that crooked smile again…

"Wow. That's… That's a long way." I said rather late, feeling a little silly that this strangely attractive man was staring at me. No wonder. It had taken me too long to respond.

"Yes, remember, I told you I'm the last Masen left in the New World." She laughed again. She was so happy to see him; I could see it in her eyes—all over her face.

Edward gave a little sigh and looked over at his grandmother with his eyes alight. "Gran, you are simply too independent for your own good," shaking his head he added, "but that's why you're happier staying in America than coming to live with us in England."

Lizzie laughed and pointed to me. "Now you get to meet a very, very dear friend of mine." She paused looking at Edward with her head slightly to one side, a little bit of seriousness entering into her voice. She quietly introduced me. "This is Isabella Marie Swan."

I wasn't sure why she'd said my name that way. It sounded so… Formal. So unlike how we'd been to each other since almost the first moment I'd arrived. She seemed to be trying to convey something to Edward that I simply wasn't picking up on. I decided to lighten the mood back up, laughing and reaching out with my hand to shake his. He took it warmly. His hand was smooth and strong. It was nice.

"Right! I'm sorry I seem so…" I blushed. Again. Ugh.

"Out of it?" Lizzie asked. "That's o.k. You've been working too hard on my hobby."

"Hobby…?" Edward asked, puzzled.

"Well, you haven't exactly been speaking to me on a regular basis, now, have you son?" She asked him a little reprovingly.

"She's a writer. Well, really, she's a published author." I answered proudly.

Our hands had already dropped of their own accord from each other and he turned to me suddenly. "Why are you here, exactly?" His eyes narrowed at me. I felt confused and a little offended.

"Edward!" Lizzie looked shocked. "Again, you would know this if you called more often!" She had raised her voice simply from the astonishment of having his mood change so abruptly. She calmed herself down. "Look, I have a publisher in San Francisco. Isabella works for said publisher." She sighed. "I wasn't well, they were expecting some new material from me… So they sent Isabella to check on me." She tried to smile at him to see if he understood what she was telling him, as if she was asking for his permission, which didn't exactly make sense because how could he not know…

"You're still trying to write?" He turned his hostile gaze on her. "Well, why is she still here if you're doing so well?" He turned his gaze back to me, still with narrowed eyes, as if he didn't trust me. I stood up a little straighter and looked him directly in the eyes.

"Now, look, I'm sorry if you were unaware of your Grandmother's aspirations but she is a wonderful writer, has many published works, and I don't see…" Lizzie quickly cut me off.

"Don't you get that tone with me, young man." She now had her eyes narrowed at him. He didn't seem to like that much. He started backing down. She apparently had that ability with everyone. I smiled a little, thinking of how she was with the folks in town, with George. She really was an old battle-ax.

"I don't know how you lost your manners on a simple plane ride across the Pond," she gave extra emphasis on the Pond part, "but Isabella is a guest and you will treat her with respect. Even if you don't respect my wishes to write." She shook her head. "This is no way to start an evening." Lizzie sighed and walked towards the kitchen. "George, I know you're listening. Come in here so we can get something going for dinner!" She had practically yelled.

Well. This was awkward. She'd left me standing in the foyer with a man I didn't know but who seemed to have decided he knew all about me and didn't like me.

I crossed my arms in front of myself and then uncrossed them. As he stood in front of me like a scolded school-boy, he shuffled from one leg to the other. He seemed to have been truly taken aback by Lizzie's little speech.

I was sort-of relieved. I'd been truly confused by his sudden change in demeanor. He looked at me at the same time I was trying to look anywhere in the room but at him. I failed; I just couldn't help it. His eyes were so captivating.

"I'm sorry, Isabella." He stated matter-of-factly. "She's right, of course." He sighed, reached up and ran his fingers through his unruly hair. He dropped his arm and looked at me. "I shouldn't be such an ass…" He gave a short laugh. "I just worry about her. Even though we don't talk as much as we used to…"

He sounded so sincere that I stopped him by raising my hand as if to swat away his guilt. "No. I sort-of understand." He looked at me and raised one eyebrow.

"Well," I gave a little smile, "I don't know how I'd feel if I went to visit my grandmother and some strange girl was acting like she was her long, lost granddaughter or something."

"You're not, are you?" He suddenly asked, his eyes bright with the laughter I could see in them.

"God, no!" I was totally embarrassed. "I was just saying…"

He cut me off with a laugh. "I was kidding. I didn't really think you meant that literally." He smiled at me. That crooked, beautiful smile of his.

"All right, kids. Soup's on." Lizzie came back down the hall from the kitchen with the wooden spoon she'd been using still in her hand. "It's something easy. BLT sandwiches and tomato soup." She smiled at us, winking at me. "Ah. I see he's turned back into the gentleman I've always known him to be."

I certainly hoped so... Otherwise, this was going to be an awkward dinner. And an even more awkward stay for him and for me.

~~:::~~

A/N: Reviews are like... Meeting BxE for the first time. Again. LOL Please review!