Here's a pretty impossible chapter.

21. Welcome Home

After two weeks, it was time to go back home. They said I'll be performing at Forks High and at Port Angeles. It stunned me that they found ways.

"Wow, nice house," Caleb remarked after coming with us.

"Well, this is our house, and by our, I mean all of us live here," I explained. "Mommy Esme fixed a cottage up for us, but mostly, we'd hang out here."

I led Caleb to the back door and we followed the short trail to the smaller house.

"Your Mommy Esme sure knows how to fix things up," he said.

"It's her job," I replied. "She likes to restore antiques."

"Oh."

We entered the house. A flurry of warm scents greeted me. Then I realized it was a mixture of mine, Mom's and Dad's.

"So this is what you were talking about," Caleb chuckled as he entered my rom. "Hmm . . . I never knew I was quite so photogenic."

"Whatever," I snickered. "That poster is not the only reason I liked you."

"Then what else?"

"I dunno," I replied with a shrug. "It's one of life's many unsolved mysteries."

We got a chance to visit both venues for the concert. Wow, they did find ways.

Caleb and Mr. Jameson had to go to Seattle for some business arrangements, so I had one entire day to be normal. Normal for me, at least.

I went hunting alone, thinking of a lot of things. I wouldn't want dad to be here to hear my thoughts.

Thought number one: I am being faced by the prospect of seeing him again.

Thought number two: my subconscious is somehow happy about that prospect.

Thought number three: do I still love him?

Okay, this was going too far. How could I even think about that for an entire second?

I trudged back home and just decided to do something . . . reckless.

I went to the garage and looked for my long-dormant motorcycle.

"Hel-lo, gorgeous," I greeted the red bike, rotting away beside Dad's Ducati. Well, not exactly rotting. I'm sure Aunt Rosalie kept tinkering it while I was away.

Right now I didn't care that they would hear me. I felt like Mom. I wanted to be free to think. Maybe some part of me will conjure his voice just like how Dad's voice kept bugging Mom when she was doing something reckless.

I decided to wear a helmet so I wouldn't have to lie to Mom and to keep my identity a secret.

"Woo hoo!" I screamed as I drove away. I wanted to take off the big helmet to let the cool wind blow on my face, but it's just too much of a risk to take.

I pushed my bike to the limit, speeding up at one-twenty as soon as I got on the freeway. Luckily there were no traffic enforcers.

I can't help myself, so I pulled over near Tacoma to take the helmet off and just put on my enormous shades. No one would notice me.

I managed to take a trip around Washington for less than half the time possible. In two hours, I'd already gone to Seattle, Port Angeles, Hoquiam, Tacoma and the Makah rez.

I'd been going so fast that I'd missed the sign saying where I was heading. The breeze that whipped my face now tasted a bit . . . salty. I looked over my shoulder to the left and saw a beach. A familiar one.

I was in La Push.

Half of me wanted to drive away, but the other half wanted to stay. I slowed down and realized that I was heading to First Beach. Crap, the less sensible side had won.

I parked the bike in the lot and took off my shoes. Good thing no one was here.

I sat down on one of the logs and breathed in the smell.

Welcome home, Renesmee, I said to myself.

And then something russet darted through the edge of the woods.

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