A/N: Whether this chapter finds you coming home after a late night with friends, making New Year's Day dinner with family, or spending well-deserved alone time, I hope it finds you happy and healthy.

A special thank you to my Beta, and friend, PaintedTeacherLady. She has mad editing skills, terrific insights, and unwavering support. I probably have three errors in the previous sentence that she would have found.

Chapter Three

Professor Swan

I lean against the wall, out of the way, watching Bella and Alice spend these last few minutes together. The scene that plays out before me is better suited for a barroom than a hospital room. Best friends - drunk, Alice on morphine and Bella on Valium, laughing about old memories and making fun of Alice's past boyfriends. At any minute, I expect them to find a jukebox behind Alice's EKG machine and play Van Morrison's, "Brown Eye Girl." Someday soon, I will to make this role-play a reality. They will be free from hospitals and funerals, bruises and blood-tinged gauze. I will take them out and treat them to the best Seattle has to offer; we will celebrate the end of this difficult trial. I'm relieved to see them share this carefree moment. Alice has yet to be assessed today and still doesn't know her prognosis; Bella is about to walk into the jaws of Satan disguised as Mrs. Newton. If drugs help to lighten the load, so be it.

Bella looks at the clock and groans; she knows it's time to go. Since the funeral planning is taking place in the Grief Room just a few floors below, Alice is relentlessly begging to go.

"Young lady, you may not come to the meeting, we've been through this," Bella mockingly scolds in a motherly voice. "Tell me, what are these called again?" Bella points to the painful looking metal plates on Alice's hips.

"They're pins?"

"No, they aren't. What are they called, Alice?"

"They're bolts," Alice roles her eyes, playing along like an ill-tempered child.

"And what are they bolted to?"

"My pelvis," she grumbles.

"That's right, they are bolted to your pelvis because you, missy, may not move one millimeter—and I know that's very hard for you—but you can't come with us."

"Fine, but why can't you move the meeting in here? I promise to keep my mouth shut. I won't say a word…" she's pleading again.

"No—and do we need to have our conversation again about too many visitors and germs?

"It's not fair; Mr. Tailored Dress Pants here gets to go."

"I'm only going because you can't. Trust me, she'd rather it be you." I know better than to come between these two friends.

Alice places her hand over her heart and says, "Good answer. Oh Bella, you are training him so well." She's a little pixie who smiles at me, letting me know her teasing is good-natured. "Bella, you're coming back after the meeting, aren't you?"

"Of course."

"And you'll tell me everything?"

"I will, I promise."

"And if this comes to blows, you'll get one good punch in for me?"

Bella displays a counterfeit smile; I'm learning when she's holding something back. She leans down kisses Alice on the top of her head.

"Okay, good luck kids," Alice says. I turn to wave as we leave and catch a glimpse of Alice's distress. Though it would be nearly impossible for Alice to be in the room for the meeting, being kept out must be agony.

When we walk out of earshot of Alice's room, Bella asks, "I think that went well, don't you?" Her voice is serious, her playfulness gone.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"You know, all the joking and stuff—keeping it light." Bella's carefree performance was just that, a performance.

"I think she seemed much better, don't you?" she asks.

"Definitely," I say appeasing her. "How are you doing?"

"Me? I'm fine," Bella says absently as we reach a restroom. "I think I need to freshen up a before we go down, I'll be right out."

I take the opportunity to duck back into Alice's room; she greets me wide-eyed and serious, she too is now sober. "What's wrong, did you forget something?"

"No. What's your cell phone number?" She tells me and I program it into my phone.

"Alice, I will put the meeting on speakerphone. It will be in my pocket, so I don't know what you'll hear, but you have to put your end on mute. If you talk…"

"I know—you'll cut me off." I'm glad we understand each other. "Thank you, Edward."

"You're welcome."

"I think Bella seems better, don't you?" she asks.

"Definitely."

I return to the restroom in time to catch Bella's exit. We ride the elevator in silence, and though I'm tempted to ask what she's thinking, I choose not to disturb her with my questions. Instead, I grab her hand and stroke her knuckles with my thumb. She's pensive—preparing? Praying? I should be praying, instead I'm fantasizing about coming to Bella's defense. If Mrs. Newton says one remark that could be construed as less than friendly, I pull the pin that will justify my explosion. I will unleash a vicious tirade the likes of which this hospital has never seen; I will throw tables, tackle both Newtons at once, and whisk Bella away to my lair… no, my castle. If Bella wants a knight in shining armor, I'll give her one. The doors to the elevator open and I secure my game face, ready for battle.

We walk towards the G.R., but Bella stops a few yards short of the door. "Edward, you have to relax." Relax? What does she mean? I haven't said a word. She checks to see if anyone is watching before she brushes her fingertips along my jaw, under my ear. "If you clench your jaw any tighter, I think you'll shatter your teeth." I hadn't realized she noticed my tension; I swallow and attempt a serene appearance. "Edward, I have only one request…no matter what is said in that room, I need you to let it be."

"Let it be?"

"Don't react, please." She's killing my plans; I'm stymied.

"But Bella, why would you let her walk all over you and not let me come to… "

"First," she cuts me off, "I'm a big girl, I can take whatever they give; and second, because I asked you." No, I won't let this happen.

"Please," she whispers, "for me." This doesn't need to be the battle royal I envisioned, but we have guilt in our arsenal of weapons and with a few choice words I can end this abuse.

"You're asking me to sit there silently while Mrs. Newton spews her depraved, misguided cruelty?"

"Yes, I am. That is exactly what I'm asking you to do." I look at her for a long while trying to figure out how to convince her. "Edward, I want you there more than anything, but if it's too hard for you—if you can't, I understand." Is she serious? Is she threatening to keep me out? When I look into her eyes, I know the conviction of her words; indeed she is serious.

"No, I'm coming with you, I'll rein it in." Bella reaches up and gives me a kiss on my cheek, "Thank you, I need you in there." She needs me, maybe not to defend her in the way I know how, but she needs me.

My pre-meeting 'things to do list' has one item remaining. The hand in my pocket feels like lead and my mouth is dry with resistance, I hate myself for what I am about to do, but I believe she'd want the choice. "Bella, before we go in, do you want to put this on?" I give her my hand, her wedding band on my pinky finger. Her face falls for a moment and then she smiles bravely, I think more for me than for her. "I knew I forgot something. It looks better on you than it does me."

"You don't have to wear it Bella."

"No, no, I really should—no need to give Mrs. Newton any extra material." She pulls the band off of my finger, slips it on her own, and twists it nervously.

We both take a steadying breath and I ask, "You ready for this?"

"Nope. But I'm looking forward to getting it over with—let's do this."

Though I don't recognize the only person waiting in the room, he is clearly special to Bella. She immediately falls into his embrace and he gently sways her, "Bella."

"Reverend Weber, I'm so glad you're here," she holds him tightly, pressing her cheek into his shoulder. The man is probably in his late fifties, salt and pepper hair and watery blue eyes. He wears a simple blue check shirt and he looks as though he could be from a different time, a simpler time—he is the salt of the earth.

"I'm sorry I didn't stay longer yesterday. Can you forgive me?" His voice is raw, his words, sincere.

Bella looks up at him, consoles him. "Revered, you were with him when he…Angela needed you, all of Forks needed you."

"Always so selfless, Bella?"

"I was in good hands." Bella waves me over. "Reverend Weber, this is Edward Masen, he's a seminary student."

"Edward, it's good to meet you. Carlisle spoke very highly of you."

"You've met Carlisle?"

"We met briefly yesterday, I think you were on your way in, and we spoke on the phone last night. He's a good man, you're lucky you have him for a mentor."

"I thought I felt my ears burning." Carlisle walks in and greets Reverend Weber with a handshake, "George."

"Edward." He shakes my hand with both of his. Carlisle's face gives nothing away, as warm and approving as it would be on any other day. He wraps his arm around Bella and places his hand on her shoulder, her face bright pink, eyes fixed on her hands as she frantically twists the wedding band. Distracted by my predictions about Mrs. Newton, I had forgotten how difficult it would be for Bella to face Carlisle today. He senses her embarrassment, rubs her upper arm and gently says, "It's good to see you Bella. Did Sibiohn have something for you when arrived this morning?"

"Yes, thank you for coordinating things; they gave me Valium."

"Valium? Well that will relax the muscles, you must be feeling better." Bella gives Carlisle two thumbs up and she cautiously meets his eyes for the first time.

"Be careful with that stuff," he says in his fatherly tone.

"I will. I only took a half of one; it seemed to do the trick."

"Bella?" We turn to see Charlie in the doorway; Bella lunges into his arms. At first he seems surprised and then relieved by her open affection. Bella whispers something into his ear and he tightens his hug.

We introduce Charlie and Carlisle and begin to make small talk about the drive from Forks and the unseasonable good weather for early autumn. At any given moment, at least two of us are touching Bella—a stroke on her arm, a squeeze on her shoulder, a gentle rub on her back. The love and prayers of others finally surround the bride who sat alone yesterday. Bella turns her attention to Reverend Weber, "Will the funeral be in Forks? Are you going to perform the service?"

"Assuming that's what you want, yes Bella. Remember, your opinion on these arrangements matters a great deal."

"I hope my opinion matters too." We all turn to see Mr. and Mrs. Newton enter the room. They must have aged ten years over night. They both look ragged—pale, swollen eyes, Mr. Newton face, deeply creased. Yesterday's fury is today's wreckage.

"Of course Margaret, your opinion matters too. Shall we all have a seat?" Reverend Weber leads us to the table. I feign turning off my phone, but call Alice and place the phone in my pocket. Charlie and I sit on either side of Bella, facing the Newtons, while Carlisle and Reverend Weber take seats at the table's ends.

Revered Weber begins by handing out copies of the obituary he's prepared and reading it aloud. Bella's face is expressionless as she stares at the page she's holding, but she isn't actually seeing it. She doesn't even flinch when he reads, "…survived by his wife, Isabella Newton (nee Swan)…" I place my hand on her knee under the table. At first she doesn't react, then I notice she's imperceptibly nodding her head, asking me to keep it there. I give her knee a small squeeze, and she increases the nod, fractionally.

The obituary is a beautiful tribute that exceeds the basic template. It's obvious that he knew Mike Newton well and, on paper, he doesn't sound like the monster I know him to be. Will I have parishioners I will know this well? Will I take them from birth to baptism, marriage to death? I watch Reverend Weber, he is good at this—he is patient, reading the nonverbal signs, moving ahead only when he senses agreement.

Mrs. Newton speaks up, "In lieu of flowers, we would like donations to be made to The National Wildlife Foundation."

This suggestion pulls Bella out of her trance, she responds in an anxious voice, "But what if there aren't flowers? There should be flowers…everyone should have flowers at their funeral." I grip Bella's knee for support and she places her hand over mine, intertwining our fingers.

"There will still be flowers, Bella. Mr. Newton and I are sending flowers, I'm sure others will too. Don't you intend on buying flowers?"

"Bella," Mr. Newton speaks up, "Margret and I will provide the casket spray…"

"Casket spray…" Bella utters; she's confused and doesn't want to ask, a small frown appears on her brow. She's too young—too young to know about casket sprays, obituaries, and funeral planning, too young to be a widow. I again have the urge to take her away. Lord, I pray you grant Bella peace and me restraint.

"We can order flowers on your behalf if you'd like," Mr. Newton offers.

"Thanks Michael, but I'm sure we can handle that on our end," Charlie says, his voice a little surly. Go Charlie.

"We will also have the silk flowers we use for Sunday services Bella, but it's up to you."

All eyes are on Bella, and after a long moment she says, "Mr. and Mrs. Newton, I know the National Wildlife Foundation is an important charity to you…but when we first started dating, he donated a lot of time to Big Brothers and Big Sisters. Can we include them as a charitable option? I think he…Mike will…would have liked that."

"Yes, I couldn't agree more Bella." Mr. Newton looks at Bella with admiration.

"We're agreed then?" Reverend Weber scans the room for confirmation before continuing with his suggestions for the service. Bella stays silent throughout the discussion. Everyone at the table scans the list of songs and readings, standards for Lutheran funerals. A brochure of caskets from the Forks funeral parlor is passed around the room. Mrs. Newton is drawn to the most expensive model, and seeing no protest, she gets her choice. Since the obituary won't appear until tomorrow and people will be traveling from Seattle, Reverend Weber suggests a Thursday afternoon funeral. They agree to a closed casket with one hour of visitation before the service.

"Is there anything else I haven't mentioned, any questions, suggestions?"

"Communion. The sacrament." Bella speaks up, surprising everyone. "Will we include communion in the service?"

"Bella, communion at a funeral can be so cumbersome. People don't know if they should take it, not take it, I'd really rather not," Mrs. Newton says.

Ignoring her, Bella pushes forward, "I would like to receive the sacrament at the funeral Reverend Weber, can you arrange that?" Her voice doesn't waiver, she's sticking to her guns.

"Of course, Bella."

"What about the others, are we going to offer it to everyone?" Mrs. Newton sighs.

"Yes, we are. I would gladly exchange a little awkwardness for the symbol of God's mercy." I grip Bella's hand, not as a show of support, but of pride—she's won her small battle.

Reverend Weber inspects the faces of the key players and says, "It is settled then; we will have communion at the funeral. I think that takes care of everything?" Everyone silently nods. Bella visibly relaxes and we begin to stand from the table.

"We have some other matters to discuss," Mrs. Newton says with a new, harder edge to her voice, "financial matters."

"Don't you think that conversation is best reserved for lawyers?" Carlisle asks.

"We'd only have to pay more people to divvy up a very small pot. You and Mike didn't have life insurance yet, did you Bella?"

"No Mrs. Newton," Bella's voice is small again. I rub my thumb over Bella's knuckles; this will be a difficult conversation.

"So there's Mike's individual bank account and your shared account, correct?"

"Yes Mrs. Newton."

"We think it would be appropriate for Mr. Newton and I to take Mike's account and of course you can keep the shared account."

"Now wait a minute," Charlie jumps in, "Bella worked while Mike went to graduate school, she should get his personal account."

"Charlie, I can assure you that Bella did not pay for Mike's tuition, we did," she retorts. I don't think I can hold on much longer, I run my fingers through my hair with my free hand, my heart is racing, I'm ready to speak. If there's going to be a fight, I want in.

"I think Carlisle has a point here, maybe a lawyer should look into his accounts." Thank you Revered Weber.

"No, it won't be necessary…take it, I don't want it." Bella, no! She moves her hand to my knee; she's pacifying me—this is so backwards—fucked up, really. She has one request, one request, one request—I repeat it like a mantra, a prayer.

"Bella, Mike's account has just about enough to pay for the funeral. How about Mrs. Newton and I pay for everything."

"I forgot about the expense—yes thank you, that would be helpful," Charlie, Carlisle, Reverend Weber, and I all shift uncomfortably in our seats. She's thanking him? If it weren't for the casket with the price tag of a small car, this would be a cheap funeral—plenty of money left over for Bella. Please Lord let me be cremated when I die.

"And then there are the wedding presents…" Mrs. Newton continues her torture.

"Wedding presents?" Bella blanches.

"I had many friends at that wedding and I'm sure they gave generous gifts."

Every man at the table begins to speak at once, but Mrs. Newton effectively silences us all with her booming voice, "Proper etiquette for a canceled wedding is to return the gifts."

"What do you mean, 'canceled wedding'?" Charlie asks. When I look around the room, it's clear that he's the only one in the dark.

"It's okay Dad, I'll return the gifts," she says quietly, she's fading away. I don't know why Bella gives in like this. Does she sense Mrs. Newton's threat to tell Charlie or does she just want this to be over? Regardless of her motivation, she is now little more than vulnerable prey.

"Lastly, we have the condo to discuss. Do you still plan to move in? Will you keep it?"

Bella shakes her head, her eyes vacant; she's disappeared inside of herself.

"I don't know if you'll get the price you paid in this market, but you're still responsible for our down payment loan."

"Margaret…" Mr. Newton pleads, his face shameful.

"Margaret what?"she snaps. "We might as well get this over with now."

At last I can jump in, "Do you want to sell the condo Bella?" She nods. "I know, we know, a real estate agent…" come on, Carlisle.

"Yes, of course, my wife Esme. She primarily handles commercial properties, but I'm sure she can take on your condo sale." I look at Bella hoping this will bring her back to life, but I see she's too far-gone.

"What's her commission?" Mrs. Newton asks. I whip my head back to Carlisle to see him press his lips between his teeth; she's even gotten to him.

"The usual charge, but I'm sure for Bella she will handle this gratis," Carlisle says when he regains his composure.

"Anything else, Mrs. Newton?" I ask, trying to keep my voice calm for Bella's sake, but still ready for a fight.

"No, that's everything." My anger is quickly obscured by my need for the meeting to end.

Everyone exchanges looks around the table waiting for someone to have the last word. "Thursday, then?" Reverend Weber asks. We all nod in agreement and hurriedly rise from the table glad this is over. I help Bella up from her chair, turn off my phone, and lead her by the elbow to the door; I want her away from the Newtons before they finish her off.

"No, wait, I have to do something first." She turns to Charlie, "Dad, can you meet me upstairs in Alice's room?"

"I can wait Bells."

"No, that's okay Dad. I know she wants to see you and I'll be up in just a sec, okay?" She's trying to sound light; she's trying to get rid of Charlie. Bella, what do you have planned?

"Alright Bella, I'll see you in a minute." Charlie says warily.

Once he's gone, Bella walks over to the Newtons, "Can I speak to you for a moment?" No. My patience is gone. What the fuck are you doing Bella, exposing your throat? Bella glances back at me briefly, she must sense my tension from across the room, and she's asking me to stay.

Bella tries to speak privately, but everyone in the room listens in. "Mr. and Mrs. Newton, I know the events of this week have brought us all unspeakable suffering, and that suffering is far from over. But I want to thank you—from the moment I met you, you have treated me with kindness. I have always had, will always have, nothing but love for you in my heart…I'm sorry to say this, but I think you were told some things about me that weren't entirely true…" Mrs. Newton opens her mouth to speak, but Bella stops her, "and I don't want to know what was said—I'm sure he had his reasons. I just want you to know that I would never do anything to hurt you, or Mike, or his memory. I know that we are God's children, and with his guidance, I have faith our love will grow and replace this pain. You will always be in my prayers."

Where there is hatred, sow love. Isabella Swan, Professor of Grace.

Her words silence the room.

The Newtons awkwardly hug her, but say nothing.

I'm so stunned by her display; I barely realize Bella has walked past me out of the room. I run a few steps to catch up with her brisk pace.

"Good, I was hoping you'd join me," she quips coolly, but her shaky voice reveals her unraveling. I pull her into the supply closet, desperate to get her alone.

"Bella, what you said in there…that was…how did you…" I'm a bumbling fool in her presence.

"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

"Philippians 4:13?"

"No idea. It's just one of the quotations I like and try to live by." She starts to pace in this impossibly small room, twisting her ring, speaking breathlessly. "I'm Catholic, Edward, we don't read the bible as much as you Protestants."

"Come here." I pull her into my arms, holding her tightly. I feel her heart racing against my chest, through to my hand on her back.

"Edward now would be a really good time to kiss me." I immediately find her mouth—and she kisses me, hungry, in need. Her tongue fills my mouth and she pushes me against a shelf of blankets and scrubs and who the hell knows. Her hands move from my chest, to my face, to my hair—she pulls my hair roughly, almost painfully, and I know she is—we are—releasing all of the pent up anger and frustration of the last hour. I hold her face in my hands and relish the feel of the movement under my hands as she kisses me over and over again.

She stops for a moment and says, "I'm so proud of you, Edward. You did so well in there."

"You're proud of me?" She looks at me confused, as if there is nothing wrong with our role reversal. "Isabella Swan, where did you come from?"

"Forks, Washington," she says matter-of-factly.

"Forks, Washington?" Really, who is this woman—she amuses, confounds, and inspires me.

"Mmm-hmm." Her brown doe-eyes look up at me; I press my forehead to hers and move a lock of her hair behind her ear as I take in the smell of Bella. I need to kiss her again; this time is not to be rushed, but to be savored. I bend down to catch her mouth with mine and tilt her head back when I straighten. Her breath is on my cheek as we deepen the kiss. Unable and unwilling to hide my arousal, my hand travels to her backside and I push into her ever so slightly and elicit her moan into my mouth. Desperate to taste her flesh, I trail kisses from her jaw, to her neck, to her collarbone. Oh the taste of her, the smell…she's heaven and I'm carried away. Will I ever be able to kiss this woman without wanting to be inside of her?

"Edward you know we have to stop, right?"

"I know no such thing," I say between kisses and she giggles.

"I'd hate to see who's waiting outside that door."

"Let's lock it," my kisses continue down to the top button of her shirt.

"Edward…"

I work my way back up to her lips with the intention to stop, but I don't. I kiss her some more, tasting her lips, her mouth, again and again before finally pulling myself away. "I know we need to go," I say out of breath, and step away from her. "I just need a minute to pull myself together."

Bella glances at my erection before looking away and asks, "Did I do that?"

"Yes Bella, this is all you." Suppressing her smile, she bites her bottom lip. "And that, right there, is doing nothing to help the situation."

"Sorry…" she doesn't look sorry. "What do you think about to 'pull yourself together'?"

"Baseball. I know it's cliché, but it's all I got."

"Oh, that wouldn't work for me. I love baseball players." Detail filed. "Is it working?" she asks.

"Not really, being in a small room with you has its disadvantages."

"Need help?"

"What do you have?"

"Your choice, I can talk about the Newtons, Carlisle, my bank account…" It works. Reminding me of the last hour slams me back to reality.

"Can I ask…how is your financial status?"

"Normally I wouldn't share this, but you're not catching me on my best day. Once the hotel bill from my honeymoon clears from my one and only bank account, I will have about three thousand dollars, a button, a paper clip, and a small ball of lint." She smiles the kind of smile that says, 'I'm so fucked, I don't care anymore.'

"I have a really good feeling about your condo, Esme is quite an expert."

"Really? Even if we just got back the asking price…I know we borrowed some, but all of my savings went into that down payment."

"Have faith Bella," I say and bring her to me one last time to kiss her forehead.

The coast is clear outside the closet. Bella and I are walking to the elevator when I see Carlisle approach. This conversation needs to happen, so I send Bella to Alice without me.

"Walk with me?" Carlisle asks.

"Sure."

"He cheated on her, didn't he?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Esme and I started to put it together last night, then I spoke to George Weber. He told me Bella wanted to call off the wedding and that Mike spent a great deal of time with a particular local girl."

"That would be Lauren. Reverend Weber knows then?"

"He does."

"Well, at least she doesn't have to hide it from everyone."

"No, she doesn't." We turn down a hallway, and I know where he is leading me. "So, are you looking to expand your real estate holdings?"

"Something like that."

"How much over the asking price are you planning to go?"

"Not enough to raise suspicion. Why, are you worried about my finances?"

"No Edward, you could buy her whole building and not put a dent in your portfolio."

We reach our destination, the hospital chapel. Carlisle opens the door and says in his soothing minister voice, "Come pray with me." Like the sinner I am, I drop my head and walk in. Regardless of how often I come here, this space always astounds me. Walking though these doors transports me to an alternate universe away from the cold florescent lights and echoing hallways of the hospital; it is a simple place of worship that could be found in any city or town across the country. Seven dark cherry pews, a small alter, and candles to light in prayer, absent are the symbols of any one religion—no crosses or statues of Mary, just a small bookshelf holding copies of The Torah, The Quran, The Bible, The Book of Common Prayer, The Bhagavad Gita, and more.

I choose a pew in the middle and Carlisle follows me in. He looks at me, and I think he's asking if I'm ready to have this conversation. Am I ready? No. Will I be any more ready later? I doubt it.

A/N:

Happy New Year!

-Liz

Next update...about 2 weeks.

I'd love to hear what you think.