Chapter 5 Whirling Faster Out of Sync
If my introduction to the town of Forks and its inhabitants was unconventional, the subsequent days did nothing to buck the surreal state that I found myself in.
My father arrived on my doorstep at noon on Sunday, his arms loaded down with bags and his face lit up in a brilliant smile. As the rain fell outside, we ate sandwiches he'd picked up at the coffee shop and flipped through three photo albums, full of pictures from the first year and a half of my life: my first smile, my first steps, me sitting on top of a patrol car, clapping my hands as Charlie held me securely in place.
These were not the photos of a man who didn't want his child.
When we finished with the photos, he placed a small pink wooden box on the table, the soft paint faded with age.
"It's probably kind of lame that I kept all this," he said sheepishly. "It wasn't like you were going to come home and play with it, you know?"
It took a bit of prying to loosen the brass clasp that held the box closed. When it did give, I gently raised the lid, freeing a small plastic ballerina from its dark slumber. As a mechanical rendition of the Overture from Swan Lake filled the room, she began to spin slowly, her pink tutu stiff and slightly lopsided from years of being pressed on her side.
"I bought that for you on your first birthday," Charlie said quietly. "I thought the whole Swan Lake thing was clever, you know? You used to love to listen to it. You'd shout 'again' over and over and over. It just about drove your mom and me batty." He pronounced again as a toddler, would, heavy emphasis on the ah, and a hard D sound replacing the G.
As the music began to slow, the ballerina's motions became less and less fluid, jerking stiffly as the mechanism wound down. When the song ended, she stopped her rotation. Her arms were extended gracefully out to her side, patiently waiting for someone to wind her up again. Round and round she goes, where she stops, no one knows.
"Why did she do it?" I asked. My voice was thick, the knot in my throat making it difficult to form the words. I was still struggling to understand how my mother could have justified her actions. "Why did she run away with me?"
Charlie sighed, gently closing the music box. "There isn't an easy answer - at least I don't think there is. Life here was going to evolve a certain way and Ren-" he stopped abruptly, like it hurt too much to say her name. "Your mom had a hard time with that."
"So, what," I said, the confusion and anger that had been building for days finally spilling over, "she can't handle it, so she takes me and runs? How is that fair?"
Charlie shook his head, the smile that had lit up his face all afternoon fading into sadness. "Life is a lot more complicated than we give it credit for, Bella. Your mom and I got married young, probably too young. Hell, she had a baby before she was even legal to drink. You think you know a lot of things at twenty, that you can handle everything life throws at you, but you're still growing up. People change-"
"I'm still waiting for her to grow up," I said bitterly. "No mature adult would pull what she did. She lied to me. She told me you didn't want me, that she was all I needed …" The tears were coming fast and furious, fueled by my anger and grief. "I don't want to have to choose between the two of you, and I feel like Renee robbed me of that choice because I wasn't old enough to fight for you. God, I wasn't even old enough to remember you."
He touched my face, his index finger tentatively wiping away a single tear. "She didn't make you choose, Bella. She thought she was doing the right thing. It wasn't meant to hurt you."
"Well it did," I said, sounding like what I was, a petulant child who wanted him to justify my anger with his own. "How do I forgive that?"
He sighed, and wiped away another tear. "Love makes you do strange things. Someday you'll understand that. It's the only justification I can give you."
We let the topic drop after that as Charlie distracted me with stories about his childhood in Forks. He told me about his parents, his much older brother who had died in Vietnam. He told me about his friends here and the things that he enjoyed doing. The picture he painted for me told me his life story, revealing a kind, gentle man who believed absolutely that 'good will out' regardless of how great the challenge.
I liked him very much.
That night, after he left, I took the garbage out, almost stepping on a small bundle of holly sprigs that lay on the back step. The dark blue-green spiky leaves were peppered with red berries, the branch, trimmed and cleaned, was wrapped in a soft satin bow. I stepped forward, searching the backyard for his presence. The small outdoor light only illuminated a portion of the yard, leaving the woods and all that lay beyond in shadow. I couldn't tell whether Edward stood at the edge of the path, watching me as I accepted his gift. It had to be him, for it was such an old fashioned gesture, gallant and chivalrous.
After I put the holy in water, I wandered around the living room, taking in the photos on the mantle and the little tokens scattered throughout the room. When I did finally go to bed, Charlie's comments about the things we do for love weighed heavily on me, and my ruminations on what it must have been like for my parents prevented me from drifting off to sleep for a very long time. When I did finally fall doze off, the dreams came rushing up to claim me, vibrant and surreal in their clarity.
The dark receded, leaving me in what appeared to be an empty stage. I was dressed in a simple white satin leotard and stiff white tutu, one side slightly flattened like the plastic doll in my music box. As the first strains of the Overture began to play from somewhere off-stage, my body reacted, moving forward to execute a long string of pirouettes. I watched from far away, disembodied, as my body executed the turns with an elegant precision I was incapable of in real life. Periodically, my leg would extend, and I would catch a fleeting glimpse of scarlet red toe shoes, their long ribbons snaking up my legs like angry trails of blood.
As the music grew to its crescendo, my spins increased, the motions out of sync with the song's rhythm. I continued to whirl around and around the dark stage as the malevolent laughter echoed around me, overtaking the music with an evil glee that chilled me to the bone.
Just as panic threatened to overtake me, there was a hand at my waist, gentle pressure slowing me down and controlling the frenetic spins I was incapable of stopping. Each rotation was slower and slower, until finally I stopped all together.
"You're safe now," Edward said, his hands gently holding me in place. The laughter and music were gone. I dropped my head to his neck, breathing deep the scents of cinnamon and pine trees as he folded me in closer to his body. "I will never let anyone hurt you. You are my vow."
When I woke up, I didn't feel scared or confused. Just safe.
Ω Ω Ω
"I still don't understand why this is necessary," Charlie said. He'd been harping on the blood test for the last thirty minutes, trying to get Rosalie Hale to back down. "I know who she is. That should be more than enough. You don't need to draw blood to tell me she's my own kid."
Rosalie sighed and smoothed back her perfectly coiffed hair. "I understand your frustration, Chief, but the terms of the trust mandate a blood test to prove Bella is who she is. It was established before the current paternity standard of cheek swabs became commonly available. Bella's blood type will be checked against yours and your ex-wife's, and we'll use that to validate or rule out if it is physically possible for her to be your child."
"Of course it's physical possible!" Charlie bit back, which clearly surprised Rosalie, her perfect eyebrows shooting up in shock. "She looks just like her mother. Her eyes are the exact same color as mine! Her hair is too! And she's got the weird swirly thing-" he held his hand up, making a circular motion over the crown of his head, "like I do!"
"Dad, it's okay," I said, placing my hand on his arm. "I don't mind. And it's called a cowlick."
He took a deep breath, trying to reign himself in. "It's still unnecessary, I know who you are."
"It's okay, it won't take long," I promised, sounding much more confident than I was. I knew that Charlie Swan was my father, just as much as I knew that my mother's name was Renee Dwyer, and I liked to sleep on my stomach. I just inherently knew. It didn't quell the fear that had worked itself into a knot in my chest, the inevitable what if.
"Carlisle will be taking care of the blood draw," Rosalie said, her gaze level with Charlie's. This seemed to soothe him, the rigid set of his shoulders relaxing just a bit. "You know that my brother would never do anything to harm Bella-"
"Did someone just take my name in vain?"
A very handsome blonde man had walked up behind Rosalie, his hand extending to Charlie in greeting.
"Hello, Chief. It's nice to see you again."
"Dr. Cullen," Charlie said, tipping his head in my direction. "This is my daughter, Bella."
When the blonde man, Dr. Cullen, smiled at me, it was genuine and warm, making me feel like I was a long lost friend. "It's nice to finally meet you, Bella. I've heard a lot about you."
Glancing down at his watch, he looked up quickly at Rosalie. "Traffic is light today, and I need something to do, so I'll be drawing your blood instead of a tech. Shall we get this show on the road?"
Charlie and Rosalie exchanged a glance as Dr. Cullen extended his arm, palm up, an invitation for me to walk with him down the hallway. I could hear Charlie follow after us, his heavy work boots echoing on the linoleum floor.
"You need to wait here, Chief," Dr. Cullen said kindly. Charlie stopped, his eyes focused exclusively on me.
"I'll be fine, don't worry. Now go on, don't you have a job? Doughnuts to eat or something?"
The joke had its intended impact, as Charlie bowed his head to hide his smile. "Fine, but I'll meet you at your house later, okay?"
I smiled, happy that it had morphed from his parent's house to my house so easily. I'd not made up my mind whether or not I would be staying in Forks, but just the concept that I had a place to call my own meant the world to me. Once upon a time I'd felt that way about my apartment in Phoenix, excited to have something that was exclusively mine. I understood now that there was a difference between a house and a home, a place that you rented and housed your things, and a place that held memories and your heart.
Dr. Cullen led me through the hospital, pushing through a set of double doors to enter a large lab. "Since we are doing a simple blood draw, no need to do an examination room," he said, patting a tall stool that stood next to a counter. "Have a seat. I'll just need to get a kit."
I climbed up on the stool and peeled off the sweater I'd thrown on over my t-shirt that morning. The bright fluorescent lights overhead made my veins stand out against my skin, a web of dark blue that crisscrossed the inside of my arm.
Sitting down on a matching stool across from me, Dr. Cullen tore open a narrow plastic packet and eased a syringe out of the pocket.
"So much for hoping this would just be a finger prick," I said, eyeing the syringe uneasily.
"In most places it would be, but the hospital doesn't have the necessary equipment for that." Dr. Cullen smiled up at me, trying to allay my concerns. "Don't worry, I've been doing this for ages, so I'm kind of a pro. It won't hurt at all. If it does, you can say I was the prick, and I'll leave it up to you if I was a big or small one."
"That's what he said," I mumbled as I watched him screw a small vial into the plastic sleeve.
"You aren't a big fan of needles, I take it?"
"I'm not a big fan of blood," I said, quickly shifting my focus to a brightly colored poster on the far wall that outlined the steps for dealing with biohazardous waste. My cheeks blazed a furious hot red as he secured a tourniquet around my left bicep. "If it hurts when you take it out, maybe it should stay where it is."
Dr. Cullen laughed as he swabbed the skin just below the bend of my elbow. "I guess that is one way of looking at it."
I could hear him shuffling things around, but I refused to tear my eyes away from the picture on the wall. If I didn't look, I wouldn't know what he was doing, and it would prevent me from tensing up, which would only make the blood draw hurt worse.
"When I was twelve, I fell down the steps of the apartment building we lived in," I said, babbling to cover the sound of plastic clinking against metal. "I bit my tongue so hard my mom had to take me to the emergency room. I'd hurt myself before, skinned knees, random cuts, that sort of thing, but it was the first time I'd ever tasted blood, you know?"
"Just a quick pinch," Dr. Cullen said, as a sharp pain shot through my arm. My face flared red again, tears welling up in my eyes.
"I can remember telling my mom that blood tasted like a penny that had been dropped in salt water," I said, my voice choppy. "She laughed at me and told me I was crazy. She said blood couldn't taste metallic, but it does."
There was gentle pressure as Dr. Cullen pressed a cotton ball against my arm. "Would you hold that please? I'll put a Band-Aid on it in just a moment."
He rolled his stool backwards, unscrewing the vial from syringe. "You know, I've never heard anyone describe the taste of blood before, especially not while it's being extracted from their person."
"What can I say? I'm an odd duck." I watched as he jotted a quick note on a small label and affixed it to the vial. "I think I met someone that was related to you the other day. He had the same strange speech patterns that you do."
"That would be Jasper; he's my brother. Well, foster brother. We grew up together," Dr. Cullen smiled as he jotted another note down on a piece of paper and inserted it into a file. "Although I don't think we sound at all alike."
"I meant Edward."
Dr. Cullen looked up, the serene smile slipping into a look of surprise. "You met Edward?"
"In the forest the other day," I said, suddenly worried that I'd said something wrong. "I kind of got lost, and he helped me find my way back." While not an overt lie, my admission had not been entirely truthful either. I couldn't tell if Dr. Cullen accepted my answer at face value or not.
"That's interesting," he said, resuming his paperwork. "Edward doesn't typically venture into town. He prefers staying to himself."
"Yeah, he seemed a little… I don't know, awkward?"
Dr. Cullen laughed, the good humor returning as he retrieved a Band-Aid from an overhead cabinet. "That would be Edward. He's very perceptive, and it makes it challenging for him to interact with other people. They don't quite know how to handle his…quirks."
"I think I can understand that," I said, unsettled by my need to justify or defend Edward's socially awkward behavior. "I don't know how to 'be,'" I raised my free hand to make an air quote, "around people either. The only person I ever spent any real time with is my mom, and I think I was the adult in that relationship."
"That must have been challenging," Dr. Cullen said. "You remind me a lot of my wife, you know. Your senses of humor are very similar. She was the one that stocked the house for Rosalie."
"She's the one that likes the tea, I guess." My observation came out sounding more sarcastic than I'd intended.
"Did she go overboard? She has a habit of doing that sometimes," he said with a smile. "I told her once I enjoyed a certain type of soap. Esme bought a case."
"I guess you could say she means well?" I had to laugh at the besotted expression on Dr. Cullen's face. He was attractive, and I was sure that there were women at the hospital that pursued him with a vengeance, but it was abundantly clear he had eyes for one woman and one woman alone.
"We're all done here," he said, standing and extending a hand to me. "Was your father going to wait for you?"
"No, I told him to go get some work done. I doubt the taxpayers would appreciate their Chief of Police loitering around the hospital while you sucked my blood out through a tube."
Dr. Cullen actually snorted, then looked away, as if embarrassed. "I can see why you get along with Edward. He has the same rather dry wit."
"I hope I'm not that painful to talk to," I countered, standing to follow Dr. Cullen out of the lab. "It took him a few minutes to loosen up. At first he looked like he was terrified of me."
"Well, you are rather terrifying to behold," he teased, holding out a hand. "I'll get this moving. We should have you typed in no time. Rosalie indicated that should be more than enough."
"I'm good with anything that means no more bloodletting," I said, my hand instinctively pressing against the band-aid at the crook of my arm. "But you were pretty good, Dr. Cullen."
"Please, Carlisle. Dr. Cullen makes me sound ancient," he said lightly. "And thank you for being kind to Edward. I know he could use a friend."
He pushed open the double doors for me, leading me back out into the waiting area. A nurse quickly descended on him with a chart, and I was left alone to see myself out.
Ω Ω Ω
The whole experience of giving blood left me on edge, so with nothing urgent that required my attention, I decided to go for a drive and clear my head. My rental car, left in the garage by Jasper, had GPS and allowed me to wander aimlessly along wooded roads that dropped off near the ocean, the pungent scent of salt water filling my lungs and reminding me of my dreams and of Edward. I wasn't sure what it was about him that fascinated me, for we'd only had that one awkward interaction in the woods, but it had been enough for him to burrow into my subconscious, invading even my dreams.
Parking the car, I climbed out and stood on the shoulder, looking down over the guardrail that created a barrier between the road and the beach below. The sun was beginning to set over the water, deep rich purples streaking the early evening sky. It was beautiful here, exotic and wild in a way that Phoenix had never been, and I found myself wishing for a way to channel that energy. I longed to be exotic and beautiful, someone who captivated people and compelled them into action. I'd watched my mother be like that, full of energy and excitement, and for the first time in my life I envied her that ability. In the short time I'd spent here, I'd come to realize that my life in Phoenix had been closed off at my own choosing. I wasn't any different than
any other college student trying to find themselves. I'd just never had the proper motivation. Standing here, on the edge of the continental United States, staring out at the setting sun, I realized that I, too, could take a chance and put myself out there. Who cared about what came next – it was time to live in the now. My mother's actions might have put me on this path, but
I was the only one who could decide what came next.
It was with that resolve that I climbed in the car and drove home, my mind turning over the potential that came with my 'inheritance' and the decisions that came with it. I'd lost myself
so deep in the what ifs of leaving Phoenix that I didn't notice the small silver car parked at the curb, nor did I realize that Edward was there, standing on the stoop, until I was halfway up
the walk.
"Hello," he said, almost shyly. Without looking me directly in the eye, Edward extended his hand in offering. He'd brought another small bunch of holly, the thin branches at the base wrapped in white ribbon like a bouquet.
"Hi," I said back to him, and it came out like a sigh. I was happy that he was here, but I didn't know how to articulate that in a way that wouldn't make him uncomfortable. The simple fact that I liked it so much made me uncomfortable. "Have you been waiting long?"
"Not really," he said. "You liked the leaves so much, I wanted you to have more. I've never seen someone so mesmerized by something as simple as leaves. Besides, holly is supposed to give you pleasant dreams."
"I could use that," I said, accepting his offering. The white ribbon was smooth against my fingers, and my hand shook a bit as I recalled the frenetic spinning from my nightmare. Before I could drop the bouquet, Edward's fingers wrapped around mine, stabilizing me and holding me firm. It was just like my dream, not too firm, just enough to balance me, to allow me to keep control. It was as though he knew what I needed without me even having to ask.
"It's supposed to be clear tonight," he said, his voice soft and warm. "I thought you might want to sit outside. I can show you the constellations. With the back light off, we should be able to see a number of stars."
"It gets awfully cold here at night," I said, afraid to look up and betray what I was taking from his simple gesture. "And I haven't had dinner yet. Would you like to join me?"
For some reason, the idea of sitting down at my grandmother's dining room table with Edward made me nervous. I could cook, but what would I do that would impress him? There was food in the refrigerator, but was it enough to put together something palatable? What if he didn't like my cooking or didn't eat meat, or –
"I ate already, but I would like to stay with you, if you don't mind," he said. When I worked up the courage to look up at him, tipping my head back because he was almost a foot taller than me, Edward was smiling down at me. It was a radiant, beatific smile that lit up his whole face, erasing any sign that he was uncomfortable or felt awkward. His brothers were both lovely, handsome men, but they were nothing that compared to this, the beauty and innocence that shone through when he smiled took my breath away. I wanted to press my fingers against his face, tracing the contours of his cheek bones and nose in an attempt to understand the dimensions. What took him from being mildly attractive to this was a simple miracle, the combination of genetics and luck that, with a fraction of a millimeter in a different direction, would have changed everything.
I broke away first, my cheeks blazing as I unlocked the door and led him into my grandmother's small house. A chill had set in, the temperature probably dropping lower than anything I had ever experienced.
"You're cold," he said, releasing my hand as if it had something to do with him.
"I messed with the heat last night," I said, chaffing my arms in a lame attempt to generate warmth, "but I couldn't get it to kick on."
"Your furnace runs on oil. I'm sure no one thought to fill the tank, what with the house being unoccupied." He stepped forward, tugging a throw from the back of the couch and draping it around my shoulders. "There was a small wood pile in back. I'll bring some inside and start a fire while you warm up."
Edward strode decisively across the room, the energy that coiled just beneath his skin converting into clean, efficient motions. I opened my mouth to protest, but stopped, realizing that, for the first time in memory, someone was taking care of me, and it wasn't because they had to or because I was sick. Edward wanted to do this for me because, well—I didn't know
his motivations, and I wasn't going to question them. It simply felt nice.
I curled up in a ball on the couch, watching as Edward carried armload after armload of wood
in from the small bin next to the garage. He repeated the cycle four times, and each circuit was the same. As soon as he entered the room, he would look to me, his smile growing just a fraction of an inch as our eyes made contact. Then he would cross the room, long lanky strides that were almost a swagger. It reminded me of a time in high school when Renee and I had stopped for ice cream. We'd sat on a park bench, laughing at a group of middle-aged men playing softball. One guy had carried himself in a similar fashion, and Renee had made a comment about a man like that being 'mad, bad, and the kind of dangerous I would like to know.' At the time, I'd not understood what she meant, but watching Edward carry firewood across the room, I had an innate understanding of just exactly what she'd been thinking—and even more so, as I had to agree.
"Oh my god," I squeaked, slamming my hands against my mouth in mortification. Edward jumped, the firewood he was loading into a large basket crashing to the hardwood floor.
"Are you okay?" He asked, his attention focused solely on me, eyes wide with concern.
"Yes," I croaked, infinitely thankful that he couldn't read my mind. I'd somehow managed to connect the dots from a relatively innocent thought about how Edward moved to a rather crude statement my mother had made year ago, and more importantly, I was more worried about him thinking badly of me than embarrassed that I had objectified him.
Oh, Bella, I chided myself silently. You have a crush on an adorably awkward guy you don't even know in a town you don't even live in. Not the wisest move.
Edward turned back to the wood burning stove, pulling open the door and neatly stacking the firewood inside. Once he was happy with his stack, he stuffed small shards of wood and around the logs for tinder, eschewing the small pile of newspaper that was stacked in a basket next to the heart to get the fire started. He fumbled with the first few matches, muttering to himself as the thin wood shattered under his pressure, crumbling and fluttering to the floor. On the fifth try, a flint caught, flaring to life, the orange glow casting a gentle light across Edward's face as he lowered the match to the pile of kindling. As the first pine cone lit, he blew gently, the flames roaring high enough to catch the wood and ignite. Within minutes, the fire was roaring, the door of the giant cast iron store sealed shut as the temperature in the room slowly began
to rise.
"Thank you," I said, staring awkwardly at my lap. "This cold weather takes a bit of getting
used to."
"Was it really that hot where you came from?" He sank down on the couch next to me, one
long leg bent over the other.
"Like Hades on a bad day," I said with a laugh. "Friday was supposed to be one hundred degrees, which is hot for September."
He nodded, his eyes never leaving my face. We were passing polite conversation, meaningless filler as we sized each other up. Conversation about weather and my comfort with the temperature gave him a reason to touch me and take care of me – something that no one else had ever cared or taken the time to do. I wanted to tell myself that this was irrational, that I was behaving like a lunatic. I shouldn't be flirting with a stranger, finding comfort with someone I didn't even know. I should be on the phone with my mother, demanding answers, trying to figure out where my life would go from here.
Those were the things I should have done, but not the things I chose to do. Instead, I spoke to this stranger, telling him stories about my life, about my father and what I was learning, about my mother and the anger I had for her at lying to me, and the fear I was suppressing that there might be something underneath at all that justified her behavior. In return, he took my hand, and asked me gentle questions that allowed me to wind through my own conflicted thoughts to vocalize all the things that scared me too much to admit.
"I met Carlisle today," I said, changing the direction of our conversation. Edward stiffened and moved to withdraw his hand, but I held on tight, refusing to let him go. "His hands were cold like yours. I'd make a joke about you needing to see a doctor, but given that he is one…"
Edward laughed, but it was clear he was uncomfortable with the conversation.
"He told me a little bit about his wife-"
"Esme," he said, completing my sentence. "His wife's name is Esme."
"He loves her a lot, it was written all over his face," I said, staring at a spot on the couch just above where our intertwined hands rested. I'd had relationships, dated, even had sex before, but I'd never had anyone love me the way it was clear that Carlisle loved his wife. Those were the looks that storybooks were made of, a cottage industry of happily ever after.
"They are two halves of a whole." Edward's voice was low, almost reverential. "They have their own identities, yet they blend together so seamlessly that there are times where it's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. It's been like that since the first day he brought her home – like no one else in the world exists besides her."
"It all sounds very fairy tale," I said, awed by the reverence with which he revealed snippets of his brother's story.
"Only in that fairy tales have often macabre, dark twists," Edward replied cryptically. "But they found their happily ever after. All of my siblings have. Three perfectly matched sets, counter-weighted to balance in every way."
The way he said it, so melancholy and lost, made my heart ache. While I'd never spent time wondering about conventional relationships, Edward had been surrounded by what sounded like the purest forms of love. I'd witnessed the short, bright blaze of glory that came when Renee met and fell for Phil. It had been painful to witness her happiness, and I'd forced down my jealousy as she'd gone on and on about him. But they were a more conventional type of relationship, settling into the normal highs and lows that came with marriage. The way that Carlisle had spoken of his wife today, and the awe with which Edward referred to the relationship, was something all together different. People aspired to find someone like that, an all-consuming, all-knowing love that would stand the test of time, of challenges, of threats and even death.
It made me wonder if my parents had loved each other enough, and had been willing to fight
to maintain that, maybe I would have grown up here in this town, and everything would have turned out so incredibly different.
"What are you thinking?" Edward murmured, his free hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from my face. "I wish to god that I could hear your thoughts, more than anything in the world."
"Just wondering what if," I said, smiling back at him.
Earlier, I'd decided to focus on moving forward, on letting the here and now unfold around me and take me where it would. Wondering what if would accomplish none of that. I would not dwell on the past, nor would I harbor my mother any ill will. Once the blood test was complete and I had proof of who I was, I would call her and allow her to tell me her side of the story. There had to be more to it than what I thought.
At least I hoped.
I glanced over at the bookshelf, and the thin spine of the History of Forks book I had skimmed the other day. There were epic stories in this town. Ones of love, of life, and of loss, all coiled round each other so tightly that extracting one meant cutting another. That was how Renee had extracted herself from this town, and in a way, I guessed I could give her that. I also knew that I wasn't her, and the idea that there could be a place for me here was a concept I wanted to explore. I would take what this town, what my father, what Edward wanted to give me, and I would meet them in the middle, hopefully turning this strange situation into something exponentially more.