Chapter 6 – Not an Easy Day to Forget

When I was a little girl, my mother and I used to watch classic movies – old black and white's with ridiculous scenarios like baby leopards being raised in a city or mysterious utterances referencing children's sleds. My favorites had been the epics, which wove together adventure and mystery all while pairing a quirky girl with a mysterious man. They would overcome the odds, falling madly in love while saving the day. I can remember sitting curled up on the couch and watching as the story unfolded thinking 'someday, that will be me.'

As I got older, I began to realize that the interpersonal dynamics of relationships didn't often account for the confcept of 'magic.' There would most likely be no grand spark, no heated glance across a crowded room, no roguish smile that would send my heart racing followed by an adventure of epic proportions. The reality of life was much more mundane, and I'd resigned myself to the fact that, if I did ever meet someone, it would probably be in some incredibly pedestrian manner, like a blind date or bumping into each other in a grocery store.

That was, until I landed in a sleepy little town called Forks and met a strange young man in the woods who could calm me merely by his presence. It wasn't the fire of eyes meeting across the room, but a giddy euphoria. The spark that grew out of the moment was undeniable, and it only continued to intensify, catching flame and soaring to life just like the fire in the large cast iron stove, which warmed the air around as we sat in my grandmother's living room talking.

"Are you sure you are comfortable?" Edward asked. Before I could answer, he pulled a pillow out from behind his back and passed it to me. "Do you need another blanket?"

"I'm fine, thank you," I said, hugging the pillow to my chest. It smelled like him, and I knew
I would hold on to this tonight once he was gone, maybe even sleeping with it in the hopes of keeping the bad dreams away. "Thank you for building the fire. I don't think I could have handled another night without heat."

"We've grown so accustomed to it here - I take it for granted that people might find the weather jarring." Edward's gaze was unfocused, staring off into space. "I can't imagine what it would be like to live in a place so hot and sunny."

"That's why I like the green so much," I said, leaning my head against the back against a cushion. "I probably sounds strange saying I got tired of sunshine and warm weather all the time."

"No, I think it's nature to crave the unknown." Edward draped his arm across the back of the couch, his long elegant fingers tracing abstract patterns along the rolled piping just a few inches from my head. "Do you know why your mother took you there, to the desert?"

"We never really talked about it. I don't think she's a big fan of cold weather, although she's never really said anything to make the think that. She also used to say that good old vitamin D was the answer for everything in life that could ail you." I extended my arm, forcing the sleeve of my sweater up to display a long expanse of ivory white skin. "As you can see, it did a fat lot of good for me."

My sarcasm was an attempt to defray the more obvious issue. Renee had taken me to a place that was the polar opposite of Forks; blue sky instead of clouds, dry instead of wet. It's like she created a negative image for us to live in, one that flipped the colors and sensations. The question that still nagged at me was why?

"Sunshine can be good for you," Edward said. I couldn't help but notice he refused to look down at my arm, and the hand that had been resting on the back of the couch balled into a fist, making me wonder if I'd done something to make him uncomfortable. "Sometimes if nothing more than making you feel like you are safe."

"Safe from what?" I said, tugging my sleeve back down. "From the dark? The boogey man? They'll get you no matter what. It might be sunny all the time, but the sun still goes down, and bad things still happen. Light has nothing to do with that."

"Maybe some people just need the light to feel safe," he responded cryptically. "They don't like shadows."

"Sunshine casts longer shadows then clouds do," I said.

"It also leaves fewer places to hide," he countered.

Before I could respond to his strange observation, Edward stood and extended his hand to touch my face gently, just the faintest pressure against my cheek and then it was gone.

"It's late, Bella. I should go. A strange car out front at this time of the night will most likely cause the neighbors to talk, and I wouldn't want my need to spend time with you to set the tongues of the local gossips wagging."

"Why would I care what people say about me?" I asked. I was an adult, and there was nothing illicit or illegal going on, nothing for anyone to get bent out of shape about. "They don't even know me."

"Because you are interesting, and people want to know you. You're new to them, the girl who was stolen away. They all want to know you, and they all very much like and respect your father," he inclined his head, holding my gaze as I tried to look away. "Layer in that you have
a male visitor staying into the wee hours of the night, and you'll fuel coffee shop talk for ages. It's the way of small towns. If there isn't anything interesting going on, make something up."

"And you think you are protecting me from that fate by being the proper gentleman?" I teased, trying not only to lighten the conversation but to extend his time here. "I appreciate that, but
I think I'm capable of defending my own dignity. I have twenty three years experience with it."

"Twenty two," he corrected me. "You aren't quite twenty three quite yet."

"Semantics," I said, rolling my eyes in mock indignation. Edward snorted a laugh, his eyes full of mischievous glee. I'd managed to get a few laughs like that out of him over the course of the evening, and the effort had been worth it, for when he did laugh, the smile transformed his
face was breathtaking. The awkward, formal air fell away, and I could see the man who lurked underneath, full of humor, sarcasm, and spirit.

"My brothers like you," he said, ducking his head. "Jasper said you were full of 'piss and vinegar,' and Carlisle said you were dealing well with this whole 'arsy varsy' situation." His inflections were spot on, picking up the way Jasper would have pronounced the soft vowels in vinegar and Carlisle's strange r sound in varsy. "But this is a small town, and people will talk. So it's better that I go."

Before I could argue, Edward had moved across the room, tugging the front door open.

"Sleep well, Isabella Swan," he said quietly. "Thank you for bringing some sunshine to this cloudy little corner of the world. It might be an inverse of what you know, but it's a welcome change of pace for me."

If my life had been a movie, there would have been a sweeping crescendo of music as the door clicked gently shut, the heroine pressing her hand to her chest and sighing heavily.

Ω Ω Ω

Wednesday morning was overcast, which I had come to realize was the norm in this part of the country. I'd woken up just a little after ten, surprisingly refreshed and free of nightmares. I wanted to chalk it up to exhaustion, but a small part of me refused to let go of the fact that I'd slept with a sofa cushion that smelled like pine and cinnamon clutched to my chest all night.

I decided to spend my day running errands and exploring the area on my own. The bulk of my time in Forks had been guided, either by Charlie or Rosalie, and I thought it would be wise to get an independent feel for the town and its inhabitants before making a decision that could very well affect the course of my life. I would find the grocery store and stock up on supplies (and maybe coffee), find a hardware store to buy some fire starters and an oversized lighter, and I'd search out the library. If I were to stay, I would need something to do, and books usually did the trick.

In the end, there wasn't a whole lot to see. Three major roads, Bogachiel, Calawah, and South Forks split the town into lopsided quarters. The majority of activity was concentrated along South Forks, which also served as the major artery in and out of town. In the course of ninety minutes I easily found the high school, the bowling alley, my way back to the hospital, a handful of restaurants, and the airport. Short of driving through the individual little neighborhoods, I'd pretty much found all that Forks could offer.

"Well, you wanted change," I told myself, pulling to a stop in front of the library. It was on the main drag in the middle of the town, the long awning that fronted the building making it look like a bank circa the late 60's. "This is most definitely change."

The towns and cities that I'd grown up in hadn't been thriving metropolises, at least not until we'd moved to Phoenix, but they'd always been on the outskirts of a larger city with more to offer. I couldn't ever remember living in a place that didn't have at least two fast food restaurants, let alone a big box retail store. With its lack of outside commercial influence, Forks felt like a town that time forgot. Were it not for the modern cars dotting the road, it could have been 1960 just as easily as 2010.

If the town was quaint, then the inside of the library was downright antiquated. It was small, with outdated computers and faded vinyl covered chairs. The woman at the reference desk had a large, over-lacquered helmet of curls and garish pink lipstick. It matched her fuchsia sweater set perfectly.

It would seem I'd stepped back twenty five years in time.

"I was wondering if I could take a look at some of your newspaper archives," I asked, assuming that a facility this small would keep everything on microfiche or hard copy. I wanted to learn more about my family, and short of asking my father, the newspaper would be the best place to start. Birth announcements, obituaries, divorces, everything should be documented in the local paper, along with whatever else might have been going on at the time. It would provide an agnostic source of information, something that could give me a clue as to what had set off this whole strange chain of events in the first place.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," the older woman clucked. "We're in the process of indexing everything right now. The main branch in Port Angeles has archives of the Peninsula Daily News, you can try there if you'd like."

I glanced around the library, taking in the stacks and rows with dated magazines, wondering what else could give me insights into this strange little town. A large black and white picture on the far wall, five men standing around a pile of charred tree trunks, was just the push I needed.

"How about anything on the fire of 1951?" I asked, searching my memory for anything that might help. The inscription in The Making of Forks, most likely written by my grandfather, had alluded to a tragedy. Maybe my families had something to do with the fire, or maybe the fire was what had brought them here in the first place. I was grasping at straws, but there had to be some little nugget or factoid that would give me something.

At this point, anything was more than what I had.

"I'm so sorry, the high school AP class is doing some research work right now, dear," the old lady said sympathetically. "Checked out everything we had this morning. I can give you a call when they come back in, if you'd like."

I sighed, exasperated by another blind alley. In a town the size of Phoenix, with multiple universities at my disposal, this wouldn't have been an issue. I would have been able to pull up the info, cross reference it, and move on. But Forks wasn't Phoenix, and I was coming to realize that might be at the heart of the issue. I'd expected opposites, green for brown, wet for dry, but not the other differences inherent to a small town. It would seem I didn't think about a lot of things. "No, that's okay, thank you for your time."

"It's nice to have you back," the woman called after me. I pulled up short, looking back over my shoulder at her in surprise. "You look just like your mother, but there is no mistaking the Swan in you – that Irish blood is strong."

She smiled at me, and it was meant to be kind, but the familiarity with which she spoke of my family spooked me. I'd gone into this whole endeavor so blindly, never stopping to think beyond the immediate questions about my father and the trust. I hadn't taken into account what it would be like going from an area with millions of people to a town of three thousand, nor had I ever stopped to consider what these people might think they knew about me. I was slowly starting to understand why my mother would have chafed under circumstances like these.

You're new to them, the girl who was stolen away. They all want to know you, and they all very much like and respect your father.

I'd discredited Edward's observation the night before, considering his outdated sensibilities chivalrous. Maybe he'd been on to something after all. That sense of discomfort, of being under a microscope lens, continued as I left the library, where I was greeted by a chubby man with a bulbous nose. He patted me on the head like a child and told me 'it was good to have Charlie's girl home.'

It was all I could do not to pull away and run for my car. These people thought they knew me, when I didn't even know myself. I'd come to Forks to find the answers to who I really was, but it would seem that there was a readymade identity for me to walk right into, and I didn't know enough yet to willingly accept that.

I willed myself to walk slowly to my car, taking deep, even breaths to quell the bubbling claustrophobia that rose up in my chest. Cars rolled by, heads turning to look in my direction, but I refused to meet their gaze.

"Hey, stranger!"

The shout scared me, and I jumped, dropping my backpack. It landed on the sidewalk, where it caught the lip of the curb and flipped over into the street. I scrambled to retrieve it, then chided myself at my ridiculous reaction. I wasn't in Phoenix, and the traffic was light, no one was going to run over my bag.

Not like it had anything in it anyway.

"What is it about you dropping stuff?" Jasper Whitlock called from across the street, where he leaned up against his black suburban. He waved me over, then turned to face a tall, dark haired man who was staring at me openly. I waited for an old beat up pickup truck to pass before I darted across the street, my empty backpack grasped securely in one hand.

"Out exploring, huh?" he asked, smile wide. "Find anything exciting?"

"The bowling alley, a few bars, and a library that had a whole lot of nothing," I replied sarcastically. "What do you do for fun around here, watch the grass grow?"

"Can't say that I didn't feel any differently at first. This town rolls up its sidewalks at eight, doesn't it, Jasper?" the dark haired man said, smiling at me. He had deep dimples, like little commas, bracketing his mouth and creating the mental visual for 'insert laugh here.' "So you are the one that's been keeping my wife so busy. Rose said you were little, she should have said bite sized."

"Emmett, don't be an ass," Jasper chided him. He shrugged apologetically, "As you can tell, Rosalie is the charming one in their relationship."

"I guess that would make you Emmett Hale," I said, extending my hand. "I'm-"

"Isabella Swan, I know. And it's McCarty, Emmett McCarty. Rose kept her last name."

I frowned, darting a glance at Jasper. Wasn't his last name Whitlock? But Rosalie was his sister, and she'd kept her maiden name of Hale. They looked too much alike to not be related, but the last names didn't make any sense.

Emmett reclaimed my attention when curled his hand up, fist extended. "I only shake for business, and since this isn't business," he said, waiting for me to return the gesture. I made a fist, and gently tapped my knuckles against his. The smile grew, his nose wrinkling like a little boy. "That's what I'm talking about, none of this proper b.s."

He was disarmingly handsome, with a youthful air about him, which was completely out of keeping with his sheer bulk. I could only imagine the image that he and Rosalie created together, dark and light, beautiful and charming. Everyone I'd met in this strange extended family had been incredibly attractive. It had to be intimidating to have them all together at the same time.

"Listen to Mr. All American, sucking up," Jasper teased his brother in law. "Watch him, Bella, he'll steal candy from a baby if you let him."

"You are such an dick," Emmett said, shoving Jasper off balance. "Don't listen to him, Bella.
I'm nice as pie."

"In your dreams, huckleberry," Jasper shot back. They had an easy, comfortable banter, reminding me of two boys in a school yard, posturing for the attention of a girl. Only that girl was…me.

"So now I get why Eddie-boy has come home all happy the last few days," Emmett said, smiling wickedly at me. His eyes were the same honey gold color as Rosalie, Jasper, Edward and Carlisle.

That's strange, I thought to myself. What are the odds of all these people, having the same color eyes?

Jasper shot Emmett a warning look, but Emmett was having none of it. "You've had him climbing the-"

The mechanical ring of an old telephone interrupted Emmett, and sent me scrambling for the cell phone I'd shoved in the pocket of my coat. "Hello?"

"Bella, it's Rosalie Hale. Do you have a minute?"

"Sure," I said, hiking my backpack up onto my shoulder. "Jasper was just introducing me to your husband. What's up?"

If Rosalie was surprised that I was meeting her husband, she didn't indicate it. In fact, she didn't make note of it at all.

"Carlisle typed your blood this morning. You are B negative. Given your parents' rare blood types and the strong resemblance you have to both Renee Higgenbotham and Charlie Swan, I'm comfortable with his endorsement that you are their biological child."

I must have swayed a bit, for Jasper braced his hand underneath my elbow, his eyes searching my face. I shook my head to let him know I was okay, taking a deep breath and focusing on the topic at hand.

"So now what?"

"A few things," Rosalie said, and I could hear paper shuffling in the background. "We'll go ahead and have the blood sent out. Charlie has provided a sample as well, and I'll request that a traditional analysis be run to verify Carlisle's endorsement. I will inform Charlie, in a legal capacity of course, that the typing was complete and the results were as expected. He is the trustee responsible for the execution of your grandmother's instructions, so he will need to be informed of any decisions made related to the trust."

"And I still have until the thirteenth to decide anything, right?" I asked, my gaze drifting down the stretch of South Forks Avenue. A school bus had rolled to a stop at a light, the bright gold vehicle filled with children, their mops of blonde and brown hair just barely visible through the windows. It was the end of the school day here, and children would be running home, their books tossed aside for a few hours of play time.

I suddenly wanted to do the same exact thing – to run around in the backyard, blowing bubbles and playing dolls. I didn't want to be a practical adult, making big kid decisions. I wanted to be free – be careless – be the child I'd never really been allowed to be.

"Yes, you have a few more days," Rosalie said, bringing me back to reality. "If you choose not to take residence, the house will revert to your father and the money will be given to a local charity."

She delivered the terms with a clipped efficiency that would have been off-putting to others, but not to me. I'd watched her interactions with my father the other morning. Rosalie clearly respected him, and I had a sneaking suspicion that this was her way of trying to protect my dad. It made me like her just a little bit more.

"That's fair," I said, lamely providing something to fill the dead air. "Rosalie, do you by chance have my father's address? I'd like to drive by where I used to live."

Rosalie rattled off a street which I recognized from my explorations earlier in the day. I thanked her, and slipped my phone back in my pocket.

"Off to check out the old homestead, then?" Jasper asked. His expression was guarded, and it made me wonder if there was something he wanted to say.

"Something like that. It was nice to meet you, Emmett," I said, waving at the large man. He returned my gesture, and I could feel them both watching me as I jogged across the road to my rental car.

Ω Ω Ω

The address Rosalie had given me was a mile from the 'downtown' area of Forks, a simple, two story, craftsman style house with blue paint. Charlie's cruiser was parked in the drive, the windows down despite the cool afternoon breeze.

I parked at the curb and stared up at the house, trying to recover some memory, some little nugget of information that would make this all real. It was ridiculous to try – Renee took off with me before I was two – there was no way I'd ever remember living here. It still didn't stop me from trying.

Letting myself out of the car, I walked slowly up the drive, my hand trailing along the side of Charlie's police cruiser. Closer to the house now, I could see that the paint was peeling under the wide bay window, and the lawn was as much weed as it was grass. Even with that, the property was neatly tended and clearly loved, just like the man who lived inside.

The screen door squeaked open, framing my father against the open door. "Hey, Bella, what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see if I remembered," I said, sitting down on the step to stare out at the street.
"I wanted to see where we lived and what it felt like. But I don't feel anything; I don't know if
I can."

The emotions were all jumbled up and turned around inside of me, where they'd been slamming against the artificial barriers all week. Something about sitting on the front porch, knowing that I'd lived here, that somewhere in that house might be my possessions, my crib, or other things that had belonged to me once upon a time broke down the final walls. Anger and sadness, wrapped in confusion tore through me, wiping out my ability to think rationally. I wasn't sure what I'd expected, maybe some epic montage of memories to unspool, like a long lost B roll, full of answers. It never came.

Unlike the memories that never materialized, Charlie anticipated what I needed better than I ever could. He sat down, two steps above me on the porch, and slipped his arm around my shoulders. I leaned my head against his knee as tears slowly soaked his pants leg. I cried for the things I'd never known, for the normal childhood I'd always longed for. I cried for my father, who'd been robbed of the chance to participate in my life, and for my mother who felt the need to take it all away. I cried for all the lies and the deception, and for the fact that, no matter what happened next, someone would invariably be hurt by my decision. I had no doubt that both my parents loved me, and it made everything that much harder. I didn't want my
life to be a lie, but I didn't want to lose this man either.

I stood at a crossroads, still not armed with enough answers, and a decision to make.

"You have no idea how hard it was," my dad said quietly, "knowing that you were out there somewhere, and that I couldn't find you. I'm a cop, and even with that, one day you disappeared off the face of the earth."

"Someone knew where to look," I said, wiping my nose on my sleeve. "Or else I wouldn't be here."

"Pride is a strange thing," Charlie said, ignoring my comment. "I thought we could forget about everything, ignore what we were told. But Renee couldn't, and in the end she took you and ran. In a way, I don't think I can blame her. We got married too damn young, and I realize now that it was more about making other people happy. Maybe if we'd put each other first, things would have been different, but if we'd done that who knows where we would have ended up."

Charlie was talking faster now, and he wasn't making any sense. I rambled the same way when I was scared or confused.

"At first, I looked so hard. I hated that she took you away from me, and I was desperate to find both of you. But then, after a time, I decided that it wasn't a bad thing. Renee would take you somewhere safe, somewhere that would allow you to be a normal kid with a regular old vanilla life. You wouldn't have had that here."

"I didn't have a normal life," I countered. I wanted him to be just as angry at Renee as I was.
I wanted his indignation, his insistence that he'd never stopped looking for me. Somehow, hearing that he'd accepted that I was long gone made Renee right. He had given up on me, just not in the way I'd always thought. "We jumped from shitty town to shitty town. I never learned how to ride a bike. I didn't have a puppy. I've never had a birthday party. Until we moved to Phoenix, I was never in the same school for more than six months at a time. How is that a normal life? I never got to be a kid, Charlie," he winced at my use of his proper name, but didn't correct me. "I spent years following Renee around, taking as much care of her as I did of myself. Tell me how I was better off. Tell me that is a vanilla kind of childhood, because I sure as hell don't see it."

The arm he'd draped around my shoulders held me in place, his breathing ragged. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought he was crying – or maybe trying hard not to. "Bella, sometimes you do things, you make choices, even sacrifices, that are for the greater good. It's hard, but then when you see how happy the people are around you, it makes it all a bit more bearable."

"I fail to see how letting Renee disappear, and thinking that I would be better off was for the greater good," I said, trying to pull away, but Charlie wouldn't let go. "You gave up on your daughter, Charlie. All those things you wanted for me, they didn't happen. How is that acceptable?"

"I didn't give up on you, I just-"

"Let me live a normal life. I'm sorry if I don't buy into that for one second." My voice rose in volume, hysteria and anger distorting the normal cadence of my speech, little droplets of spittle flying. "Renee was right, wasn't she? You didn't want me. If you had, you would've kept looking - you wouldn't have stopped."

"Bella," Charlie said. He sounded so defeated; as if all the strength ebbed out of him. "I love you more than I've ever loved anything in my life - more than your mother, more than myself. But I'm not a saint. I knew if I found you, I wouldn't be able to let you go again. I'm not that big of a man."

"Why would you have to let me go?" I demanded. "Why all these weird convoluted comments that make no sense, and why a trust to get me back to the one place where it would seem you don't want me to be? I am tired of everyone talking in circles, and I want an answer god damn it! What the hell is it that was so bad about the place that Renee had to take me and run?"

Charlie sighed, releasing my shoulder. Once he'd pushed himself up off the front step, he extended his hand to me, his calloused fingers hovering just at the edge of my peripheral vision.

"It's time you know the truth, all of it. Once you do, you'll understand, and you'll know why I made the decisions I did."

I looked up at him, at the weather beaten face that was still handsome, despite the lines around his eyes and the gray in his temples. He reminded me of the actors I'd loved in my old black and white movies, world weary and full of a stoic wisdom I could never begin to understand. I searched his face, trying to find something that would indicate deception or guile, but there was none; just a man full of hope. That's what spurred me on, and I accepted his offer, using the leverage provided by his hand to pull myself up, off the porch of my childhood home.

"Where are we going?" I asked as he led me down the walk to his squad car. "Do I need to follow you?"

"No, I'll drive," he said, pulling the car keys out of his pants pocket. "I'll bring you back after we're done talking to Carlisle. He was there at the beginning. He'll be able to tell you the truth better than I ever could."