Author's Note:

Well, here we are with the second chapter. I will be putting up new chapters whenever I find the time. (More reviews just might help, too.) The last chapter was the Prelude, so now we are jumping thirteen years to the future (Claire is 24). Hope you guys like it! Review and Comment! I am open to your ideas for future chapters if you have any! Thanks guys!

Stephanie Meyer is literally the luckiest person on Earth. She owns all the Twilight Characters.

There are places I remember all my life, though some have changed. Some forever, not for better, some have gone and some remain. - The Beatles, In My Life

Ch.1 Welcome Home

(13 years later)

I blew a dripping wet strand of crow black hair out of my face, trudging across the soggy ground to reach Emily's front door. If there was one thing I would always remember about La Push, even thirteen years later, it would be the relentless rain. It never seemed to let up.

The faint memories of this rickety shack floated around my head. The smell of Emily's infamous blueberry muffins. The constant sound of joyous voices throughout the house, making for a friendly atmosphere. This house had been the main backdrop for my childhood.

I took a second to straighten out my freshly-purchased raincoat, before knocking lightly on the wooden door. I prepared myself for a face I hadn't seen in thirteen years to welcome me. The scarred face of my Aunt Emily.

"Oh! Claire!" She wrapped me in a hospitable hug, despite my soaked clothing. Her copper skin was just as warm as I remembered it, and her dark hair was pulled up into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a polka-dotted apron, and flour blotches patched her body, indicating she had just been baking. Her perfectly carved face was just as I had remembered it, aside from a few newly-developed wrinkles and smile-lines. She was still one of the prettiest people I knew by far.

"It's nice to see you", I greeted politely, as she released me from the tight embrace and grabbed my bulky suitcase from my hand. She wheeled it inside, and I followed her, shivering from the temperature change when entering the house.

The inside of the house was identical to the setting from most of my childhood memories. At least the pleasant ones. The kitchen was cluttered with a million different cooking utensils, recipes, and post-it-notes. The living room still held a plaid, ratty-looking couch, orange shag carpet, and a 12-inch vintage television. And everything smelled like blueberry muffins.

"I'm sorry. The kids made a mess of the house, and I haven't had the chance to clean up." Kids. My mother must have forgotten to tell me that.

"You have children?" I asked. She looked a little shocked that I hadn't known of her children.

"Yes. Sam Jr. is ten, Ella is eight, Brandon is five, and Anna is three." She numbered her fingers as she listed them, as if she might forget one. Figures. She hasfour.

"Wow." She smiled again, and her brown her eyes lit up.

"So, I suppose I should show you where you will be staying." She lead me down the narrow, wall-papered hallway, until she reached the last door at the end of it. She opened it, and set my suitcase down in the corner next to the door.

"Here you are. I'm sorry that it's a little small." She stuck out her hand as if she was advertising a product.

"Thank you", I forced out, flashing a fake smile. The room was not exactly what I would call small. It was what I would call tiny.

She nodded with another one of those motherly grins, and I held back a gag. Once she was safely out of sight, I plopped down on the bed, exhausted from my flight. Boston to Seattle was quite the trip. And I missed Boston already. I missed my spacious penthouse suite with panoramic views of the city nightlife. I missed the delectable and expensive red wine that would be sliding down my throat right now. I missed the man I loved's lips trailing kisses down my neck.

I couldn't even think of the reason why I had come here. Why? Oh right, to visit my distant relatives. Invite them to my wedding, actually. I had tried to persuade my mother that sending them all RSVP invitations was plenty enough, but she had insisted I go visit them anyway. I hadn't seen any of them in thirteen years. My parents had always offered Laura and I a visit here, but after we had adjusted to Boston, we didn't want to leave. I made new friends, and tried to forget about the ones I had left behind. It took a good five years to fully move on, and so I had no intention of reversing the progress by visiting. After I graduated from high school, my mom had suggested I go to college in Seattle. I had been offered a full-ride scholarship to Harvard, and she was thinking I should consider Seattle? No way in hell. I graduated from Harvard, on the dean's list, and engaged to the love of my life, with a multi-million dollar a year job waiting for me.

I argued I could always visit La Push after the wedding, because my demanding work schedule and wedding planning were too important to neglect, but she insisted that I visit 'before the wedding'. I finally agreed, after she threatened to bring all of my best girlfriends and female coworkers here for my bachelorette party. I wouldn't ever live that up. They'd all think I was a regular back-country hick. Not happening. So, here I am. Stuck in rainy, overly-friendly La Push. My own personal hell-on-Earth.

I finally got enough energy built up to push my trembling body off the bed and change into some dry clothing. I had packed the most rugged and ugly items in my closet, expecting the wet weather and slushy mud to ruin whatever I packed. Looks like I was right on that call. My brand new raincoat was coated in a thick layer of muck. Two weeks. I had to spend two whole weeks here. Ugh, this was not going to go near fast enough.

I checked my Blackberry quick, to make sure Dylan, my fiance, hadn't left me any important messages. He had been planning on coming to Washington with me, but being a corporate head and all, business came up. He had apologized, and even considered dropping the business deal just to come with me. I had refused to let him, though. As much as I would have liked him to come with, I couldn't ask him to do that. Besides, I wasn't sure I wanted to show him where I came from. It might be slightly embarrassing.

When the quirky cuckoo clock on the wood paneled-walls of my room struck eight o' clock, I considered it an acceptable time to go to sleep. I ran through my chin-length black hair with my hand, trying to assess the frizz that the humidity might have caused. Not enough to need a shower at the moment. I would tackle that mess tomorrow morning. But now, I needed sleep. Especially here. My Native American family wasn't known to be relaxed and quiet. Just the opposite.