A/N: Happy Canada Day to you Canadians out there. Enjoy the fireworks, I know I will!
And.. the usual disclaimer applies.
March, 2012
~15~
Standing in line at the butcher shop, a few people ahead of me waiting to purchase their chicken or beef, I deliberate everything Jasper said.
Before my conversation with Jasper, I had assumed his hatred of me stemmed from my lack of participation in convincing Alice to not go to Guatemala. Now I know better. No wonder Jasper did such a one-eighty this year. Alice had betrayed him. He assumed I did as well.
Oh, Alice.
As guilty as I feel thinking it, I don't doubt Jasper in his claims. Alice is so full of life, of energy. Nothing was too risky or hazardous for her. She would have cliff-dived like the boys at La Push if she had the chance. Hell, maybe she did.
Alice's craziness and impulsivity had made me love her, had made everyone love her. The excitement and energy that she embodied could affect anyone in her presence. It was exhilarating. Beautiful.
But her personality caused problems too. I can just imagine how broken Edward was when she left, or how hard it was on her parents to see their little girl depart on a risky venture. The hurt she caused Jasper is paramount, and her decisions have hurt me as well.
If only Alice could have looked past her own daring thoughts and saw how she was affecting the people she loved, the people who loved her. Maybe she would have stayed, attended college. Got a job. Maybe she would have explained why I was suddenly ignored by Edward, or told me about her tryst with Jacob Black. Shit, maybe she could have seen how much Jasper cared for her before she decided to betray that trust.
For the first time, as I think objectively about Alice, I can't help but notice how similar she is to my mother. Renee had an unruly soul too, always laying everything on the line, always making too many decisions with her heart, not her head. Despite my anger at her desertion, there are so many things I want to tell her, questions I want to ask her. I wonder when I will get the chance.
Deep in contemplation, I jump when the woman at the desk alerts me that it is my turn.
She is young, probably around my age, with long brown hair not unlike my own. She gives me a customary smile that quickly changes when I launch into my tale.
I know what I am about to ask for is a long shot. Just because someone was taking pictures of me from this location does not mean they bought anything, let alone with a credit card that would allow me to identify them. The chances are slim that the store would even keep the receipts from almost a year ago when the pictures were taken.
But I'm going to try anyway.
"I need to know who was here on April thirteenth of last year. Do you keep receipts from that long ago? You see," I hold up the threatening photographs, "I have a stalker."