Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. I wish I did. I just own this story.
Two
A cool, salty-smelling breeze blows in the front window as my car winds its way along the ocean road – the sea on my left, cliff side on my right. It's still staggering just how much water there is; so blue and endless, stretching all the way from the horizon to the base of the cliffs below me.
As I make the final hairpin turn down into Clearwater, a lookout point appears on the shoulder of the road and, making a last minute decision, I pull the car off to the side and park. My back aches, my butt is sore, I have pins and needles, and I'm pretty sure my right arm has a better tan than the left after hanging outside the car for six hours. Stretching my arms up over my head, I sigh as the blood begins to flood back to my extremities. It feels good to be out of the car.
The wind whips around my head, my hair flapping into my eyes and across my mouth as I try to tame it. I can taste the salt on my lips already; smell the sea on the wind. I take a few pictures of the view to send back to Mum and Dad, maybe even throwing in a little selfie for posterity.
To my right I can see Clearwater as it sits nestled in an inlet, both sides of the town sheltered by towering cliffs and rolling hills beyond that. While it's windy up here on the cliff-side, I know it will be calm and sunny in town. From my vantage point I can see the long stretch of main beach, the perfect creamy yellow colour of the sand, and the rows of tiny houses and shops that dot the shore.
Looking over the edge of the cliff, further out to sea, I see a group of surfers floating on their boards, bobbing over the waves before they crest. I watch them for twenty minutes or so, looking on as they catch a wave, ride it in, and then paddle back. The ocean looks rough, and a lot of the surfers stack it pretty quickly. But one or two of them seem able to stay on, riding it all the way in without falling off. It's kind of repetitive, but mesmerising to watch. Catch the wave, paddle back, catch the wave and paddle back. I snap a few more photos, enjoying the way the sunlight dances off the sea, and generally delaying the need to get back in the car.
When I do get back to the car, I find a missed call from my mum. She's called twice since I left the house, Jake's called once, and Aunt Jessie once as well. It seems that no matter how far you are away from family, they still manage to bug the shit out of you.
"My God! Look at you," says Aunt Jessie, holding me at arm's length as she looks me over. "You're practically a woman!"
She, on the other hand, appears much the same as I remember, just older. She's still tall, which she gets from dad's side, and still has the dark, sparkly eyes I remember. But now her hair is smattered with greying wisps, and deep laugh lines have formed at the corners of her mouth and eyes; the kind that crinkle when she smiles.
"Mick!" she yells, pulling me into the house. "Bella's here!"
"You must be so tired from all that driving. Let's get you inside so you can have a drink and a sit down."
"Actually, I've been sitting down for about six hours; a stand up would be nice."
Jessie laughs. "Of course, watch that step. Mick!" she yells again. She talks a mile-a-minute at me; the surf club, her quilting group, golf - she's still swimming every morning, which I guess is why she looks so good for her age. And as she talks, I take the time to rediscover her house.
Aunt Jessie and Uncle Mick never had any kids, which is why I didn't grow up with any cousins. They preferred to spend their time travelling, surfing the world's best beaches, and collecting all sorts of weird and bizarre trinkets along the way. There's an entire wall of photos just outside the kitchen, everything from temples in Cambodia to family photos. Leaning in, I squint, smiling at the sight of my dad at what looks to be about my age. His hair is short, combed neatly to the side, his face bare of all facial hair - which is a strange thing to see. That man's had a moustache since I was born. Sometimes I forget he's even got a top lip.
"He was a bit of spunk, your dad," says Jessie, handing me a glass of cordial.
I nod, taking a sip. The taste of the orange drink is like an instant throwback to my childhood.
"I don't know where your uncle is," she continues, flitting around beside me. "At the club with the boys probably. Anyway, come put your stuff in your room. Watch the floor here, I just mopped, it's probably a bit wet still."
She leads me down a short, linoleum-lined hallway to the spare bedroom.
"Are you hungry, darl? I've got stuff in the fridge for dinner if you want. We usually go to the club on a Saturday night. Just make sure you push this door hard, it sticks a little..."
Aunt Jessie seems to talk at me rather than to me. I just nod and smile at the appropriate times.
My bedroom is small, not overly so, just a little cramped. It's only a single bed with a set of drawers and a bedside table, but I guess it's all you need. The walls are covered with all sorts of random things; masks from Indonesia, elephant carvings from Thailand, wall hangings from eastern Europe. It's completely mismatched and I can tell it was thrown together hastily at the announcement of my arrival. Hopefully I won't be here too long; I can imagine living in a house with my aunt and uncle, in a room this size, will be suicide for my social life.
It's only five-thirty, but I'm suddenly overcome with sleepiness. Even the tiny single bed shoved into the corner of the room looks inviting.
"Bella?"
Yawning, I spin around. "Sorry, what?"
Jessie smiles. "I just asked if you wanted to come for dinner. You look pretty tired though."
Closing my eyes briefly, I nod. "Yeah, I am. Maybe tomorrow night?"
"Course," she says. "I'll leave my mobile number just in case you need anything. There's food in the fridge, and there's a million DVD's if you get bored." She walks off, back down the hallway, talking to me over her shoulder. "We should be back about ten or so. Depending on how much your uncle's had to drink. He's probably had a skin full already..."
She's still talking when I sink down onto the bed, sighing as I lie down. The blankets smell a bit dusty and the springs in the bed creak as I move, but it's comfortable.
When I wake, the room is dim, the sun casting an orange glow through the window. Checking my watch I find I've been sleeping for over an hour. The house is quiet; no doubt Jessie is at the surf club with Uncle Mick. I'm actually glad for the solitude, for a little peace and quiet. The drive has worn me out, and I don't know how much more of her incessant talking I can deal with.
Padding out to the lounge room, I'm pleasantly surprised to find the whole house bathed in the orangey-pink hues of the sunset as they pour through the front windows. Hungry, I rifle through the fridge, settling on some cheese and biscuits and one of Uncle Mick's fancy pants boutique beers. The front veranda has a great big hammock slung between the posts, so I unsteadily plop myself into it, my feet resting on the railing.
We got some pretty amazing sunsets at home, especially since it was so flat, with nothing to obscure the view. But here, with the glittering sea stretching out in front of me, it really is something.
Rocking myself slowly in the hammock, I watch as the last of the surfers come in off the beach across the road. They're nothing but dark silhouettes against the bright colours of the sunset, their boards tucked under their arms as they laugh and call out to each other. I can hear their wet feet slapping on the pavement as they all load up into their vans and beat up cars. Boards strapped to rooftops or into the back of vans, they all clamber in and take off, and I watch as they all go their separate ways. And then as quickly as they descended, they're gone and the beach is quiet again.
From the veranda I can hear the waves lap lazily against the shore, whooshing and frothing as they roll up the sand and back again. I'm so used to the sound of crickets and cicadas, the sounds of the bush. But this is definitely just as nice, soothing even.
Sitting with my feet out in front of me, I watch as the last of the sun's light slips over the horizon. The easy part is over; I made it, I'm here. Tomorrow, the hard stuff starts.
Starting a new life is scary as shit; new job, new friends, new house - but I think I'm ready.
Thank you Tiff and Meg my betas, and Thimbles and Luvrofink, my prereaders. They are all ten kinds of awesome.
*Note: There might be some phrases, or some wording that needs clarification. If I remember, I'll try and put a note at the bottom from now on so people don't think Bella's wearing g-strings on her feet. (You can always ask too.)
Thank you to anyone who reviewed and fave'd. The first chapter is always the scariest. Lucky there's some sun kissed boy on the horizon...