Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, Stephenie Meyer does. Storyline is mine :)
Enjoy. R.
4. CLOVES - Don't Forget About Me
CHAPTER 3
When The Home Is Gone
"Hey, Hey
Without you there's holes in my soul
Hey, Hey
Let the water in."
"Where ever you've gone?
How, how, how?
I just need to know
That you won't forget about me."
Saturday, December 17, 1988
It was very cold in Phoenix. People were wearing those big and thick jackets and coats and looked very nervous and angry when the cold wind blew in their faces. But I didn't mind. I liked cold weather because it meant that Christmas was coming.
I was sitting in the front seat in my Mommy's car. We were on our way to see Nana. I hadn't seen her for a very long time. Mommy said she was very, very sick and that was why she couldn't visit me anymore. I was very happy because I was going to see her.
"Mommy? Mommy, where are we going?" I asked because I didn't recognize the neighborhood we were in. This wasn't the place where Nana lived. "Nana's house is not here."
"Bella, honey, Nana is not at home right now."
"Why? Did she move into a new house?"
"No. Because Nana is very sick, she had to go to the hospital where doctors can take care of her every day."
"Is she happy there?"
Mommy was silent for a little while. "Well, I am sure she will be when we visit."
Very soon we arrived at - what Mommy called – the hospital. It was a large building and there were a lot of people. It was noisy as well. Some of those people were wearing white coats, but I decided that I wouldn't like them. They looked scary.
"Come, Bella, this way," Mommy pulled my hand when I stopped walking because I noticed a small bald girl, sitting in a big wheelchair. She must have been very sick, like Nana. I could see it. She was holding some man's hand and she was smiling at him. She called him 'daddy'.
"Mommy?"
"Yes, Bella?" said Mommy as we rushed down the corridor.
"When is Daddy going to visit?"
Mommy didn't reply.
"Mommy? When is he coming?"
She sighed. "I don't know, Bella."
"I miss him," I said quietly, because Mommy was angry.
Mommy let out a funny noise, as if she was laughing. But it was like… a sad laugh. Could people be laughing and be sad at the same time?
"Mommy, can I call him when we get home?"
"We'll talk about it later, okay?"
"Okay," I agreed. I hadn't talked to Dad for a very long time now.
We got on the elevator and I held Mommy's hand tightly. There were a lot of white coats. I didn't like white, it was a very empty color. It needed to be… filled, made prettier.
We got off the elevator and I followed Mommy as she led me to the door at the end of the long corridor.
"Is this Nana's new house?"
"No, Bella, this is just her room," Mommy laughed and opened the door. Of course, houses weren't in buildings, silly Bella.
"Nana!" I screamed because there was Nana, lying on the bed. I let go of Mommy's hand and ran to her. Suddenly, I found myself on the floor. I must have tripped.
"Bella!" Mommy raised her voice. "Be careful, sweetie."
I quickly got up, forgetting about the pain in my knees, and came to Nana's bed. "Hello, Nana!"
Granny smiled. I loved her smile. "Oh, hello, my little peanut," said Nana and touched my cheek. She looked different. Thinner. And she had a scarf on her head. Why would she cover her hair?
"Hey, Mom," said Mommy, picked me up and sat on the bed beside Nana. "How have you been?"
"You know," Nana said, "nothing has changed."
"Do you sleep here, Nana?" I asked.
"Why, yes, Bella."
"And do you like it?"
Nana smiled. She was smiling like Mommy. "Well, it is not my own bed, but it is not that bad. I've slept on worse," Nana chuckled.
"And are you happy here?"
Nana wasn't smiling anymore. She looked very sad. Oh no. I upset Mommy and now Nana. They were not going to like me if I upset them.
"Have I upset you, Nana? I am very sorry," I said, my eyes wet. "I am sorry."
Mommy squeezed me, but she didn't say anything. She brushed my long hair with her fingers. I liked it when she did it.
"Oh, of course not, little Bella," she smiled again. It was just a half-smile. "You haven't upset me. It's just… I am very sick, Bella, and sometimes I don't feel very well. But when I see you and your mom, I am very happy."
I smiled. "So, you are happy when you see us?"
"Yes," her smile got bigger.
I thought about it. "Mommy, can I stay here with Nana?"
Mommy squeezed her brows. "And why would you want to stay here, Bella?"
"Because she's not happy when I am not here. And I don't want Nana to be unhappy," I stated. How could she not understand?
"Bella, honey, you cannot stay here, in the hospital."
"And why not?" I asked. If Nana could, I could, too.
"Bella, your grandmother is sick and she needs doctors to look after her. You are perfectly healthy, baby. You don't have to stay here."
Suddenly I felt very sad. "Mommy, but I fall down often. I need to be looked after as well," I said. Mommy knew this to be true.
Mommy and Nana laughed. "That might be true, but you it doesn't mean you have to stay in here," Mommy said, her hands in my hair.
I looked away, because I felt tears in my eyes. Very soon, they started to fall down my cheeks.
"Oh, Bells, honey, don't cry," Nana swiped away my tears. "I will be okay."
"But you are not happy."
"I am now."
"I want you to be happy all the time."
Mommy pulled me closer to her and she kissed me on my forehead. "Don't worry about that now, baby. Nana will be fine," Mommy repeated herself. Well, if Mommy said that, she must have been right.
"How are you, sweetheart?" asked Nana and took my hand to hers.
"I am very happy," I said. "I am very happy, because I came to visit and because Christmas is coming very soon, too."
"And what would you like to get for Christmas?"
I thought about it for a while. "I don't know. I think I would like to call Daddy, but Mommy is very weird when I ask about him. So maybe Santa will make him call me. And I would like Santa to give new slippers for Mommy," I said and then I realized that Nana was not happy when she didn't see me. "And I would like him to make you happy even if we are not here," I said and smiled. I had already written to Santa this year, but maybe he would change his mind. I mean, he knew me, right? So, he would know that my wishes changed, right?
"Your Dad didn't call you, did he?" Nana asked.
I shook my head. "No. I miss him," I repeated. Nana looked at Mommy in that strange way Mommy had looked at me earlier today. Was she now angry with Mommy?
We stayed with Nana for a little while. She was talking to Mommy until a nurse came into the room and said that Nana had to have some tests done. I didn't want to go because she would become unhappy again, but Mommy promised we would visit her on Christmas.
On our way home we stopped at the department store. Mommy said she needed to buy something for Christmas. While Mommy was in this big shop, talking to someone, I decided to look around, because there was one shop, right opposite the one we were in, I wanted to go to. I would return to Mommy in just a moment. I left Mommy and went into the opposite shop. It was very pretty. It was full of pictures and it was very colorful, not like the hospital. There were pictures of places and forest as well as beaches and a lot of pictures of sun. But then there were pictures of people as well. They looked like photographs, but I knew they weren't.
"Oh, hello, young lady," an old man said, rising from behind one of the pictures. I didn't see him before.
"Hello," I said. Was he going to be angry that I was here alone? I went closer to him, noticing the picture he was hiding behind. It was a picture of a face, a person that rested on some wooden thing. It wasn't finished. "What are you doing?"
He smiled. Good, he wasn't angry with me. "I am painting, little lady," he said. I looked at him, at his painting and back at him. He looked very happy. I would be too, surrounded by all those colors.
"Are you happy?" I asked.
"Why, yes, I am," he chuckled. "Painting makes me very happy. Are you happy?"
I shrugged. "I was happy because we went to the hospital, with my Mommy, to see my nana and because Christmas is coming. But Nana is very sick and she must stay in the hospital. So, she said to me that she isn't happy when she doesn't see me and now I am sad. I can't be with her all the time and now she is not happy and I am not happy."
An old man was very tall and very thin. He had grey hair and grey beard, but very nice blue eyes. He was smiling again. "Why don't you draw for her?"
"Draw?" I repeated. "I don't understand."
"Don't you draw pictures in pre-school?" he asked.
"Yes, we do."
"And do you like drawing?"
"I do," I said truthfully. Yes, I liked drawing. I liked all the colors.
"Draw her a picture of yourself and your Mom. She would always see your face and that would make her very happy, I am sure."
"Are you sure?" I asked.
He laughed. "Yes, I am very sure. You see, young lady, when you draw or paint, you put yourself onto the canvas, on that blank space. And when other people look at your drawing or painting, they not only see what you painted but who you are. Most of them don't know it, but by that picture, you give them the key to your soul. Everything you are is on that painting… or drawing." I frowned. I didn't understand, but he continued. "Of course, your grandmother would be happy if you draw her a picture of yourself."
I thought about it. Maybe he was right. "Do your pictures make other people happy?"
He smiled. "Yes, most of the time. Do they make you happy? Do you like them?"
I nodded. "Yes, I like your pictures very much. They are very colorful."
"So, then I am sure, your picture will make your grandmother very happy."
I smiled and nodded but then I got sad again. "But I don't have any crayons and I don't know if Mommy would buy me any," I said. "Mommy and I don't have much money." Sometimes she didn't buy me what I wanted.
The old man wanted to say something, but someone entered the shop.
"Bella! Where have you gone?! I got so afraid! You can't do that to me, honey, do you understand?! Someone might have taken you from me! I was so afraid," Mommy said in a very loud voice and hugged me tightly, kissing me on forehead and picking me up to her arms. "I am so sorry, sir, she is just too curious for her age. I didn't want her to bother you."
An old man smiled again. I liked his smile very much. "Oh, no worries, ma'am. She is one lovely little girl. How old is she?"
"I am four!" I said fast and loud before Mommy could say a word.
He laughed. "I see. Well, as I said, no harm done."
"Thank you for keeping an eye on her. We better get going," Mommy said and turned to leave.
"Byeee!" I waved at the old man and he looked at me in a strange way.
"Ma'am, wait for a moment, please," I heard him and Mommy turned to him. He came to us and he was holding something in his hands. It was a little wooden box. He put it in my small hands. "For you, young lady. Make your nana happy," he said, smiled and winked and I smiled back at him.
"What is it?" Mommy asked.
"Oh, just a set of conté crayons I had under the counter. There are the usual black and brown ones, but also some of them are colorful. I'm sure she'll find the use for them."
Mommy frowned. "But, why…?"
The old man stopped her with the wave of his hand. "Little lady here wanted to draw and I had some spare crayons. Really, it's nothing. I believe she'll make a fine artist," he winked at me.
"Thank you very much, sir!" I said, smiling. Now I can make Nana happy!
"Oh, you're welcome, little lady. Just don't forget to show me what you drew, okay?"
"Okay," I said and tried to wink at him but I didn't know if I managed to do it.
Mommy was still frowning. "Sir, you really didn't have to do it, I can pay for it…"
"Nonsense! Don't worry about that. They are not even for sale," he said quickly.
"Well, thank you very much, anyway," Mommy said.
"It's the least I can do."
I smiled at the old man one more time and then we left the store. I really wanted to return after I would draw the picture for Granny. I wanted to draw one for him as well.
The crayons were very nice and very colorful, but they didn't look like the crayons we had at school. Mine were shaped like a square without the pointed tip. When we came home, Mommy had to find me papers to draw on right away because I couldn't wait anymore. I needed to draw Nana a picture, because I was very happy and it would make her happy if she had us with her in the hospital all the time. It took me a lot of time until I was finished. It had to be very good, so I was drawing very slowly and thought about it very much.
"Bella, it's time to go to bed," Mommy came to my room. "It's already past your bedtime."
"Mommy, Mommy! Look at what I drew!" I screamed because I was very very, very happy right now. I loved my picture and I was sure Nana would love it, too. "Do you love it, Mommy?" I held out the picture for her to see. It was just my and Mommy's heads, similar to the pictures of people the old man was painting when I entered the store.
Mommy stepped closer and her eyes widened. "Wow! It's beautiful, Bella. Have you been drawing this all evening?"
"Of course," I said. What else would I do?
"It's wonderful," Mommy said. "Is this me?" she pointed at herself.
"Yes, Mommy, this is you and this is me. I wanted to draw Daddy as well but Nana doesn't like him, so I didn't want her to be unhappy because of that."
Mommy laughed. "Yes, you are right about that. The two of us is just fine. Now, go to bed."
"But when are we going to see her?"
"Next week, on Christmas Day, okay? Can you wait one week?" Mommy asked and put PJs on me.
"Yes, I can wait," I said because it wasn't that bad. "I hope she will get better."
Mommy smiled, but her eyes were sad. Again, I wondered how was it possible? How was it possible to be sad and happy at the same time? "I hope so, too. Now, go and brush your teeth."
A week later, Mommy and I visited Nana and she was so happy when I gave her the picture I draw that she started crying.
"Nana, why are you crying? Did my picture make you unhappy?" I asked. Oh, I messed up again. But I was so sure she would be glad to see my drawing.
"No, of course not, sweetheart. It made me very, very happy."
"Then why are you crying?"
"Because, sometimes, my little peanut, happiness makes you cry," she smiled through the tears.
I frowned. Why people laughed when they were sad? Why people smiled when they were sad? And… why people cried when they were happy?
That day, Nana assured me that she was much better. And happy. And that was all I needed to hear to be happy myself.
After we came home and had dinner, the phone rang. Mommy went to answer it.
"Bella?"
"Yes, Mommy?"
"Come here, your father wants to speak to you!"
What? Daddy? Daddy! He called, he finally called!
I jumped out of the chair and went to the hall to take the call.
Mommy gave me the phone. "Hey, Daddy!"
"Hey, Bella. How are you, kiddo?"
"Oh, Daddy, I am so very happy now. I draw picture for Nana and when you come visit I will draw you a picture as well, okay? Because it makes people happy and me too and I want you to be happy as well."
There was silence on the other side. "Yeah, Sue, just leave it there… You were saying, Bella?"
"I was saying, Daddy, that I will draw you a picture when you visit. When will you come?"
"Mhmm, I don't know, yet. I'm very busy at work."
I got a little bit sad. "But you will visit, right? What should I do? Do you want me to come up to Washington? Maybe Mommy can let me go…"
"No, no, Bella, you won't go anywhere."
I tried not to cry. Daddy didn't like when I was crying. "Why not, Daddy?"
There was a silence on the other side again. "Sue, we will talk about it later, Bella's on the phone." Daddy laughed at something. "I know, well, you just wait…"
"Daddy?"
"Oh, yes?"
"Why don't you want me to come to Washington?"
"Because you are too small to travel."
"But you want me to come, right?"
"Sure, I do, but you are too little. When my schedule clears up a little, I will visit, 'kay?"
I was feeling very sad right now. "Can I call you sometimes?"
"Oh, god, that should be illegal," Daddy tried to whisper but I could still hear him.
"Daddy, can I call?" I repeated louder, because Daddy didn't hear me.
"Sure, sure, Bella, anytime you want," his voice changed.
"Happy Christmas, Daddy," I said because I saw Mommy frowning at me. It was time to hung up.
"Happy Christmas, Bella. Be a good girl, okay, baby?" he asked and I smiled.
"Of course, Daddy. I always am."
"Good, good. Bye, honey."
"Bye, Daddy," I said. "I miss you," I wanted to say but he wasn't there anymore.
I missed Daddy. I looked up at Mom and tried to smile, make sure she wasn't sad because of me but I wasn't sure she believed me.
So, maybe that was the reason why people sometimes smiled when they were sad. They didn't want to make other people feel the sadness they felt themselves.
Saturday, May 23, 1998
"Bella, come on, honey, we're late," I heard Mom shout from downstairs.
"I'm coming, I just need to find my new paints," I shouted back.
"Bella, how many times I told you to put your things in one place, so you don't have to look for them again and again?"
Look, there you are. Well, I definitely didn't put them there. "I got them, Mom, I'm coming." I tried not to trip over the stairs as I was hurrying downstairs. Mom was already in the car.
"Mom, do you have my brushes?" I asked her when I joined her in the car.
"Of course, I do. Someone has to think about those things," she said, but not in a scolding way. Good. I knew I was making her annoyed and irritated sometimes because I forgot about things all the time.
"I am sorry, Mom," I said.
"Just listen to me next, time, okay, honey?" she smiled. "Mrs. Cope must be crazy by now, we are always late for your classes."
"I know," I said guiltily. "But she says she doesn't mind that much."
"Well, that doesn't mean we shouldn't try and be on time," Mom said. "How was school yesterday?"
No, please.
I blushed. "Oh. It was okay, I guess."
Mom looked at me. "Okay? What is it, baby?"
"Nothing, Mom."
"Isabella Marie, tell me what's wrong," Mom demanded. "Don't lie to me, you're like an open book," she chuckled softly. "I can see it written all over your face."
"What it?" I snickered.
"It – whatever that happened at school today. C'mon, tell me," she demanded again, but now very sweetly and with a genuine concern in her voice.
I loved her so much.
I swallowed uneasiness and bitter memories. "Just a few kids today made a stupid comments about my painting," I admitted quietly. "It's nothing, Mom, really. I'm used to it."
By the expression on her face I knew Mom got angry. No, this was not what I wanted. "Do you want me to talk to your teacher about it?"
"No, no, Mom, please, let it go. I'm sure they'll come around," I said, really hoping I was right. They weren't that bad, just a little mean.
Mom sighed. "But, honey, this is not the first time you mentioned them. Are you sure you don't want me to take care of it?"
"No, Mommy, I am sure. School's finished soon, anyway," I said, really looking forward to summer holiday, to seeing Dad maybe. I couldn't remember the last time we talked.
"Well, okay, but if there is anything that's bothering you, just tell me, Bella. I am a little worried about you. You don't take these things lightly."
I frowned. "No, Mom, please, don't be. I am fine," I smiled again. I had this kind of smile perfected. It was that kind of smile you used when you didn't really have any reason to smile. You just did it because you didn't want people to know how you truly felt – the sad smile. Our English teacher had described that kind of smile the other day.
The smile that doesn't reach your eyes.
But even though Mommy knew me through and through, she never picked up on that smile. I was out of suspicion when I smiled like that and it made her happy, content. That was all that mattered.
"Are you going to be at the diner?" I asked Mom, when we arrived at my 10am painting lesson at Mrs Cope's house. She'd been working there as a waitress for as long as I could remember.
"No," Mom said, frowning. She didn't continue.
"Okay, so are you gonna be home?"
"No."
"Mom?" Mom was nervous, I could tell.
"I have an appointment at the hospital."
"On Saturday?"
"Yes," Mom replied. "You know I work from dawn to dusk every day and Phil didn't want to give me a day off during a weekday. Doctor wanted to talk to me as soon as possible, so he suggested today's morning and Phil said I can take today off," Mom explained quickly and smiled. And I recognized that smile immediately. It was the one that didn't reach her eyes. The sad smile.
"Mommy, are you okay?"
"Yes, why?"
I saw that she didn't want to talk about it. And I was already late. "Okay, I'll wait for you in the afternoon, 'kay?"
"Sure, honey. We can watch Sissi when you come home," she smiled again, more genuinely this time.
"Yeah, no problem. I don't think I remember the third movie as well as the previous ones," I joked. We watched a lot of historical movies and documentaries about Europe, but Sissi trilogy was number one on Mommy's list.
"Okay, honey, just go, because Mrs. Cope will stop giving you any lessons," Mom ushered me out of the car. I took my bag with brushes and paints from the back seat, kissed her on the cheek and hurried into the house.
I apologized to Mrs. Cope, but as I said earlier, she didn't really mind. I didn't think I needed lessons in painting, mostly because all the things Mrs. Cope showed me I already knew. Besides, she kind of forced me to paint in a classical way, using techniques that bored me. I liked to paint in my own way, the one that made me feel fulfilled. But I knew it made Mom feel good when I had something to do on Saturdays when she was often at work. She was a big fan of mine and I know she worked really hard, so she could afford it. And I just wanted to make her happy. So, I didn't say a word about Mrs. Cope and her disapproval of my… free-thinking spirit as she had put it one day. I knew a few of my paintings were unusual, surreal even. But Mrs. Cope said I couldn't possibly understand surrealism at my age, that my technique and point of view were not believable.
Like a bad joke, Mrs. Cope said about one of them.
Like a dream, I countered in my thoughts. Like everything is possible. Like I can fight what I feel.
She liked my portraits the most anyway. As most of the people. But the truth was that since she started to reject my more prominent surrealistic tendencies in my paintings, I painted less in that way. I tried to suppress the need to paint like that. And when I did I just didn't show her those kinds of paintings, I kept them at home. Mom loved them. She said they looked like me, but at the same time as the person she had yet to meet… whatever she meant by that.
Mrs. Cope wasn't that bad, she was just a little… old-school? Well, she was in her sixties. She was teaching Art at my school and because Mrs. Cope had talked to my Mom about my talent when I was around ten, Mom asked her to teach me.
So, here I was. Sometimes terribly bored, but I never let it show. She was a very passionate woman, but very content in her comfortable zone of classical approach to painting.
It was already 2:30 in the afternoon. My lessons took usually from four to five hours. I had my own paints, brushes and canvases that I kept at Mrs. Cope's. Expensive things for us, but again, it was all for Mom. I knew how happy it made her when I painted. And it made me happy, too.
"Very good, Bella, I am very proud of you," said Mrs. Cope at the end of my lesson, patting me on my shoulder. "Just keep your focus on portraits, forget those weak attempts at being different, and one day - who knows? - maybe you'll have your own exhibition," she winked at me. I knew she was joking, but recently I started to think about that more seriously. I really wanted that. To be a professional painter. I mean… Every time I imagined my paintings at the David Zwirner Gallery in New York or any other gallery in Chelsea or at Manattan for that matter, my body shivered in excitement. I really wanted that.
But what if Mrs. Cope was right? What if I couldn't pull it off? My portraits on their own were not interesting enough and my other paintings… well, they were my own personal expression. People didn't understand me, so how could they understand my paintings? My Mom liked everything I painted, even a single black line I would draw on the back of the magazine. She was biologically predisposed to like everything I did.
Very slowly, the thought of leading an ordinary life started to be daunting. I wanted to reach my heights, my fullest potential. How would I do that if I became… a teacher, for example?
No, never a teacher. Mrs. Cope was an example frightening enough.
Of course, it hurt when I was rejected, when my paintings were rejected, but I painted and I forgot. I painted and it wasn't there anymore. I was sure again. I was with myself once again and it never felt better. And there was Mom. As long as she was with me, everything was okay.
At 3:25 pm, 25 minutes after my lesson finished and my Mom still hadn't arrived.
"Are you sure your Mom's supposed to pick you up?" asked Mrs. Cope.
"Yeah, she said, she would. May I use your phone, Mrs. Cope?"
She smiled. "Sure, Bella, help yourself."
I dialed our phone number. The phone rang but nobody answered. Was Mom still at the hospital? Suddenly, I had a lump in my throat.
"Nobody's answering. Mom was supposed to go to the hospital today, maybe she hasn't returned, yet," I said when Mrs. Cope asked if Mom had answered the phone.
"Well, let me drive you home, then. I am sure, Mom will be back in a few," Mrs. Cope offered, and I smiled gratefully. I started to feel uneasy and worried. I tried to calm myself down but the lump in my throat wasn't subsiding. I'm sure she is fine. It is not going to happen again. It happened just twice. She said she wouldn't. She said so and I had to trust her.
Mrs. Cope drove me home and asked if I wanted her to come inside with me.
"No, I'll be okay. I am used to being alone, when Mom's in work," I smiled my fake smile. "Thank you for the lesson and ride home, Mrs. Cope."
"Anytime, Bella, anytime," she smiled. We said our goodbyes, I took my bag with the paints and brushes and started towards our poor little house.
"Mom?" I called when I entered, my voice shaky. "Mommy? Mom, are you home?" I really hoped she wasn't at home. I really hoped she was buying groceries or that she got stuck at the hospital or something. I hoped she'd forgot about me. I hoped that my suspicion wouldn't be confirmed.
The door to the kitchen was closed, but I knew Mom was in. I heard noises, bottles clinking.
No, no, no, no, no… please, no.
The lump in my throat thickened even more and I felt like I couldn't breathe properly. "Mommy?" I called, knocking on the door. When the noises stopped, I warily entered the kitchen. It was one big mess, Mom sitting on the floor, her back supported by the kitchen counter, crying, glass of wine in her hand. "Mommy, are you okay?"
She looked at me, her red eyes glazed with the varnish of alcohol. She started sobbing heavily and motioned with her hand toward me. "C'mere, a minute, my love. C'mere," she requested.
I battled sadness, anger and disappointment altogether with tears now forming in the corners of my eyes. It was so difficult to breathe. I panted and touched my throat in an attempt to ease my pain.
"Mommy?" My voice was so shaky.
"Just, c'mere, honey, sit down," she sobbed again and despite the fear I felt I obeyed. She was everything to me.
I sat down, and she put her hand around my shoulders. Strong odor of alcohol bumped into my nose.
"You know, how much I love you, right, my Bella?" she asked, or more accurately, slurred.
"Of course, I do, Mommy," I responded. "I love you very much."
She smiled sadly. "I know, you do, baby. But things are about to change right now," she said.
"Change? Mom, what do you mean?" I asked, frightened.
She started to sob again, the new wave of tears flowing down her face. It was more and more difficult to keep my own tears at bay.
It took good five minutes until she calmed down again. "Would you, please, call your father and ask him to fly down here tomorrow?"
I opened my eyes in shock. "What? Mom, what are you saying?"
"Just call him and tell him that the results have come. He'll know," Mom managed to say before starting to sob again.
My whole body felt wobbly and uncoordinated even more than usual. I walked to the phone in a daze processing her words.
The results.
The hospital.
The nervousness.
The drinking. Those last two times I caught her being drunk.
Please, someone, tell me that this is not happening.
With shaky fingers I dialed Dad's number. It rang a few times before a woman answered.
Sue. "Hello?"
"Hey," I said quietly to the phone. "This is Bella."
She was quiet for a moment. "Oh, yes! Bella. Hi."
"Can I talk to my Dad, please?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, sugar pie, he's not here."
No… "And where is he?" I asked, the uneasiness in my voice more evident now.
"He's fishing. I'll tell him you called, 'kay?"
I nodded.
"'kay?" she repeated a little bit impatiently and only then I realized she couldn't see me.
"Yeah, sure, okay," I said, the tears I had battled so bravely were now finding their way down my cheeks. Before I managed to say 'bye', she had already hung up. I returned to the kitchen, only to find Mom passed out on the floor, her back against the kitchen counter with her head resting on her shoulder.
I started sobbing at the sight. My Mommy, my brave Mom so defeated and beaten up. I felt helpless, afraid, angry and very, very sad. What had happened? Wasn't I making her happy? Why was she turning to alcohol for consolation? If she had bad news – and I knew she had – why she hadn't confided in me? I was not stupid, I was her Bella, I would have handled it.
I knew I wouldn't be able to move her to the couch or bed myself, so I shook her shoulder. "Mom, Mommy, wake up. Please, just go sleep to your bed, okay? If not, then just lie down on the couch, okay? Don't worry about the mess, I'll clean it up. Just lie down, Mommy, will you?" I begged her. She nodded, completely unfocused. I helped her stand up and led her to the couch. We wouldn't manage the stairs. The moment she lay down, she was out again. I sighed. It was good. She was sleeping and that was good. It meant she wouldn't drink more tonight. It meant I was safe now. I could do it alone, I could take care of her if she was asleep. She would wake up in the morning and things would be the same again. She would be back.
My Mommy. My brave Mom.
I took her shoes off. Her cheeks were rosy and irritated by the streams of salty tears, her eyes were puffy and red as well, but the rest of her body was so cold… I covered it with a blanket. I let my own tears fall, trying not to think about those bad news, the results, too much.
Before I called my Dad again, I had cleaned up the kitchen and tried to distract myself with a little bit of sketching, sitting on the armchair by the couch, not willing to leave Mom alone. But my hands were too shaky and my mind too side-tracked. I didn't know what was happening to me. The lump in my throat was still present, but wasn't as prominent as before.
What was happening? What was happening to our little piece of heaven?
When I dialed Dad's number again, I prayed it would be him who would answer the phone.
"Charlie Swan speaking," I heard him say.
"Dad?" I asked, starting to pant heavily.
He was quiet for a second. "Bella?"
"Yes, Dad."
"Bella, are you okay?"
I wanted to say 'yes', because I didn't want to worry him, but my sobs were the evidence of the exact opposite. "I'm fine. But Mom's not."
"Bella, what the hell is happening?" he asked angrily. I didn't like him that way, but I knew crying was making him upset.
"I am sorry, Dad, really sorry to disturb you and Sue, but Mom told me to call you and tell you to fly down here, because she got the results," I blurted out quickly, sobbing loudly.
I want this day to end already.
Dad was quiet again. "You sure she said that?"
"Of course, Daddy."
"Why didn't she call?"
I didn't want to tell him about her drinking. "She was tired, she fell asleep."
There was silence on the other side and I couldn't stop crying. "Daddy? Will you come?"
"Well… if I won't be able to come tomorrow, I'll definitely show up on Monday, okay, Bella? Just calm down."
I nodded, but again, he couldn't see me.
"Bella, are you gonna be okay?"
"Yes, I will."
"Has your mother told you anything?"
"No."
He was silent. "Just don't worry, honey. I'll come as soon as I can."
"Okay, Dad. I love you," I said, more calmly.
"Yeah, sure. Bye."
"Bye," I said.
I returned to the living room, Mom still asleep. I switched the TV on, trying to focus on something completely different than what was going on in my mind. I knew I couldn't go to bed, not with Mom here, on the couch. I tried to fall asleep, but I couldn't. Not only the armchair was terribly uncomfortable, but my mind was too busy, I was too awake.
I felt too much alive.
Wasn't there anything that would make me oblivious to everything? Just for a while? Everything was to intense, too strong.
I felt too much.
My eyes darted to my sketchbook. I grabbed it again and strangely enough I managed to focus on sketching. I didn't know what was it that I was drawing, but whatever it was, it carried me through the night, until I fell into dark unconsciousness.
I woke up to the sounds of conversation. Before I allowed my eyes to open, I focused on the voices. One definitely belonged to Mom and I felt my body instantly relax. She was okay. She was okay. I didn't even realize how tense I must have been.
The second voice was not unfamiliar, but it took me only a second or two more to recognize Dad's voice.
Dad was here? So soon?
Suddenly I felt very safe. I didn't have to worry anymore. I am not alone anymore.
As much as I wanted to drift off to sleep again, the voices were too loud now. Getting louder, actually. I lazily opened my eyes and found myself on the couch, in the living room. Someone must have moved me from the armchair. The moment my senses were more aware I realized the voices were coming from the kitchen. I looked at the clock on the wall and saw that it was already 2:30 in the afternoon. I slowly got up and moved towards the kitchen.
"…why didn't you tell her then?" Dad.
Silence.
"I didn't take it very well." Mom.
Silence again.
"What's the prognosis?"
"Well, they have to do some tests, but… It doesn't look good, Charlie," I heard Mom's voice break.
"And what the hell does that mean?"
Mom started sobbing. "I'm going to die, Charlie. Soon."
The lump was back in my throat and now I didn't even fight tears. I thought it was bad, but not that bad.
No, Mommy, no. You can't leave me.
"Fuck."
"Yeah, I know," Mom tried to laugh. It was a very poor attempt. "But, Charlie, will you take care of her, right?"
"What?" Charlie asked, distracted.
"Bella. Will you take care of her, right?"
"Oh, god, Renee, what is that supposed to mean?" Dad whined.
Mom was silent. "You are her father."
"And? Isn't there anyone in your family who can take her? You know I didn't sign up for this."
"But… what am I supposed to do about her, Charlie? She can't possibly be put in the foster care after I die," Mom said, getting angry.
I was silently crying, I couldn't breathe. What was happening?
No, no, no.
"Renee," started Charlie, "I told you the moment you got pregnant... I will give you money every fucking month, I will take her to Forks on holidays even, but nothing more. I can't take care of a child, Renee!"
"She is not a child anymore, Charlie! She is going to be fourteen. Give her four years, save some money for her and then let her go, just don´t rob her of the last possibility to have a home, please," Mom cried. "Charlie, Bella's your daughter."
"This is crazy," Dad muttered.
"And she loves you," Mom continued. "Just think about it, okay?"
"Why the hell didn't you just get rid of her when you had a chance fourteen years ago? I told you so many times that we are not ready for a kid! And look, Renee! Now you decide you're sick and leave her to me! Abortion was our decision, but no! You changed your fucking mind!" Dad was furious. His voice was extremely hurt. I heard Mom sobbing loudly.
"You can't be serious, Charlie."
"I am sorry, but… This is just too much, Renee. Too much," I heard Dad's voice shaking.
"I know," Mom said. "But she needs you."
"I need time to decide."
They were silent and my mind froze. I was trying to process the words I heard, process them and put them in their respective folders in my head. Dad must have been hurting so much, I knew he didn't mean it. My parents never really got along with each other. I didn't blame Dad for his outburst.
But the short feeling of safety was long forgotten.
So, I am still alone, after all.
It was time to get used to it.
I decided to enter the kitchen. But before I did, I'd swiped my tears away and made a loud sound of closing the door to the living room, so they would know I didn't hear them.
When I entered the kitchen, they looked startled and probably wondered if I heard them.
I smiled, pretending I was okay. The fake smile in full force. I wasn't sure if it worked on Mom, but she seemed too distracted to notice anything. And Dad didn't really know me.
"Hey, Bella," Mom said, her eyes red from crying. I tried to recall her yesterday's smile.
"Hey, Mom. Hi, Dad," I said, kissing him on the cheek.
"Hi, Bella," he tried to smile. "You grew up since the last time I saw you."
"Well, yes. My hair is a lot longer," I uttered. I was so confused. I turned to Mom. "Mom? Will you tell me what is happening?"
Mom looked at Dad and he nodded. It was strange seeing them interacting in such a team-like way. Especially after I heard them fight so bad.
Mom started to sob again, but she managed to tell me about her illness. She was diagnosed with mesothelioma. A type of lung cancer which affected the tissue that surrounded the lungs. Yes, I'd noticed she complained about chest pain and she coughed more than usual. But most of the time she was at work and said it was nothing to worry about. So, I didn't. She was my Mommy. I trusted her.
Mom said that her cancer was in the fourth and last stage and that it had spread into her lymph nods and liver. At that point I started to cry with her. Dad put his hand around my shoulder, but it didn't make me feel better. Nothing would ever make me feel better.
My Mommy was dying. She wasn't going to be here anymore.
She was going to leave me.
I am alone.
I hugged her tightly when she stopped talking and cried silently with her. "I am so sorry, Mommy. So sorry," I sobbed. "I love you so much."
"I love you, too, sweetheart. Don't worry, we'll enjoy our last moments, okay?" she looked at me and smiled. Sadly.
I nodded vigorously. "You won't drink again, will you?" I asked in a terrified whisper, so Dad wouldn't hear me.
Mom shook her head. "No, I won't. I am very sorry, honey, I just… I couldn't handle it."
"I am here for you, Mommy. I won't leave you," I promised. "You can tell me anything."
"Okay, baby, I will," she promised as well. I hugged her again and made another promise, but to myself.
I promised myself to make my Mommy smile and laugh as much as I would be able to in the time we had left together. To make her smile in that genuine and loving way. To make that smile reach her eyes.
Mommy passed away on the 19th of December that same year, of the same condition my grandmother had died ten years ago. She died peacefully, in her sleep, at home. Just as she'd wished. It wasn't me who found her, fortunately, but Dad. He'd moved to Phoenix temporarily in the middle of October when Mom's condition considerably worsened. She was grateful for him being here with us. With me. We'd enjoyed beautiful and warm summer, spending every moment together. Mom stopped working in the middle of July. After that we managed to live with the little amount of money Dad was sending us. I had to stop attending my painting lessons, of course, but I didn't mind. I was trying not to paint as much as I wanted to, saving paint and canvases. Instead I worked on my sketching and drawing. I drew probably dozens of Mom's portraits and drawings.
Mommy In the Garden.
Mommy Reading a Book.
Mommy Smiling a Smile That Reached Her Eyes.
I never told her about that title, but she loved that portrait of herself the most. And I did, too. Even Dad, who never was a big fan of my artistic aspirations, said it was very precise.
It meant the world to me.
Mom had refused chemotherapy. She knew that the span of her life would prolong only minimally and she didn't want to spend her last months battling not only cancer but also the side effects of ineffective medication.
One day, in late November, Mom hadn't been feeling very well. She was lying in her bed and I was lying next to her, reading to her from the book about English king Henry VIII and his six wives.
"Bella?"
I stopped reading. "Yes, Mom?"
She took my hand in hers. "I know we were never really on good terms with your father, but… he helped us a lot these last few weeks. When the time comes… Just be a good girl, okay?"
I smirked. "Oh, Mom. I always am."
Mom laughed. "I miss your sassy side."
I shrugged. I knew I wasn't feeling myself. "It's just a lot to process, Mom."
"I know, sweetheart. I know. And you are so sensitive. I wish I could take away your pain," Mom sobbed slightly.
"Don't cry, Mommy," I smiled my fake smile. "You know I'll be alright," I lied.
"Don't you smile that way, Bella."
"What?"
Mom chuckled. "You think I haven't noticed? You smile like that because you don't want me to hurt. But I know, baby, how it hurts you when you don't express what you feel. I know how uncomfortable that is. Don't do that anymore. There's no shame in what you feel."
I was looking at her in awe. "But… Mom, no… I am not doing anything like that."
"No need to hide, sweetie. There is no need to hide."
I had a feeling there was more behind those words.
We hadn't cried a lot. I mean, yes, we had. But not often. We tried to enjoy the most of what we were given, even if it was only watching documentaries about Napoleon or last Russian Tsar. It was probably strange of me to say, but… sometimes I felt like I had never seen Mommy as happy as those last few months.
After Dad had found her breathless in her bed that cold morning, he said he was sorry for me not saying my goodbye. But… I never really wanted to say goodbye. Somehow - and I felt ridiculous about it - I felt we were going to see each other again.
In another lifetime or so.
But even though I felt peaceful at the end of her life, the fact that she wasn't here with me anymore impacted me terribly. I cried and cried and cried for days. Until I stopped. Because I had to.
We were ready to leave Phoenix. For a while, I was really afraid Dad wouldn't take care of me after Mom's death. But he or Mom had never said anything about that possibility. And I had never told them that I knew about it. But after spending my last Christmas in Phoenix, we left almost immediately.
Firstly, I'd thought it would be difficult for me to leave, but it wasn't. Phoenix was my home for last fourteen years but there was nothing even remotely reminiscent of home anymore. Had it ever been a home for me?
Now, I found myself in Forks, Washington. I loved my Dad and I knew he didn't have to take any responsibility for me. He could've left me and put me in the foster care, as Mom had said. But he didn't do it.
I had to make him happy about his decision. I was eternally grateful for it and forever in his debt. But despite everything he did for me, even though I had a roof over my head, I never felt more out of place.
Never felt more alone.
Never more afraid.
I was standing in front of my new house now, surrounded by freezing January cold, and holding tightly onto the only familiarity I recognized - the bag full of paints, brushes, pencils, crayons and the sketchbook full of incomplete drawings. Those were the only things that felt safe.
Those were my only true home.
A/N It was long, I know. But I needed to say all those things. Next time, we'll be back in the present.
Again, I apologize for any mistakes.
So, what do you think? I mean, we have a long way to go, I plan at least two more past chapters, but not too many as they are really slowing down the whole story... And I kind of can't wait to meet Edward, muhaha :)
Thank you all for the reviews.
R.