one
august
August creates as she slumbers, replete and satisfied.
- - - Joseph Wood Krutch
o.o.o
Biting her lip, Bella strains her hearing in the hope of reaching the low murmuring in the living room where Phil Dwyer is surely proposing to her mother at that very moment. He was young, but sweet and Bella liked him better than other boyfriends. Phil was stable. Her mother needed stable.
Just a few weeks ago, Phil had been accepted into the Minor Leagues and Bella had thought the worst, had thought the inevitable - Phil would break her mother's heart. It had happened before. She'd been surprised, then, when Phil had taken her aside and relayed his intentions, seeking Bella's approval for her mother's hand. And Bella, perhaps more privy than most daughters to the thoughts of their mothers, had only been able to acquiesce. She thought that might have been the end of it, but Phil had taken her approval as a tacit permission to rope her into planning the proposal, which is why when he'd given the signal a few minutes ago, Bella had made a flimsy excuse to leave the room. She'd already opened the sparkling apple cider Phil bought and it sits on the counter, carbonation fizzling more loudly than the voices and the low hum of the television.
Her brow furrows. This proposal business is taking longer than she thought it would - unless, had her mother said no? She didn't think it was possible. Few people loved as openly as Renee and fewer still had been loved as fiercely as Renee loved Phil.
Bella tilts her head, bringing her face flush to the wall separating the kitchen from the living room -
"Yes!" Renee cries. "Oh, Phil! I'm so h-happy!"
"These are tears of joy?" comes Phil's voice, muffled toward the end by a kiss, a smack of lips that makes Bella grin in genuine happiness.
She'd have a step-father, now. A good man to help take care of her mother. Already, Bella begins to mentally shuffle household duties and obligations, factoring in Phil's new schedule that she'd glimpsed and memorized. She thinks that the new life standing before her could be a good one. A great one, even, all peaceful and happy. Bella is glad that her mother will have someone when she goes to college in a year.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Renee takes to wedding planning with the type of eccentric enthusiasm that might be expected, spending inordinate amounts of time when Phil is away to flip through bridal magazines. She comes to Bella when she is indecisive, asking a daughter more interested in books and cozy sweaters for fashion advice that she is - for once - ill equipped to supply. For all Bella's vast knowledge, she has no idea about trends, but her mother doesn't listen when she brings up this point and Bella resigns herself to muddling through.
Of course, with such close proximity that comes with passing glossy-paged magazines back and forth, it was inevitable that Renee's fingers would brush over her hand.
All it ever takes it a touch.
…I will miss him so much…
Bella pulls away quickly, covering the movement by pointing to another picture to capture Renee's interest - and her mind whirls, emotions and thoughts that are not her own slipping away in a mental breeze. The content itself lingers, though.
Renee is already anticipating unhappiness after the honeymoon when Phil's work would whisk him to other states, because of course she would need to stay with her underage daughter.
Bella's first thought is that this is unfair.
Her mother should be happy - always.
The solution is obvious.
o.o.o
o.o.o
The first time it happens - or more like the first obvious time it happens, the first time her parents are clued in - Bella flinches and begins to cry into her fists, shoulders heaving as she cringes away from her mother's soothing touch.
"Bella, baby, what's wrong? Is it your tummy? Does you head hurt?" Renee asks frantically, then when she receives no discernable response, she hollers over her shoulder, "Charlie!"
"What - Renee, what happened?" Charlie demands as he rushes into the room, face etched with stress and quickly replaced by panic. He crouches down in front of Bella, radiating confusion at the entire situation. It is very rare when Charles Swan is unsure.
"I don't know! I was just brushing her hair and she started bawling!"
"Bells," Charlie murmurs, picking her up with a grunt and balancing her on his hip. He runs a large hand over the back of her head as he makes shushing noises. "Hey, hey. Bells, what is it?"
"Divorce!" Bella wails. "D-Divorce! Daddy, don't leave!"
Charlie had frozen, exchanging a long look with Renee as Bella latched onto his neck with two skinny arms. His soon-to-be ex-wife shakes her head when he mouths, "Did you tell her?" and Charlie frowns deeply.
"Baby, how did you know?"
Muffled by the way her face is pressed into Charlie's throat, Bella has to repeat herself twice. "Her head told me," Bella says.
And what follows is a year of five-year-old Bella being shuffled between neurologists, psychologists, and psychiatrists. She vividly recalls speaking to very confused adults who simply didn't understand that sometimes Bella just knew things when she touched someone. More rarely, sometimes she knew things about things when she touched objects. A few doctors wanted her medicated, absolutely convinced that Bella was suffering psychosis - delusional schizophrenia, maybe, or a fractured personality.
Charlie, though, is adamant in his refusal. He says that he's been talking to an estranged Uncle of his and that this Uncle just thinks Bella is going through a phase. Charlie tells Renee that they've blown everything out of proportion. "Bella probably just overheard us the night before," he says as he convinces his ex-wife to drop the search for an explanation. "Kids process things differently. Remember what that one quack-"
"I think you mean, that one licensed child psychologist-"
"-said? She was just processing. And besides," Charlie finishes firmly. "Bells hasn't done it again, not for a few months. She's fine, Renee."
"Okay," Renee replies, relieved and easily convinces - because believing this is an easier road to travel than the other option. "You're right. Our Bella will be just fine. She's just…smarter than the average kid."
"Exactly."
Of course, that was the only conversation Bella had actually overheard. She hadn't been lying when she said that she learned of her parent's divorce from Renee's head, but she had decided to be smart and stop talking about all the things she knew. Bella was a smart child. Very smart - smart enough to see the writing on the wall and take steps to protect herself. Smart enough to keep this secret. Nobody needed to know; she understood that now.
The things she knew after she touched? That was her secret. And if that meant she was careful about how she touched the world around her, then so be it. Even at six, after a year of grueling psychological evaluations, Bella Swan displayed remarkable levels of competence.
And at the very least, there was a silver-lining to all those psychometric tests - the IQ tests that let her skip a grade or two right from the start.
Still - she always remembers that all it ever takes is a touch.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Her mother's second marriage is observed during the height of summer, right in the middle of August, and Renee is more radiant than the hot sun beating down on the Arizona desert. Her smile is catching, her eyes dancing and blue, her joy a tangible force in the volume of her laughter. Beside her, Phil's happiness is nearly as immutable.
In the sidelines, Bella smiles, warmth curling in her chest. Sweat has gathered at the base of her neck, pooling in collarbones decorated with faint sun freckles, more skin exposed than she is strictly comfortable to bare - but her mother had asked for so little and Bella could not deny her mother such simple happiness.
The day is bittersweet. Her last full day living with Renee. How appropriate that it should be a celebration.
Bella is not maudlin about the impending change brought about by Phil Dwyer's marriage to her flighty mother - in a lot of ways, she's actually very excited. As much as she loves her mother, it's exhausting being the adult in the house; her father's house would be different, that much she knew, and she looked forward to teenage things. It would be a nice experience to simply go to school and not concern herself with adult issues.
Maybe I'll go to a dance, she muses. Charlie would like that.
Her idle thoughts are cut short with her mother calling her onto the parquet dance floor. Bella tunes back into the present, reluctantly and cautiously joining Renee in a dance, watching her feet carefully as she throws her arms to the sun, which sets slow over the desert horizon. The fierce joy in her heart, the elation of this moment, emblazons itself into her memory and Bella knows that this will be the moment she'll look back on when she thinks of her mother, of her childhood in Arizona.
This moment dancing to The Go Go's with the beginning of a sunburn reddening her shoulders and nose - this is freedom and happiness and mother.
o.o.o
o.o.o
She is never more glad of Phil's steady presence than when Renee is blubbering over Bella at the edge of the security checkpoint in the airport a day later. Her mother's hot tears drip onto Bella's skin. She tries to hug back just as hard, but she thinks that there is something about parenthood that makes hugs more unbreakable, more honest. Renee's heartbreak over Bella's departure to her father's home is not a farce - but at the same time, part of Renee is glad to be alone with Phil, to be a newlywed and enjoy her husband in these early years of their marriage.
Bella can't begrudge her mother this, not when she knows the exact breadth of Renee's thoughts. She lets her touch linger on the bare skin of her mother's upper arms as she lingers in this hug, absorbing pure Renee as much as possible. Her mother is like the desert sun, warm and insurmountable.
"I'll be okay, Mom," she says, pulling away. "Besides, don't you think my skin will thank me for a little shade? We don't all tan as well as you do."
"Oh!" Renee frets, smoothing Bella's clothes and sniffling. "Oh, baby, don't forget to use the aloe, okay? You make that father of yours buy some if you run out."
"I will," Bella says.
"And make sure you get out of the house, okay? Books are fine and all, but real people are even better."
"I know," she repeats, chest twinging at this prolonged farewell. "But you will send my books, right?"
"I'll ship them overnight," Phil answers, draping a toned arm over Renee's shoulders, subtly reigning his new wife in, calming her more effectively than Bella has ever been able to. "They're already in the trunk waiting to be taken to the UPS store."
"Thank you," she says to her step-father.
They both know that she means thanks for more than just her books.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Seatac International Airport is massive, but Charlie is already waiting for her at the gate, wrapping her into a cool embrace. When he presses a kiss to her forehead, his mustache brushing her brow, Bella is inundated with a wave of Charlie - her stoic, cool under pressure, strong and silent father, who is everything that is safe and calm. He smells like pine and cloves and in this embrace Bella also lingers, basking in the cleansing breeze of her father's mind. He is more reserved than Renee; Bella has never been entirely sure that it is because of Charlie being Charlie or if there's another reason. She feels, sometimes, that part of Charlie is locked away.
"Hey, Bells," he says gruffly, patting her on the back. "Missed you."
"I missed you, too."
"Let's get out of here, yeah?"
Bella nods, tucking herself beneath her father's arm, using his body as a barrier against the sheer volume of people in the airport. She's been in this airport twice a year since she was seven but it never fails to amaze her just how busy it is, how many people can be packed into one place. Charlie has always indulged her need to shadow him in large crowds, though, a habit that hadn't faded since she was very young. Her father was her safe harbor - he seemed to know it, even enjoyed it. Bella was content with him.
She shouldn't have waited so long to move back to Washington.
They are quiet in Charlie's cruiser on the four hour drive to his little hamlet town of Forks, not out of lack of topics to discuss but because they are both naturally taciturn. He does make an effort to ask about her new favorite book - for the week, it is The Catcher in the Rye - and she returns the gesture by asking for his most interesting cases since the last time she saw him - which is a curious case of a slowly dwindling deer population. After that, aside from agreeing that they would rather eat at home, they return to their companionable silence.
Bella turns her eye to the car window, familiarizing herself with the towering evergreens, the outline of the Cascades and Mount Rainer to the east, and the heavy ridges of the Olympic Peninsula looming on either side of the highway. Somehow, she always forgets how much green is in Washington. The beauty is astounding, a different sort of stunning than the Arizona desert. Perhaps just as different as the tenor of her parent's minds.
It is somewhat sobering to discover that Charlie's house hasn't changed at all since the last time she was there - two weeks in June - and that it really hadn't changed since he was married to Renee. She shoulders into the foyer, eyeing the flaking sunshine yellow paint on the kitchen cabinets with a determined jut to her jaw. She decides right then that she would help Charlie move on - Renee had already done so and her father deserved to be just as happy. Her new project - the house - would involve Charlie's cooperation to drive her to Port Angeles over the weekend, but she doesn't think that he'll object.
Bella could think of worse ways to spend the last two weeks of her summer vacation. What else would she do while her books from Phoenix were being shipped and while Charlie was working shifts at the station? Until she had homework, Bella's days would be empty and she wasn't someone who liked to be idle.
And she's right - Charlie doesn't object when she brings up her idea to do a little home renovation. Just to be sure, when she mentions it, she brushes her pinky over his wrist, right under his watch.
All it takes is a touch.
Charlie is relieved.
…It's about time…
She can't agree more.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Charlie's routine isn't mysterious. During the week, he wakes up early, drinks the ultra-strong sludge they both love that is coffee, and disappears down to the station for the day until it's quitting time and he can recline with Sports Center after eating a hasty meal of more carbohydrates than she cares to think about. The weekends are not much different, except he trades the station for fishing down in La Push with Billy Black and Harry Clearwater. This is true whether Bella is there or not, so she thinks its very gracious of him to skip fishing on Saturday in order to drive her over to the Port Angeles Home Depot.
They share of thermos of over-hot coffee over the muted news reports on the radio, content to their silence. Bella is happy like this; she thinks that Charlie is, too. He chuffs a laugh when she pulls out a book from the little woven over-shoulder bag that she always carries with her, the fabric so worn that the scuffs are a lurid orange rather than the mocha it had been when she'd originally bought it. Today, she is interested in continuing her pursuit of Tolstoy and Charlie whistles low when she cracks open Resurrection.
If Renee were here, she would fret over the contents of a book with such a title, but Charlie is simply mildly impressed. He'd sent her Russian literature before, a bundle of Voltaire's novels for her birthday last year. Bella might fuss at other presents, but she could never turn down a book.
She loses herself in Tolstoy's world for the rest of the drive, invigorated in equal turns by words and caffeine. Charlie nudges her gently when he turns off the cruiser in the Home Depot parking lot and she packs her book away, marking her page with a thin silver-chain bookmark boasting a single ruby pendant that had also been a gift.
Bella enters the store, exhaling the overwhelming feeling of so many options through her nose and instructing Charlie to find new hardware for the cabinets and light fixtures. Then, she heads over to the expansive section of the store dedicated to paint, where she waffles for a good few minutes, eyes roving over different brands and colors and uses with a modicum of confusion. She should have researched beforehand, or something, but she honestly thought that starting small by repainting and replacing old fixtures would be easy.
Oh, how wrong she was!
What color did she want? She wasn't sure. Renee gravitated to loud, bright shades and judging by the dour pattern of Charlie's favorite chair, he preferred more natural colors. That - she can work with that. She would keep it simple.
Bella turns to track a brand that seems to specialize in colors found in nature. She frowns, memory pulling up a list of color meanings that she must have skimmed a few years ago, and then rules out the warmer pallet of oranges, browns, and reds. After that, Bella quickly decides on a slate grey for the walls in the living room and hallway, a dusty purple for her room, a grey-green for Charlie's room, and an airy stone-grey for the kitchen. But she wavers for the cabinets, unsure if there needs to be an extra step before she paints them or if the lighter taupe she has her eye on will cover that bright yellow adequately. Off-white walls are different than already-painted cabinets, right?
"Could I help you, dear?"
Bella turns, expecting to see an employee in an orange vest. She blinks. The woman beside her is beautiful in a classic, old-Hollywood way, pale with a small nose and doleful warm caramel eyes only a shade lighter than her silky hair. The woman smiles at her, closed-lipped and kind. Her lips are painted in a perfect ruby rouge.
"I don't know," Bella responds, a little belated. "Can you help me?"
"I'll do my best, dear," she says, eyes twinkling. "I'm an interior designer, so I know a thing or two about paint. You seem to be buying a lot of colors…"
"My dad's house could use an upgrade that isn't so, you know, mid-90's fabulous."
The woman laughs and it sounds like ringing bells. "I see. It looks like an awful lot of work. Are you very committed?"
"Summer vacation," Bella says by way of explanation.
The woman laughs again. "So, you have all these cans picked out…but you have hit a snag?"
"Cabinets."
"Ah," she replies, nodding sagely. "Already painted, I assume?"
"Yes. My mother had to chose the most eye-searing shade of yellow known to man and now I'm not sure if I'll even be able to cover it up."
The woman peers at the cans in the display, lips pursed. "Well, dear, I think you were on the right track. The brand you settled on already has a primer built in, which should be thick enough to cover even eye-searing shades of yellow," she decides with a gentle giggle. "But if there are any chips on the cabinets now, you would better serve your project to sand down the edges of the chips so that your new color goes on smooth."
"Sandpaper," Bella confirms, nodding to herself. "Thank you for helping me."
The woman smiles again, then turns to another selection of paint brand. "Oh, dear, it was my pleasure. I admire youths who make their days productive. My own sons can't be bothered to help in my projects and I'm afraid my daughters appreciate a different type of shopping."
"Still, thanks for saving me from the headache of second-guessing all these choices. I'm Bella, by the way."
"Esme Cullen," says the woman.
Bella's lips stretch into a smile. Esme. A classic name for a classic woman.
She bids Esme farewell, pushing her cart of paint cans through the store in search for her father - and for sandpaper. Maybe a rug, too. And a new kitchen table. And, actually, new tiles for the bathroom and kitchen…
Charlie is a good sport about her purchases. He even adds his two-cents when she hems and haws between options - and then, once they have picked out some unexpected furniture additions, he promises to call up a deputy with a truck to haul out their old stuff the next day. She has the unerring sense that all this change is difficult for him, but that he's forging on all the same because - because it's time.
And as a reward for his cooperation, Bella personally places what will be one of the last pizza deliveries to the Swan home for the next year. She imagines Charlie might begin to balk once she reveals the dietary changes she was planning for him. Just the thought inspires a private smile.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Over the course of the next week, Bella settles into her new life and into an efficient routine with her painting project. Charlie helps her with the prep on Monday morning, delaying his departure for work for an hour while he walks her through how to lay tarps and line baseboards with paint. He shows her the right screws to use when she gets around to replacing hardware and encourages her to be careful, for God's sake.
Bella enjoys the week, the burn in seldom-used muscles as she reaches and stretches and cleans. It's messier than she expected and paint drips if there is too much on the roller and her knees are killing her from redoing the floors and she has a jammed thumb, but by the time she is done, the house is transformed as much as she can manage by herself and Bella has learned new skills. House painting. Tile laying. Hedge trimming. Navigating a toolbox.
When Charlie steps into the kitchen of new white vinyl self-adhesive tiles and freshly painted taupe cabinets, he hugs Bella for a long, long time. Bella, not wanting to intrude on his thoughts, is careful to keep their skin from touching, but hugs back just as fiercely before she shows him the rest of the house, filled with pride.
She should have done this for him a long time ago.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Dear Great-Uncle Aro,
I have finally finished unpacking all of the books shipped from my old room in Phoenix, but imagine my surprise when another box arrived today full of the collective works of one Edgar Allen Poe. Correct me if I'm wrong, but these look an awful lot like first editions. How you spoil me! And how you challenge me - you know how I feel about Poe! The Raven went on for eons, Uncle. Eons.
But thank you all the same. Know that I will devour these books just as readily as I do any book you send me. You feed my habit enough that Charlie has started calling you The Enabler.
Tell me, how is Italy? Last time you wrote, you said that the tourists in Volterra were thinning more and more each year. I hope that is not the case, for I still have plans to visit the town of our family when I have graduated high school. Please do all you can to attract new visitors, Uncle. Have you thought anymore about a parade? Volterra has such rich history to celebrate.
Send Aunt Sulpicia my love and gratitude! I wish to remind her that I use her bookmark each day and that it frequently brightens my thoughts.
All my love,
Your Great-Grandniece Isabella
o.o.o
o.o.o
Rachel and Rebecca Black turn eighteen on August 27th and Bella is one of many attendees at the gathering on First Beach that is part birthday celebration and part farewell send off. The next day, Rachel and Rebecca are scheduled to drive down to Seattle and get settled in their dormitories at University of Washington. They are both excited about rooming with someone they are not related to, though when Rachel says this in confidence, her smile falters with nerves.
"You don't have anything to worry about," Bella tells her soothingly, voice nearly drowned out by the crackle of blue flame in the driftwood bonfire.
"Even if my roommate sucks?" Rachel asks with an indelicate snort that does nothing to detract from the exotic beauty of her rich russet complexion and deep-set jet eyes. "I mean, not that anyone can be worse than Becca on a bad hair day, but still. I've read horror stories on the UW forums. Socks on door handles, Bella."
"I thought that was only for boys?"
"Apparently not," says Rachel wryly. Then she sighs, fiddling with a clamshell necklace. "Listen to me, making a mountain out of a mole hill. I have nothing to be worried about. It's just…I can't imagine being off the Res for so long, you know?"
Bella nods in understanding. In all honesty, she couldn't grasp the gravity of Rachel's concerns - she didn't have that ancestral history, that sense of maligned civil rights that swam through the veins of all Native Americans. But she could empathize. Change is hard. "I could recommend a book, probably," she offers after a moment, thinking of a dozen titles that might ease the transition into adulthood and give Rachel a different perspective.
"Good God, no. And add to my reading list? Pass."
They dissolve into laughter - their exchange is not a new one. By the virtue of their fathers being such close friends, Rachel and Bella have known each other since they were children, having spent summers down by the beach and the tidal pools, exploring and growing and laughing as Rachel and Rebecca coaxed Bella out of her world of books, their little brother Jacob nipping at their heels. Any time Rachel was unsure - like after the death of her mother, Sarah, two summers ago - it was Bella's habit to offer a book and Rachel's time-honored response to react with bemusement.
The rest of the party is spent by Rachel's side, catching up on the La Push goings-on that Charlie wouldn't think to share - such as Leah Clearwater and Sam Uley breaking up over Leah's cousin Emily, Paul Lahote getting in trouble with the tribal elders over a brawl that apparently ended with damage to one of the ancestral dream-catchers, and more interestingly, the recent fall-out between Old Quil, Harry Clearwater, and Billy Black.
"I'm not even sure what it's about," Rachel declares uneasily, pushing long hair behind her ears. "Dad is being so hush-hush about it, you know, and it doesn't help that Harry had to leave the Council because of his heart. Sue is beside herself. She was over the other day and called all three of them children. I didn't even know my Dad could pout so much."
"Charlie didn't mention any of this," Bella comments, picking her way carefully over the beach.
"Well, he wouldn't. I mean, it's such a weird fight. I think Dad is embarrassed by it, so I'm not surprised he wouldn't mention it to Charlie - but if he does, you make sure to tell your Dad to keep mum about it. Billy is dead-set on his opinion and you know how stubborn he can be. I'd hate for him to have a falling out with your Dad, too."
Bella makes a note to pass along Rachel's advice later on, seeing the wisdom of it. Charlie didn't have many friends; he could stand the keep the ones he did have. "Aside from all of that, what else is going on?"
"Did I tell you that Jake has his heart set on being a mechanic? He finally convinced Dad to let him try fixing up that old monstrosity in the garage."
Bella's brows raise. "That red truck? Really?"
Rachel nods, snickering to herself. "Yeah, really."
"Good luck, Jacob Black," Bella murmurs.
"Trust me, he needs all the luck he can get. He's so scrawny for thirteen, but I like his ambition."
"Try and try again."
"That's right!" Rachel agrees. "Persistence is a Black quality, did you know? Jake's more persistent than most."
"You tell him that if he can get that thing running, I'll convince Charlie to buy it for my sixteenth birthday," Bella decides thoughtfully. "I could use a car for college. Do you think he could get it done in a year? I should ask."
Rachel rolls her eyes with a grin. "You're an enabler, Bella Swan."
"It runs in the family," Bella smirks, slipping on one of the larger boulders near the edge of the shoreline and swiftly righting her balance with her arms thrown to the slide, previous expression wiped from her face as her heart races. She sighs in relief and then shoots a scowl in Rachel's direction as the other girl laughs hard enough to clutch at her stomach. "You know," she says, stepping down carefully. "Most people would at least ask if I'm okay."
Rachel wipes at the mirthful tears falling from her eyes. "Please," she gasps in delight. "We're practically family. I'm entitled to fully enjoying the marvel that is your abysmal coordination."
"Oh, sure, laugh it up," Bella huffs. "I hope your roommate leaves tons of socks on your door!"
Rachel Black's shrieks of laughter fill the air at First Beach.
o.o.o
o.o.o
Dearest Isabella,
Please entertain this old fool and read The Tell-Tale Heart. Perhaps it is my dark humor, but I believe you will understand my fascination with Mister Poe after giving the story another look. And if you do not, I shall not hold a grudge, I solemnly promise.
Italy would be better for your fair presence, precious, but Sulpicia and I would both prefer you to graduate before you travel. The world is waiting to meet you, Isabella, and you are young yet. Might I plead that you try to grow a bit more slowly? While I am but a simple old man, I am sure your father would greatly appreciate it if you would bask in your childhood. Nevertheless, I believe you are very much like me and I should not dream to demand that you halt progress to appease those around you. Do that which makes you happy, dearest girl.
That said, I have spoken with Sulpicia about your suggestion of a parade. She is interested by the idea and encourages me to speak to my associates about a new tourist attraction. I will continue to mull this over, but I do believe the idea has merit and as such, you have my gratitude, dear one. Your brilliance continues to be unchallenged.
Now, Sulpicia knows that your birthday is naught but a few weeks away and she would like to inquire if your ears have been pierced? I know not of what she plans, sweet Isabella, but I suspect that my wife intends to honor your fifteenth birthday properly. Please indulge her, as she longs to spoil you and she does not seem keen to take refusal as an answer.
May I extend my best wishes to this, your final year of schooling?
My eternal heart,
Aro
o.o.o
o.o.o
With great care, Bella tucks Great Uncle Aro's most recent letter into a simple wooden keepsake box that she kept on top of her desk, latching the golden lock with a small key that she wore around her wrist. Both the box and the key were presents from her distant relative, her most beloved pen pal and trusted confidant. She treasured everything that Great Uncle Aro and Great Aunt Sulpicia sent her. A great deal of the decorations in her room, such as the glass-dipped orchid sitting in a crystal vase next to the keepsake box, were gifts she'd received over the years.
Bella hugs The Tell-Tale Heart to her chest and settles into bed for the night, having already undergone her nightly ablations. Although it was Renee who impressed upon her the importance of proper self-care, it was Great Aunt Sulpicia who took to sending Bella an assortment of customized products from Volterra and Bella used these products ritually twice a day. The scent of her soaps and moisturizers and lotions was very subtle and consistent; Sulpicia insisted that a woman have a signature scent and Bella's was destined to be a thoughtful combination of tart pomegranates, sweet strawberries, and fragrant lilies. Bella didn't mind. It was easier if Sulpicia sent her these products as she appreciated not having the spend the time thinking about what was best for her skin and hair. And anyway, she could tell it meant a lot to her Great Aunt, who had lost several children over the years.
If Bella was anything, she was at the very least empathetic - probably as often as she was apathetic, truly.
Prone on her bed, head cushioned by microfiber pillows, Bella decides that she quite likes the way her room turned out. The dusty purple paint complements the smoky plum bedding atop her mattress; the sheer white and grey curtains masked just enough ambient outdoor light that she felt the privacy without feeling closed in; the soft golden light of her lamp touched upon all the fine porcelain and glass figurine flowers spread across her nightstand, her window sill, and the top of her bookcase, drawing attention away from the sagging shelves that were all together over-stressed by the weight of her literary collection.
She might have to look for another case, soon, especially if Great Uncle Aro continued to send her such priceless editions, which she knew he would. He was very interested in cultivating her mind, expanding the breadth of her knowledge; the majority of her interest in obscure genres is due directly to his influence. She credits Aro's dedication to honoring her interests as the reason she has made it through the isolation of an advanced intelligence relatively unscathed. The escapism of literature was - a comfort.
Bella flips to the first page of The Tell-Tale Heart, gingerly handling the old hardcover as she melts a square of dark-chocolate on her tongue. She tries to read the short story again through the eyes of her Great Uncle. She begins to see where he might find humor in the story - it is funny, isn't it, a story about a man trying to plead his sanity while also confessing to a homicide. A black humor, to be sure. She begins to smile to herself, flipping to the next page, when Charlie clears his throat from her doorway.
She looks up, raising an inquisitive brow.
Charlie shifts, rubbing at the prickling hair on his jaw. There is a toothpaste stain on the collar of his sleep shirt that he either hadn't noticed or hadn't cared about. "You sure you don't want me to drive you to school tomorrow?"
Marking her page with another of Aunt Sulpicia's bookchains, this one a thicker gold, Bella shakes her head, placing her book on the edge of her nightstand. "Believe me, Dad, it's going to be hard enough being in classes with people at least three years older than myself. The last thing I need is to stick out more by arriving in a police cruiser."
Charlie pulls a face. "Alright. I guess that's a pretty good reason."
"I do have a bit of insight to the issue that you might not," she points out dryly.
"Then you know how to get to the high school?"
"It's right off the highway, just like everything else," she confirms. "Really, Dad. It'll be fine. Walking won't kill me, you know."
At this, Charlie looks dubious. "Kid, have you seen you walk?"
Bella gasps in mock outrage. They both know that she's not accident prone, just careless as most of her flirtations with accidents have happened as a direct result of simply not paying attention. "I'll have you know that it's everything else besides walking that I have trouble with, thank you very much."
"You know, I've yet to see any proof…" he teases.
"Dad!"
Charlie holds his hands up with a twitch of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Goodnight, Bells. I…I'm real glad you're here."
Bella gentles, pulling her blankets closer. "Me too, Dad."
She waits until Charlie has gone to his room, bedframe creaking beneath his weight, before she turns out the lamp, twisting onto her side so that she can stare out the window until sleep takes her. If she's being honest, she just put up a pretty big false front with Charlie just now. Really, she was nervous about starting Forks High in the morning. Not only would she be the new kid, but she would be in classes with seniors instead of freshmen and that wasn't anything to scoff at. But then, she'd been in classes with older kids since she started school, adding another gap during middle school when she jumped from sixth to seventh grade halfway through the year. Sometimes, the thought strikes her that she should have listened to Renee and stayed with her own peers - but she always dismisses it.
Bella is fifteen and about to be a senior in high school all due, by and large, to the sheer appetite of her reading habit and a memory like a steel trap. It had been her choice to skip grades; she'd been given options that she refused at the time, so bored by her classes. Her refusal to stay with her peers hadn't been a mistake, of that she was sure.
She is not a social creature. She's never quite fit with the other kids, regardless of their ages. And maybe it was because of that thing she can do that she doesn't talk about - ever - but maybe it's also because she just hasn't found her place in the world, yet. She isn't sure that Forks was a better option than Phoenix, but it was the option she chose. And if she didn't fit in here - well, there was always college. College at sixteen, though - just the thought makes her balk and it's an entire year away.
It's not so different, though. I'm not that much younger, she decides, slipping closer to the edge of sleep as each moment passes, her worries fading from the forefront of her mind.
And it is here - right on the cusp of sleep - that Bella is struck by a soothing of the soul. She just…knows that she was meant to be in Forks, in the same way that she knew how sad Renee would have been with Phil traveling and in the same way she knew exactly how happy Charlie was to have her beneath his roof.
o.o.o
o.o.o
That is August.
A/N: Take note of the chapter titles! I'm planning on this being about 12 chapters, probably of varying lengths but near this size? IDK. We're just…doing it, apparently. Each chapter is about a month-long timeframe. But then again, who the hell knows? I can tell you that SERPENTINE wasn't supposed to get that big that quick….Ignore this. Ignore me! I have no idea what I'm doing.
Anyway.
So, obviously I've changed several things about this and that will become more obvious as we go on. First and probably most importantly, Bella is 15 and she's starting Forks High with the rest of the senior class. Making her skip grades was a nod to the advanced mental capacity of vampires in general. Figured even 1/8th vampire would have some considerable cognitive juice. Also, she was born in 1999, so at this point in time, the year is 2014 and she is very firmly a Millennial. A mature one, sure, but a Millennial all the same. This will be interesting later because Edward is a Victorian, right? So how do you think the Victorians would react to Millennial's? (Scandalized. They would be scandalized) Also! I was always just a bit annoyed that SM limited Bella's literary interests to just the romantic classics. What, because girls only want to read harlequins? I mean, I do, but I also read other things and Russian lit really is amazing. There's an entire world of books out there and this Bella is serious about her reading. I love Jane Austen just as much as the next girl, but come on.
And yes, Great-Uncle is how Aro is playing this. He couldn't very well be honest, now could he? How could he possibly explain really being her great-great-grandfather without being like, "Whoops, also I'm a vampire, surprise!" Plus, if he tried for any closer relation, then he'd have to explain why he didn't adopt Charlie as the closest blood kin and yadda yadda yadda. Go with it!
As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.
~cupcakeriot