6.
It's the unknown that pulls me back to the club, back to the alley where I last remember seeing Edward. In the light of day, it doesn't look the same. There are no ominous shadows, no hidden dangers. It's brick and concrete, dirty dumpsters and dirtier puddles.
Standing in the center of the alley, I close my eyes, letting my mind drift to that night, desperately trying to remember anything that will help me find my husband. But the only things I see when I close my eyes are more of the same terrible, nightmarish memories I've convinced myself aren't real.
His agonized screams that have been the soundtrack to my nightmares for weeks echo in my ears as the sun shines down on me. Tears fill my eyes, spilling over and running down my cheeks.
I turn and run.
The farmer's market is busy. It's always busy. But today the crowd feels too large, too close, so I stay to the fringes, slowly meandering my way down the long line of vendors. I grab some produce, a few vegetables to make into a meal or two, and stop to admire the colorful flowers at the florist's stand.
My fingertips dance along the petals of the bright sunflowers, a memory coming back to me. This time a happy one.
I laugh as Edward tickles my nose with the small bouquet. "But why is it always sunflowers?"
"Because you're my sun, beautiful Bella."
"Pretty flowers for a pretty girl?" the vendor asks, snapping me out of my memory.
My gaze stays on the bright, three-stem arrangement. "Yeah," I say softly, "I'll take them."
The Port Angeles City Pier is a short walk from the market, and as if I'm being beckoned, I'm inexplicably drawn to it.
It's Saturday, so there are people milling around, sailboats out on the harbor and families enjoying walking the shoreline, but I feel absolutely and utterly alone.
When I reach the end of the pier, I lean against the railing, peering out over the water. The midday, July sun burns brightly overhead, so I tilt my head back and close my eyes, soaking up its warmth.
When I open my eyes again, I look down at the blooms in my hand, slipping one from the bundle and holding it out over the water.
"I don't think I ever told you that you were my sun," I whisper to the wind.
The stem slips from my fingers and catches on the breeze, landing with a gentle dip into the choppy surface of the water. I watch it float away, hoping it isn't the goodbye it feels like.
It's a Wednesday morning when he knocks on my door. Doctor Cullen's kind smile, his warm concern chipping at the wall I've constructed around myself in the last weeks. It's his offer to come to his home for a meal that completely disarms me.
"Are you sure? I'm not very good company these days," I warn.
He smiles. "I'm sure."