Back-to-back chapters as a gift, if you're still reading. Your reviews have kept, and will keep, me going.
June 2006
Every summer since Bella had been three, Esme spent a small fortune renting a beachside villa in southern California. Esme dipped into her inheritance and packed her stepdaughter and a collection of silky kaftans into her car to drive south. Bella had made sandcastles and buried Esme's body underneath the sand. Esme had inflated flowery floaties and taken Bella, via piggyback ride, into the ocean.
When Bella was thirteen, Edward joined them. He'd become a presence darker and stormier than any of nature's elements. Esme had yelled until her throat was hoarse when he disappeared into stormy waves on a particularly hot summer's night. When Bella was thirteen and Edward fifteen, Edward had insisted on jet skiing. When Bella was fourteen, Edward left a beer bottle trail leading to puke behind the beach roses – like an overgrown raccoon. When Bella was fifteen, Edward had spent the summer disappearing into the evening with a local girl. Edward returned to breakfast glowing with rest and grinning smugly, making Bella green with envious nausea. Carlisle had been brought in to yell at Edward – he had been neither chaste nor discreet.
Coloring all that gray, however, were stolen moments of sweetness. One year, Edward had gotten Bella a water inflatable, pushing her beyond the harshest waves so that she could float above them. Another year, he had insisted on a Boogieboard. Edward, an avid camper before his mother's death, had built a fire – and insisted that he and Bella camp out in a loosely pitched tent, despite Esme's histrionics. That year, Edward had worn his enthusiasm like a puppy. He brought hiking shoes, insisted on picking out music, and brought a camera – unveiling a hitherto unheard-of enthusiasm for photography.
The drive to California was an eighteen-hour drive. Every year, Esme broke down the driving with a two-day stop at the Redwood National Park, which Bella loved – mostly because of its wide, flat trails. Every year, suffering from waves of teenage angst, Edward would insist on running the more challenging trails by himself – leaving Bella and Esme to take leisurely strolls on the accessible trails. Every year, the three of them shared a room at the Holiday Inn in Klamath – Esme and Bella cuddled together in one bed. Edward, on the other bed, would violently protest that he was old enough to room by himself.
That year, for the first time, Edward offered to drive at least half the time. He ended up driving them for sixteen hours, without complaint. That year, also for the first time, Esme had gotten two adjoining rooms at the Holiday Inn in Klamath. She and Bella kept the wheelchair-accessible room that she needed. "Charlie insisted," Esme explained, clearing her throat awkwardly, as they parted.
The whole notion made Bella turn scarlet.
Their first morning in California, Edward slammed the door open at 7 AM, looking like a backlit Rumpelstilkin.
"Rise and shine," Edward half-yelled in a singsong voice.
"Shut up, Edward," Bella grumbled, pulling her comforter over her head.
"Silly, silly baby Bee," Edward taunted gleefully, tugging on that very comforter to reveal Bella's Snoopy-themed pajamas. Weakly, Bella threw a pillow at him. "Daylight's burning, sweetheart."
"It's 7 AM," Bella croaked, as Esme emerged from the bathroom in a terrycloth bathrobe.
Every year, Edward ran off by himself as soon as they reached their first destination center in the Park, swearing – and foreswearing – that he would report back every four hours. That year, he seemed perfectly content to trail after Bella and Esme into the Simpson-Reed Grove. It was the easiest to access from a wheelchair, made up of mostly flat, manageable ground.
"You're not running off to the Damnation Trail?" Bella asked skeptically. Whistling cheerfully, Edward shook his head. Bella's eyebrows hiked into a frown, and Edward stepped closer to push down on Bella's baseball cap. Her thick, dark ponytail cascaded down the back.
"Nope," Edward said, popping the p and stopping his whistling.
"Really? What about the Foo Fighters?" Bella deadpanned mockingly, as her lips turned into a smile.
Edward flicked the tip of her nose in protest - with the utmost care. "The whole point of this nonsense is to spend time together."
Bella's heart squeezed. Were they thinking the same thing – that their time together was slipping away? That everything would change now?
Customarily, Edward had glared dangerously at the people who stared and grumbled at Bella, but not even that had abated his good mood. He was almost skipping with glee, snapping photographs of every fern and every tree. When Bella ran out of breath, he'd stop and offer to push – an offer that Bella took gladly.
"What are you doing?" Bella gasped in horror at one point, noticing the lens was aimed at her. "Taking a fucking picture, genius," Edward said casually, smirking.
Bella blinked. "I won't if you don't want me to," Edward said immediately.
Shaking her head, Bella gestured at her wheelchair. Edward's entire face soured.
"Christ, Bee, that's not a good reason," he said darkly. "You're fucking pretty, OK? Lemme take a fucking picture of you."
A spark rose in Bella's stomach almost as quickly as the blush rose in her cheeks.
"Shut up, Edward," she mumbled. The compliment had made her eyes sparkle, and impossibly, she smiled towards the lens.
On their first day on the California coast, Bella was crushed by a boulder of embarrassment. Esme had insisted on buying colorful two-pieces – breaking completely with Bella's preferred one-piece. "Most moms want their daughters to wear one-pieces," Bella snapped at her mother. "You're a big girl, Bella," Esme had tittered, effectively ending the argument as she snapped a price tag off a white bikini.
With every year, as her self-consciousness grew, Bella had grown to hate the beach. Once Bella outgrew her stroller at age three, Esme procured a beach wheelchair. In her mind, Bella sardonically called it 'The Tank.' It was outfitted like one, with four enormous wheels worthy of a steamroller. Using her everyday rigid wheelchair, Bella elicited covert stares. When she used The Tank, Bella elicited outright, unapologetic leering.
She sat in her regular rigid wheelchair, wearing a gossamer cover-up, wheelchair brakes locked, angled towards the couch. The Tank was across her, taking up half the floor space. Her stomach was rolling, and her eyes were glistening with tears. "I don't want it," Bella said nastily, but her eyes were pleading. She felt on the verge of a tantrum.
It happened sometimes. The reservoir of courage she relied on to face the world drained away, like an eddy of water swirling into a sewer. Sometimes, she truly couldn't cope.
Esme rubbed her hands against her eyes roughly. "I don't see what the problem is," she said irritably. "You didn't have a problem with this last year."
"I can't, Mom. Not this year. I don't want to," Bella insisted, her voice rising in pitch, bordering on a screech.
"OK. Fine. Then just stay here watching cable," Esme said exasperatedly, throwing her hands up in the air. Her silk, emerald-and-sapphire kaftan swirled around her, and Bella was reminded of an irritable peacock.
Bella turned desperately to Edward, doe eyes wide and pleading. "Can you give me a piggyback ride?"
"Always," Edward said automatically. He'd been watching the exchange, leaning against a doorframe.
"It's like 300 yards to the beach, Edward – "
"I'll be OK, Esme, Christ."
Aggravated, Esme sighed and turned to Bella. "You're throwing a tantrum. "
"Mom!" Bella pleaded, and her eyes started to prickle with tears. "I hate that people stare."
"Sweetheart," Esme said, clearly on the verge of softening her stance. "Honey, if you care what people think – "
"Just let her off the hook," Edward insisted, in a confident and level-headed voice, taking on an adult-like tone that reminded Bella of Edward's grandfather.
Esme huffed. "Fine. It's better than staying in all day," she muttered to herself. "Are you ready, Edward?"
Bella turned to look, and knowing she'd grow flustered if she wasn't careful, steeled herself as she did so. He was wearing a pair of dark aviators, a Polo shirt, and baggy swim trunks. He wore sandals, not flip-flops. The shirt hugged every plane of ever-growing muscles.
"You look like a frat boy," Bella cackled, to hide her attraction.
Edward smirked and cocked an eyebrow. "I'd watch it if I were you, baby Bee," he said. "If you piss me off, I could just drop you by the bushes."
Bella laughed, and Esme rolled her eyes. She secured an enormous purse around her shoulder. "Edward, honey, be careful with her," she instructed before opening the front door.
Ignoring her entirely, Edward helped Bella stand. With her hands, she gripped onto the armrests to support her weight.
Then their world tilted on its axis.
Edward stopped, looking completely dumbstruck as his eyes raked Bella's body. He'd seen her in Snoopy-themed Pajamas, in dresses long and short, and in many a cardigan. This was the first time he saw her newly minted breasts, which he had never had cause to stare at before. His lips parted in shock as his eyes glazed. Bella's stomach somersaulted up to her chest, where her heart started to hammer under Edward's burning stare. His gaze scorched the skin it touched. He had never looked that way at her before.
"Fuck," he cursed, as if struck dumb.
Then the bubble burst as Esme cleared her throat. Her eyes were inscrutable underneath her sunglasses, but her mouth went rigid with panic, and her face had whitened.
"Let's go, kids," she instructed shakily.
Edward blinked, as if out of a reverie. Unlike Bella, who had been hiding an incapacitating physical attraction for years, Edward looked completely befuddled.
"Uh. Yeah. Uh. Bella, hop on." They'd done this before. Bella couldn't hop, so Edward had to crouch low. It was the only time during the ritual that Edward seemed to struggle: Bella had to half-crawl up his back with her arms, using his shoulders as leverage. Once Edward was finally standing, he secured both of Bella's legs – which were rigid with spasticity – with his arms. For Bella, whose leg muscles were perpetually taut and filled with contractures, wrapping her legs around Edward's waist was uncomfortable but not painful.
The walk to the beach was unusually, painfully quiet – save for Bella's squeaky concern for Edward's comfort.
"You OK?" she asked in a squeaky voice.
"I'm fucking fine. Are you?" he volleyed back, sounding increasingly breathless.
Grunting, he secure his grip on her, lifting her so Bella would rise the expanse of his back. Bella turned scarlet on Edward's back, as the memory of his eyes on her body seared itself into her brain. She curled around him, resting her cheek on the nape of his neck as if to grow comfort, feeling it grow damp with sweat.
The ocean's thunderous lull grew closer, and Edward's step grew labored as he maneuvered over crests and troughs of golden-brown sand. Bella held her body as stiffy as she could as they wove their way past thatched roof palapas and into a massive parasol. Esme had risen early to reserve it for them. Expertly, Edward angled his body towards one of the sand-dusted lounges.
"Thank you so much," Bella said softly into his neck. Instinctively, she edged towards his cheek to press a kiss to it. Then she froze.
"Don't fucking mention it," Edward said evenly, his voice straining.
Edward eleased one of Bella's legs and then the other. Bella tightened her grip on his back, wrapping her arms around his middle and squeaking as her feet landed on uneven warm sand. Squealing, she fell ungracefully into the plastic sun chaise. Her hair fell out of the ponytail Esme had fashioned earlier.
Edward turned to Bella, green eyes swirling with emotion as they drifted over the plane of her stomach and her cascade of hair.
Gruffly, he cleared his throat. "Aunt Es, I'm going to go get – her…ehrm, the cooler."
"The keys to the house are in my purse," Esme said distractedly.
"Bella, darling, your hair," Esme cringed, clicking her tongue, long-suffering. She fished a brush out of her purse and wielded it the way a lion tamer used a whip. "I'll just braid it, shall I?"
"Mom," Bella retorted, shifting her long mane of hair onto one shoulder, trying to duck as best she could. "Mom, we're at the beach."
Ignoring her, Esme proceeded to braid Bella's hair into a long French braid with military precision.
When Edward came back, fifteen minutes later, Esme was slathering Bella in lotion as if basting turkey. Wide-eyed, Bella looked on in horror.
"Mom, mom. Mom." Bella protested, mortified. "Mom, I can put on my sunscreen."
"I don't know what's gotten into you," Esme retorted, clicking her tongue, as she frosted Bella's back.
"You're back," Bella breathed at Edward, smiling sheepishly.
Instinctively, Edward smiled back gently with a co-conspirator's grin. She was so fucking adorablet, he thought. She always had been.
"Just for a sec," he managed to say evenly, a touch dryly. "I'm going for dip," he added loudly, for Esme's benefit.
Bella's eyes sparkled hopefully, her face lighting up. "Can you take me?"
"After your sunscreen dries," Esme interjected sharply, tetchily."Or you'll freckle up."
Crestfallen, Bella curled back into her book, scooting back into the lounger. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo was in her hand. From the corner of her eye, she watched as he took off his shirt in a single motion, revealing the flat, sculpted planes of his abdomen.
Edward had been gone for nearly an hour when a volleyball rolled into their marquee. Enthralled with her book, Bella looked up, away from Lizbeth Salander. Esme, lounging next to her, arched a single caramel-colored eyebrow.
A blonde, blue-eyed boy – a head-and-a-half shorter than Edward, and of stockier build, Bella decided – trailed after it. Softer where Edward was sharp, he looked to be about their age.
"Hey," he said gruffly, looking at Bella. His lips twisted into a flirty smile as his eyes skirted over her body – Bella was using her gossamer cover-up to hide the scarring crisscrossing her legs and hips.
Bella's first instinct was to avert her gaze, tucking her chin towards her chest. "Hi," she squealed back, peeking at him from underneath her eyelashes.
The boy's smile broadened.
"You wanna play?" he said, bending at the waist to pick up the volleyball.
Doe eyes wide, Bella wordlessly shook her head.
The boy chuckled.
"Mike Newton," he said, by way of introduction.
"Isabella. Isabella Swan." As much as she tried to control it, the lisping emerged fully-fledged, and Isabella cursed the day she was named.
"What do you do for fun, Bella Swan?"
Bella blushed. "I read," she admitted sheepishly, cringing internally for sounding oh-so-stupid, even as she made her best effort to enunciate. Sometimes, new people had a hard time understanding her. The effort it took was titanic.
"That sounds boring," Mike said.
"It's really not," Bella blurted as if in self-defense. Her body spasmed lightly at that moment, and Mike looked at her quizzically.
Mike looked unconvinced, so Bella prattled on. "This book is great," she said enthusiastically. "It's about a murder case in a family of Swedish billionaires that hire a journalist to… "
Long used to Edward's indulgent asking, Bella was hurt by Michael's eyes glazing over in boredom. Her voice drifted off squeakily, and she hugged her waist.
"Tell you what," Michael said, perking up. "We're tailgating in the parking lot for lunch. You should come."
"I'll try," Bella said softly, offering the slightest hint of a smile.
"Hey, Isabella," Mike Newton tried. "Knock knock."
Bella's lips twisted up into a smile, eyes growing brighter. "Who's there?"
"Owl," Mike Newton replied with a grin.
Bella giggled. "Owl who?"
"Owl see you later."
Bella burst into peals of laughter because the joke was so silly, grinning at Newton beautifully. She locked eyes with Michael Newton and didn't see the approaching thundercloud.
"What the fuck are you doing, Newton?" Edward asked warily. Bella tore her eyes from Newton, towards Edward, feeling a wave of heat crest across her skin at the sight of Edward's body caked lightly in golden sand.
Newton smirked at Edward, glancing meaningfully at Isabella with what she imagined – wildly – was lewd appreciation. Edward's eyes darkened several shades. Protectively, Bella wrapped her arms around her chest.
"Fuck off, Newton." Edward socked Michael near the shoulder, feigning lightness. He did it so roughly that Newton tumbled back several steps, crying out in pain, rubbing the arm.
"Edward!" Esme hissed, looking up from her own book.
"What the hell, Ed."
Bella fought the urge to burst into tears, falling back onto the recliner, dismayed.
"Edward! Apologize this instant," Esme all but howled, rising from her recliner.
"Sorry, Newton," Edward said flatly, without a single sincere syllable.
She approached Mike to gingerly examine his arm. "Are you OK, dear?"
"I'm fine, Mrs. Cullen," Mike said, and Esme didn't quite bother to correct him.
"You two know each other?" Bella half-croaked.
Unfortunately, Edward's stance seemed to say. "We were playing volleyball just now," Edward explained dismissively, lips taut.
"My parents are country club members," Mike explained to Bella and Esme, while glowering at Edward.
"Obviously," Edward sniffed mockingly. He opened the cooler to take out a bottle of sparkling water.
"Offer Michael a drink," Esme snarled commandingly under her breath, before offering Michael a glittering smile.
"Lovely," Esme continued. "What are their names?"
"Susan and Robert Newton" Mike Newton supplied politely.
"Coke or water, Mike?" Edward intercepted rudely, in a voice so saccharine and polite it dripped with sarcasm.
"Coke. Diet. Thanks."
"Haven't had the pleasure," Esme said. "I'll call on your mother. We're staying in one of the villas."
"Edward mentioned it," Mike said, sounding irritated.
"I'd love to have your parents over," Esme continued politely. "My apologies for my nephew."
Edward handed the Coke to Mike as if he were handing him a long-stemmed rose.
"Thank you, Mrs. – "
"Swan," she supplied kindly.
"Oh," Mike said, eyes volleying between Isabella and Edward. "You guys are cousins," he surmised.
"Fuck, no," Edward said disgustedly, taking a sip of water. "Bella's her stepdaughter."
"Technically," Esme cut in sharply.
"It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Swan. Isabella," Mike added, and then winked at Bella, who covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a giggle.
Volleyball in hand, Michael Newton sauntered off.
Not a second later, Esme disappeared to "bathe in the ocean", now that Edward had returned. It was as if they were if Edward and Esme babysitting duty, Bella noted bitterly.
Looking strangely defeated, Edward fell with a sigh on one of the beach chairs, crossing his long legs at the ankles. He tried to meet Bella's eyes, but she glowered, turning instead to her book.
"Newton's an idiot," Edward said, almost pleadingly.
"He's not the idiot here," Bella said bitterly, through pursed lips, without sparing Edward a glance.
Edward huffed, frustrated. When he spoke, it seemed to be against his better judgment. "He was flirting with you," he said in a pained, half-disgusted voice.
"He was?" Bella said, unhinging her jaw incredulously as her face turned scarlet. "Really?"
"He's a jackass," Edward repeated.
"He seemed really nice"
"That's what flirting is fucking for, Bella," Edward said, laughing darkly.
"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Bella snapped, turning pointedly to look at her book. The ink letters on the page seemed to blur: she could feel Edward pensively studying the delicate profile of her face.
Mr. Henrik Vanger received a framed Rubinette for his birthday. It was a plant native to Australia.
It was a plant native to Australia.
With the tip of his index finger, Edward gently touched Bella's nose. With the pad of his index finger, he drew circles around it's delicate tip.
It – the Rubinette - was a plant native to Australia.
With a feather light touch, Edward drew a line across the bridge of her nose, gliding to her cheekbone, and across the shell of her ear. Bella sucked in a breath, the hair on the back of her neck standing.
Bella turned her neck, meeting Edward's fascinated, warm gaze. His lips were parted softly.
An eternity elapsed.
Esme returned.
"I'm going to hose off," Esme announced unceremoniously, and Bella, startled, spasmed as if in a seizure. It was called the Moro reflex, and because of her cerebral palsy, Bella would never outgrow it.
Edward fell back into his chaise and took a long sip of water. His Adam's apple bobbed. He crushed the can in his fist after a relieved sigh. He stood, stretching as if to wake himself up.
"You ready for a dip in the ocean?" Edward asked.
"Yeah!" Bella beamed brightly; her voice was thick with childlike wonder.
Edward looked at her that strange expression again – tender, indulgent, almost pained.
"Okey dokey, I wanted to try something," he began, with renewed, but half-hearted energy. Then he explained his plan: he'd hold up Bella in front of him, her feet on his, and he'd walk them over. She never got to feel the waves on her feet, he said.
That's what they did. Hands wrapped around her waist, holding her up, he walked her into the ocean. She burst into surprised giggles when the softest waves hit her bare feet. He lit up, relaxed and happy because she was.
"Wanna try to go into the deep end?" Edward offered enthusiastically, hugging her to his chest.
"You sure?" Bella gasped.
"Just… The waves get rough for a while. When the waves get tall, you're supposed to try to duck under them," he explained gently. She clung to him, hugging his arms. "You take a deep breath and hold it, until you come out on the other end. Does that make sense?"
"Kinda."
"If you get scared, just let me know, OK? You're calling the shots."
When she nodded, he kissed the crown of her hair.
June 21st, 2006
Three knocks, on her door, not on her window. Bella was curled into a ball, wrapped around a gigantic stuffed Winnie the Pooh. Edward's flight was scheduled for today. He'd spend the night in Boston before flying out to London, then to Madrid, Barcelona, Paris, Monaco, Rome, Florence, Vienna, Berlin, Prague, and finally, Edinburgh – within enough stops in between to make Bella's head spin.
"Come in," she croaked.
Edward stepped through her doorway, looking excited. "Did you really think I wasn't going to say goodbye?"
He held something behind his back.
Despite her crushing sadness, Bella smiled brightly. "Edward."
"Look what I got you, Bee," he said cheerily, pleased with himself.
It was a stuffed Winnie-the-Pooh Rabbit – the missing character to the cast that sat atop her dresser. Edward inaugurated the collection with the plushie she held crushed to her stomach. Bella's breath caught in her throat, as if she had been punched in the stomach.
"He's wonderful," Bella said lovingly.
A single tear slipped from her eye.
"Geez, you could try to pretend to be excited, Bee," he attempted to say cheerily. "Do you know how hard this was to find? I had to go to the Disney store twice."
That made her tears ricochet, but despite herself, she laughed.
"Really?" Bella asked sniffily, tears streaming past her cheekbones and into the crook of her neck.
"Really, really, darling. I had to order the motherfucker, and then pick him up. Nobody wants Rabbit's ass," he explained in a faux-grumpy voice that made Bella laugh.
Gently, he closed the door behind him and walked to her bed. He sat, rubbing the plushie's nose against hers with one hand. With the other, he wiped her tears.
Bella's answering giggle made Edward smile.
"Look at his, erm…at his paw," he said, sounding uncharacteristically awkward.
Sitting up, Bella took the paw in her hand, pulling it towards her. "Oh," she gasped, confused, brows furrowing and nose wrinkling.
"What is that?"
"Some bullshit," Edward blurted first.
Bella rolled her eyes.
It was a sparkling, rigid silver bracelet.
"It's not – Edward, are those – "
"Diamonds," Edward admitted with uncharacteristic discomfort. "It belonged to my Mom. It was a gift when she turned 16."
The air was sucked out of Bella's lungs by the weight of the gesture. The Masens had money: the Cullens had more. The weight of the gesture was not in the financial worth of the bracelet: it was in the fact that it belonged to Lizzie Masen.
Wordlessly, Bella lifted Edward's chin. He was staring at the flowery patterns on Bella's otherwise ivory bedspread like he hadn't sat on it countless times before. Her eyes were gentle as they bore into his. "I can't accept this, Edward," she murmured.
"Why the fuck not?" he said, sounding hurt.
"Is your – are your – is your grandpa OK with this? Your Dad?"
"How the fuck do you think I got it? I didn't swipe it from the safe, Bella. I asked my Dad. He said – and I quote – that he'd be delighted."
"Edward." Bella's eyes filled with a fresh round of tears.
"I want you to have it, Bella," he insisted, his face growing hot, his eyes shifting awkwardly.
"I'm going to miss you so much," Bella admitted through a sob. "So much."
"I'll only be gone for six months," he said consolingly. "Less, actually, 'cause of fucking Thanksgiving."
"But everything is going to change."
"Bella, I guarantee I'll still be a little shit next year."
Despite her tears, Bella laughed in loud peals.
"And the year after that?"
"Probably," Edward laughed.
Edward kissed her forehead, pressing uncharacteristically hard.
He pulled back, pressing his forehead against hers, he turned grim and firmly determined.
"Bella, you don't take shit, from anybody, you understand? None of that snitches get stitches bullshit. If someone – if anybody - lays a hand on you, treats you badly, you tell an adult, OK? Immediately. And you talk back, you understand? I don't care how bad you are at the beginning, just don't take it lying down."
His gaze was scorchingly intense and deathly serious.
"OK," she murmured solemnly.
"You're a fighter, you understand? You've been a fighter your whole life. And you're so fucking brave. You've more courage in your pinky than the entire football team put together. You just need to fight back at school. You're brave enough for it."
"OK. I will. I'll fight back," Bella said, crying so hard her vision was blurring. "I promise."
Then he held her, squeezing her hard.
"Be brave, like I know you are, OK?" he said, kissing her forehead again. Bella could tell, through burning tears and snot, that his eyes were watering, too. "I love you," he managed, in a voice that cracked.
His hands were shaking as he pulled away: his voice broke on the last syllable. Without another word, holding his breath to keep from crying, Edward left.