Homecoming

"She's waking up."

It's February vacation and Gran told my Mom that she has to bring me to her house because it's been two whole years and she wants to see me before I lose all my baby teeth. That's not even true, because I've only lost one so far, but I don't mind that Gran says it. Gran's house is cold. It's always cold here on the bay, but her quilts are warm, and she always has me sleep on top of a wolf pelt, which is warmest of all.

I have a runny nose and a cold, and Gran is bringing me some of her ginger fish broth to have in bed.

My cold must be really bad because my nose hurts. My whole face does. I'm trying to get up and I'm finding that my body hurts all over, too. I smell cedar, and wood smoke, and it's dark, not like Gran's house. And crowded with people, not like Gran's house at all.

Voices float in and out of the space around me like spirits. Spirits I used to know. Auntie Sue, the big girls – Rachel and Rebecca – and Leah and Emily, too.

I swear I'm opening my eyes and getting up, but nothing's happening. Rebecca's voice says, "Help her up, Jacob."

I know I'm on a bed in a room, but the walls and the faces and the furniture are all misty and far, hovering in the distance four light years away, when Gran was still alive. Someone's helping me sit up and it hurts wherever their hands go and then the walls and faces and furniture zoom back to their proper places, and suddenly everything comes back to me, like a freight train.

The woods, and the meadow, and flying through the forest on Edward's back. The tree branches beating and clawing. Being thrown, and being caught. Alice swimming me under water. Almost drowning. Almost freezing. And the kiss. The kiss. The imprint of Edward's lips on mine tugs at my gut. The way he was so desperate and so gentle. The way it felt like he poured his whole soul into my mouth.

I'm full awake, now, and my heart is jumping all around in my chest. Edward. Edward. He's got to be all right. He has to. He has to. And my Dad …

It's Jacob helping me sit up in the bed. I'm wearing a tee shirt, sweat pants and a very heavy hoodie, I'm covered in quilts, and still I'm cold enough that my teeth are just shy of chattering. I'm sore and nauseous and hungry all at the same time, and I have a headache.

Auntie Sue is coming over with a bowl of something delicious and steaming in her hands.

"Here you go, baby. We've called your Dad. He'll be here soon." The other women are stand-off-ish, and stay puttering in the kitchen, or sitting around the table there.

My hands aren't too steady so Auntie Sue helps me hold the bowl, and even spoons it for me. It's fish broth all right, with the ginger, and some kind of wild chive. Auntie Sue's hair is almost like I remember my Gran's – a long braid going down her back. But Gran's was mostly grey instead of mostly black. I hear men's voices coming from another room, and think of the last time I was fished out of the ocean. This place is about as opposite of the Cullens' house as anywhere I could imagine. It's small and dark like my Dad's house, but has more smells: animals and people and cooking and yes, the cedar and wood smoke – and tobacco, and sea damp.

Eating isn't too comfortable. My mouth and jaw are sore to touch and the inside of my lower lip stings something awful with the salt from the soup. It makes me think of my first day in Forks, when I sat next to Edward and bit my lip so hard it drew blood, and it stung when I ate the apple. And I feel it again: the circles, and returning, and reliving where I've been before. The path and the fir tree; the cliff and the water; and now here, wrapped up in someone else's clothes, and drinking soup again. I remember my dream about the salmon; remember what salmon do in their lives. I think of Edward's journal, and the poem that his mother translated so, so long ago. About Ithaka. The water road that leads you so far away that you end up coming home.

Auntie Sue coaxes me. "Easy, honey, easy. Just sip. Just sip." Her eyes run all over my face. Jacob's still perched on the edge of the bed, making sure I don't keel over. He looks angry.

I mouth at him, "What?"

"You look like someone beat the shit out of you."

"Mind your words, Jacob Black!" Auntie Sue tries to get my attention back on the soup, but I can't.

"Is it really bad?"

"You've got a hand mark." His own hand comes up, imitating on his face where Alice's hand had clamped me shut. "Your Dad's gonna see it. He'll know what it is. He's gonna ask questions. Everyone's gonna see, gonna wonder who did that to you. And why."

I can't handle it. I feel disfigured. I start to cry. Bad idea. My nose is in bad enough shape as it is.

"I'll stay home. I won't let anyone see."

Auntie Sue shoos Jacob out of the room and gathers me up in her arms.

"Shhh, baby, shhh, it's okay, it's okay. Nothing's broken. We checked. All this will fade." I wonder what kind of bruises I have on my body. I wonder who saw, who washed me and dressed me. I hope it was just Auntie Sue.

I hear a door slam open and feel a draft.

"Billy!"

Dad! He's safe. He's safe.

"She's in with Sue."

"Jesus Christ."

He gets to the kitchen in two steps and then he sees me.

"Bells. Jesus."

"She's okay, Charlie. We took care of her."

My Dad pulls his cell phone out. "I'm calling Carlisle."

Uncle Harry is in the doorway with another of the older men. Everybody exchanges glances.

"Don't even say it," my Dad growls. He's walking over to the bedside as he works his way through the phone menu and operators. His free hand hovers over my head and cheeks, like he wants to touch me but doesn't dare. "What do you mean he missed his shift?"

A bucket of ice dumps through my stomach.

"Never mind, I'll try his cell."

Dad snaps his phone shut and crouches down beside where Auntie Sue is on the chair by the bed. "How bad is it, kid?"

"I'm okay, Dad, really."

He just shakes his head. He stands again staring at me with angry eyes as he calls to his friends. "Harry, Billy – "

"Take it outside, Charlie. You men just take that outside right now."

There's clumping of shoes and creaking of Uncle Billy's wheels and the house suddenly feels empty. My Dad's voice still carries in. "What the hell happened to her – "

"Bella." Auntie Sue's voice won't take no for an answer this time. "Finish up the soup. You need it."

I slurp in silence, while the men's voices rise and fall outside. They must have moved away from the house, because I can't hear the words. Only that my Dad is hopping mad.

"Rache made frybread," Jacob says. "I saved you some."

I remember their mother's frybread when we were little: wrapped around chunks of salmon straight off the grill, the bread a little sweet and the fish a little salty and all of it fat and good. I nod, and Jacob manages a small grin as he goes to fetch a plate.

"Bella." Auntie Sue's eyes are on the bowl and the spoon and my mouth, and that's how I know she's going to say something serious.

"There's such a thing as knowing too much. And there's such a thing as not knowing enough. Right now you got one foot in each."

Jacob is back with the plate.

"Knowing what the Cullens are is knowing too much, Bella. Not knowing that there's those who'd wipe out a whole village for knowing, that's not knowing enough."

Jacob glances at her and rips me off a piece of the frybread.

"There's a reason we had a treaty with the Cullens – lots of reasons; but none of that matters now, because it's broken. They broke it."

She lets me eat. Maybe she's putting her words on the frybread on purpose.

"What matters right now is you – what you know and what you don't know. You understand me, Bella? I can't take away what you've seen, what you know. I can only tell you what you don't know, what you need to know. Words fly on the wind, Bella. And bring back teeth. We're a small tribe. If you love your Dad., if you care about anyone that lives here – or Forks – you can't tell anything to anyone. You get it? You got to put today in a box and seal it and put it away, and never take it out again. Ever."

Jacob splits the last piece with me.

"You understand?" Auntie Sue asks.

I just nod, and swallow. My Dad and the men are coming back in.

"I'm takin' you home, kid."

I wonder what they told him. I don't dare ask. I wonder why Dr. Cullen missed his shift tonight. I don't dare ask about that, either. I just pray. Let everything be all right. It has to be. Uncle Billy wouldn't let my Dad and me leave the reservation if it wasn't safe, if the bad vampires were still around. It's over now. It has to be. Not talked about, but finished, going downstream. Until the water is clear again. Until everything is normal again.

My Dad's picking me up. Quilts and all.

"Dad, I can walk."

"I know you can. Humor me."

And he carries me out to the cruiser. I wonder what time it is. It must be the middle of the night. Maybe almost daybreak for all I know.

Jacob helps my Dad open the door to the back seat, and they get me in, still all bundled up in the quilts. Auntie Sue is giving my Dad some kind of bag with Tupperware, and something fishy wrapped up in newspaper.

I wonder if Edward is in the tree outside my window. I wonder if he's waiting there to see me come safely home. Not that I want him to worry, but I hope he's there. I'm going to leave my quilt on the rocking chair, even if he doesn't come in tonight. It's a secret handshake. To tell him I'm waiting for him, waiting for us to be able to take up where we left off. I know we'll have to pretend to still not know each other at school. I know we probably can't even talk about what happened today. I don't really care. What matters is for everyone to be safe. And for Edward to know that I still want to be his friend. I will always want to be his friend. Even if the only thing we can talk about is the weather.

My Dad is done saying goodbye to everyone. I've been totally rude and not said anything to anyone, just curled up here in the back seat of the cruiser, half-buried in quilts. It feels good, though. Safe. To be hidden, and quiet.

Talking about the weather with Edward would be just fine by me. I remember the weather over his meadow. The blue sky and the white clouds, that sometimes covered the sun and sometimes didn't. I think of Edward in the sun, looking like some kind of burning angel. But not. Because the sun is just showing his rainbows. He's not fire; he's water. The fire is an illusion. Like ice can feel hot when really it's cold.

Edward.

I have to wait to see him. I can't go to school tomorrow. Probably not for a couple of days. I don't want anyone to see me like this. Like Tyler was. It's my turn, now, I guess. I wonder what my Dad will tell the school? I can feel sneezes brewing in my nose and throat. I really do have a cold. Or I will. It wouldn't be a lie. I wonder if Edward will secretly bring me medicine again? Will it be the same kind, or a different one? Maybe he'll bring it to me already cooked. So I don't have to leave any suspicious smells in the kitchen.

The trees pass from the front of the car to the back in an endless procession as we drive back from La Push. They appear in the headlights and then disappear behind us. It looks weird seeing it from lying down in the back seat. Grey ghosts passing the windows.

I imagine Edward coming in at my window like a pale ghost. Wrapped up in these quilts, I imagine us together on my bed, making the quilts like a tent over us, as I sip on Edward's medicine, and he tells me what it's made of and how it works. I imagine him staying with me, hidden together in the pile of my quilts. I imagine falling asleep in his arms.

Thank you for reading.