Winnie's POV
"What are you doing here?" Paul's never been one for hellos.
"Now, that's not very nice to say to someone who brought you a burger." I offer up the to go bag from the Lodge, raising it up high by my head.
"Did you bring fries?" Paul's hand hovers over the latch of the screen door. His narrowed eyes telling me the reason I stopped by unannounced better have a side of fries.
"Fries and onions rings." Paul lets me in, holding the screen door wide for me to enter his trailer. The smell of cigarettes hits me, but only for a moment. It's much more faint now than it originally was when we helped Paul moved back in. Barely noticeable now, faintly smelling like bitterness before the rest of the trailer scents take over; the smell of fresh laundry, some musky aftershave or deodorant, then the smell of the woods.
The trailer is clean as a nineteen year old boy living on his own can keep it. There's a pile of folded laundry left hallway done on the couch, and a few stray empty water bottles lying around. A few pairs of shoes wait at the door to be either laced up or put away, but till Paul decides what to do with them that's where they'll stay. I know good and well Paul will get to them when he can. I'm quite impressed how there's nothing on the floor while everything is in its place. Paul even rearranged the living room furniture. He's certainly keeping it better than his dad did.
"Are you checking up on me? You brought food, are you trying to make sure I'm eating?" Paul jokes, clearing the table of a small pile of mail and crab spotted plate from breakfast.
"Maybe" I shrug, unloading our to go boxes.
"Is this about Embry?" Paul asks knowingly, giving me a raised brow.
"Yes to both." I admit, never one to be flat out lie. Though I do hold the burger out to distract him or maybe bribe him. I practically wag it in front of him like a dog bone.
"You're trying to fatten me up." Paul stalls, looking between me and the burger.
"I'm trying to feed you." I narrow my eyes at him. "And ask you a few questions." Placing the burger neatly back on the table, I offer Paul to sit.
"You can ask all you want, but there's nothing I can tell you." Paul shrugs.
"So there is something wrong?"
"Drop it, Winnifred." Paul waves off.
"Did I tell you I brought you two burgers?" I pull out another to go box. "And they're both double patty." His jaw clenches. "With cheese, Paul." He's already taking a bite out of the burger before he's even fully in the chair.
"Do you like the burger?" Paul's enthusiastic nod is answer plenty. "How's it been being back home?" I ask before getting straight to the point. Paul stops mid chew, his eyes flickering with sharpness before taking a deep breath and shrugging off my question.
"It's been like it's always been." Paul's answer makes me decide these visits are going to happen more often. Maybe next time I'll bring him something healthier, but I already know he'll never eat a salad.
"If you want to talk about Embry, you should." Paul says between bites. Though, I suspect he's only saying that because he doesn't want to talk about himself.
"Did Jacob or Embry tell you about yesterday at the Lodge?" I don't even wait a second to fire my question.
"Embry did." I'm taken aback Paul answered at all. I was ready for at least a bit of a back and forth.
"He called you last night?" Paul freezes at my answer.
"Sort of." Paul shrugs. "I'm guessing he didn't call you?"
"No," I admit lowly, feeling just as horrible as I did when Embry first got mad yesterday.
"He'll call." Paul assures.
"Does this have to do with working for Sam?" I have no idea how this relates, since Sam wasn't even in Forks let alone the Lodge yesterday. Yet, there's this nagging feeling. Maybe because Embry won't tell me anything about that either. Though my suspicions seem right since Paul completely drops his burger back onto the plate when I ask.
"You think Sam's the reason Embry lost control yesterday?" Paul tries his best to keep the flicker on panic off his face but he's not known for keeping calm for a reason.
"Lost control?" I repeat back in utter confusion. Lost control of what? Himself?
"Wait—I didn't mean to—" Paul stammers.
"What do you guys do for Sam?" I double down before Paul has time to think of a vague answer to tell me. He holds his breath till he goes purple in the face, glaring up at the ceiling while he tries to keep from snapping impatiently. After seeing how Embry 'lost control' yesterday I know better than to keep pushing and wait till he speaks up.
"As much as you don't like it, I can't tell you Winnie. You're going to have to wait till Embry tells you himself." The warning look on Paul's face tells me to just deal with it.
"When do you think that'll be?"
"I dunno," He struggles for words. "When the time is right?"
"That's such bull."
"If it means anything, I told him to tell you already." Paul gives me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before asking me to hand him the onion rings.
"Did you two fight?" Nearly dropping the laundry basket, I do a double take at Enola. I didn't want to stay in my cabin looking at the flowers Embry gave me, thinking about him all day, so I decided to do laundry in Enola's house. You'd think in a house this old I'd hear her coming, since the wood it's built out of is older than her. Yet she's light on her feet as she is shrewd.
Enola eyes me in the doorway, the look on her face far from anything resembling sympathy but something more on par of suspicion. Her long gray hair is braided down her back, leading to a handmade red knit blanket that's so old it's faded a pink. Her shoes don't match outfit. The lilac purple not going with cotton button up blouse and green trousers she's wearing. Though the crocs bump her up from 4'11 to an even five feet.
"What makes you think that?"
"You look like you're not feeling well." She lies.
"You heard what happened at the Lodge, huh?" At least she was being nice by not straight up talking about it, well, sort of.
"Of course I heard." She rolls her dark eyes. "Town this small, gossip comes faster than the mail."
"No, we didn't fight. Instead he got into a fight with some Forks townie." I don't even bother denying it. I can only imagine what Enola has heard so far. Plus, there's no beating around the bush with her, I know better than to try to hide stuff from Enola. She'll get the truth out of you no matter what. Just talking about it gets me in a terrible mood. I can tell by how I take it out on my sweaters.
"I heard he was fighting for you." Enola eyes me with a coy glimmer like she finds the whole thing hilarious.
"He did." I grumble, feeling my face turn red. From anger or embarrassment, I'm not sure. Maybe both. Seeing me embarrassed, she doesn't harp on it any longer.
"Come on into house while you wait for your laundry. I have a friend over who you'd like to talk to." She doesn't wait for me to answer, just trots off with a nudge of her head. Leaving my whites to sit in the wash, I follow her through her old house. The usual pot of homemade soup wasn't in the air, instead the house smells like fresh baked bread.
When I spot Old Quil sitting on Enola's couch in the front room I straighten up. Old Quil use to lead community cultural lessons, like teaching Quillayute, songs, story telling, plants, even hunting. In addition to being on the Council, he's respected and then some. When I see Billy Black in his wheelchair on the other end I let my shoulders relax. It's an odd departure seeing them sit for afternoon tea in Enola's sitting from after watching them firsthand threaten Terrance Lahote.
"I brought us some young blood." The way Enola says it sounds more like 'fresh meat.'
"Haćh tochóktiya, Winnifred." Old Quil greets sagely with a nod of acknowledgment. He and Enola have always called me by my full name. But I've never known how to tell either how I prefer Winnie. I suspect it's because they both knew the first Winnifred, my grandmother.
"Hac'h chi'i." The room smiles at me, before Old Quil points a boney finger at me.
"That's good morning. Your Quillayute is a bit rusty, Winnifred." Old Quil gives me a look like he's about to tell me to go back to lessons.
"Hac'h chi'i, ayásocha?" I correct myself, adding a how are you for good measure.
"Better, better," Old Quil nods into his mug of tea.
"Reminds me I should speak more Quillayute at home with Jacob." Billy grins to Old Quil before turning back to me. "How's the car?"
"Running better than before thanks to Jacob." When I bring up his son Billy's moos seems to brighten.
"That makes me a bit jealous. You know I almost bought that car from Enola?" Billy gets a fond look in his eyes.
"Almost? Yeah right." Enola waves off, her knees shaking as she takes her time sinking into the armchair.
"She wouldn't sell it me." Billy adds, shooting Enola a playfully irradiated look. "She wouldn't sell it to anyone actually." Enola meets my disbelief with a knowing look, giving me a small sly smirk over the rim of mug. Emotions swell in up in my chest, something warm and soft that makes me feel like a kid again. I would tell her thank you, but Enola is never one for pleasantries or mushy feelings. Especially in front of others.
"Sit," Enola waves me over to another arm chair while handing me a mug of tea. It's a familiar brew, something my parents use to make that they learned from their parents. There's a tray of shortbread cookies but made out of a type of flour that doesn't rise and holds more of a crumbly texture, with nuts chopped in.
"Old family recipe." Enola says handing me three because she swears I'm too thin. Though they were so good I grab a fourth right after my first bite, which gets a look of approval from Enola.
"Are you guys having a council meeting?" I question. Though the room is lacking two members.
"No, we're just missing a few old friends." Billy explains, handing me an old black and white photo of the Quileute tribe before the .
"If I remember right," Old Quil points at a particular man in the center. "If I remember right, that's your great uncle Halian. He was on your father's? No mother's side. Though I think she came around after his time."
"No, she didn't meet him, but she always said people from Forks thought his name was Julian, which he hated." The room erupts in nostalgic laughs.
"He was around when my grandfather was still chief." Billy nods. He unintentionally dates our conversation to the 1930s when La Push's last chief, Ephraim Black, was still in power. It was around the time that The US and the Secretary of the Interior finally recognized the our tribe's charter, constitution and by-Laws. Meaning when we were established as a self-governing political unit within the United States.
"I remember him, I remember both Ephraim and Halian. They were both had the spirit of fighters. Always fighting for the principle of the matter and those who couldn't defend themselves." Old Quil grins. It's so bizarre that La Push was so different and it wasn't even that long ago. Both my parents on the res have stories about this time, heck Enola and Old Quil were born not too much later.
"Halian use to take me fishing." Enola grins to herself, glancing up to the wall where an antique fishing road was mounted.
"They were good at hunting." Billy nods along.
"They were werewolves." Old Quil says all of sudden. The little laugh that comes out of my mouth quickly dies when I see the three of them giving a knowing but small smile.
"You don't believe in the legends, Winnifred?" Old Quil asks. My mouth opens to say something, but with nothing nice to say I close it. I turn to Billy for help, who just looks like he's expecting an answer. Then I turn to Enola but she just gives me a hard look that has me sitting up straight. When I don't have an answer, Old Quil reaches over to place his hand over mine. His palm is warm from mug of tea, and the wrinkles on his hand are so familiar it's hard not to find the touch comforting.
"Disappointing." Old Quil states firmly. He ignores the wounded look on my face, they all do and continue on with tea.
Author's Note:
I just wanted to put a disclaimer about the Twilight Lore established in the books verses real Quileute culture. Stephenie Meyer culturally appropriated Quileute history and culture in her books, then profited off these people without paying it back into the community. I'm not sure if Ephraim Black was real or not (Though I do doubt it) but I did incorporate a lot of Quileute facts in this chapter. While still trying to remain true to cannon.
Quileute is a rich and beautiful culture that should be recognized and appreciated appropriately and authentically.
I used their official Quileute Nation site for all the languages and history used in this chapter. (Though I did not use their Quillayute keyboard so a few letters may be off.)
Also the name Halian is not Quileute, but Zuni and means "Full of youth."
If anyone is interested in getting to know more of Quileute culture, go check out their website!
Also, please consider donating to their Move to Higher Ground project: