Twenty-Two / Twenty-Four
November 2011
Near the northernmost reaches of Route 1, ice had stuck to the ground and had snow dusted the fir trees like confectioner's sugar. The ice cracked under the weight of Edward's Audi, flattening snow sludge and turning it brown. Inside the car, Isabella played with the CD player. In October, she had bought Edward an album called Goat Rodeo, which blended classical string music with bluegrass. "It's gorgeous music," Bella had sworn, and it had made for beautiful listening.
Between them, they shared a bag of vinegar chips and Haribo gummy bears.
Edward took a turn at the juncture between State Road 9A and Wharton Road. A picket fence sprung up at that juncture. It seemed to go for miles before turning into a tall iron-wrought gate. As ever, the mansion stood at the top of a buff. In winter, it looked frightening underneath a leaden, inky sky. As a little girl, Bella had called it a castle. At the time, its young, spoiled little prince had subjected Bella to his childlike jealousy.
Edward slowed the car to a crawl. "Fuck, baby, I …" He sighed. "I need to tell you something."
Bella sat up straight. Edward's tone of voice couldn't wipe the contented smile she wore these days, like a wristwatch. "Something bad?"
Edward tugged at his face. "Yes," he said seriously. He shifted gears to park and turned towards her. Gingerly, he tucked hair behind her ear.
"Are you OK?" she asked immediately, and when he shook his head, the knot in her throat loosened.
"I'm fine, love. It's… It's shit, it's what it is," Edward said darkly. "And I think you deserve to know."
"You're scaring me," Bella said, but her eyes were full of light and her lips twitched with amusement. "You're acting like we're spending Thanksgiving with the Munsters."
Edward lips twisted in one of those smiles he only ever gave her.
"The Munsters have nothing on this family," he muttered.
Thanksgiving was going to be a quiet affair, with the Masens, Carlisle and Isabella. She was looking forward to it.
"Do I need to know right now?" she asked.
Edward mulled the question. "I guess not," he said uncertainly.
"Tell me later?" Bella requested, her voice entreating but breezy. "I - I'm stressed enough as it is right now."
"I – " Edward sighed. "Sure. I guess."
Edward parked the car, and Bella took a peek at the ice on the asphalt, smattered as if by a paintbrush. "I'm not going to be able to manage," she said thoughtfully. She turned to Edward, and her voice turned into a squeaky lilt. "Do you think you could carry me in?"
"Always."
Edward rushed out the car and put on a black puffer jacket. Rubbing his hands together and breathing into them, Edward circled around the car to open the trunk. He rushed to the front door and back with her crutches. While Edward fumbled with her many mobility aids, Bella opened the door. She was assaulted by subzero temperatures. Exposed to the cold, the tip of her upturned nose turned red. The joints of her knees and hips felt the barrage immediately, even under a red plaid coat.
The soles of her sturdy black Doc Martins held her up well.
"Ready, love?"
Cradling her gently, Edward lifted her into his arms. He dropped a kiss to the tip of her nose.
Edward took a step back, unsettling one of the fir branches. A flurry of snow fell with a thud on his head. Bella burst into loud laughter. "Motherfucker," Edward yelped, and snow trickled down his back and made him leap.
Bella laughed harder.
Isabella swept snow off Edward's hair and shoulders.
"You're so adorable," she told him, glowing with love. "You're just the cutest."
"Said no one ever."
"How would you know?"
"I just know. I just know everything, sweetheart."
Loudly, Isabella snorted.
"Whatever you say."
Carefully, Edward set her on her feet. He handed her crutches over one at a time, and Bella leaned her weight on them gratefully and heavily. Like old door hinges, her knees creaked and croaked under her weight. Before them, the marbled entrance hall was glacial. It was bathed by gray light and colder than the elements outside. Kept clean by the Maynards' housekeeping, it sparkled with cleanliness.
"Jeez-us," Edward hissed. "It's cold as all fuck."
"Whatd'you expect, doofus? It's the middle of winter."
Edward gave her a mocking glare and bent to rest his cheek against hers. "And we're all alone."
Oblivious to the innuendo, Bella took the statement seriously. "Oh. Does that mean we should turn on the heater?"
In winter, the Wharton Bay mansion was besieged by ice. The elements seemed to seep through the cracks in the floorboards. The sea grew stormy at night, and the wind slammed against the clapboard, making its copper plumber innards rattle and bang. The cold made even the thickest Persian rugs. Despite every effort from a beastly, cast-iron boiler, the breath of every resident hung frostily in the air. Inside the bedroom Isabella occupied in August, a cast-iron radiator worked overtime to vanquish the chill in the room.
"I want us to do something," Edward had whispered into her neck, undoing the laces of her Doc Martins. "Before The Munsters get here."
Bella had laughed loudly, in peals. "That'd make you Eddie Munster."
Gently, Edward had squeezed her middle, eliciting a squeal. "Eddie Munster wants something from you, Marilyn."
His joke had made her smile a silly, goofy grin. Gingerly, she kissed the underside of his jaw.
"Do you want cookies, Eddie?" Isabella had asked coyly, laughingly.
Edward nibbled at the curve of her neck, and her squealing grew louder. "Nope."
"Pumpkin spice snickerdoodles?"
"No."
"What do you actually want?" she had asked smilingly, stroking his hair.
"I want you to take a bath with me."
"It's the middle of the day."
"So? Nobody gives a shit We're all alone, sweetheart."
The clawfoot tub was filled to the brim with steaming water. Vapor engulfed the room. Shimmering wet and enveloped by steam, Edward was sprawled inside the tub with both muscular legs bent open. Isabella sat with her back against his chest, wrapped between his arms and legs. Both of his hands sat on her ribcage, underneath the curve of her breasts. Near her bare bottom, she could feel his erection.
Underneath the hot water, the angry rose of her scarring blurred. The contours of her legs, pale and bony, softened with the trickery of the light. Her legs didn't look so different or fragile. In the hot water, the stiffness that squeezed her bones and joints lessened.
"Isn't this nice?" Edward asked dozily, and Bella rubbed gently at his forearms.
"I don't ever want to move," she agreed languidly, gathering strands of hair and letting it hang past her shoulders.
Bella sank deeper into the tub with a contented sigh. Her voice was almost coy. "Have you done this before?" she asked, and her voice was light and teasing. They were closer emotionally than ever, and she felt completely secure. She was genuinely teasing him."With other girls?"
"Christ, sweetheart," Edward muttered darkly. He pulled her impossibly closer, resting his chin on the crown of her head.
"Have you?" she smirked.
Edward's reply was surgically sly and careful. "I've never made love in a bathtub" he quipped playfully, and she snorted. Edward moved a large hand to trail down the plane of her stomach, and his fingers drifted toward the apex of her thighs. With his other hand, he drew patterns on the tip of her nipple, and she sucked in a breath.
"Oh, God."
Her heart burst at the feeling of his hands on her hips. Edward was painstakingly gentle when he put his hands on the scarring in her legs, massaging tenderly. "Can I touch you?"
She squirmed against his back. "Yes."
"Tell me you love me."
"I love you. I love you so much," she gasped breathlessly. His hands wandered around her lips until they reached her clitoris. Expertly, knowingly, the flicks of his fingers were very soft, until – "Oh, fuck"
"I love it when you curse." Edward's fingers drifted downwards.
"Ugh. Ugh." Against her back, his erection grew larger and harder.
"Is this OK?"
"It feels very nice," she said breathily, throatily. Her body slammed harder against his chest, stiffening, when Edward found her G-spot. It was a marvel that she didn't turn scarlet. "It's just… a little weird. I think we needed… You know."
"Lube?"
Isabella squeaked bashfully but was quickly distracted by the feeling of his finger inside her. Her walls contracted against his fingers, and she flailed against his body.
"To keep her from catching a chill," Edward helped her dress. They reached the height of intimacy that weekend – the height of vulnerability and partnership. Whining about it the entire time, Edward helped her blow dry her hair. "There's so fucking much of it. You should just cut it," he grumbled. He was terrible at it, and her hair ended up frizzy and matted, but she loved him for it. Edward offered his thickest cable-knit wool sweater and a matching pair of very thick Merino wool socks. With painstaking care, Edward helped slip them on her feet.
They decamped to the old billiards room, which was as frosty as the rest of the house.
"What'd'ya wanna watch?" Edward asked enthusiastically, with enthusiasm he only seemed to show with her. The TV was as old as they were – and it was framed by dozens of boxy VHSes with faded casings.
"Whatever you want," Bella volleyed back, and she meant it.
Bella rested her back against one arm of the Victoria tufted couch, and her toes were tucked under Edward's thigh. Edward draped two blankets around her. Very gently, like he was handling glass, Edward rubbed circles on her knees. The gesture made her heart explode.
"I love you," she repeated, soft and sweet.
"I love you, too. More than anything."
They were midway through a black-and-white movie, when –
Heels clicking, Isabella's mother entered the room. She looked perfect, rail-thin and regal. Seeing her face-to-face made Isabella ache all over with longing. A long-sleeved, cream-colored cashmere dress fell to her mid-calf. Her caramel-colored hair was perfectly coiffed into a French twist. She wore a strand of Mikimoto pearls around her neck.
"Mom."
Esme sniffed and looked away.
"Hi, Mom," Bella insisted, squeaky and sweet, in a small voice that broke with every syllable. Edward curled around Isabella protectively. "Happy Thanksgiving."
"Did you not hear her?" Edward snarled.
"I heard her, Edward," Esme sniffed prissily. A staring match ensued between Esme and Edward. Bella could feel the iciness emanating from Edward, and it terrified her. She touched her hand to his forearm, and Edward twitched, as if wanting to shake her off.
"Mama, please."
Esme turned on her heel after shooting her daughter a glare. The clicking of her heels echoed across the foyer, and they were quickly muffled by Isabella's sniffling.
In the bedroom they had occupied over the summer, Edward held her while she cried. In his arms, her nose turned red with snot and her eyes grew puffy and swollen with tears. The tremors that shot up her body made her rattle like trembling jelly. She cried so hard that she started to hiccup, and her slurring made her virtually unintelligible. "It's OK," he crooned, gently shushing. "It's OK. It's OK."
"Bee, don't cry, love," Edward said pleadingly, after a hiccup that burst with finality. "Please don't cry, baby. I hate it when you cry. She's not worth it. She's a fucking sociopath."
Bella took deep, shuddering breaths. Dad's sss-aa-ssh—a-fah-kuh-eeng oh-fall ding to ssee. "That's such a fucking awful thing to say," she managed to say with great effort. Her words sounded stilted and odd as she worked to spit out each syllable. Edward understood her. That made him love her impossibly more.
Underneath her, Edward sighed. "I… I heard…My Dad explained things to me over the summer … when Esme started acting like a deranged sociopath. When she started hurting you. You see how she's hurting you, right, sweetheart? You didn't do anything wrong."
"But I did hurt her. I've been hurting her all this time. I should've let her – all she wants to do is take care of me." With her every word, Edward shook his head.
Edward's voice was gentle but firm. "Sweetheart, it's called infantilization, and it'sfucked. She's withholding affection because you won't let her play dress up. Do you see how fucked that is? You're 22, and she wants you to behave like you're six." As he spoke, his words grew stormier and stormier.
Bella disagreed with his assessment. Uncertainly, she shrugged. "You're making it sound like it's a bad thing," she said, squinting at him as if trying to sleep it off. "It's sweet. She – she and I were so close."
Edward grimaced, leaning heavily against the headboard. He seemed excruciatingly conflicted, and Isabella shifted in his arms. "Bella, I – I don't know if I'm the person that should tell you this, but…"
"But what?" Gingerly, Bella swiped at her nose with her sleeve.
"Right. I, uh… my dad… Well, no, not my dad. Just. My… mother. My mother seemed to think…" Edward tugged at his hair, agonized and conflicted. "My mother seemed to think that Esme wasn't a saint. That, eh – Christ, Renée Jolie had her reasons. That she was a victim."
Isabella's doe eyes were wide, at first with befuddlement. She squinted as if trying to understand a barrage of medical jargon, or a Haiku in Japanese.
"Pardon?" she blurted, exactly like she had been taught to do in such a situation from her earliest childhood.
Edward sighed, looking at her with an almost pitying, soulful expression. Momentarily, Bella was confused. Edward was the one person who never looked at her with pity. "I spoke to my dad, back when Esme started acting like a cunt -"
"Edward." Bella hissed and glowered at the sound of the word.
"But actually, she's always acted like whackadoodle and we're only starting to notice now because you're less… I don't know what the word is. Docile?"
"That's not true. I mean, she's always taken extra good care of me because I needed it."
"Damn it, baby, you sound like a little robot," Edward said. "Repeating exactly what she taught you to say."
"And you're being mean," Bella said dolefully, shifting off him.
"I guess I am," Edward said, without a hint of apology in his voice.
After Edward's grandfather, Edward's father arrived in mid-afternoon, in the middle of a hailstorm. For a moment suspended in time, Isabella was so happy to see her Uncle Carlisle that she almost cried. Carlisle, who had never hesitated to show affection to his son, lovingly ruffled his hair and kissed his cheek.
"You're looking great, kid," he said tenderly to his boy. "Really wonderful."
"You look old," Edward grumbled, without any bite to his voice.
Just as dotingly, he turned to Isabella. "Hi, darling!"
"Uncle Carlisle!"
Isabella and Carlisle hugged, and she kissed Carlisle's cheek sweetly. "You don't look old," she said consolingly and then rolled her eyes at Edward.
Esme hung back, standing in the doorframe, with the strangest expression of tenderness as she looked at Carlisle. Looking at her mother longingly, Bella hugged her waist.
Thanksgiving dinner the next day was an awkward, stifling affair. "Have they always been like this?" Bella would ask miserably after dinner. "This awkward?" Edward would look at her peculiarly, wondering if she was serious.
Not unlike Mrs. Victoria Cullen, Esme had many idiosyncrasies and quirks. As a child, Isabella had never noticed them. Esme frowned and winced at the fact that everybody – with the notable exception of Senator Masen – wore sweatpants and sweaters. Esme looked on the verge of tears at the breach of protocol.
Bella relaxed as the dinner wore on, becoming inured to her mother's barbs and stony silences. The wine pairing that came with each course seemed to help. Bella grew bubbly and chatty when Edward's grandfather asked about her senior thesis.
"Oh!" she said, lighting up. "Well, I – I'm doing it on the Head Start program and long-term outcomes for children in different states. I– eh – well, I've thought about becoming a teacher – I've taken some classes for it, 'cause there's an MA program at my school – and I managed to combine the topics for my major. I'm doing a regression model to test what the impact of Head Start on long-term outcomes like earnings and educational attainment."
Edward, who had heard her rant about the topic hundreds of times, gazed at her with that tender expression that made him look pained. "What that means in English," he said playfully. "Is that she's using a bunch of statistics to prove that public pre-K is good."
Bella grinned bashfully. "It's not always as good. The quality varies from state to state and it depends on a ton of variables." She turned very serious and looked at the former Senator Masen. "In some counties, the outcomes associated with universal pre-K access are better if there's less childhood poverty, even after you control for income. So, ideally, you want to offer multiple types of support to kids living in poverty – food security, cash transfers, healthcare."
Carlisle bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
"You're lobbying, love," Edward smirked.
Bella pinkened but didn't back down, and Senator Masen pursed his lips. "Nobody is against offering children better head starts in life, dear. Pun intended. But – "
"Shall we stop?" Esme tittered carefully, raising a hand. "Before this conversation becomes too political?"
Bella's mood flattened like grass under a lawnmower. "Sorry," she squeaked.
To defend her, Edward responded quickly with ice-cold disdain. He put a single hand on Bella's back, protective and achingly gentle, but his tone of voice scared her shitless. "What should we talk about?" he asked, and his handsome face looked impossibly more beautiful despite the sneer on it. He let out a chillingly frosty laugh. Underneath his gaze, Esme was a cockroach. "World-changing things like the napkin holders? For fuck's sake."
Esme looked so offended that her eyes stung with tears.
"Son."
The dessert course became an awkward, stilted affair. Esme almost slapped Edward's pumpkin pie onto his plate.
"You two seem to be doing well."
The probing statement came not from Carlisle, but from Edward Senior. Isabella froze, and a pumpkin pie hung in the air. Keeping his face mostly expressionless, Edward took a sip of pinot noir. Esme made a face like she had swallowed a lemon.
"Together," Edward Senior clarified delicately, with a trace of embarrassment.
Edward caught her eye, and Bella smiled blushingly, dropping her gaze. The answer was was everywhere. It was in the fact that Isabella wore Edward's sweaters like they were hers. It was in the soft smiles Edward seemed to wear now, replacing those ice-cold frowns he had worn for nearly a decade. It was in the fact that Edward whistled songs, and in the way that Bella laughed spontaneously sometimes. It was in the way he'd touch her neck and the way she'd touch his hip. It was in the way he kissed her temple every morning and every night.
Softly, Edward tucked a strand of hair behind the delicate shell of her ear. He took her trembling hand and lifted it to his mouth. She smiled her loveliest smile, finally noticing how beautiful it was. How beautiful she could be in a disabled body.
Softly, Edward tucked a strand of hair behind the delicate shell of Bella's ear. He took her trembling hand and lifted it to his mouth. She smiled her loveliest smile, and he grinned back, completely lovestruck. "We are," Edward grinned, and his voice turned firm. "I've never been happier."
Edward Senior scrutinized them both with a searing gaze. Finally, he nodded curtly. "I'm glad to hear it," he said, curt but unusually warm.
Relieved, Bella kept her hand discreetly on Edward's forearm. It was as much affection as she was willing to display in front of his family. Carlisle offered a nightcap of Bailey's and port. After a sip of hers, Bella yawned, covering her mouth discreetly.
"I think I'm going to call it a day," she said shyly, also cognizant of the need to give the family space. Technically, this family was not hers – and she was intruding.
Like he would without fail for decades, Edward stood to help her. He fetched her crutches from where they leaned against the wall. Ham-handedly, she threaded her arms through them. Her braces clicked, steading her, and she took a step. "Good night," she called out to the adults.
"Thanks for dinner, Mom," she added weakly, without expecting a response.
Unabashedly, Edward kissed her temple. "I'll be up soon."
Bella glowered pointedly and then began to turn on her heel, hoping nobody had heard him when –
"I don't think you two should sleep in the same bed," Isabella's mother said icily, intercepting them. Edward spun around in a snap. On her crutches, Bella froze mid-step. Her leg braces screeched against the hardwood. She turned a searingly hot pink, feeling the mortification sear every pore in her body.
Esme's next words were crisp and cutting. "I thought I raised Isabella better than to whore around, but I suppose blood will out."
"Esme, that's enough."
"That's out of line."
The words worked as effectively as a punch to the gut, and Bella stumbled forward. One of her crutches wobbled, and she tightened her grip on the handle. Edward caught her before she fell flat on her face. She spoke from a half-prone position. "Mom, I – "
Whore. It stung. It stung so badly that her eyes blurred. Protectively, he stood in front of her, physically shielding her from her mother. Though she couldn't see his face, Bella could feel Edward's anger.
For days, Isabella would be desperate to reassure her mother. She would feel the need to broadcast had no intention of being with anybody but Edward. It would take her years to realize that reassurance was unnecessary in and of itself.
Bella insisted that they sleep apart that night. She battled insomnia by herself. Her racing thoughts, which lacerated her, woke her from fits of sleep. The sound of the house croaking and settling, waging battle against the elements kept her awake. When Edward knocked at her bedroom door the next morning, she was wide awake.
"Do you remember last summer when I told you that the other woman sent me an e-mail?"
Edward nodded.
"I want you to read it for me. Read it first, and then – then tell me if I can read it."
Holding her with one arm, Edward opened her laptop with the other. He put on his reading glasses, and his expression grew impossibly sad. "Can I read what you wrote?"
"Please."
"You write beautifully."
Bella snorted.
"You do. You write beautifully. You always have."
Bella saw the minutes ticking by on an old-fashioned analog clock that hung above his desk.
"… This doesn't make … This doesn't make Esme look great, darling. But I think… I think you should read it, love."
Edward kept a hand lovingly on the small of her back as she spoke.
Dear Isabella,
I've been imagenin what I would write on this letter as well for so many years. This mite sound wierd, because your angry, and you have every rite to be. This mite sound strange but I loved reading from you. You right beautifully. And I understend why your so angry I really understand. I want you to know with all my heart that I never gave you up because I thout you werent good enuough. Your the best thing that's ever heppened to me. I was scarred of the ciribral pelsy diegnosis because I felt like it was my fallt. I would have staid with you every single hour of your life if I thout I could be what you nided. If they had let me I would still be with you.
I dont now how to begin explainen things to you even though I've emagind this a milion times. I spend so many sleepless nights thinking bout what I would say to you. And I guess the beginig is a good plays to start.
I used to work in movies. My mom didn't come from money, or from a real good family either. She was a runaway and she started making money like I eventually made money. Modeling. My mom took me to a modelling agency from the minute I was born. I made commercials, and lots of really bad movies. I spent lots of nights working late, and my menager started me on effadrine to keep going. I was fourteen when I had to shoot adult scenes, long before I even understood what that was goin' on. It wasn't a good environment for a kid. My biggest fere was that I didn't now how to offer you something bettar.
This isn't an excuse, but it was all I new. And I didn't know what else I could offer you.
In 87, my friends and I went to the Rainbow Bar, and your Dad was there. He was a star player for the Dodgers, and he was diffarant. He was older than the boys I knew. He was kind, and he protacted me from my own mother. He didn't treat me like all the other men did, and he listened. And we started a relationship. I reelais now that it felt nice because he was almost like a father figure that I didn't really have.
I was twenty-one when I had you. I'd been to all kinds of places, and met all kind of people, but I'd never really been to school, and I didn't have the best home life. I wasn't ready. You came so erly, and you were so tiny, but you were the most beautiful little person Id ever seen. I hope you get to experience that kind of love one day. Nothing compares to the love you feel for your baby.
I felt awful. Sometimes I wonder why you were born early and there were lots of reesons to think it's my fault. I felt like hell all the time – the sleepless nites, and the treatmints, and I felt like I was the worse mother on the plenet. I have schizophrenia, and it made everything I do. I get treatment for it and I like to think I live a normal life. But I felt like I couldn't be the mom you deserved.
The one thing that helped us was when you were born, I got help from the Alice Foundation in New York. The founder Esme Brandon took a real interest in you. And Esme Brandon seemed like everything I'm not. She was older and expeerenced and she knew how to take care of babies with speshal needs. Esme Brandon wanted you. I noticed it from the very first time she looked at you.
She conveenced your father that she was the best option and that I was crazy. And hell, I guess she wasn't wrong. I've had a lot of childhood trama to deal with. Lots of demans in my head. I fought at first for you. I fought real hard but Esme kept wining. And I realized Esme would be good were I was bad. Esme was older, experienced, and stable. And I think she was a good mom. That's my dream. My biggest dream.
The lawyers send me pictures of you every month, and you're so beautiful and strong and intelligent. I read all your report cards, and everything there is to know about you, and I'm glad Esme was your Mom. I love you more than anything, and I think of you every second of every day. I wonder if I would have been a good mom. Giving you up was the hardest thing I've ver done, but I also think sometimes that it was the best thing I could have done for you.
I wasnt allowed to write to you without the consent of a parent or guardian until you turned eighteen. I've been dreaming of that moment since I last saw you. This probably doesn't seem very honest or true to you, but I love you. I've loved you from the moment I first held you, more than I ever imagined possible.
I would give anything to hear your vois just once, but I understand why you're angry. I won't ask for forgivnes because I don't deserve it, but I want you to know I'm sorry, and I'll be waiting here for you. Even if I have to wait forever. If you don't belief or remember anything, remember that I love you. I'll always love you.
Renée