..::.. Chapter 3 - The Knock and the Customer ..::..
Alice comes to visit. The boys pour out of the car and they're already running around. She yells and reprimands like a chant from her lips; it's always there.
She climbs up the porch and she's already looking around at all the mess. Edward sees the kids and he becomes one. Alice barely says hello and gets going with laundry and scrubbing the floors. The big bucket of dark water rolls behind her as she mops. She yells and grumbles all the while at a passing child undoing all her work with his muddy shoes. The boys end up in the yard using sticks and scraps as swords. It only spurs Edward to do insane things like climb the porch and dive at them from above. He growls, he howls, they laugh hard and roll around trying it, too.
I itch to go, to tell her I'm home, to apologize. Her life is in abundance, but upside down. Mine is nothing but a failure to launch and cowardly finding my feet again in my parents old house.
Before I find my courage she's already packing up the kids, wiping down countertops to leave. The house is spotless. Her one arm curls around Edward's neck where he sits in his chair, watching the boys collect legos off the floor. She says her goodbye with a whisper and a kiss by his ear. He nods. That's the only contact he gets from a human being. He seems just fine with that, even if he does look solemn after they leave.
When Jasper comes by it's a different scene altogether. They sit in the living room and they are calm and collected. A long conversation. Jasper is mostly quiet and nodding all the while.
I'm making lunch on a Sunday and catch my fifth glimpse of the event. On my sixth glance, Jasper and Edward look up and meet my eyes. A pang in my chest. I look away.
Fuck.
What was that?
I don't attempt another look. I drag my ass back to the couch piled with files from work.
The sun dims and dances over the living room walls suddenly. I turn to see a shadow by the front door outside. Even though I'm watching it happen, I jump from the scare. The doorbell chimes. I try not to yelp aloud.
I use the window we always use to sneak a peek at the intruder. I pull the curtain enough to let an eyelid flutter between the folds. Another eye stares right back.
This time, I do scream.
"Isabella?" he calls out. "It's... Jasper Cullen."
I roll my eyes and collect myself off the floor. I tighten the robe around me and reach for the doorknob. I'm red as a pomegranate. Maybe he's come to tell me to stop spying on his nephew… then pop my eardrum. I'm definitely shameful now.
He smiles. His complexion is tanned and smooth where he's shaven. He's in his early fifties and damn handsome in a suit and combed back hair. My nostrils flare as his cologne wafts over the threshold.
"You just got back from Chicago, didn't you?" He drags his eyes from my head to toes. I can't speak, so I settle for a nod. He notices I'm not offering him to come in. He slowly stuffs his hands in his pockets where the jacket tails bundle at his wrists. "Man, I haven't seen Charlie in quite a while. Where has that old goose been these days?"
"I... um... he… he's not here." I stutter. He grins like it's obvious he isn't. I breathe a little, compose myself. "Yes, well, he lives with Sue in… far away, for years now. I'll… tell him you stopped by," I say. Hint, hint. Good-bye.
But he doesn't catch. I step back when he invites himself in.
I'm shaking now.
He turns in circles in the foyer, his eyes scanning the crown molding and the granite counter tops in the kitchen. The stairs going up are oak with white crisp banisters. He whistles low. "Fine looking interior. Charlie always did like his material things classic and well made." He peers into the living room. My heart is pounding. He turns to me and grins. "And makes classic beautiful looking things, too. You look a lot like your mother."
"How can I help you?" I push this awkward meeting to a purpose.
"My nephew there was telling me about the prettiest girl in town living next door. I wanted to say hello, welcome you back to the neighborhood." He nods. "And hopefully catch up with your old man." As he speaks he wanders the bottom floor of the house. I fidget. I follow him around helplessly as he steps into the dining area, opens the closet under the stairs and drifts to the back door of the sunroom. He takes it all in. Confidently. Like he's an officer in search of burglars.
"You don't mind, do you?" He gestures around him, excusing his forwardness. He asks permission after.
I square my shoulders, cross my arms at my torso, and fix this real quick before it's too late. "Actually... I do. I've got a lot of work. The work week starts up again tomorrow."
"Of course," he says with a smile, but his slight chuckle says the contrary. I take it not many people say "No" to him. I escort him out, wishing with all my might he leaves. This man makes my skin crawl.
His shiny italian shoes step out over the threshold and I breathe a little. His gaze is kind, but that smirk has a tinge of malice. "I see the loan has been put to good use. He wanted to give his daughter the best," he says with a knuckle tap on the pane. "Can't blame him for being a sucker for porcelain rosy cheeks and eyes like his," he says about me.
I'm dumbfounded. He descends the porch and walks down the sidewalk. He never brings a car. He just disappears. This time, I wish he'd disappear for good.
I slam the door and march to the window. Edward is there, stoic, looking into my windows through his lashes.
…
"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" I whisper over the phone, but what I really want to do is scream. Starbucks is full. I've found a spot for lunch nonetheless. People come and go. They don't stick around since there aren't many tables free.
"Bells, it was long ago. Years. I've paid them back, with interest. It's nothing to worry about, Baby doll." Dad is calm over the phone and I don't understand how this isn't a big deal to him.
"So, you do admit to making a deal with the Cullen brothers in the eighties for some money?!" My head is spinning.
"Well, yeah, everyone was doing it then. It was tough times. Banks weren't helping. Your mother and I were young and... stupid. You were a newborn, we were completely out of our heads. We needed a little help."
"How the hell did you pay it all back?"
"Slowly, that's for sure. The Garage helped a lot. I was able to hire more mechanics, it was good for the town, for families," he says. I'm quiet. I didn't think of it that way. Dad was never one to struggle in my time growing up. There was never a lack of food in the fridge, or empty gas tanks. I was one of the fortunate kids on the block. So, I get it. My shoulders drop and I begin to understand. "You didn't let him in the house, did you, Bells?" I shake my head. I could never say why Jasper Cullen knocked on the door yesterday.
"No, no. He just... asked for you and left."
"Good. Just... be careful. Make sure you—"
"...lock the door and bolt every night. Gotcha." I finish the sentence for him. Like a broken record.
He breathes on the phone. "You should come visit. Take some time off work. I think you're too holed up in that place alone. You love Chicago, don't you?"
I loathe Chicago. I'm not getting into that with him. Life after high school in the big city wasn't working out. I quit a newspaper job as a copywriter. I made sure to tell the editor to stick "his" ideas up his ass after he printed his name instead of mine. "We're a team, it's how it works," he said. I dare not bring up Riley over anything either. I still have nightmares. I still feel the bruises—Riley hand sized marks on my arms. Then, he went too far.
I am done with Chicago.
"Sure, I'll plan it out," I say begrudgingly. I do miss him and Sue.
I hang up with a new odd perspective of my parents. They've always been the perfect citizens, never cutting corners, responsible tax paying townies. Now I find out they were one of the unfortunate to fall into schemes from a family "business." I shudder at the thought.
I look up and do a double take. At some point, Edward walked into the shop and stood in a long line. No wonder everyone went quiet. I hear whispers of "Berserky" behind me. I want to turn and tell them to fuck off, but my eyes are glued to this man upfront. My heart picks up instantly.
I don't get to see him this close. I'm taking it all in, every inch and hair out of place. He's a mess today. Dark eyes, pale skin. His knuckles have healed but it doesn't help much for those dried, worked hands. Fidgety. Nerve wrecked. He seems like he'll blow at any second, a ticking bomb.
He's looking over shoulders, scratching his unruly head and pacing. Just as I knew he would, he steps up and walks past everyone. I hold my breath.
"Hey," he says. A guy turns and faces him, a coffee in hand. He's an off-duty cop. I would know, he directs traffic on rush hour and always comes in on his day off to get a coffee. Edward doesn't know. He bumps into his chest and flails his arms over the counter. "Can I get some service here? I don't have all fucking day!" The cop lays a hand on his shoulder. Edward flinches back. "Don't touch me. I don't… I don't like to be touched," he says as he shakes his head over and over.
I begin to stand but think better of it. How the hell would I help any? The snickering from the back is loud enough. I glare at the guys over my shoulder. They're construction workers from down the street.
"I just want a coffee and one of those cheese danish things. Black coffee, not that macchiato bullshit. Black, no sugar," Edward says loud. The cop tries to ease him with calm words. He steps back and it seems to be working. Edward looks confused now, hands on hips as he paces.
Everyone in line automatically disperses. Edward is relieved. He places both hands on the counter and waits for his black coffee, no sugar. He grips the danish in one hand and the coffee in the other. My heart is a drum because he isn't leaving the shop, but pulling back the random vacant seat in front of me and sitting. I quickly move my items to make room for him.
Literally everyone stares. I force myself not to.
The crowd slowly goes back to quiet chatter. I don't know what to do with myself. My hands. My breathing. My legs. He maneuvered the seat so we're pressed together at the leg. His warmth pulls through. Yet, this isn't the only surprising detail of this moment. Today he decided to wear jeans. Soft, fitted ones. His bare feet in sandals. His robe on, smelling like fabric softener—thanks to Alice. The greasy waves of his hair fall over his forehead. His beard is overgrown. He takes a hefty bite of the danish and sips on his paper cup, lid off. He flicked that over his shoulder. No time to waste.
I watch his hands move. His nail beds are smooth and neat. The veins over his hands run up dry knuckles, disappearing under the robe's cuffs. There's one thing I never noticed him wearing before and it's a fine Rolex wrapped around his wrist. The metal is shiny and new. Diamonds dot each hour. He turns it and glances at the time.
I dare to do it—I open my mouth and speak.
"Hello, Edward. It's been a while." I nod curtly. I don't look up. I nonchalantly take a sip of my coffee that's cold on my tongue. His head slowly moves up, eyes with it. I can feel the heat of his stare. I look just in time to see a crumb stuck to the corner of his lip fall off. He doesn't utter a word. I swallow thickly.
The assholes in the back stand and leave their mess behind. They're loud and obnoxious. They snicker after walking by. The last one trailing them bumps into our table. His tool belt grazes it loudly. He looks out of it, unfocused, intoxicated.
Edward glances at his watch after they pour out of the door. He stands. My heart sinks. He grabs his trash and used cup. He pauses for a beat. Then, he crumples up my mess and takes it with him to dump. "Thanks," I mutter.
He marches out the door.
It takes a moment. I sit at the table I just shared with the most complicated man I've ever met. I collect myself and count to ten.
Lunch is over. I run out to get to work. I cross the street and pass a crowd of construction workers milling about in one spot. I crane my neck as I walk by and they're familiar. Blood soaks the tool belt on the pavement. The owner's eyes are alert now. He grips his thigh where a screwdriver is stuck. The second tool was driven through his hand. Some people are looking around to see who it was.
I know. I know exactly who it was.
The off-duty cop locks the handcuffs around his wrists, his hands blood red. Edward is pushed into a black, unmarked, awaiting car.
"Everything is under control," the officer says. He lifts a hand and gets behind the wheel. He doesn't wait for the ambulance to arrive.
I don't see Edward that night, nor every night for a month after that.
…