Seventeen/Twenty
June 2007
Back in March, Isabella had cemented her friendship with Claire Young over a failed math test
"You OK?" Bella had inquired kindly, straining her neck to look at Claire in the eye. "Yeah, um, I –" Claire bit her lip. As her hands fisted, the paper in her hand crinkled. "I failed my Trig exam."
"Oh," Isabella had said delicately. She patted Claire lightly on the arm. "I'm sure you'll make it up– it's – Is it worth a lot of your grade?"
"I got a 20% on my last quiz," Claire had growled bitterly, and Bella had fallen back on a lifetime of manners that had been drilled into her with military precision.
"Is there any way I could help?"
Isabella had helped to the best of her ability. Claire had raised her score from a 20% to a 50%. Claire had visited the Swan residence for the first time – to Esme's outright delight – to learn some basic trigonometry. Despite Isabella's best efforts, Claire still needed a remedial summer course. Bella had found she enjoyed teaching so much that she had volunteered at school. Out of sheer enjoyment, she spent a handful of hours a week teaching fellow students English as a Second Language with guidance from the lead ESOL teacher. Bella loved it.
It was mid-June, Isabella was tutoring, and she was happy. There were three girls with her – Claire, her cousin Emily, and a girl called Bree. Bree was also a student that Bella was tutoring, as volunteer work.
Esme was on Cloud Nine at this development. Esme was offering Claire cut-up carrots and freshly baked cookies the way a waiter offered hors d'oeuvres. She had set up a plate of assorted pastries as if it were a catering event, bringing out a pitcher of "Peach Basil" Lemonade that Isabella found slightly pretentious. Claire, seeming overwhelmed, helped herself to two types of cookies.
"Thanks for all these snacks, Mrs. Swan," Emily Young said with a smile. Both she and Claire had lovely brown eyes that reminded Isabella of amber resin. Claire and Emily were both Quileute and therefore were part of Jake's tribe.
"It's my absolute pleasure," Esme beamed, and then proceeded to gush. "I ran to Target to get you girls snacks. I might have gone a little overboard, but I didn't know what Claire liked. Usually, I get Bella healthier things after school – you know, hummus and carrot sticks and the like, but I thought we'd be naughty and so I got you girls some treats."
Esme's enthusiasm evinced that Isabella had not had a girlfriend in years, and Isabella was mortified."We'll be OK, Mom," Bella mumbled, wishing Esme would contain her enthusiasm.
"That's very nice, Mrs. Swan."
With a self-satisfied sigh, Esme parted.
"So, eh, what do your parents do, Isabella?" Bree asked, clearly with burning curiosity.
Bella blushed, starting to fiddle with the lacey hem of her top. Her explanation was delivered in a tinny voice. "Eh, well, my Dad played baseball. Professionally," she admitted this in a whisper as if she were confessing a crime. "And then he retired and went to Law School, and so now he works for the District Attorney. And my Mom – well. She's a stay-at-home mom. She's great."
To avoid seeming like a braggart, Bella omitted information – like Charlie's actual role as the DA, or the fact that he had played professionally for a winning big league team. She did not want to overwhelm or intimidate her friends. Besides, Isabella knew what it was like to feel small in the face of other's wealth. She knew the Youngs – and Jake, and his family – struggled financially.
Eagerly, Bree nodded.
"The sin, cosine, and tangine thing – I don't get it at all," Claire grumbled, interrupting the conversation.
Bella turned to her friend. "It is really confusing at first, and it seems kind of pointless," she agreed empathetically, even though she had never found the subject particularly confusing. "There's this trick that they taught me at my old school – "
"I just don't even get why it's important."
Bella smiled lightly. "If you don't know one angle or side measure a triangle, you can figure it out with the sine, and the cosine, and the tangent."
Claire was nodding. With her trembling hand, Bella drew an illustrative triangle in her notebook. Edward always teased her that the tip of her tongue stuck out when she focused on math. "So, let's imagine that I have a triangle …"
She was so engrossed drawing right triangles that she didn't hear any footsteps down the path that circled the Swan property, leading out onto the terrace.
"Oh."
Bella looked up, and for a split second, the breath was knocked out of her.
Edward had grown even more handsome. It was as if the cruelty that had taken root made him abhorrently beautiful. More than ever before, he looked like a movie star from old Hollywood, stepping out of the screen. His jaw had sharpened into perfect, square lines. As the softness of childhood vanished from his features, his aquiline nose looked like it had been chiseled. His eyes had always been an astonishing, blueish green that reminded Bella of emeralds. He really was gorgeous.
Inside all that beauty, though, was a vein little monster. Bella hated this Edward. This Edward prattled about some prick called Freddy Mueller, his bullshit thoughts on the stock market, and the differences in catamaran prices. Powerfully, Bella felt a swell of protectiveness for her best friend, whose bottom was spilling over the confines of her chair, and took up an entire side of the table.
"What are you doing here?" Bella said defensively, eyeing him coldly.
Edward's shoulders drooped, and Bella let herself see things she had missed just seconds earlier. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and his face was laced with shame.
"I wanted to see you," he said, the ghost of a plea in his voice, squaring his shoulders to stand straight. "Please."
"I'm busy," Bella said flatly. Crestfallen, Edward winced.
Bree was looking at them with the morbid delight of a spectator at a tennis match. Emily looked suspicious, and Claire looked downright uncomfortable.
Edward seemed to snap out of his stupor. In a show of impeccable manners, he took his hands out of his pockets and held it out. His Rolex sparkled under the summer sun. "Edward Cullen," he said softly, offering Claire what looked like the hint of a friendly grin. Dumbfounded, Claire stared at Edward's long pianist's fingers.
Nobody moved, and the hum of the bees pollinating Esme's rose garden grew in intensity. Awkwardly, Edward's hand hung outstretched in midair, until Claire finally grasped at it with a clammy hand. "Claire Young," she finally managed to say. Stiff with shyness, Edward repeated the exercise. Emily was the only person who shook Edward's hand with confidence, with suspicion etched into every line of her face.
"It was nice to meet you all," Edward said softly, in a tone that reminded Isabella of Carlisle. "Bella, I'll see you later."
"Later," Bella muttered tartly, without meeting his eye.
"Bella, holy shit," Bree squealed the moment Edward's mop of copper hair disappeared. "Bella, he looks like Brad Pitt. Damn."
Bella pursed her lips into a harsh line. "His personality is awful," she said sharply. "He's a huge brat. It gets really ugly."
"I – he seemed very… I don't know? Sweet?" Bree interjected dreamily.
"He seemed cold to me," Emily Young said bitingly. She was glaring at Bella now with mistrust that was permeating the air like a fog. It stung Bella, and yet, Bella felt a wave of defensiveness. In his every mannerism, Edward had reminded her of Carlisle just then. "He's really shy," she pointed out, knowing it to be the truth. Despite how charming he could be in the right situations, Edward had a hard time meeting new people.
"And he is a huge doofus," Bella added wistfully. "He made me sit through the whole boxed set of Doggie Howser. The whole thing. And he does this funny impression of Donald Duck. He used to be really…lovely."
Isabella was struck again by an ache that physically hurt in her chest, like the phantom pains that came from a missing limb.
"Now he's just a prick with a trust fund," Bella muttered darkly. "You should've heard him the other day. It was just… Droning on and on about stocks. And sailing boats. Like he just wouldn't shut up, and it was all bullshit. Just because he took the one finance class. It was actually kind of pathetic."
September 2007
Eighteen/Twenty
Isabella had turned eighteen on a Wednesday.
That day, a man materialized in the corners of Isabella's life, like a blur casting a shadow over the edges. Isabella first spotted him studying the rows of cars and the crowds of students leaving the premises. People stared at Isabella all the time – any time she went out in public – especially when she was using her crutches and her orthotics. This man had been staring at her, at Isabella and not at her crutches, with hawkish intensity. Something about his staring felt like an icicle down Isabella's back.
The man finally approached her on a Friday.
Up close, the man had the faded handsomeness that characterized men who had been good-looking in youth. His hairline had receded to reveal two widow's peaks, but his hair grew in a healthy, peppery tuft. Craggy-faced, he had a pair of deep-set, slanted blue eyes. Over a pair of cargo shorts, he wore a University of Florida t-shirt. For a split second, Isabella wondered if he was there to recruit Jake.
Jake Black had quickly become one of Isabella's favorite people. He always waved at Isabella when he saw her. Beaming, he would walk up to her and crack a silly joke. Half the time, they made Isabella genuinely laugh out loud because they were terrible.
"Hey, Isabella! What does a cloud wear under its raincoat?"
"What?" Isabella would ask indulgently, beaming from ear to ear.
Theatrically, Jacob would pause, looking delighted. "Thunderwear," he'd say with flair.
After days upon days of silly jokes – Bella had jotted some of them down in her Garfield-themed planner – Jake had asked her to join him and his friends to a bonfire. Pathetically, Bella had felt absurdly happy. Bella's first response had been to bring Claire. Then, at that bonfire, Isabella had learned two things: that Jake Black found her normal, and that Jake Black found her pretty. His father, Jake explained, was also a wheelchair user. Isabella had met Jake's father that night. She had been lulled into daydreaming stories, like shadows dancing on stones, by the lovely sound of Billy Black's voice.
The first time Jake had kissed her, Isabella had been too shocked – and flattered, and befuddled – to judge the quality of the kissing. It was oodles better than what she had experienced under the greasy peach fuzz of Eric Yorkie, but something about Jake's kissing always felt a little off. They had been together for some time now: Jake liked kissing her, even though Isabella found it a little awkward. Sometimes, he was a little overeager, and Isabella disliked his overuse of his tongue.
It was a Friday, she and Jake were going to go see the premiere of Resident Evil, and Esme was not there. Jake thought it would be a fun birthday activity, even though Isabella would have much preferred Becoming Jane.
The man's eyes were swirling with emotion, and Isabella should have known this was no ordinary matter.
"Hiya. Can I talk to you?" the man blurted, shifting from foot to foot. The line came out with a sharp exhale as if the man had been rehearsing his lines. The man held out his hand, and Bella stared at it, before smiling sheepishly. She was leaning heavily on her crutches. "Oh, eh. Sorry," the man said. Awkwardly, he fisted his hand and rubbed it against his cargo shorts. "Isabella, I'm Phil Dywer."
"What do you want with her?" Jake demanded suspiciously, placing a soft, large hand on Isabella's back.
Phil Dwyer ignored Jake.
The name rang no bells in Bella's memories or knowledge, and so Bella offered a shy, polite smile. "I'm sorry," she said squeakily, kindly, almost apologetically. "Do I know you?"
Heartily, the man cleared his throat. With intensity, his eyes bore into hers, and he was looking at her with such crushing sadness in his face. "You don't, but we do know you," he said, and he edged closer. "I'm here on behalf of your mama. I'm her husband. I'm Renée Higginbotham's husband."
Isabella recoiled. Her breath caught like a stone between her larynx and her lungs. She felt like the man had slammed a baseball bat against her. In that moment, all of the fantasies she had indulged vanished into thin air, like water evaporating on the hot concrete of the parking lot. Renée Higginbotham. Isabella had never bothered to learn her birthmother's name: Esme had guarded the name with ferocious secrecy, claiming it was irrelevant. "It doesn't matter, sweetheart," Esme had sworn fiercely. "Daddy was awarded sole physical and legal custody. She doesn't have visitation rights."
Renee Higginbotham.
"Bell? You OK?" Jake rose to his full height. Towering at six feet over most men, including this man, he cast a formidable shadow. Phil Dwyer.
Bella's eyes were watering with tears. She had imagined that moment, and she had imagined yelling, raging, snarling out her deepest pain. It was a pain she carried so deeply that it was buried under layers of acquired resentment and feigned indifference. She had imagined being guttural, as violent as her pain and her anger.
When the moment came down to it, she was none of those things. "I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Dwyer," Isabella said, surprised at how polite she sounded. "Nothing at all."
"Isabella, please," Mr. Dwyer said, taking a step forward. He held out an envelope. "That's our contact information. We live in Arizona. Your Mom was desperate to be here, but -"
"Why isn't she here?" Bella interrupted crassly, her voice cracking slightly despite the steel rod of ice that ran across her demeanor.
"—What the hell, man?" Jake thundered, and Bella felt a stab of irritation. "You're dreamin'. Thinkin of somebody else."
"—Jake, shut up," Bella bit. "I'll explain later."
"She's – " Phil Dwyer hesitated, taking a steadying breath. "She's been workin' real hard to get sober these past fifteen years. It's been hard for her, but she's – she couldn't be here."
Isabella felt her heart hardening, her scorn swelling in her stomach like a volcano threatening to explode. Cruelly, she arched her eyebrows, raising them high into her forehead. She knew her birthmother was a filthy addict. Courtesy of Victoria Cullen, she also knew her mother had been a model. "It's been hard for her?" Isabella spit contemptuously, with a laugh like cold water. Her trembling had grown like a rapid staccato, like maracas rattling.
"She's… That destroyed her," Phil implored. "You gotta know she tried and tried to get you back – "
A crowd had started to form around them; in the distance, Isabella saw Mrs. Nguyen speeding towards them, like a bullet train. "I don't want to make a scene," Bella said politely. Her retorts, her scorn, were caught in her throat. She lifted a hand from her crutches, allowing her legs to bear her weight. Using two fingers like pincers, she snatched the letter from Mr. Dwyer's outstretched hand. Gripping the envelope, she threaded her hands through her Loftstrand crutches.
"Please leave," she said, her eyes watering with tears. "Please leave me alone."
"Please think'abou'it," Mr. Dwyer said, taking a conciliatory step back. "Please. Your Mom loves you."
"Bell? Bell? Bell?" Jake demanded, with the energy of yapping puppy, and Isabella felt a swell of irritation. "What was that man talking about? Bella? Is he crazy?"
Isabella tried to take deep breaths, but they each remained shallow, catching in her throat. She was trembling so badly she was afraid she'd fall on the black asphalt. "I need to call my Mom," she sputtered finally, in a whisper.
Jake had no idea – had no reason to believe – Esme was anything but Isabella's mother. Jake was not insensitive. Quite the opposite of insensitive, Jake was intelligent, kind and funny. Despite that, Isabella had never felt like Jake would understand what Esme had done.
Esme had worked hard to sever every tie between Isabella and her birthmother, to the point that Isabella did not even know her name.
Renée Higginbotham.
"I knew this would happen," Esme seethed furiously upon arrival, cradling Bella gently to her chest. "I didn't think they would have the gall." Feeling drained, Bella had said nothing, waiting for her mother to calm down. The letter – with Renee Higginbotham's name on it – was burning a hole in her jeans. Curiosity was competing in her stomach with a sickening ache. She had never felt so devoid of compassion, so full of hate, towards anybody.
Renee Higginbotham.
Renée Jolie
Article | Talk
From Wikipedia, the free Encyclopedia.
Renée Higginbotham, known professionally as Renée Jolie (born February 23, 1968) is an American model and actress. Born to John Higginbotham, a producer, and Miss Teri Higginbotham, her manager, Jolie began modeling at the age of three. At age five, Jolie signed a lucrative contract with the Ford Model Agency. Jolie rose to fame in 1978 for her controversial role in the film adaptation of the Nabokob film of the same name. Between 1981 and 1985, Jolie starred in a string of roles with the 1980s Rat Pack. Her last film role, as Emeline in the 1985 film The Blue Lagoon, was panned by critics but widely successful commercially.
Known for her striking features, Jolie became the face of the American brand Ralph Lauren in the mid-1980s. A fixture in American Vogue, Jolie appeared on the cover of Sports Illustrated three times in 1984, the youngest woman to do so at the time.
Her health and relationships have been the subject of media speculation. Jolie's childhood in the spotlight was marked by struggles with alcoholism. Between 1981 and 1986, Jolie was linked romantically to Italian designer Aro Giordano. In 1988, Jolie suspended her modeling career, admitting to her struggles with methamphetamine and heroin abuse in one of the inaugural episodes of The Oprah Winfrey Show. That year, Jolie was admitted to a rehabilitation center in Olympia Washington. Jolie retired from modeling in 1989, citing increasing difficulties finding work after weight gain related to drug abuse.
There was an envelope waiting on her bed. Isabella knew who the sender was, even though there was only a solitary clue. Edward had scrawled her name in his ineligible handwriting on the back of the envelope. He had distinct handwriting that reminded Isabella of black spiders. Inside the envelope, there was an adoption certificate for two marine turtles at risk of extinction. Holding the envelope to her lips, Bella smiled.
The answer was suddenly crystal clear.
Despite everything, Edward answered on the third ring. He let her sniffle and sob into the tinny speaker, sobbing like a wounded animal.
"Bee?" Edward asked softly, worriedly. "Bee, baby?"
"She found me," Bella croaked wetly, tears streaming down her cheeks. There was no need for her to explain; Edward would understand. He was one person in the world that would need no explanation. Edward would understand by her sneer and rage that Isabella was referring to her hated birthmother. "I know her name now."
Edward's breath hitched; in her mind's eye, she imagined him sliding down the wall and resting his elbows on his knees. "We knew this would happen, eventually," he murmured. "Did she – What did she say?"
"She didn't say anything. She wasn't there. She sent her husband," Bella sniffed, wiping her tears. "It wasn't… Her husband found me. She has a husband."
There was silence on the line.
"Bee, angel, this doesn't have to change anything," Edward said fervently, in an achingly gentle voice. "It doesn't change anything unless you want it to. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. We can go back to pretending she doesn't exist."
Bella sobbed into her pillow. "I don't know. I don't think I can. I don't think I can. Her husband gave me a letter."
Edward was silent for a moment. There wasn't a hint of judgment in his voice, and in that moment, they existed suspended in time. In a bubble where he had never hurt her. In a bubble where he couldn't, where time and circumstances had not changed him.
"Then don't forget. Don't forget. Don't do anything you don't want to do. You don't have to call her either."
"It's not as simple as that. And I'm so confused, and I'm so angry, and I'm wondering why now."
"I mean, that part makes a lot of sense. You're not a child anymore," Edward said. "Charlie doesn't have sole custody anymore."
"Esme always said that she – that the birthmother - wasn't interested," Bella spat bitterly, turning to lean against her elbow. "Why would she give a shit now?"
"I don't know, darling," Edward said. "I really don't know."
Bella sniffed, and the silence stretched between them. "Thanks for… thanks for picking up," she said tenderly, missing him like an ache.
"I'll always pick up," Edward swore. "I'll always be there. It was nice to hear your voice, angel."
The tear that slipped down her cheek had nothing to do with her mother.