October 2007

Eighteen/Twenty

One drizzly Saturday in October, Isabella took her SATs. Within two weeks, she knew for a fact that she had the scores to go to an Ivy League school of her choosing. "I wouldn't want to go to an Ivy," she explained to her befuddled college counselor, who only had fifteen minutes to give. Unlike the counselor at Dewey Day School, this woman was overwhelmed by hordes of students with limited prospects. "I'd be miserable with the social life," she continued squeakily, despite feeling absolute certainty. "But your grades are excellent," the counselor had protested weakly. "You also get brownie points for diversity issues," the bewildered counselor had added bluntly. "They have quotas for handicapped students."

Bella, who was called inspirational for the mere act of existing, turned pink with displeasure. Just the week before, she had been called an inspiration at the post office. Whatever his flaws, Edward had been very active through High School, partially due to Isabella's gentle nudging: he'd taken up debate, football, piano. "There's nothing inspirational about watching Desperate Housewives," Bella said, tongue-in-cheek, arching an eyebrow at the counselor. In her wheelchair, she trembled and spasmed.

Jake, for his part, had said nothing. "I don't know if college is for me," he had muttered, placing his head on her lap, and taking her little hand in his.

"I think it's for the best, honey," Charlie had said immediately, looking relieved, when Isabella explained her choices to her parents. "You should stay close to us."

"I was very happy at Wellesley," Esme had countered. "There are plenty of lovely small liberal arts colleges within driving distance from us."

Isabella, deep in her heart of hearts, felt overwhelmed. She had been raised by two devoted, adoring parents. A part of her felt guilty that she was so thoroughly, desperately ready to leave the nest. Another part was ready to cut the cord. As far as Esme was concerned, Isabella was perpetually five years old. In her mother's eyes, Isabella was perpetually a child. That was confirmed for the millionth time when Bella – and Claire, by extension – were invited to a Halloween party by one Christopher Brogan.

"Who will be chaperoning?" Esme had demanded suspiciously upon being informed.

Bella, who had been as placid and passive as a houseplant for most of her adolescence, had felt a spark of rebellion. "Mom, it's not chaperoned," she had whined shrilly.

"You have no idea how many times Carlisle picked up Edward drunk out of his mind," Esme hissed, reminding Bella of a viper. "They have – well, they have marijuana at those parties."

"God forbid I have devil lettuce, Mom," Bella had muttered.

Despite Esme's protests, Isabella and Claire had prepared for the Halloween party, intending to attend. Claire, who watched Mean Girls with the intensity of an anthropologist, claimed Bella could have dressed as a slutty forest creature. Bella had laughed so hard tears streamed down her face. "I couldn't go as a slutty anything," she giggled, gesturing vaguely at her legs. "A slutty chipmunk on crutches? No, thank you."

Claire looked at her dubiously. "You're gorgeous, Bella," Claire said. "You're the prettiest girl in school."

Pinkening, Bella had shushed Claire as if she were publicizing that Bella had committed a crime.

Weighing in at 305 pounds, Claire had been chronically on a diet since the Wilkinson brothers had announced their Christmas party. As a result, Claire had been subsisting on a concoction that made Bella want to vomit. "It's water, lemon juice, cayenne pepper, and maple syrup," Claire explained fervently, as she toted around a piss-colored water bottle. Intuitively, Bella had known the diet was shoddy at best, and had been encouraging Claire to eat a real meal.

The day of the party, Claire and Isabella got ready together. "Is Jake going?" Claire asked, as Isabella painstakingly applied black mascara onto her eyelashes.

"He offered to pick me up, but my parents said no," Bella explained, with an eye roll. "My parents want to drive me themselves."

"But you're eighteen," Claire grumbled, making an excellent point.

With two white bunny ears and a blue-ribbon necktie, Bella was ready to attend as the White Rabbit from Wonderland. Claire had already painted whiskers onto Bella's face, coloring the tip of her nose in black Earnestly, Claire had picked out a large French maid costume. In no small measure thanks to Esme's vigilance, Isabella knew very little about sex, let alone fetishes. Despite that, she had an intuitive sense of the costume's origins. When Claire revealed the getup, Bella blanched. Her instinctive honesty was doing battle with the politeness Esme had instilled in her daughter from her earliest childhood.

"Claire?" Bella said gently, her voice squeaking, her doe eyes saucer-wide. "Are you sure that's what you want to wear?"

Claire looked at Bella with defensiveness and a hint of anger. "Just because you're naturally pretty," Claire sniffed. "I want to look attractive, too"

Bella fought back the queasiness in her stomach, knowing the kindest thing would be to prepare Claire against embarrassment. "Can I – um – Can I be honest?" Bella said kindly. "I think maybe that's a little too earnest – and I think it's maybe not – ideal. We can think of something else."

Claire's eyes watered. "That's a great idea, Bell," Claire hissed sardonically. "Maybe I can go as Mrs. Potato Head, or a pumpkin or some shit."

Bella looked down at her lap, glaring lightly from underneath her thick eyelashes. "Right. Well. You do you," Bella muttered through pursed lips. "I'll go try and convince my Mom."

Still in her wheelchair, Bella unlocked the brakes and rolled away.

"Mom?" she began, knocking once at her parents' door, before rolling into her parents' bedroom. Both were in pajamas, watching the news. Wearing a silk robe, Esme stood and scowled at Isabella.

"Absolutely not," she hissed.

"Mama, please," Bella begged. "Mama, it's normal. It's the first time anybody ever has asked me to a house party –"

Uncharacteristically, Esme had turned red. "SO?!" she screeched, so loudly that Isabella and Charlie both winced.

"Honey, Isabella's eighteen," he said calmly, despite Esme's every desperate comment in opposition. "And I'm glad she's having these normal experiences."

"It's dangerous!" Esme screamed, looking hatefully at Charlie.

"I'm taking her," Charlie said, standing. He clawed at his keys. "C'mon, Bell."

When Claire emerged from Isabella's room, her skin spilled through fishnet tights and a corset, like playdough being squeezed under a hydraulic press. Charlie's eyes boggled; like his daughter, he turned pink with strong emotion.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Charlie held the door open for his daughter. Once both girls were in the car, Charlie drove away. Esme had glowered through the windows of the farmhouse as Charlie and Isabella drove away, reminding Isabella of a ghoul in the attic. Despite that, Bella was thrilled, feeling young and happy and normal.

"Daddy?" Bella asked croakily. She turned to Charlie, peeking at him through her doe eyes in a deliberate maneuver. "Can you drop us off like… like half a block away?"

Charlie had the gall to look mildly amused. "Embarrassed of your old Dad, huh?" he said. "I'm dropping you off where I can see you go in. And I'll pick you girls up at midnight."

"You'll be waiting for three hours?" Bella squawked.

Charlie's willingness vanished as soon as he caught sight of the house: a two-story home with a wraparound porch, crawling with teenagers holding red disposable plastic cups. Muttering curses and prayers under his breath, Charlie seemed to reconsider.

He stretched out his arm, holding out his wrist. "Isabella Marie," he warned sternly. "If you're not out here at 11:45 sharp, I'll personally call Chief Moore and get these kids hosed out of here."

With that warning, Isabella descended from her dad's car. She and Claire made an unlikely and endearing pair. Bella, wobbly in her crutches, paid especial attention to every crevice in the pavement. Click, click, thump, drag.

P.I.M.P by 50 Cent was playing so loudly on the speakers that Isabella could barely hear Claire. Moist heat emanated from the crowds around the porch: as Isabella approached the three steps that led into the house, her stomach dropped. There was no way she would manage to wiggle her way through the crowds. The thought of standing around between sweaty teenagers made her legs wobble.

Isabella did not have long to consider her options. One boy, catching sight of Claire, bellowed like a calf. He hollered insults that Isabella only vaguely understood, peppered with slurs that she did – fatfuck and slut. Shaking, Bella turned to look at Claire, whose eyes had watered with tears.

"Let's find a place to sit," Bella said commandingly, wide-eyed and mildly frightened. Claire reached out, touching Bella's wrist with two fingers. Bella placed one crutch in front of the other, circling away from the mass of heated, sweaty bodies. Drop It Like Its Hot started to play on the speakers, and Isabella finally appreciated the source of some of Edward's musical tastes.

"I'm going to go get us some beer from the keg," Claire offered, turning. Bella's weak protests faded into the thumping of the bass, and so instead, she spotted a lawn chair by the Brogan family toolshed.

Bella was alone when she heard the slapping and moaning that indicated the little toolshed was already occupied. Mortified, Bella gasped, spinning to turn clumsily in her crutches. Two large boys – one covered head-to-toe in green body paint – were already inside. Bella's mouth popped open in shock, in no small measure because she had never seen boys kiss. Two, broad-shouldered and well-sculpted young men were kissing hungrily, wetly, awkwardly: chest to broad chest. Realizing they had been caught, the boys jumped apart as if someone had set their chests on fire.

Years later, Isabella would laugh and think back on that day as one of her funniest life anecdotes – because, years later, she would stand witness as best man in a wedding ceremony in San Francisco.

"Jake?" Isabella squeaked.

Isabella's greatest talent and foible was that she knew how to push down discomfort and pain. She practiced every two days when Esme took her to physiotherapy. Violet, her therapist, stretched each leg as far as it would go, then each ankle, manipulating firmly. Because her leg muscles were perpetually taut in contractures, it was uncomfortable at best. Once the stretching was over, Isabella would do exercises that represented no difficulty to anybody else: using a resistance band to stretch out her leg or playing catch while sitting upright.

Relying on that overused talent, Isabella had hidden two truths so deep inside herself that they would have to be surgically removed. Her first secret was that she had become obsessed with the works of Renée Jolie, eighties teen idol and seventies child star. With muted fascination, she would watch her birthmother – a girl with perfect lips and striking, thick eyebrows atop aquamarine blue eyes – play the youngest child in a family of five in a long-running TV-show. She watched her birthmother, an ingenue, flit across the screen in various states of undress. Something close to pity cracked the ice in her heart, because the voyeurism of the camera lens was repulsive.

Her second secret was that she hated being kissed by Jake Black. It was a forceful, sloppy affair that always left her with a persistent urge to douse herself in mouthwash. When she saw him pull away from Quil Ateara – himself dressed He-Man - Isabella was bombarded with a thousand emotions. A sting of pain and a shot of sadness that hit her straight in the stomach. Being liked by Jacob had made her self-esteem rise like a flare, and she had felt gleeful, and young, and beautiful. She could be loved, and wanted, despite being in her body. The fact that he never really liked her punctured her self-esteem, which now lay like a deflated and soggy balloon at his feet.

Despite all of that, her overwhelming emotion had been relief.

Remorseful and prompt, Jake appeared on the Swan's back porch with a droopy expression befitting a puppy. Fresh-faced but groggy, Isabella was sipping from a mug of steaming black tea, splashed with milk. She wore a white cardigan atop a pair of fluffy, thick flannel pants. "I'm going to go talk to Jake, guys," she mumbled to her parents, placing the cup of tea in her lap. Sighing dejectedly, she wheeled out into the porch.

Anxiously, Jake was staring at her with a mixture of terror and remorse; edgily, he was kicking his heels back and forth. There was green body paint still smattered in the crook of his neck, and Isabella wanted to laugh hysterically.

"What is it, Jake?" Isabella asked exhaustedly, by way of an opening salvo. Gingerly, she tucked wayward hair behind her ear.

"I'm so, so, so, so sorry Bella," Jake yattered, his brown eyes shining with earnest penitence.

Bella peeked up at him through her thick eyelashes. "Why are you sorry, Jake?" she asked, not unkindly. "You were the one that tried to stick your tongue in my mouth," Bella added, arching an eyebrow. Her tone was so gentle that it nearly negated the bite in her voice. "But we never made each other any promises."

"I wanted to want you so badly," Jake pleaded, taking a step forward. His eyes were watering with tears. "I know there's something wrong with me."

"Jake," Bella murmured, wheeling forward. Gently, she touched a hand to his cheek, still soft with a hint of baby fat. She had always found gay jokes exceptionally cruel, and she recoiled from them instinctively. "Honey, there's nothing wrong with you."

Despite herself, Bella smiled dryly. "Can I ask you something, though?"

For once, Isabella felt vulnerable, like she was holding out her heart in the palm of her hand. She was terrified of the answer, feeling the pain of his potential response stinging her entire body. "Were you – did you kiss me out of pity?"

Jake shook his head readily. "You're so great, Bells," Jake said earnestly, as fat tears stung his eyes. "You're so great. You're so smart, and such a beautiful person, and I thought – Bella, you're so nice. And you look like a model - "

Bella snorted.

"Please don't tell anyone," Jake added in a rushed breath, desperate.

"I promise I won't," Bella swore softly, inching even closer. "Your secret is safe with me, Jakey."

"I haven't told my Dad," Jake added, blanching with terror. "That I'm – you know."

"Gay," Bella supplied firmly.

"Gay," Jake echoed, in a brittle, broken voice.

"And you want me to keep on being your beard?" Bella asked ruefully, torn between great offense and a great wave of love for this boy that trusted her so blindly.

Jake's shoulders fell defeatedly. "Not my beard, not exactly. But you know, there's a lot of pressure for the leader of the tribe to be a macho man, and my Dad would… my Dad would freak."

"I think it's important for you to maybe, tell him, eventually?" Bella suggested squeakily. "But of course, I won't tell a soul, Jakey. I promise."

November 2007

Eighteen – Twenty

By being unapologetically himself, Jake filled a space in Bella's heart and made her giggle so hard that she cried. Bella stopped wondering why she never felt sparks – a question that would make her longing for Edward spike, spearing her heart. Instead, she let herself relish supporting Jake as he grew into himself. When they were alone, he made outrageous comments that made Bella turn pink and then laugh – "Boobs are like white ladies. They all look the same to me." Bella held his hand when he pierced his right ear, after carefully helping him pick an establishment for the procedure. "I think that's a myth, Jake," Bella had protested warily, to no avail. "It's not worth risking hepatitis."

"Shut up, Miss Frizzle."

Buoyed by Jake and Claire, Bella sailed through the stressful period of writing college application essays.

Faintly, she would regret her decision to avoid the Ivy League. Her sense of regret would fade nearly a decade later when she earned a degree from Oxford in her mid-twenties. "You don't even want to try?" Esme had asked, forlorn. "Carlisle never regretted it," Bella had replied, feeling surefire certainty. "The teaching is great, and I think – what I want is a sense of community." In the end, by the Early Action deadline, Isabella sent in her college applications to small liberal arts schools.

By late November, she had received the most generous offer to go to Norwich, a Quaker school in Maine, with less than 1,000 students.

"A full ride," Esme would gloat, to anybody who would listen, from cashiers at the supermarket to Bella's unsuspecting dental hygienist. Though she would blush pink every time Esme brought it up, Bella was happy. The future was glowing golden. Her happiness swelled at the thought of being a college girl, living in dorms, and running her own life. She spent hours looking at the available classes, picking out dorms, and considering campus accessibility.

"We can visit the campus before you accept," Esme had offered. The two of them visited in late November, and Isabella fell in love with the ancient oak trees and red brick buildings of the peaceful college town. As a wheelchair-using student, she had felt the need to investigate every nook and cranny. She would get a room at a senior dorm – which was not ideal for socializing with her class– with her private bathroom. "It's not ideal," Esme tittered at the dean of students, who offered the tour.

"It's as good as it gets," Bella had said breezily, offering a lovely smile to the dean. She accepted Norwich's offer after the visit.

In the background of her life, Edward drifted like a ghost, and Isabella felt like she was in silent mourning. The boy she loved had died. The boy she loved would play "I've Just Seen a Face" for her on the guitar. The boy she loved took her to Build-a-Bear and on tandem bikes to the park because she couldn't do it herself. That boy had crumbled like sandcastles under waves, replaced by a prick that prattled relentlessly about Freddy Mueller and his thoughts on the stock market, and Alec Voltaire's father and his run for the New York Governorship. She felt silly, thinking she held any grip over his heart, especially given the girls that were part of his circle – an heiress to a pharmaceutical company, and the daughter of a Nobel laureate.

The interlude in their estrangement – that phone call on the week of her birthday – glowed like a dim ember, promising that he'd always be there. The boy she loved. The boy she missed.

Edward was Esme's beloved nephew, and as such, he was peppered into all of Esme's conversations. Bella never had to ask where Edward was, or what he was doing: Esme proffered all the information. "Carlisle and Edward are spending Thanksgiving in Boston," she announced one night at dinner, glaring hatefully at Charlie, as if he had personally engineered it.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," Charlie harrumphed, looking defiant. He held the black mold that infested the Swan's crawl space every winter in higher regard. "Carlisle's a good man, though. Understood why Bella needed space."

Bella dropped her fork, looking at her father suspiciously. The tempo of her trembling accelerated, and she shook like a timer going off like she was shivering in the cold. "I didn't say I needed space," Bella said, fighting to convey her anger. "That was really rude, Daddy."

Charlie looked unapologetic.

"We went for lots of long hikes together this summer," Esme intervened, still glaring at her husband. Bella tilted her head, staring at mother quizzically. As far as Bella knew, Edward had spent the summer learning to play golf and tennis with aspiring politicians in Maine. "I really think I got my point across, you know. Edward will grow into a good man."

Esme glowered icily at her husband, and the iciness seeped into the family's cozy kitchen. As if his chicken drum were personally responsible for Edward's wrongdoing.

"The Cullen – the Cullen dynasty nonsense put a lot of pressure on Carlisle, too," Esme defended. "You know what Victoria's like, and her husband was worse. Thinking they're American aristocracy, with the money, and the politics, and the company. I think Edward has found it hard to cope. Carlisle didn't prepare him for it."

"He's always been a little shit," Charlie volleyed back, and the awkwardness thickened. "You know I'm right, Esme. You know that boy has a disciplinary record thicker than a Bible, even before he went to Harvard."

Purposefully, Bella was silent as she watched this exchange.

Esme sucked air through her teeth. "Charlie, he's always been a very handsome little boy. Bright, brilliant, and good at everything. It got to his head. Everybody does stupid things their freshman year of college," Esme snapped. "He'll mature out of it. I am absolutely certain."

Charlie dropped his barren drumstick and violently wiped his mouth. "He's not going to hurt my daughter –"

Esme seethed like an attacking cobra. "—Our daughter –"

"Our daughter in the meantime. Good riddance – they're spending Thanksgiving in Boston, and we three are going to Mexico this winter. Have Margaritas in Cabo San Lucas like God intended."

"We are?" Bella asked, befuddled. "But Daddy, you hate the beach."

"I like fish quesadillas as much as the next man," Charlie barked. "We're spending Christmas in a Mexican beach resort, and that's final. I already bought Aeroméxico tickets."

"He's my sister's son," Esme snapped back. "I've said this a million times, Charles Eustace. You can't keep him out of our lives, so help me God."

"I'm keeping him away from Bella," Charlie howled. "Even Carlisle understands that. I don't want Bella to get hurt while that little shit gets – "

"Don't call him that!" Esme snarled, slamming a fine-boned hand against the table.

"Well," Bella interjected, purposefully breezy, stopping the infernal conversation. "I'm full. Mom, do you want help doing the dishes?"

March 2008

Eighteen – Twenty

March came in with a torrent of rain, heralding a wet spring. The sky was inky and thunderous above the slush-covered ground. In no mood to talk to Esme, and sick of television, Bella picked up a puzzle. She was wearing a fuzzy knit sweater, her hair in a long braid. She had walked – painstakingly slowly – to the den, with crutches and no braces.

One of Bella's secret loves was solving jigsaw puzzles. She was so into it that she even favored particular brands. Edward used to tease her that it was a hobby for grandmothers, especially because she liked to put on NPR when she solved them. Eventually, sometimes – when he was sweet – he would join her. One winter break, he even picked the puzzle in question, and then he told her to put on Ira Flatow. Manually, the hobby itself was hard. She had intention tremors – the harder she focused on a fine motor task, the harder the tremors.

Jake, by contrast, while never teasing, was baffled. "Bells, it's like watching paint dry." He'd also cringed while watching her tremble and shake with each puzzle piece.

"May I join in?"

The question was asked very gently, but his voice had deepened with age.

Startled, Bella spasmed.

And God, he really was beautiful. Bree was right. He did look a little bit like Brad Pitt, tinted in copper. He was as gorgeous as ever. Even at their closest, in their teens, Isabella had felt like there was a chasm between them - like she was a guppy in love with an eagle. Now that adolescence had faded from his features, he looked like a young man. All the traces of adolescent cockiness had vanished. Now, he felt absurdly out of her league.

"Oh, eh, um," Bella sputtered like an unstoppable moron. "Uh."

"I can also leave," Edward said softly, and his shoulders fell. He was looking at her with such aching sincerity – like she held the power to make him cry.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded with a roughened bark. "I imagined you'd be in the Caribbean, or something." It was the middle of spring break, and Bella genuinely believed Edward would be drinking an annual salary's worth of hard liquor.

Edward seemed willing and even prepared to deal with her disgust by way of verbal slights. He steeled his shoulders. "No. I've been spending breaks here, with my Dad."

"Weren't you going to learn golf over the summer?" Bella scoffed, overwhelmed with curiosity but filled with condescension.

"I spent it here, Bella," he said sharply and then met her gaze. His eyes were pleading, laced with shame.

Bella looked away, wondering how anybody could be so attractive in real life. Intently, she focused on the pattern of a marble statue she was trying to build. "No Kenya? No golf or tennis lessons or whatever it was Grandma set up?"

"No, no golf. No tennis. My Dad helped me get a summer job, actually. Here."

"What, did the stocks stop yielding?" Bella asked sardonically, her voice dripping acid. "What will Freddy say?"

Edward smiled a rueful, grim grin. "I was a lifeguard," he said quietly, a faint trace of defiance in his voice.

Bella, having no retort, went quiet. She let herself really look at him: He looked nothing like he had the first weeks of June. She drank the changes in his expression, in his posture. His shoulders were lightly slumped. That boyish cockiness had faded from his posture, to be replaced by a mellow kind of somberness. Edward's eyes – a bluish-green, bright, emerald-like - were swirling with a touch of level-headed, blue self-assuredness.

"May I join you?" he repeated politely, bowing his head.

"Uh. I guess. If it's not below you," she said mordantly.

Bella's jab landed so perfectly that Edward's face fell with shame. Almost solemnly, he sat beside her and began sorting through the pieces with his nimble, long fingers. He was so close, and Bella felt like she was burning. The weight of what he had claimed thickened the air around them.

"I'm working on a Raphael one," Bella added bashfully, turning pink. "Um, it's called the School of Athens."

Edward's eyes sparkled with hope, and a shard of ice inside her melted. "Oh!" He sounded enthusiastic. "Can I look at the box?"

Surprised, her heart squeezing, Bella handed it over.

"I'm working on the statues at the bottom," she felt compelled to explain and then regretted it. This Edward - looking like an evil prince - was a person who had set up a ploy to humiliate another boy in the most grotesque way imaginable. Bella and her puzzle, she reasoned, would seem pitifully childish.

Macy Grey crooned on in the background, through a haze of awkward silence, but Edward seemed oddly content to be with her. Edward stayed for very long, making quietly playful comments about the puzzle. Like it was compelling. Like it was interesting. "Look, I think that's this guy's robe," Edward said at one point, his voice hinting playfulness. "It's this minty color." With the steadiness of a mule, Edward made progress.

All the while, Bella's heart hurt with longing.

"Bee?" Edward asked. "Can I ask you a question?"

Bella looked up. Their eyes met. An eternity went on between them, and the silence thickened with things unsaid. She wondered if she was hallucinating the brokenness, the longing in his eyes. Wide-eyed, peeking at him through her eyelashes, she nodded once. Yes.

"Did you already make a decision about college?"

Bella folded her arms across her chest, feeling oddly defensive and small. "Didn't my Mom tell you?"

"Esme mentioned some things," Edward admitted shyly. "I wanted to hear it from you."

Bella felt her cheeks grow hot. "I got a full ride," she admitted, wanting to brag. "At a small liberal arts college in Maine. Called Norwich."

"Fuck, Bee, that's great," Edward replied, in a voice so genuine that Bella wanted to cry.

Her defensiveness spiked. She still didn't trust him, not as blindly and completely as she once had. "It's not Harvard," she muttered bitterly.

"Harvard isn't all it's cracked up to be," Edward murmured. "It's full of idiots. I'm proof of that."

Despite everything, Bella shook her head. "You're not an idiot," she said softly.

Edward snorted bitterly. "Thanks, Bee."

Awkwardly, Edward cleared his throat and looked down at the puzzle. Under his nimble fingers, the pieces shifted, scratching against the wood. Like an architect, he crafted the arches that made up the forefront of the School of Athens.

"Edward, are you staying for lunch?" Esme hollered, popping her head past the doorframe.

With uncharacteristic ungainliness, Edward stood. The chair screeched as he pushed it against the wooden floors. "Eh, uh. No, no. I think I'll head home."

Esme left the den, and they were alone again.

Bella lifted her gaze, and the intensity of Edward's stare made Bella feel the longing that came with old childhood toys, with homecoming. Gently, Edward brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. "I think Norwich is lucky to have you," he murmured.

As if in a trance, Isabella stared into his eyes, and Edward walked away.

June 2008

Eighteen/Twenty-One

The day after her high school graduation dawned frosty, with cold temperatures that reminded Bella of early spring, and she worried about the flowers and vegetables growing in Carlisle's garden – an orchard he kept in the shared backyard of his apartment. Bella put on a thin linen cardigan and jeans. It was the first time in weeks she felt like she could stomach her orthotics – they chafed against her skin in the heat – and she put them on as well. Using her crutches, she walked to the back porch, a book sandwiched between the handles of one crutch and her thumb. Click, click, thump, drag. Click, click, thump, drag. When she reached the porch swing, she dropped her crutches on the floor. Settling into the porch swing, she began to read. "124 was spiteful. Full of a baby's venom."

Denver and Sethe were being haunted, and then -

"I wanted to see you."

Bella raised her gaze, dropping her book in shock.

"Hi," Bella breathed. "I didn't know – It's still very early – Have you been here long?"

He shook his head. "I was at the ceremony yesterday," Edward admitted, with hands in his pockets. He took two steps towards her. "I didn't want your Dad to chase me away, but I was," Edward explained hesitantly, and Bella thought he looked boyish because he looked vulnerable.

"I thought I saw you," Bella said softly, a hint of a smile playing on her lips, hugging her waist. "I – I thought I was hallucinating."

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," Edward chuckled, and he offered her a half-hearted grin that reminded Isabella of being madly in love.

A beat elapsed, and Bella eyed him quizzically.

"And I wanted to – to wish you well," Edward said, his voice thick with emotion. "You're an extraordinary person, Bella, and you're going to do extraordinary things. And I hope this Jake is worthy of you."

"Edward," Bella exhaled stupidly, in a murmur. Her explanation about Jake caught in her throat.

Dazed and confused, she mustered whatever debris of dignity remained into something akin to strength. "Won't you stay?" she asked. "Won't I see you this summer?"

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. Uncertainly, he shuffled forward, and for once, Bella did not cringe away. "I'm going away. Leaving the country."

Bella felt like her heart split into shards because, at that moment, she wanted him – desperately – to stay. With her doe eyes saucer wide, she stared at him blankly.

"Leaving the country?"

"I got a summer internship in London, and then I'm headed to Oxford. Oxford in the UK," Edward clarified, a hint of bashfulness in his tone. "There's an exchange program, and I'm doing two semesters abroad."

"A whole year," Bella repeated breathlessly, nodding her understanding.

"A whole year," he echoed. His voice was a murmur that felt like a scream in its intensity. "And before I left, I wanted to –say – to thank you."

Bella gaped stupidly, her mouth agape, her heart hammering.

"You made me worthy of everything I have, Bella," Edward said simply, but his eyes were flaming with emotion unspent.

"Not everything. Edward," Bella exhaled in a whisper.

"I overheard you last year, you know. Telling your friends I was pathetic. And I realized that you were right."

"Edward, I –" Bella breathed. "I didn't – I don't think – I – You're so - Won't you please stay? Let's – let's talk. I shouldn't have shut you out."

"My flight is leaving in three hours," he explained, and his face twisted with sadness. "I just came for a couple of days to see my Dad. And to see you graduate."

"I see." Her eyes filled with tears she would not shed. "Thank you for coming. And Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"You are worthy of everything good," Bella burned with sincerity, and she trembled with every word, as if shivering in the cold. She was his broken princess. "You're a good man. I know you are. You always have been, even when you lose your way."

Edward smiled - a brittle, broken smile.

He bent at the waist, brushing his fingers to stroke her cheek. "Goodbye, my love," he whispered against her skin, pressing a kiss to her forehead.