Stephenie Meyer might own these characters, but Edward in My Head is mine, all mine.

Dearest Readers,
I sincerely apologize for the inordinate length of time between chapter postings once again. Real Life, both good and evil, has taken me in other directions this year, leaving me little time to write. For those of you still hanging in there, I thank you for your patience from the bottom of my heart. It has been so long since I last posted, in fact, that you might want to re-read the last few chapters to remember where the story left off (I had to do so, myself!).

This chapter is the 'calm before the storm', so to speak, and it also marks a return to canon for the time-being. It's unbetad as well, so feel free to point out my many egregious errors.

Let's jump right back into the thick of things, then. I hope that you enjoy "Tranquil".

Playlist Pick:
The Rain Song – Led Zeppelin

TRANQUIL

What can I say about those sweet days after Bella and I reconciled?

For a while, we could almost pretend that we were a normal young couple, looking forward to the prom and summer vacation, just like our peers. My memories of that time are precious and poignant, and I'm forever grateful that she took me back. It was more than I deserved.

We felt stronger for overcoming strife. We'd learned to pick our battles. Or so we believed. When it came to Bella's wish for immortality, what we'd really learned was to avoid the battle entirely. And as long as she had her doubts, I was determined to bargain for more time.

We thought we had all the time in the world . . .

Yes, for a while, I know we were happy. Spring was slow in coming that year and we lived for those rainy weekends. I could describe everything we did and all the places we went but the tales of happy lovers aren't very interesting, are they? After spending the better part of a century with three loving couples, I know this only too well.

I tried not to take it all for granted.

Frankly, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And it wasn't just my damned pessimism rearing its ugly head again. Despite the truce with the Quileutes, the elders still believed we'd triggered Sam Uley's transformation. We were evil incarnate after all: there was no changing their minds about that.

They never antagonized us in Forks, of course—nothing like that occurred again. Sam himself was kept under watch while he learned to control what was happening to him. He rarely left the reservation (Rarely left it in human form, that is). Even so, they became more protective of the town folk. I'd feel the weight of a stare as I walked down Main Street or I'd hear someone's silent curse. And it was no coincidence that Billy Black and his son dropped in on the Swans more often.

He knew he'd never catch me there with Bella. His goal was to keep me away, and Chief Swan's new flat screen TV gave him the perfect alibi. The chief knew that Billy couldn't afford luxuries like cable on Social Security so he encouraged the visits. With basketball season underway, they became a ritual. They became a nuisance for me, so I suppose that Billy got what he wanted in both respects.

When the new TV arrived, the Blacks were eager to assist with the installation. Bella and I had spent a pleasant Saturday morning studying in her room and I resented leaving so soon. Billy would know that I'd been there, but I didn't care. What could he say, anyway?

We cut our study date conspicuously short, lingering over our goodbyes on the front porch. Behind us, I knew Chief Swan hovered in the living room.

"I'll leave a light on," Bella promised.

I couldn't help but smile. "That isn't necessary."

"I know." She turned the collar of my jacket up against the rain. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you more."

As I turned to go, I saw her father withdraw the knuckle he'd been about to rap on the window.

I should've known that the Blacks would bring barbeque provisions. It wasn't like I was unaware of etiquette. I should've just wrenched myself away and gone hunting. Instead, I hid myself, far enough beyond the forest verge that Billy couldn't sense me, but close enough to listen while Jacob and Chief Swan struggled to mount the TV and connect the cable.

They were shocked to discover how much bigger it was than the old model. No one had thought to measure the space, apparently. To accommodate it, the living room furniture was rearranged into a configuration that Esme would no doubt have said made for bad feng shui. It really almost did feel like forever to me before the wretched thing blared to life.

"Gentlemen, we have the technology!" Chief Swan fought to be heard above the Dolby Surround Sound.

"We never doubted you," Jacob hollered, watching him battle the volume control. "Hey, this thing has picture-in-picture, right?"

Chief Swan—I could never bring myself to call him 'Charlie'—squinted at the remote and reached for his glasses.

"It should be in the pre-sets," Jacob explained. "Go back to the main menu Push the big yellow button," he said, when the chief's fingers fumbled. "Okay, now hit function."

"This?"

"Yeah. And scroll to view."

"You sure?"

"Um, I read the control manual."

"You did not. "

"You're right." Jacob tapped his temple. "Guess I'z the one with the tech-no-lo-gee!"

"Smartass." He pointed the remote at the TV again. "Ah, now we're getting somewhere. Take a look atthat."

"Nice," Billy approved.

"Sweet," Jacob agreed.

"Told you, didn't I?"

"Sure, sure. Switch over to ESPN, Charlie. The pre-game's starting."

"In a sec'." He'd come across news about a climber who'd fallen from a ledge and bled to death somewhere in British Columbia. I heard him suck his teeth.

"You're not on duty now, Cuz," Billy reminded him, reaching into the cooler at his feet.

I'd never heard him address his friend that way before. The familial implication ran deep. Deeper than memories shared over a lifetime. I knew what it meant to Billy but I couldn't be sure what I was getting from Chief Swan. It was only when he was thinking about Bella that I ever heard his thoughts clearly.

Were he and Billy really related?

We all know you stalk our kin . . . Had Sam Uley been telling the truth that night in the woods? The truth as he knew it?

"We want the sports! We want the sports!" Jacob disrupted my contemplation.

"Okay, okay. Hold your horses." The chief sank into his recliner and took the beer Billy offered him.

"What about me?" Jacob complained.

"Not 'til you're twenty-one." Billy didn't blink an eye.

"Um, hello? Don't I even get a 'thank you'? I mean it's not like I didn't have other things to do today."

Much to his disgust, the older men reached over and ruffled his hair.

"You two hungry?" Chief Swan asked. "Should I fire up the barbeque now, or. . . ?"

"How about at half-time? Oh: we brought salmon, too. You put that in the fridge, Jake?"

"No, Dad. I buried it in the woods."

"Surf and turf—all right!" The chief would never tell them the freezer was still full of fillets left over from previous visits. "Jake, why don't you run up and get Bella? It's about time she was social."

"She's here?" Jacob hastily smoothed his hair. "You mean I've been hanging with you crumblies all this time for nothing?"

"She's working on a History project. Go on: she probably needs a break by now."

Jacob snorted. "Yeah, and I'm sure she really wants to watch basketball with us."

"Well, tell her I'll do her a garden burger later." He rolled his eyes as Jacob took off upstairs. "Bella's a vegetarian now," he confided to Billy.

"You don't say?"

"The boyfriend doesn't eat meat."

I'd been reduced to a common noun. How disappointing.

"No sh-?" Billy's eyes widened and he coughed to hide his oath. "Who's she dating these days?"

"Who wants to know?" He assumed Billy was asking on Jacob's behalf, an idea that appealed to him only slightly more than her dating me.

"Oh . . . just, a pretty girl like that . . . The boys must be lining up at the door."

"God, that's all I need." He took another slug of beer. "No, just the one boy. She and Edward Cullen are pretty much in each other's pockets." And I hope that's as far as it goes for now.

Billy swallowed bile. Goddamn parasite's bewitched her, too. I knew it!

"He don't eat meat, dairy, eggs, soy or gluten." Chief Swan counted the offending proteins with his fingers. "Can't feed him nothin'."

"What—is he some kind of health nut?" Billy sorely wished he could tell his friend what we did eat.

"Something." He struggled to remember what it was that Carlisle had told him was wrong with me. "All those kids got something. They're lucky Carlisle took them in."

"I guess." Dr. Fang . . .

"Don't get me wrong; he's a good kid."

Just your friendly neighbourhood vampire.

"And he's real good to her. I've got no complaints there. I just . . ." He sighed. "I just wish they weren't so serious already."

Jesus! How far has it gone? "They're a bit young to be serious."

"I know. She'll be off to college next year; she's got the whole world ahead of her. I don't want her hung up on some boy." I don't want her stuck here, like Renée was.

Billy's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Let's hope she's too smart for that."

"Smart's got nothing to do with it. They're seventeen."

Seventeen-hundred and somethin' . . .

"Did Rachel or Rebecca ever. . . What?" He'd noticed the look on Billy's face.

"Nothing."

"You were gonna say something."

"No, I wasn't."

"Yeah, you were."

"Forget it." Billy backed away.

Chief Swan stepped forward. "Is this about the Cullens again?" Of course it was and he knew it.

"No, no. It's cool." Billy surrendered with upraised hands, taking evasive action with the jab of a thumb. "You gonna need a hand out there?"

The chief exhaled slowly, biting back what he wanted to say. There was no point rehashing this old argument. Billy's attitude was never going to change.

"That's okay. The kids can help. Here they come now."

His thoughts were lost to me at the clamour of feet on the stairs, and he tucked them deep inside. But there was no mistaking Billy's frustration. The Cold Ones' black magic had blinded his friend and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Worse still, were his fears for Bella. He'd already been watching her, searching for signs that I'd harmed her. As if I could! As if I'd give that hypocrite an excuse to dissolve the treaty. Carlisle was right, the Quileutes didn't know me—they didn't know us—at all!

They hide themselves for now, he thought. But evil always shows its true self.

I settled into the nook of a tree and tried to meditate, but my conscience wouldn't stop nattering. Chief Swan was thoroughly convinced about who and what I was, and that was a relief. But the more I got to know him, the more I hated deceiving that honourable man. How long before my lies caused more questions than answers? What, then?

We'd have to leave, and Bella would want to come with us. How could I say no to her?

How could I say yes?

Her kinship to the Blacks and the rest of the Quileutes continued to puzzle me, too. I'd initially dismissed what Sam had said on the night I saw him transform, but I wondered now if there might be truth to it. I continued to wonder about it until Bella revealed the connection herself. It happened in the most ordinary way, as extraordinary revelations often do.

Another Saturday, another visit from the Blacks. As painful as it was, I made myself leave her that time. I returned late at night, with a posy of flowers newly blooming in our meadow. But she was full of Jacob-this and Jacob-that.

Her Best Friend. Wasn't I supposed to be her best friend?

"He wants to take me surfing this summer, can you believe it?"

I couldn't tell whether she found the prospect horrific or hilarious. I'd disapproved of the idea when Mike Newton first proposed it and I liked the sound of it even less now.

"Seriously. I think all the boys in Forks are out to kill me."

"Uh . . ." The phrase danger magnet had become well and truly cliché by now.

"I know! It's a recipe for disaster, right?"

"You can barely swim," I agreed.

"Gee, thanks."

"I'm serious. It's not like a dip in your mom's pool back in Scottsdale. There's a strong undertow out there."

"Yeah, and Jake's swum at La Push his whole life."

"But what if he gets in trouble?"

The crease appeared between her brows. "We won't be alone."

I pointed out that the ocean was always cold, even at the height of summer.

"He said I could borrow Rachel's wet-suit."

No, I most definitely did not approve of this. At all. But I could think of no other reason that she shouldn't go, other than I didn't want her to.

"Well . . . He seems to have covered all the bases."

"I know." She clutched at my sleeve. "Please help me get out of it." She looked so pitiful that it was all I could do not to scoop her up and crush her to my chest.

"Summer's still a ways off. He'll probably forget all about it."

"He won't," she said. "He's got a mind like a steel trap."

When it came to Bella that went without saying.

"He certainly seems to care for you." That also went without saying, and I really shouldn't have.

"I know . . . He's a great guy." But something in my expression withered her smile. "Wait: cares for me, how? Oh, you don't mean like that, do you?"

My silence incriminated me.

"Ew! No, he doesn't. He can't! I mean, we're practically related."

"I beg your pardon?"

I heard myself snarl—I hoped I hadn't frightened her. But how could she be related to Jacob Black? How could she be, when she smelled good enough to eat and he-he stank?

She wasn't frightened. She giggled. "You're so old-fashioned, sometimes."

"What did you mean?" I didn't appreciate being laughed at.

"'I beg your pardon'," she mimicked haughtily.

"Not that!"

"What, then?"

"When you said you're 'practically related' to Jacob. What did you mean?"

"Oh. Um . . ." Why did she blush?

"I want to know," I said, more gently.

"It's no big deal." But she knew I wasn't going to let it go. She gave a reluctant sigh. "Okay. Well, you've probably noticed that Swan's a pretty common last name around here." Actually, I hadn't, but I didn't want to say so. "My dad's got a lot of cousins. Like, dozens, up around Port Townsend. The story goes, we're descended from some oyster fishermani who came up here after the Gold Rush. He learned the native languages and became a translator during the treaty negotiations. I heard he taught school, too. Or wrote a book. It depends which one Dad's cousins you ask. I don't know really know a lot more, but he brought his family out from the east and they settled here. . ." She shrugged. "Anyway, Billy got all excited when he found out there was a Swan in his family tree. He's convinced that he and my dad were meant to be best friends because they're cousins, like, twenty times removed."

"Blood brothers," she added, with a smirk, then immediately apologized for her poor choice of words.

"So, I hope you're wrong about Jacob. I've known him since he was born. It would just be . . . weird . . . if . . ." She folded her arms in front of her, as if to obstruct the idea.

"Oh, I probably am." I really wished I hadn't said anything now.

She gave me a look that said, No, you're not. You know it and now I know it, too. "Just stop listening in when he and Billy come over, okay?"

"I can't help it. They practically shout everything they think."

She narrowed her eyes.

"All right, I'll try to shut them out from now on."

"Promise," she insisted.

"I'll do my best."

My best was just not good enough. I never could resist eavesdropping when the Blacks were around; I was just careful never to say anything to Bella. And, true to the proverb, I never did hear any good of myself.

It was difficult to accept that she might be related to them. It didn't seem possible.

It didn't seem right.

And it didn't give Sam Uley any right to call her his kin.

"Does it matter?" Esme asked when I broached the subject with her. She was a little impatient. "Can't you accept that they care for her, too?"

Esme always did have a knack of asking just the right questions.

Another Saturday in April.

We were alone in the great room at my house; Bella had curled up on the chaise with her sketchbook while I tinkered at the piano.

"Alice said we'll miss school again this week." I tried to announce it casually. As if I hadn't been dragging my feet since I'd picked her up that morning.

Her pencil skid to a stop. When I looked up, her gaze slid out the window. "I'll miss you." She said it to the six cedars shading the lawn. "How long will you be gone?"

"A couple of days." In fact, Alice's estimate had been vague.

"I guess there's no point taking notes for you in Bio?"

I tried to smile. "No, not really."

"'Kay . . ." How quickly she'd resigned herself to these goodbyes. I'd always keep her waiting and it wasn't fair. She deserved so much better. She picked up her sketchbook again and I tried improvising for a little while, but neither of our hearts was in the art anymore.

"You'll be going away more often now, won't you?" It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes." I couldn't bear to look up from the keys—to see what that word did to her. Then there was the other matter I'd been avoiding. "And . . . we usually leave town for the summer."

Her breath hitched. "Yeah . . . I kind of thought so."

"Sometimes we visit our friends in Alaska. Or we go abroad."

"Oh." She cleared her throat. Tried to sound brave. "Where will you go this summer?"

Carlisle was planning to visit his friend, Alastair, and a while back I said I'd go to Scotland with him. But my life was my own: I was under no obligation.

I realized I'd already made up my mind.

"Well, I was thinking"—I tried a tentative chord progression, keeping my gaze fixed on the keys—"that I might stay here."

"Oh-h." This time it came out like a sigh of pleasure and when I dared to look up, her face was flushed. I tried to ignore the way it made my mouth water.

"I've never had a reason to stay before." We stared at one another as the anticipation of balmy summer nights and soft touches sank in.

"I won't be able to get out much," I warned.

"Not during the day, anyway," she clarified, eyes twinkling. "That's okay. My dad wants me to get a job."

"He does?"

"Mm-hm. And guess what? Newton's is hiring."

"That's a coincidence."

"I think it's a good fit, don't you? Being that I'm so outdoorsy and all."

"It'll certainly pass the time." I imagined her selling Coleman stoves and rain gear. Evading Mike Newton's yearning gaze as he stocked the angling section. It must have been obvious.

"Oh, just stop!" she hissed, grabbing the chaise pillow as if to throw it.

"What about your mother?" I asked. "Won't she be disappointed if you don't visit?"

She had to think about that. "Phil's trying hard to get signed. They're going to be so busy," she finally replied. As if she didn't fit into the scheme of their lives at all any more. Did that upset her or did she really not care? I couldn't work it out—and I didn't know what to say, so I left it alone.

The skies had darkened while we'd been talking; and once more, the late afternoon showers turned into a steady downpour. My girl from the desert watched the rainscape, chin cupped in hand.

"Socked in again," she murmured.

"Looks that way." I tried out a minor seventh then decided against it.

"It's hard to imagine it'll ever stop raining long enough for summer to come."

"Oh, the summers are lovely here once they get going," a soft voice replied. Esme and Carlisle had returned from their hunt moments earlier, but they'd been careful not to disturb us.

"How are you, dear?" Esme placed a reassuring hand on Bella's shoulder.

"F-fine, thank you," she managed. Then she beamed at my mother. "How are you, Esme?"

"I'm well." Intrigued, she leaned forward. "What are you drawing?"

"Oh, nothing, really." Bella blushed furiously.

"May I?"

Bella bit her lip as Esme took her sketchbook; but she had no reason to be embarrassed.

You never told me that she was an artist, Esme chastised as she began leafing through.

I hadn't exactly kept it secret, were aspects of our relationship I didn't discuss with my parents, but this had simply never come up.

"They're excellent. Have you been at this very long?"

Bella shrugged. "Ever since I can remember. I've been sketching more since I moved here."

"You prefer pencil?"

"Charcoal, sometimes." She frowned. "I make too many mistakes with pen and ink."

"Ah, but sometimes mistakes lead in the most interesting directions. Don't you think?"

"Um, I don't know . . ."

Oh dear, I've put her on the spot, Esme fretted. "Your subjects are diverse"—and she tapped her index finger in the corner of one the landscapes to make a point—"I like this desert scenery very much. Where is this place?"

"It's just outside Tucson."

"It's a wonder anything can survive there." And their eyes met with understanding. "And yet it does. That's the beauty of it."

Do you want to know what she's working on now? Esme asked me, thumbing to the last page. I shook my head so that only she could see; I already had a fair idea that I was the subject. I'd wait until Bella was ready to show it to me herself.

"You're very talented, Bella. You are," she reiterated when Bella shrugged self-consciously. "Don't let anyone tell you you're not."

"Esme's an artist, too," I announced, much to Bella's interest—and relief that she was no longer the centre of attention.

"I dabble a little," Esme admitted, too humbly, I thought.

"Really, mother," I muttered. "She's quite accomplished, actually," I told Bella. "Not that she'd ever say so." The truth was that Esme's paintings hung in galleries across the continent and as far away as Europe, under various pseudonyms.

"Show her your studio," I encouraged and Bella turned to Esme, wide-eyed. "Go on."

"You don't mind if I borrow her for a little while?" Esme hedged.

"She wants to see it. Don't you, Bella?"

"Yeah. I-if that's okay."

What was the point of all this politeness? I cracked my knuckles loudly and played the opening bars of Heart and Soul to get them moving.

"All right, all right." Esme couldn't make up her mind whether I'd amused or annoyed her as she guided Bella upstairs. I took her vague threat to have a word with me later as no more than that.

Carlisle ensured that Esme had a room of her own in every home we kept. A space where she could craft her art. Here in Forks, her studio on the second story took in the view deep into the coastal mountains. I listened while she showed Bella her work and explained the media she used.

"Are oils better than water colours?" Bella asked, studying a piece that Esme had painted during her abstract phase.

"I've never found one better or easier to master than the other. It depends on what you have in mind for the final product, really."

"I'd be too scared to use oils." Her fingers hovered over the canvas and she glanced at Esme, a little guilty.

"You can touch it," she said. "Painting's a tactile art, after all."

While Bella admired it, Esme walked to a corner of the room and pulled a protective cloth off a stack of paintings. "I wish I could put these up, but the walls are just so full these days." She smiled impishly, knowing I'd be listening. "Perhaps we need a new addition to the house."

"A portrait gallery," Bella said, coming over for a closer look. All of us had sat for Esme over the years.

"My children won't hang them. For some reason, they don't think they're as beautiful as I do."

Except for Rosalie, I noted.

"You sound like my mom," Bella laughed, surprised.

She laughed, too. "Well, I do think of them as my children in most ways. I never could get over my mothering instincts."

"This one of Edward must've been done a long time ago," Bella remarked, pulling a canvas out for closer inspection.

"Yes. I painted it about a year after I joined the family." She stroked the canvas tenderly, as if she was smoothing back my cowlick. "I love them all, but Edward is special. He helped me through the darkest time of my existence. In many ways, my hopes for him are no different than those I held for my own little boy."

Bella's face was a mask.

"He never told you that I lost a child?"

"No," she murmured, stunned, and Esme wondered if she'd said too much. Then she decided that Bella deserved to know her history, too.

I didn't need to hear it again. Time, and the change, had mercifully dulled her memories of her first marriage, but not for me. I'd seen the abuse she'd suffered through her newborn eyes, and would never forget. And then she lost her newborn child—the only thing she was living for . . .

"It broke my heart – that's why I jumped off the cliff, you know."

She could talk about it so matter-of-factly now, but she still grieved him. She sent flowers to his little grave in Ashland every year.

How bitter her grief had been. Then she'd relived the trauma of her first marriage again and againii, never leaving the room Carlisle had given her. For weeks, she hid behind the curtains of her canopied bed, shocked into silence. Then she'd spent weeks more just . . . weeping. Through it all, Carlisle was so patient—so loving and kind. Even so, there were times he despaired ever reaching her.

Somehow she found her way back to life, and she found her place with us.

"Edward just said you f-fell," Bella stammered.

Of course he did. Such a gentleman . . . "Always the gentleman," she repeated aloud. "Edward was the first of my new sons. I've always thought of him that way, even though he's older to this life than I am."

But not alone anymore . . . The only time I'd ever felt her radiate more joy than at that moment was when she and Carlisle were wed. "That's why I'm so happy that he's found you, dear. He's been the odd man out for far too long; it's hurt me to see him alone."

"You don't mind then?" Bella asked hesitantly. "That I'm . . . all wrong for him?"

My god, would she ever realize that I was wrong for her?

"No," Esme replied. He's waited so long and she's made him so happy. She gave Bella a warm smile. Brushed her cheek with the back of a finger."You're the one he wants. It will work out somehow."

She meant what she said, though her brow creased with worry. In another time and place, maybe it would work out for Bella and me. In the here and now though, the odds were truly stacked against us. She managed to set her concerns aside for the moment, masking them beneath another quick smile.

"Now, my dear: I really shouldn't keep you any longer. Edward must be longing to have you back." She took Bella by the arm, guiding her to the top of the stairwell. "Feel free to come up here whenever you'd like. Maybe we can sketch together sometime."

"I'd like that," she said. "Very much."

"Did you enjoy the studio, my love?" I asked.

Bella's face was aglow. "It was amazing! She's amazing!"

"She's one of a kind," I agreed. "But she's far too modest."

"How'd you mean?"

I gestured around us. "Well, she designed this house for one thing." In fact, she had designed or renovated all our homes, but I'd let her tell that to Bella when the time was right.

"Wow," she breathed, shaking her head in wonder. She gazed around the room, taking it in with new eyes as she came to sit beside me.

"I'm glad the two of you have so much in common," I said, playing the first bars of the melody I'd written for her.

"She loves you so much." Bella put her arms around my neck. "We have that in common, too."

And for a while, there was no need to play music because our kisses played a sweet sonata in my head.

"Ahem," someone called from behind us. "Can we come in?"

Bella struggled to free herself from my hold but I readjusted her so that she was more conventionally seated next to me. Alice peeked through the doorway, with Jasper just behind.

"Go ahead." I couldn't help chuckling to myself. Bella's cheeks were burning.

I hope we're not interrupting . . . Alice smirked as she crossed to the centre of the room and folded herself sinuously to the floor. Jasper paused at the door, somewhat shocked at what he'd just seen, and at his wife's lack of concern.

"It looked like you were having Bella for lunch, and we came to see if you would share," she announced, much to Jasper's mortification.

Bella stiffened until she realized I was still grinning—both at her response and my sister's joke.

"Sorry, I don't believe I have enough to spare," I replied, holding Bella closer.

Jasper relaxed at that. "Actually," he said, smiling despite himself as he walked in. "Emmett wants to play ball out at Shi Shiiii, tomorrow. Are you game?"

I was more than game—it had been ages since we'd all played together. But there was no way Bella could take part. On the other hand, I didn't want to leave her behind.

"Of course you should bring Bella," Alice decided, completely ignoring Jasper's cautious glance.

I ignored it, too. "Do you want to go?" I asked Bella. I couldn't wait to show her our game—I wondered what she'd make of it.

"Sure." She mustered enthusiasm for my sake. "Um, where's Shi-Shi, exactly?"

"Oh, it's just up the road." We wouldn't be taking the road to get there of course, but she didn't need to know that yet.

A gust of wind spattered raindrops against the windows, and Bella looked downcast.

"Will the weather improve?" I asked Alice.

"Yes." She was positive. "The coast'll be clear," she added with a grin. Bella's penchant for puns seemed to be rubbing off on her.

"Good, then." Jasper's eagerness was infectious. All of us were all keen now, even Bella.

"Let's go see if Carlisle and Esme will come." Alice sprang to the door in a single leap.

"Oh, like you don't know," Jasper teased, following her.

"So, what will we be playing, exactly?" Bella demanded.

"You will be watching," I clarified. "We willbe playing football."

"Football?" she said skeptically. "This I've got to see."

A/N:

i Bella may not have much interest in her family history during "Fox Fire", but while doing research I was delighted to learn about James Gilchrist Swan, one of the most colourful personalities of Washington State's colonial period. For example, see:
digital . lib . Washington . edu / findingaids / view ? docId = SwanJames 1703 . xml. The Twilight Saga: The Official Illustrated Guide, also indicates a relationship between the Swans and the Quileutes in the Ateara family tree.

ii ATONAU's award-winning story, "Prelude in C", explores the beginning of Clan Cullen, centering on the dynamics between Carlisle, Edward, and Esme as they learn to trust and depend upon one another. Her companion story, "Intermezzo in E", is one of the most heart-rending accounts of Esme's human life that I've read. I heartily recommend both.

iii The name of this beach is pronounced "Sh-eye, sh-eye"