Hey, I managed another chapter before the novel-writing madness commenced!

"I'm just not ever going to forget you, am I?"

Dream-Bella only smiled.

God, I hated dreaming about her. It was only just beginning to sink in that I had lost her just as completely as everyone else had.

Jacob:

It had been three weeks since the funeral.

I tried to stay away from the Cullens, at least out of reading range of Edward, but it was inevitable that I saw them in town – at least from a distance.

They were trying, that much was obvious. It reminded me of Bella, after the leeches left her. I had been forced to watch her go through the motions just as I was forced to watch them, now. I couldn't conjure up any more malice towards the Cullens. I just felt sorry for them now.

They were trying so hard it physically hurt me to watch.

When Billy told me that Charlie and Sue were getting married quietly and had extended an invitation to him to live with them, since Sue was a nurse, it just seemed like the next step for me to leave. It was better that way, since it was growing ever harder to keep my thoughts from both my pack brothers and the Cullens. I didn't want to stay here anyway, watching Bella's family – both of them – grieve so hard over her. I wondered sometimes if, somewhere out there alone, she was wasting away just like she did when Edward left…just like he was wasting away right now.

But I couldn't dwell on that; I couldn't do anything about it anyway.

It was with a mixture of relief and guilt that I left Forks behind for good.

Bella:

I hit the ground running in Denver.

I only stopped for air when I was outside the terminal, half certain the Cullens would have found me out and were even now going to come bursting out of the airport after me.

And a part of me desperately hoped they would.

After it became clear that no such thing was going to happen, I trudged off to a nearby coffee shop to regroup. First things first, I thought, I have to make some sort of long-term plan…

I found it by accident one drizzly, miserable morning. My wanderings had taken me to Tennessee, a place I deemed far enough – and sunny enough – they would never find me.

I promptly got lost, of course, somewhere far from civilization. My new GPS proved no help. I tossed it out the window in a sudden fit of anger after it told me to turn left off a cliff, then immediately regretted it. Why did I come out here anyway? I found myself wondering. Colorado had been too close, not sunny enough. After buying a car and several changes of clothes, I'd just started driving. And driving. And finally ended up in Tennessee.

After another half-hour of driving in the light rain, my gas gauge moving dangerously close to empty, I stumbled onto the little town. Three Pines, Tennessee, the beat-up sign read.

I pulled into the only service station in town, where the attendant actually offered to pump the gas for me. "Thanks," I said, letting him, while I wandered inside to get a Coke.

"Is there a good place to stay here?" I asked, glancing over a couple of dusty brochures. The man behind the counter gave me an assessing glance, no doubt wondering what a teenaged girl was doing in a isolated place like this alone.

The pain hit me out of nowhere. Darn my mind for making me remember. I flinched, trying to ignore it, trying to shove the memories back where they belonged – in that little locked box at the back of my mind.

"You all right?" he asked, eyeing me as if afraid I would crumple to the floor. It was a valid fear, I admitted to myself, but managed to regain control. "Sure," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He returned to my earlier question with one more skeptical look. "A place to stay…there's the Grande Hotel, just down the road a ways…"

I interrupted him. "No, I mean a permanent place."

Now he really looked interested, and I figured gossip would be flying by tonight. I questioned my sanity for a second – I'd lived in a small town for so long. I knew there was no such thing as privacy, and yet…

"Well, I know there's a little cabin for sale up the mountain a ways, but it's pretty rustic," he said doubtfully. "Think it's got plumbing and wiring, but I'm not for sure. There's not many people around up there."

It sounded perfect. "Who would I contact about that?"

He glanced out the window, no doubt taking in my expensive car, which fanned the flames of his curiosity even higher. "Tom Byrd, just down past the bank, has the key."
"Thank you," I said, handing him the money for the gas and the Coke.

"Have a good'un," he called automatically, and I felt his gaze on my back as I walked to my car and climbed in.

I cruised slowly down the street, ignoring the last vestiges of pain tugging at my heart. It was so much like Forks. There were all of two police cars parked at the station. A couple of outdoor cafés. A bank, a church. There was a small doctor's office, with Lucas Gable, M.D. featured prominently on the sign. A larger ER sprawled a little ways down the road, but I doubted it got much attention.

I found the realtor's office right where the gas station man had said it would be. Parking the car, I locked the doors out of habit and started up the walk.

"I'm up here, ma'am!" called a very mellow baritone, startling me into dropping my purse and spilling the contents all over the damp sidewalk.

As I scrambled to pick it up, thanking the heavens my cash supply – I really needed to do something about that – had stayed intact and out of sight, a short, burly man hopped nimbly down from the low end of the slanted roof. "Sorry about that, ma'am, I didn't mean to startle you. I was just looking over some repair work."

I blinked at him, standing up slowly. "Hello, I'm Bella Swan," I finally said, extending a hand. He shook it enthusiastically. "Thomas Byrd," he said, "But everyone calls me Tom. Now, what can I do for a pretty young thing like you?"

Despite his eccentricities I found myself drawn to him. He was balding, lacked a tan and looked as if he hadn't done manual labor in years, but something about his ready smile and sincere green eyes drew me in. "I came about the cabin up the mountain?"

"Ah yes, the Martin place," he said, holding the door open for me to go inside. It was chilly inside, even cooler than the damp fall air, and I shivered involuntarily, wishing I'd brought my jacket. He didn't seem to notice the chill. Seating himself behind the expansive desk, he laced in fingers in front of him and looked at me expectantly.

I sat down in the chair across from him, suddenly unsure of myself. "Is it livable?" I asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Oh yes," he assured me eagerly. "It's been sitting up there, vacant, for almost two months, but it's certainly livable. Carl Martin lived there for forty years before he died, and he kept it up meticulously."

"Can you show it to me?" I asked.

"Sure can," he said. "When did you have in mind?"

"We can go now, if you have the time."

"Let me just lock up," he said, bounding from his chair and grabbing a set of keys. I followed at a slower pace, smiling. Thomas Byrd was certainly a character.

"Why don't you just ride with me?" he offered, "there's no use in taking both vehicles, and you don't know the way."

I should have probably been wary about the arrangement, but I shrugged and climbed in with him. He certainly didn't look like a threat, and I still had the pepper spray in my purse that Charlie had insisted –

I felt the tears spring into my eyes, the pain gnawing at the edges of my chest. I pulled my sunglasses on quickly, thankful for the feeble rays of sunlight that gave me an excuse. Tom was rambling on about the attributes of the cabin, and I was able to compose myself while he backed out of the space and headed down the road.

After about ten minutes on the highway, he turned down a back road. That slowly morphed into little more than a four-wheeler trail that obviously hadn't been used in a while. Thick woods surrounded us as we bumped along, kicking up a good bit of dust, and I wondered again at my sanity.

But if I were going to question my sanity I should have started a long time ago. No use worrying about my mental health now, I decided, bracing myself on the door handle after a particularly deep pothole.

After about twenty minutes he pulled into a little yard, thick with leaves and dead grass. A few large trees framed a tiny cabin with a wraparound porch and a chimney sticking out of the roof. It was lovely, I had to admit, even if it was a little neglected.

We got out, Tom fumbling with his keys as I made my way up the walk. He hurried to catch up with me, sticking a few in the lock before he found the right one. With a muted moan the door swung open, admitting us inside.

It was dark and quiet inside, a little dusty but not too bad. Tom flicked a light switch experimentally, and it turned on. "Hmm," he said, "I can't believe the power's still on. Must've slipped through the cracks or something."

Only in a small town, I thought.

I wandered through the house while Tom went around checking on this or that. There were two small bedrooms, one slightly larger than the other, a cramped bathroom, and a storage closet all grouped together at the end of a hallway. At the other end, to my delight, there was a study – complete with a desk, a fireplace, and bookshelves just waiting to be filled.

But it reminded me of Carlisle, and for a moment I could see him smiling at me from behind the desk, welcoming me in.

I shut the door quickly and moved to rejoin Tom.

"You can see it needs some cleaning up," he was saying, "but there's nothing wrong with it. Wiring and plumbing is good – I checked it myself. You won't have to worry about the roof leaking, either."

I wandered from the tiny kitchen to the living room. "I'll take it," I said.

He paused in the middle of another explanation why I should buy here, and blinked at me.

"You do know your nearest neighbor's eight miles away," he said, "and you saw how far you are from town. You'd be mighty isolated out here."

"That's what I'm looking for," I said lightly, crossing my arms tightly over my chest.

He looked torn between being thrilled at having finally sold the property, and guilt for letting me do it. "You sure?"

"Show me what to sign," I said.