Contest: The Second Season of Our Discontent Anonymous Angst Contest

Pen Name: kerigocrazy

Twitter: kerigocrazy

Title: Searching for the Sun

Picture Prompt Number: 1

Pairing: Rosalie/Leah (Non-romantic)

Rating: T

Word Count: 6,022

Summary: Two women from entirely different worlds walk a similar path. With nothing in common but the biggest thing wrong in their lives, they find themselves sharing a turning point on the vacant shores of First Beach. AH/AU

Warnings and Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and situations are the property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended. Rating is for language and mature emotional themes.

A/N: Umm, so I totally forgot to post this one when the contest was over, lol. Well, to those who missed it, hope you enjoy! Thanks to my beta, Maria Vilson, and prereader, feebes86. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.

There was something about doctor's offices that made Rosalie Hale McCarty crave sunshine. Stark white walls and glistening stainless steel left her feeling cold, and at the moment, more than a little bit alone. She wiped imaginary lint off of her designer pencil skirt, the closest she would allow herself to come to fidgeting, and focused again on the closed door to the exam room.

She had been waiting for more than thirty minutes now. Unacceptable. But really what was she to do? Wait. She could do nothing but wait.

So she did, but she found herself wishing she had allowed Emmett to come with her. Things between her and her loveable husband had become strained since they began trying for a baby just over a year ago, and this morning in a brief moment of insanity, she had refused his offer to come with her, saying she was sure everything was fine, he had to work. All the while she'd been thinking that if everything wasn't fine she didn't want him there when they told her just what was wrong with her.

Vain, perhaps, but this was her womanhood on the line here. Everything had to be okay.

The creaking of the door brought her out of her thoughts and she raised her eyes to meet the elderly, male doctor's patented blank face. Why did they do that? It was like talking to a brick wall, and she could think of a lot more comfortable ways to have a conversation about the working health of her uterus.

"Mrs. McCarty."

Jesus, even his voice was monotone; his entire personality seemed to bleed gray to match the dull interior of their surroundings. Unfortunately for him that included his slate-colored, Ken doll comb over. What was his barber thinking?

"Dr. Stevenson."

He settled himself onto a small, rolling stool and remained quiet for the longest five minutes of her life. She knew because the entire time they sat in silence, her golden brown eyes were glued to the clock above the door.

"Tell me a bit about why you're here, Mrs. McCarty."

Wondering if he'd even bothered to read her file, she launched into the spiel she'd already given to two nurses, a medical assistant, and the secretary at the front desk. Didn't these people communicate? "My husband and I have been trying to get pregnant for the past year now, with no signs of success. He was recently tested and everything appears fine on his side, so I'm here to make sure that there's nothing wrong on my end."

"It says here that you're thirty-nine. Is that correct?"

She bristled, but managed to control her knee-jerk reaction to the blatantly rude question. "Yes."

He nodded and flipped through the next few pages of her chart. "Well, I've reviewed your test results and I'm sorry to say that the problem does appear to be on your end."

Oh God, she knew it. She could feel something inside her shrivel up and die as soon as he said the words; it was her confidence, perhaps, or maybe her hold on her femininity.

"What can we do to fix it?"

"We can look into IVF procedures; but, the truth is, Mrs. McCarty, that your age is a major detriment to a successful pregnancy. Once a woman passes the age of thirty-five, her body begins the downward spiral toward menopause. Your prime childbearing years have passed. Frankly, even if we manage to successfully inseminate you, there's a good chance that the high-risk your age poses could result in disaster for yourself or the fetus. Unfortunately your eggs have begun to desiccate, and there's nothing we can do to reverse that..."

His dry voice droned on in the background, but it was all white noise at this point. All she could think about was that word: desiccate.

No longer a woman. No good to her husband. She was no fucking good anymore.

My body is a wasteland.

XXXXXXXXXX

She tore out of the medical office's parking lot like the proverbial bat out of hell, pushing her candy apple red Porsche to its upper limits in her hurry to get home. To get away.

If there was a way to escape the weight of those words, Rose would find it.

When she arrived at their brick-front colonial, with a screech of tires on the freshly paved drive, she headed straight toward the basement. In the backroom, she opened the door to the closet under the stairs and stood still for a moment taking in the death of a dream.

An old wooden changing table stood against the far wall, and each of the three shelves was lined with the hope she'd had for her future family. A tiny, white pair of hand knitted baby booties from the grandmotherly woman who ran the baby boutique in downtown Port Angeles. Small bibs with sayings like "Mommy's Little Angel," intertwined with stuffed monkeys and the christening gown passed down from her own mother. It was all here, spelled out in glorious pastel colors, everything she'd spent her whole life wishing for.

Everything that she couldn't have.

No. No, she couldn't stand it. Couldn't face her fears and acknowledge that she had every right to be scared. Rosalie Hale McCarty was anything but weak.

She ran upstairs and grabbed the box of large, black trash bags from under the sink, pulling one off the thick roll as she made her way back down. In the beginning, she was hesitant as she placed each piece she'd so painstakingly picked out into the garbage bags, but soon she was covered in sweat as she tore through the storage closet, attempting to erase the image of happiness that had once filled her with so much peace when she stepped into this room.

She knocked a mobile onto the floor in her haste, and the sound of Brahms's Lullaby had her stomping down with her stilettos. Desperate to make it stop.

God, please make it stop.

Her left heel cracked on the concrete floor, but finally the haunting music was replaced by a rigid silence, broken only by the sounds of her frantic breaths and the wild beating of her heart filling her ears.

What had taken months, a year, a lifetime to build, came apart in a matter of hours. The trash bags tied as tightly as she could make them, she ignored the manicure she'd sacrificed to get the job done and began hauling the mess up the stairs. By the time twelve black bags were lined like soldiers along the front curb, a low keening was rising from her chest and her eyes were glassy from tears she would never shed.

Emmett came home early from work and found her there, chest heaving and arms wrapped tight around her middle.

"Baby, everything all right?"

A grimace meant to be a smile contorted her ashen face and after a perfunctory kiss on his stubbled cheek, she turned on her heel and walked, strangely barefoot, back into their house. "Everything's fine."

He watched her as the evening passed, acknowledged the monosyllabic answers to his attempts at conversation and the distracted cold shoulder she was turning toward him. Oh, Rosie.

They lay in bed that night, side by side, lost in their own heads, unable to reach out and help one another. At two am, when her breathing had finally evened out, he carefully rose out of bed and slipped silently from their shadowed room. There was no hesitance in his steps, he knew what he would see, so when he opened the door to the room in the basement, only a small noise of pain slipped from his throat at the sight of the empty walls.

He picked up a small, yellow mitten that had been left behind in the far corner, brushing the soft cotton back and forth with the rough pad of his thumb. I'm so sorry, Rosie. So sorry.

By the time he crawled back into bed, careful to keep from touching his wife for fear of waking her, his tears had long since dried and the sun was rising. It was a new day, but the future had become a blank, barren page.

XXXXXXXXXX

People thought Leah Clearwater was nothing but a dried up, bitter bitch. And she could see their point, in her rational moments, when the pain wasn't rising up to choke her. When she wasn't giving a giant fuck you to a past she wanted to forget, and a future she still wondered if she'd ever see. Did she even want too?

She sat on a cold, metal exam table flipping through a two-year-old copy of Woman's World. Her glazed eyes passed blankly over recipes to tighten her waistline and exercise routines to slim down before bikini season arrived. An article on the dangers of Toxic Shock Syndrome from tampons made her snort and toss the magazine back onto the small table in the corner. She hadn't needed one of those since she was fourteen.

It felt as if her whole life had become a series of bad news and waiting games. A lifetime ago, she'd had big, warm hands to hold her when the next gauntlet came down, but now she sat alone, and for the first time in so long, she felt small. Somehow insignificant.

When her doctor entered the room, Leah was relieved to see a genuine smile gracing the face of the petite brunette in tortoiseshell glasses. If anyone could understand her fears, it was this woman who'd stood by her side for the past fourteen years.

"Leah," she greeted, her voice warm. "The scans were clean and your blood work is normal."

"I'm still in remission?" She was ashamed at the crack in her voice, but couldn't quite work up the nerve to care. Is this a dream? Please don't let me wake up.

"You are still solidly in remission." Reaching out to lay her pale hand against Leah's clenched fist, she gave a reassuring squeeze. "No cancer."

"No cancer," Leah repeated.

"That's right," Dr. Warren said. "Now get out of here and do something fun. You're young, you're alive, and you've just been given a clean bill of health. It's time to live. I'll see you in a year."

She breezed out of the room in a cloud of White Shoulders and antiseptic, but Leah barely noticed. Balancing on a precipice, lost somewhere between relief and utter bewilderment, she remained frozen on the table.

Frozen. That's what she had been for so long. This disease had stormed in like an enemy battalion and destroyed everything in its wake; she'd spent the last decade losing battle after battle, and at some point, she had finally come to accept the fact that she would never be free of it. That her life would never be normal.

Tracing the scars on her abdomen, she rose shakily from the table and headed out the door. Did she even know how to live anymore?

A deep breath, a silent laugh, and she was headed back toward the Reservation in a daze.

She was alive.

XXXXXXXXXX

Seth found his big sister two hours later, curled up on the couch staring blankly at the warm, honey-toned walls.

"Everything okay there, Le-Le?"

"It's fine. Everything is just fine."

The lost note in her voice had him unsure if she was telling the truth, and the fact that she didn't object to the use of the nickname her once lover had dubbed her with left him concerned. He folded his body down onto the faded couch next to her and grabbed her hand. She was so cold.

"Talk to me, Sissy."

"My cancer."

His grip tightened as he braced himself to hear that she had once again relapsed. It would be the third time since this nightmare had started.

"It's gone."

It felt as if someone punctured his gut with a needle, the air rushed from his body so fast in his relief. "That's great. It's...just great. Why aren't you out celebrating?"

Her dull brown eyes finally met his and his heart clenched at the pain reflected there. "I don't know what to do."

"What do you mean?"

"This has been my whole life for so long. It took everything away, Seth. The person I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with, my future plans, Jesus my personality." Her voice lowered and her bottom lip trembled just slightly. "My uterus. So, tell me, just what the fuck am I supposed to do now?"

He wanted to grab her, to grip her tight and tell her everything was okay now, but he held back for just a second, knowing that she so rarely let anyone in close enough to hold her together. But this was his big sister, and she looked so broken curled up beside him that he cracked, wrapping her up in his big, strong arms and kissing her short hair.

For the first time in years, Leah Clearwater broke, crying in deep, wrenching sobs against her baby brother's chest. He held her small, shaking body for hours, patiently waiting her out, ignoring the tears that slipped silently down his own cheeks.

When she quieted, he whispered into the shadows of the now dark room, refusing to let go as he spoke. "You live. You pick up the pieces, you find a new dream, and you take the world by storm."

"I don't know if I can."

"You're the strongest person I know, Le-Le—"

"Don't call me that."

Yeah, she was going to be okay. "So get out there and grab the world by the balls."

She snorted and straightened up out of his arms, squeezing his forearm on the way. There were no thank-yous or acknowledgments of what had just occurred. But they weren't necessary. In a world that seemed to forever stand against them, the Clearwater siblings always had each others backs.

Seth headed up to bed, finally allowing a relieved smile to cross his face. His big sister was going to be just fine.

XXXXXXXXXX

Over the next few weeks, Rose threw herself into work. Denial had become her best friend, so she kept everything bottled up tightly and worked frantically to line up donors for the upcoming benefit her nonprofit organization was focused on the details, cream colored linen table cloths and flower arrangements in donated silver vases, a local four piece band and small stations offering different finger foods, ignoring the bright, shiny faces of the underprivileged children covering the brochures.

Her friends could see something was off though. It was her closest friend and coworker, Alice Brandon, who finally cornered her in the employee lounge.

"What's going on with you, Rosalie?"

Brushing thick, blonde hair out of her face Rose adopted her best confused expression and busied her hands making a fresh pot of coffee. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The tiny woman put her hands on her slim hips and braced herself against the force that was her best friend. "Don't give me that bullshit. You barely talk to any of us anymore. You've turned down every social invitation you've received for the past month, and I know for a fact you've been screening my phone calls." Seeing those strong shoulders slump, Alice stepped closer, softening her tone. "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything."

Pressing the on switch and straightening her back, Rose gave a brief nod and a semi-smile. "I know, Pixie. And when I'm ready, I'll call. I promise. There are just some things I need to work through for myself. Okay?"

Rose could see how badly Alice wanted to push, but there was a reason they were such good friends. "Alright. But if you need me, you know where I am."

The rest of the workday passed by uninterrupted, for which Rose was exceedingly grateful. But the fact that Alice had recognized something was wrong perturbed her. She thought she'd been doing so well, but it seemed as if she were an open book. That was not okay.

She arrived home to a dark, empty house. It was no surprise. Emmett had taken to working later and later in what she knew was an attempt to avoid her sharp tongue and hurtful words. Underneath it all, she cared. She did. But there was a black cloud wrapped around her that seemed to separate her from everything. Her mouth would open and bitter words would pour out without her permission. She was hurting the person she loved most in the world, and she didn't know how to stop it.

It was the scene on the dining room table that finally broke through.

A single orchid rested in the very middle of the shiny, mahogany surface. He'd left it there for her, a reminder that despite everything he loved her. The small, yellow mitten resting at its base was what decimated her last wall.

If the neighbors heard her wails of grief, they remained unacknowledged. In a world of her own, for the very first time, Rosalie Hale McCarty let her grief ring out.

XXXXXXXXXX

Leah had been making great strides in devising new plans for her future. The Port Angeles community college offered online classes, so she signed up for the very first semester she needed to get her degree in psychology. She had spent her whole life watching people and taking note of their reactions. It was a good fit.

People noticed, but in an effort to avoid her well known verbal beat downs they kept quiet. Her mother was so grateful to see her daughter finally reaching out and doing something for herself. She did her best to remain a silent support, leaving small notes of encouragement by the coffee pot before she left for work and a new laptop on her bed once she'd officially signed up for school.

This was how their family worked; they loved each other, fiercely, but they did it quietly, through actions instead of words and it helped.

Leah got a job at the local senior center as the activities director. She wasn't really qualified, but they were desperate. She gladly took the small salary they offered, and did her best to go to work with a smile on her face.

It was a good place for her. The elderly inhabitants were full of stories to keep her entertained and she found herself falling a little bit in love with the group that took her so easily into their hearts. It'd been a long time since she'd allowed anyone in.

A recent trim of her cropped locks gave her a sleek, professional bob, and the new business casual outfits she wore to work had begun to catch the eye of the guys around the Rez. She ignored their attention outwardly, but on the inside, she found herself blossoming. It was hard to feel pretty when you had no hair, not even eyebrows, when all people saw were the scars. They were finally catching a glimpse of who she was meant to be and her confidence was slowly climbing.

Until Christmas dinner rolled around, that is.

Her mother had decided to host their extended family for the first time since her father died. Don't think about it Leah. So she trudged downstairs at noon to see her house filling up with people she tried hard not to associate with.

Seth did his best to run interference, determined not to see his sister withdraw once again. He headed off Aunts, Uncles, and curious busybodies at the pass, steering them toward his mother in the kitchen, or the table of elders laughing in the corner. But when her ex, Sam, showed up with his arm wrapped around their cousin, Emily, he knew the cause was lost.

Oblivious, as usual, Sam steered them right over to where Seth was trying to block Leah's view and cleared his throat. "Hey, Seth. Le-Le."

Emily piped up with her irritating, nasally voice. "Merry Christmas."

"God, I need a drink," Leah muttered desperately into her brothers back before pasting on a tight smile. "Merry Christmas, Emily. Sam."

Leah managed to blatantly ignore the frantic motions of Emily's left hand as she did everything she could to flash the new, miniscule diamond resting on it.

Finally the other woman burst and let out a squeal, "Did you hear? Sam proposed! We're getting married!"

Fucking wonderful. Leah's own ex-fiance had recycled the ring she'd once thrown in his face directly onto her cousin's hand. Why did they do this to her? Did they really expect her to be happy for them? And how did Emily manage to talk in explanation points? It boggled the mind.

"Pretty ring," she murmured.

Sam's face took on a pleading expression as he realized his mistake. She rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on Seth's arm. "Well, it's been lovely talking to you, but—"

"Wait!" Emily reached out and wrapped a heavily manicured claw around Leah's wrist. "You didn't hear the best part."

Gritting her teeth, Leah braced herself. "What?"

"Do you want to tell her, Sammy? Or should I?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Sam tugged on his collar and appeared to be looking for an escape. "I don't know, sweetie. Maybe now's not the best time."

Emily gave a trilling laugh and leaned into his side. "Don't be silly. I'm sure she'll be so excited for us." She turned back to Leah and gave a smug smile. "We're having a baby!"

The people grouped near them heard her high pitched announcement and swarmed in to congratulate the young couple, giving Seth the opportunity to pick Leah up by her waist and haul her stiff body out the back door.

"Oh God, Leah. I'm sorry. I didn't know, I swear. I would have warned you." He cradled her unresisting body against his, leaning them up against the side of the house where no one could see them. "Do you want me to go stomp on his baby maker?"

She gave a choked laugh and finally wrapped her arms around him. "No."

"You sure? Cause I could totally take him." He paused to savor the sound of her light laughter before letting his tone grow more serious. "He's an asshole and she's a jealous bitch, you know that right?"

"Seth..."

"Don't Seth me. It's the truth. He had absolutely no right to flaunt that shit in your face, especially after dumping you because you couldn't have that with him, and the fact that he put your ring on her finger is just tacky."

She snorted and huddled closer to him, soaking in some of his warmth.

"And Emily? She's still jealous that you had him first. It's sad and pathetic, but she obviously feels like she needs to hit you where it hurts to feel more secure in her relationship. You're worth ten of either of them."

"Thanks. And thanks for not letting me claw her eyes out. I don't need her scars to be a constant physical reminder of one of my lowest points."

"Welcome."

They stayed huddled together in the yard until the last guest trickled tipsily from the warmth of the Clearwater home. Leah dreamed that night, broken images of fat cheeked babies with Sam's eyes and her hair, disappearing like smoke in Emily's arms.

The next morning, she wondered if she would ever fully escape the wrecked dreams that seemed to cling to her skin like a Teflon coating.

When was it her turn to be happy?

She stumbled into work bleary eyed and aggravated, clutching a to-go cup of coffee as if it were a lifeline. Watching the floor as she walked in an attempt to avoid eye contact with her coworkers, she stumbled directly into the resident studly physical therapist, Jacob Black.

"Dammit," she cried out, as her coffee hit the floor, the lid popping off and her caffeinated goodness puddling across the tiled floor. Forcing back frustrated tears, she looked up and up some more at the poor guy she'd rammed into. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going and I—"

He cut off her rambling with a callused finger over her lips and a sunny smile. Jake had never realized how truly beautiful Leah Clearwater was, bloodshot eyes and all. "No big deal, honey. I'm just as much to blame."

Glancing down at the mess on the floor, he shot her a hopeful look and went for it. "Can I buy you another cup of coffee? The stuff in the break room looked kind of gray and I was just heading over to the diner to grab something that might actually taste good."

Her knee jerk response was to say no. She'd been shooting people down for so long that it was an automatic response these days. But she paused, she wasn't sure why but she did, and the look on his face weakened her resolve. It was the dimple that did it. This giant man somehow managed to seem like a walking cross between sex-on-a-stick and a mischievous little boy. It was an irresistible combination.

"Okay."

"Great. Is it okay if I meet you down there? I have to get this wheelchair over to Mr. Henderson's room." He gestured to the chair he'd been pulling behind him when they collided.

"Sure. I need to clean this up anyway."

"See you in a bit, Leah."

She found herself focused in on his tight ass as he sauntered down the hallway, Edna from 4B's cackling laugh startled her out of her trance. The woman grinned at her, clicking her dentures, as she moved slowly past leaning heavily on a hospital issued walker. "I know, girlie. That right there is one fine piece of man meat."

Yes. Yes it was.

XXXXXXXXXX

The McCarty household had become a slightly more comfortable place since Rose had her breakdown. They still hadn't spoken about anything, but Emmett had been coming home in time for dinner recently, and Rosalie's inner filter seemed to once again be in working order.

That night over roast chicken and root vegetables, he broached a subject that had been weighing heavily on his mind. "Hey, Rosie?"

"Yes?" She looked up from the food she'd been moving around on her plate to meet his hesitant gaze.

"I printed this off the computer today." He slid a neat stack of stapled papers across the table. "I was wondering...have you thought about it?"

She automatically began to skim the top page, but once she reached the word "adoption" her whole body clenched up. "Emmett."

The choked tone of her voice had him talking as fast as he could. He needed to just get it out. "I love you, Rosie. And I now how badly you want a baby. This is a way for us to have that family. I don't care if a child is biologically ours, I really don't. And wouldn't it be nice to give a child with no one to care for them a home. We could do that. We could be the people that some kid desperately needs."

He took a deep breath and watched her anxiously from across the wide expanse of the dinner table, silently praying that she didn't shut down on him.

"Oh, Em...I...I just don't know."

His large body was around the table in no time at all; he wrapped himself around her and crooned into her hair. "It's okay. I'm sorry. We don't have to think about it now. I just...I want you to be happy. Please, just tell me how to make you happy."

She couldn't stand it, her big, strong husband begging at her feet. "Shh. It's not your fault. I'll be okay. We'll be okay. And maybe," it felt like her throat was closing up; she was choking on air, "maybe one day I can think about this. It's just too soon."

He nodded, brushing his lips against the sweet skin in the curve of her neck. "Alright. I understand."

They stayed there long after their dinner had grown cold, gripping each other tightly. Rose finally accepted that they were in this together. Her body or not, this was about him too. She brushed a stray, brown curl off his forehead and placed a light kiss across the path her fingers had taken.

"Come to bed, Em."

"Rosie?"

"Shh." She ran her fingers down his chest to the clasp of his jeans and gave a tug. "Come to bed."

He followed her as if they were magnetized, so in tune with each other their bodies moved as a single force for the first time since before this began. They made love softly, slowly, no thoughts of babies or basal temperatures crossing their minds.

Reaffirming their relationship with light touches and sweet kisses, he did his best to fill the gaping hole inside of her. And she let him.

XXXXXXXXXX

Halfway through her impromptu coffee date, Leah realized she was having fun. It was a startling revelation. But how could she not enjoy herself with someone like Jacob?

Her cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing at the stories he was telling her of youthful mischief he'd gotten into with his best friends, growing up on the Rez. She almost fell out of her chair, when he relayed the time they had decided to emulate the Elder's and hold a ceremonial powwow in his backyard. Complete with war paint and loincloths. His father, Chief Black, had come home to three shivering warriors attempting desperately to start a fire out of wet branches in the middle of his lawn. What followed was three straight months of tribal history lessons in an attempt to impress upon them the sanctity of their traditions.

Seeing him now, the irreverent way he looked upon the world, she didn't think the lessons stuck. There wasn't a serious bone in Jacob's body. At least she didn't think so, until he locked eyes with hers and leaned in.

"I really like spending time with you, Leah."

Slightly overwhelmed at the sudden intensity in his eyes, she stuttered as she spoke. "Oh, I'm having a lot of fun too."

His smile reappeared and he reached out to squeeze her hand. "What do you say we do this again sometime, only when we don't have to be at work right after?"

Could she? She could see herself happy with this sunny man, but she didn't know if it was fair to drop her problems in his lap. Did he want kids? Could he handle it if her cancer came back?

"Leah?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.

She realized that she'd been absentmindedly running her fingers over the scars on her stomach.

"It's not rocket science, honey. Do you want to see me again?"

What was she supposed to say? I want to, but I'm broken? There are pieces of me missing. Can you love a woman who's not whole?

"I think, maybe, I do."

He smiled, understanding in his eyes, and slid a business card across the table. "My cell phone number's on the back. Call me when you know for sure, okay?"

Nodding her head, she clenched the card close and whispered, "I will. I promise."

He unfolded his large body from the booth and leaned down to place a light kiss on her cheek. "I look forward to hearing from you."

Then he was gone and she was left alone, shaky, and confused.

What the fuck was she supposed to do now?

XXXXXXXXXX

It was a brisk Sunday morning that found two strangers walking the same path along the rocky shore of First Beach.

Leah had been coming here to think since she was a little girl. There was something soothing about the sound of the waves washing up over the sand. The water was eerily still today though. The sky was a dark, angry gray and the water in the distance churned furiously. But up close all was calm, an empty fishing boat drifting across her line of sight.

The smell of salt eased her as she settled herself onto a dried piece of driftwood. She had a decision to make. If she called him, she knew she'd need to be up front right from the beginning. There was no way she'd survive another situation like the one with Sam. She couldn't allow herself to get close, only to find out that he couldn't handle the problems that came hand-in-hand with loving her.

But she wanted to try. Wanted him.

For the first time since before her father died, on the very same night the doctor's told him of his daughter's cancer, she found herself praying. Please. Just send me a sign.

Her thoughts were interrupted by an incredibly pale woman stumbling awkwardly down the beach toward her. She rose, reluctantly, from her perch and called out, "Are you alright?"

The woman's head jerked up; she'd obviously been lost in her own world and she focused in on Leah. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. I think."

"A storm's coming in."

The woman drifted closer, steps ghosting across the sand in what seemed an almost supernatural way. "Isn't there always a storm on the way?"

There was something in her eyes that made Leah think this woman, though at least a decade older and from a whole different world if her pleated slacks and silk blouse were any indication, had witnessed a similar hell to herself. She found herself making an offer she had never made before. "Do you want to talk about it?"

After a brief pause, the woman murmured, almost to herself, her voice dry and raspy, "Do you know the definition of desiccated? It's a synonym for dry—dried up. I've become a used up husk."

This was something Leah understood. "It's not the end of the world."

Silky hair flew in a wide arc as she whipped her head around. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"You have no idea what I know."

"If you had an opportunity to have something you'd wanted for as long as you could remember. Would you take it? Even if it was in a way that you'd never considered?"

Leah wondered if this was her sign. Jacob Black offered her something she hadn't dared to dream of since her relationship with Sam died. She had always considered herself to be brave. Fearless even. While she'd learned, over the past little while, that it wasn't strictly true, she felt the fire she had once been known for rising inside her once again.

Fingers brushing the crumbled card in her pocket, she looked back at the woman. "Yes. At least I hope so. Otherwise I've got nothing left to look forward too." She stood and offered an easy smile. "Let me give you some advice my mother once gave me: the only person who can decide your life's worth living is yourself. It took me a long time to understand what she meant by that. I hope you find what you're looking for."

Rose watched as the curious young woman, who seemed to get her in a way no one else had come close to, ambled slowly down the beach. She let out a shiver and saw a ray of sunshine break through the black clouds that hung over the water.

Raising her face to soak in that little bit of warmth, she pulled her cellphone out of her pocket and dialed a number she hadn't in a long time.

"Em? Yeah, I was wondering if you'd be home in time for dinner tonight?" She sucked in a shuddering breath and followed the path back toward where she'd started. "I think I'm ready to talk."

Rosalie Hale McCarty chose to live.