Chapter Seventeen: Carlisle

I wasn't sure how much time had passed since Alice left me alone with the small battalion of clothing, only that it seemed so much brighter now once the bathroom door was opened. Not seeing anyone waiting for me, I stepped out into the quiet hallway. Wearing jeans and a dark, form-fitting, emerald sweater, the sound of music entranced me. Soft piano keys beckoned me to come downstairs, and for a moment I debated whether or not to investigate the jubilant dance of keys. Surely Edythe was playing the piano, unless someone else in their family had musical talent.

Unfortunately, as I stepped down the hallway toward the stairs, I noticed something I hadn't seen before. A giant wooden cross was hanging diagonally from the ceiling at the end of the hall. Perhaps I had been so focused on the anguish I felt after dinner last night to look up and I was certainly too preoccupied on going to the restroom to bother looking behind me this morning. Held afloat by large metal strings, the light from the south-facing window cascaded over its ornate, simple, edges. A cross, in this house of vampires, was an unexpected splash of water to the face. Once I noticed the shadowy figure beaming down at me, as if from heaven, I couldn't bear to move.

Memories flooded through me, and my sneakers stayed planted where they were on the light carpet.

When my mom and I lived with my grandmother in California, there were wooden crosses, doves, and fish embellishments in almost every corner of the house. A bible on a little alter that no one was allowed to touch or read, even though it was flooded with underlines and blemished words scribbled illegibly across the margins.

I understood, being older, why my mom had been in such a hurry to get as far away from my grandmother as she could. That same restless spirit had driven her to flee far away from Charlie so soon after I was born. She hated being trapped or ensnared by anything, even herself. What I remembered of my grandmother wasn't all bad, of course. She used to make fruit drop cookies with blackberry jam, or blackberry cobbler, from the wild brushes that grew all over the roads by her house. I spent my early summers treading the thorny thicket for the sweet, juicy, bites of seedy fruit; coming home with red stained fingers.

As with the berries I craved, my grandmother Rosemary Higginbotham was a strange mixture of temperaments. Where I was concerned, she was always gentle and cheerful. Reading me book after book to engage my mind toward her zealous views. She was one of the most important people in my early life and I believed every word she breathed before I was old enough to think for myself. However, Renee, my mom, and Grandma Rosemary fought almost constantly. To the point where I remembered hiding in the master bedroom to ignore the bellowing at the other end of the small, one-story, house.

What they argued about was a haze to me. I couldn't remember the exact wording anymore; but, the content I could grasp was that Rosemary thought my mom was selfish and irresponsible. That she made a mistake when she left my father.

My mother told me, years later, that Charlie had made several attempts to win her back over the years, and these fights with my grandmother were a result of the last time my mom had briefly considered the possibility of making amends with him. Despite most of these memories vanishing into a blur, there were some strong words, or meanings, I remembered.

Words that haunted me, even if the ghost hadn't revealed itself until now.

' Adulterers go to Hell, Renee.'

In the smoggy soup of blurred words, the idea of my mother being sent away to Hell terrified me. How could my mother be an adulterer? The concept of what adultery was to my grandmother didn't make sense to my naive mind. Yes, my mom was always flighty; floating from adventure to adventure on the string of a buoyant kite. If it wasn't a new man in her life, it was a new fad to try out. A new religion, friends Rosemary would find 'uncouth', a new job, a new possibility, and not all of these explorations had been good. However, surely none of these things could warrant eternal suffering?

Was my mother tainted because she and Charlie divorced? Was there no hope for her, then?

Grandmother Higginbotham seemed to feel resentful of my mother, saying she had been a bird in my life. Floating from job to job, giving me a kiss in the morning and a kiss at night. She was an almost absent figure simply from trying so hard to support us in the early years. A stark contrast to the closeness we had formed after we moved out of Grandma Higginbotham's house and moved in with some friends in Phoenix. I found out later that the reason we lived with Grandma Higginbotham was because my mom made a bad business venture, and she couldn't afford to rent an apartment anymore.

'Hell is a terrible place, Izzie-bizzie, where evildoers burn forever and ever in a lake of fire,' Grandma Rosemary would explain to me after Sunday school, always with the same serious tone of voice. She'd point to red words in the maw of the wooden-framed bible. The antique I wasn't allowed to touch, like the cross pinned to the ceiling that froze me now.

Dozen upon dozens of lessons were instilled in me. Perhaps I was too young to understand, too little to deeply go over the chapters of the bible and decide for myself what they meant.

Being so young and naive, why wouldn't it be wise to instantly believe everything Grandma Rosemary said? But, by the time I was old enough to comprehend her narrow views, we had moved, and Renee didn't allow bibles in the house. So, I focused on other things, like growing up.

Remembering the way Edythe's pale skin gleamed in the soft sunlight, my mind raced for a moment. The similarities striking me in a sudden realization.

In the old Testament, there was a story of two cities that burned. Angels had come to rescue one small family from the chaos, but as they fled, Lot's wife turned back toward Sodom. Disobeying the words of warning that the angels had made for one fleeting look at the life she'd loved. It made me wonder to myself and my mind was rampant.

Had Lot's wife become a vampire? Could that have been the start? A human bound forever in one shape, shunned from heaven, for finding the cares of her earthly life more important than the shelter of God? The story frightened me, both for a city being destroyed with fire and brimstone, and a woman cursed into a pillar of salt because she simply turned around.

How many times had I looked where I shouldn't look? Or gone where I shouldn't have gone? Why was she turned into salt for it?

Ageless, unchanging, cold, lifeless, was that what my Edythe was? A marble pillar, movable salt that was impenetrable to destruction and separated forever from paradise? Cursed to watch all their loved ones die? It was such an illogical thought; but, the parody was similar enough to give me chills. Why would anyone like Lot's wife, someone 'cursed' or 'unnatural' want any kind of reminder of salvation in their home?

"Bella?"

The voice caught me off guard, a soft breeze of concern and warmth that beckoned me to turn my head away from the great cross. I acquiesced, unthinkingly, and saw Carlisle was standing in the doorway of what looked to be a well-stocked study. A high-ceiling room with tall, west-facing, windows. The walls were paneled again, in a darker wood. Most of the visible space behind Carlisle was taken up by towering bookshelves that stretched high above my head. More books than I had ever seen outside of a library.

Carlisle seemed to have recently gotten up from the leather chair that sat behind a large mahogany desk. A bookmark was pressed between the pages of what seemed to be an antique journal; but, I didn't notice it longer than a casual glance to be able to tell for certain what the book was.

"Hey Carlisle, did I disturb you?"

Edythe's father figure shook his head, a melodic chuckle bubbling from his mouth as he looked behind him and gestured to his desk.

"Not at all, I was just jotting down some notes for the day," he mentioned vaguely, only to turn his head in the direction I had been staring toward. A deeply somber expression masked his face as he gazed toward the dark patina of the large wooden cross contrast with the white-washed walls on either side of it.

"Ah," Carlisle hummed thoughtfully. "I see you found my father's cross."

Perplexed, I looked to the cross and back, trying too hard to study his face. "Do you remember much of your father, Carlisle?

"Some," he replied. His voice hauntingly drifting from his lips.

"It's very beautiful," I mentioned in an effort to break the silence with a compliment. It seemed silly to blame a person for being nostalgic. Especially when I had all kinds of silly things at my room in Phoenix that would be considered junk by everyone else in the world.

"It's from the time of my human life, the early sixteen-thirties."

For a moment, I tried to do the math in my head, only to widen my eyes in awe.

"You're over three hundred years old?" I asked, feeling my forehead tense from the curiosity burning my face.

Carlisle's eyes bloomed with compassion as he nodded gently to me. "Indeed I was. Born into English rule, London, specifically," he gestured inside his study. The music still trailed on downstairs, but, I could barely hear it. "I can explain more of my past if you wish, Bella," he offered, as he held the door of his study open.

"Only if it isn't bothersome," I replied, unable to squelch my longing to know more of Carlisle's former life.

He smiled, as though finding the idea of my trepidation adorable or endearing. "Not at all, please have a seat."

Without another word I vanished into the study and took a seat in front of his desk. Wandering my eyes over the study, now that Carlisle wasn't partially blocking the view, I realized that the room reminded me of a fancy college dean's office. Although, Carlisle certainly looked far too young to be a college dean.

Swiveling in the guest chair to better take in the room, I realized that the wall around the door we'd come through was littered with pictures. Picture frames of all sizes – some in vibrant colors, others in dull monochromes. I searched for some logic between the collage of paintings, some binding motif that the collection had in common; but, they all resembled the random scrapbook clippings of dozens of magazines cut onto a poster board. Private memories without context to the beholder.

Carlisle seemed to point toward the wall at one picture in particular, a painting cast in various tones of sepia. It depicted a miniature of a city full of slanted roofs. Thin spires atop a few of the scattered towers along the landscape. A wide river filled the foreground, crossed by a bridge covered with structures that looked like tiny cathedrals.

"Medieval London," he mentioned, and I felt foolish at the sound of awe that slipped from my mouth; like the first time a toddler saw tigers in the zoo. Feeling incredibly stupid, I was relieved that he couldn't see my face.

"What was it like back then?" I asked, in an effort to distract him from dwelling on my ridiculous 'Ooo' sound from before.

"Troubled is the best word I can use to describe it," he said, a smile lighting his words as he continued to speak. "The world is rarely kind, Bella. Especially in the hands of those who deem themselves more fit to pass judgments than others. As it has always been with man, even our kind as well," he commented, and I had the weird feeling that he was hoping to mask some of his history from me.

Deep down, I had a feeling I shouldn't inquire too greatly now, but my curiosity outweighed the need to be polite. "What do you remember about your life, Carlisle?"

Swiveling my chair back around as quietly as possible, Carlisle appeared to be vexed. His eyes still looming over the painting behind my head. "I only remember what I made myself write down in those times. My father was an Anglican pastor and he was a very" – he struggled for the word – "intolerant man."

Carlisle expelled a soft sigh at the reminder and I regret having forced him to recall a painful past; but, I selfishly refused to risk saying anything that might silence him either.

"I do not know how much you know of Christian history; but, when I lived, the protestants came into power. My father was very 'enthusiastic' of his persecution of Roman Catholics and patrons of other religious views. He believed very strongly in a skewered reality of evil. He led hunts for all manner of 'ghouls' and 'specters'. Pagans, werewolves, even vampires." The laugh that escaped his lips was cold, and dry, even if there was humor in his eyes.

"My father and those who believed in him burned a great deal of innocent people. When he grew too old to continue he placed me in charge of his raids. I remember disappointing him greatly, for not acting with the prejudiced swiftness he expected from me," he paused, his eyes lingering over the closed journal on the desk in front of him. Absentmindedly absorbed in his thoughts beyond this cozy, leather-scented, room.

"During the last weeks leading up to the end of my life, I thought we had discovered a true clan of vampires hidden in the sewers under London. When I felt the moment was right, many of our church congregation joined my hunting party with torches and weapons to drive the creatures out of their hovel."

Biting my lip anxiously, I offered Carlisle the softest of nods to encourage him to continue.

"Eventually, a figure emerged," he paused, as though his throat was wet with emotion; but, I saw no evidence of a struggle on his face as he spoke. Only that he wasn't able to hold his gaze with my own as he contemplated the event in his mind. "He must have been ancient and weak from starvation. I remember he spoke in Latin into the sewers, perhaps warning his brethren of our company," His fingers titillated across the surface of his journal. "When this figure gave chase, several men rushed with me into the night after the vampire."

He laughed, very softly. "To think, I thought we could stop him," he mentioned, as if the scene happened yesterday. "In hindsight, he could easily have outrun us, but I imagine the vampire was too starved from our many weeks of guarding the exits of the sewers. He turned, attacked, and in the chaos I was thrown to the ground. The others lay dead on the street, and by the time I mustered to try and stand, I saw the vampire disappear with one of the men in his arms." His eyes sank lower still, until strands of beautiful blond hair cascaded over his forehead.

"As I lay there, writhing and bleeding on the street, I knew what would happen if I was discovered. We burned every body or thing potentially effected by a vampire, and I would be burned to death no differently than those my father had accused. I acted from instinct, crawling into a grate that delved into an abandoned cellar. Hiding under rotting turnips as my life was absolved from me."

He said nothing after that. For the longest time his tortured gaze lingered over the cover of his leather-bound journal; watching until the silence became too deafening to me.

"Carlisle, how did you survive on your own?"

Another dry laugh bubbled from his lips. "Through great pains, Bella. I attempted to destroy myself through starvation. I jumped from great heights, to no avail. Most newborn vampires do not possess the strength to resist human blood; but, I could not bear to stain my soul, and while I am certain Edythe, Esme, and our family, consider me strong for being able to resist feeding on humans...the fact remains that I abhorred what I had become to the point where I could delay my thirst."

"How did you survive if you didn't" – I hated saying the word, but I couldn't think of another to use – "drink?"

"A twist of fate, you might say. A lamb in the thicket," he paused a moment, smiling warmly at me, as though he was far more pleased to share this aspect of his past than the others. "One night, a herd of deer passed by me in the woodland outside of London. I was so desperate from thirst, I ravished without a second thought. My strength returned to me and I realized there was an alternative to being a mindless, unholy, devourer. I could exist through the consumption of animal blood without ever needing to take the lives of my fellow man."

Absorbed by the thought of Carlisle hunting deer, my lips remained silent as he studied my face for a reaction. He kept holding my gaze with a pensive gleam to his features.

"After that, I elected to make better use of the time I would have. I studied by night, planned by day. Swam to France, and –"

"You – swam – to France?" The question bolted from my lips in surprise.

The chuckle he made caused his eyes to sparkle with amusement. "The Channel is not an impossible feat for a human, much less for one such as myself," he explained. "But I swam to France and continued my way through Europe. Attending a plethora of universities there. Music, science, and medicine."

"Is that why you're a doctor Carlisle?" I asked when he paused.

"Tis not the only reason for being so," he began. "I love helping others, it brings me happiness, and some form of penance for being what I am."

My mind raced too much to answer and my mouth began to throb. I'd been unconsciously biting down too hard on my bottom lip.

"Careful, Bella," Carlisle mentioned warmly as he handed me an unused, unopened, box of Kleenex. Perhaps he had a box for if there would ever be human guests visiting the house, but it looked as though the box was old and had been unopened for years, maybe even decades. I wasn't sure why he handed it to me until I felt the wetness on my lip, and dabbed the Kleenex against my mouth with wide, frozen, eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry" – I held the Kleenex to the tiny cut on my lip – "thanks for this."

"Tis no trouble to me, Bella," the voice came from behind me, and I swiveled in the chair to see that Carlisle must have blurred behind me. The door had been closed, for whatever reason, and a small fan was turned on overhead. Was it to mask the smell of blood? That was the only logical reason I could think of as Carlisle sat back down.

"Can I ask," I began to say, wetting my lips and dabbing them before I continued. "Why is it that blood doesn't bother you very much?"

"Years and years of practice," he chuckled again. "Two centuries of self-control might cause any man to overcome his frailties," he added in teasing tones, clearly trying to set me at ease as he looked at my lip. A doctor's habit perhaps, as he suddenly had some kind of small lip cream from his pocket, like neosporin, that he opened to begin to dab against the cut on my lip. Trusting his hands completely, I didn't stop him, simply watched the keen, focused, precision of his gaze.

"Hmm, where was I?" He asked, and I had a feeling that he only asked to be courteous or engaging.

"You went to Europe, studying," I parroted, letting the cream do it's work on my little scratch.

"Ah, yes," he gestured to another painting on the wall. To a beautiful canvas overflowing with bright figures in swirling robs, writhing around long pillars or perched upon marble balconies. I couldn't tell if the painting represented Greek mythology or if the characters floating in the clouds above were of biblical significance.

"When I was studying in Italy, I discovered other vampires who spent their days immersed in study. Far more civilized and educated than the wraith which had altered me," he explained, and I smiled as I recognized a familiar-looking blond with long hair at the corner of the painting. It was, without a doubt, Carlisle standing there, and the visage of his hair drawn back into a gentleman's ponytail made it difficult not to laugh.

"Solimena was greatly inspired by the new friends I had made, and he often painted us as Gods," he chuckled as he slowly stood. Walking toward the wall of paintings, I found myself slipping from the chair to follow him. Admiring the painting up close, my hungry eyes drank in the banquet of intricate brush strokes.

"Aro, Marcus, Caius," he pointed to each one. Two of them had rich black hair, and one of them was a light, blond, man. "Nighttime patrons of the arts."

Something in his words made me wonder if these friends of his were still alive. "What happened to them?" I asked, my fingertips hovering centimeters away from the figures plastered to the ancient canvas.

"They are still in Italy, of course," he mentioned thoughtfully. "I only stayed with them a short time, a few decades. I admired their civility; how refined they were. However, they desired to 'cure' me of my aversion to what they believe to be our 'natural food source'. Due to these differences, and wishing to begin anew in the 'New World', I boarded a ship for the Americas."

The idea of Carlisle, stuck on a ship like the Mayflower, was certainly enough nourishment to keep my brain occupied. I daydreamed of what it might have been like to hide out in the tiny underbelly of a ship, unable to leave except for the night hours. How did he manage to eat, if he did not hunt humans? Did he leap from the boat and hunt down a suitable shark, as Edythe and Emmett had done?

A soft chuckle escaped me, it seemed so strange to picture a professional doctor living another life. The same person, with different clothing and hairstyles, traversing from place to place.

"Is that when you 'changed' Edythe?"

The question seemed to haunt Carlisle and his eyes grew somber as he gazed off toward the window behind his desk. "No, not for some time after that. I searched, hoping I might find other like-minded vampires. It seemed too great a sin to alter someone for my own comforts, and I avoided doing so for as long as I possibly could bear to be alone."

My brows furrowed watching the ghostly remnant of pain cross over Carlisle's reluctant eyes. "Was Edythe always a daughter to you, Carlisle?"

Watching a nearly offended sheen overcast his expression, I panicked and corrected myself. "I-I mean, is she all you could have hoped for in a daughter. I don't know how it is when you alter someone, is there some kind of instant bond made when you change someone?"

The relief on his face melted into ghostly anguish as he looked over another painting. It looked to be an old city, like New York or Chicago in the early nineteen hundreds, but I couldn't be certain without someone explaining the picture to me. "No, not in the sense of a servant-ship between us. It is very akin to any other predator, a serpent's bite. If a bond is created, it is from a desire for kinship that comes from our own soul. It is not created simply through altering another," he explained, looking from the painting to my eyes again. "But, to answer your question, yes. I am very fond of Edythe. Had I been able to be married and have children in my human life, I might have hoped for a child such as her."

The door softly opened then, revealing that the music had stopped. Edythe stood in the doorway, a deeply thoughtful sheen over her eyes as she watched me. Perhaps wondering what my thoughts were on Carlisle's history, or what I might be considering, if she had heard the questions I had asked float through Carlisle's mind. Telepathy was still strange for me to adjust to – it was easy to forget that the things I asked someone could be eavesdropped at the drop of a hat if she was close enough to hear them.

"Edythe, welcome," Carlisle greeted with enthusiasm. "I was sharing some of our history."

A hand caressed around the small of my back, stretching softly until Edythe had her arm gently entangled around my waist. She had changed while I was in the shower and she now wore a soft button-down shirt and jeans. Soft fabric, like silk, pressed against the outside of my sweater as she held me. Her partial embrace was so gentle and yet lightning flickered through me. How badly had I missed her? Even with my curiosity of Carlisle's life, it felt like my soul could only truly sing when she was near.

Edythe appeared to be cheered, her eyes damp with jubilance. "I wouldn't believe everything Carlisle says, I was a rather naughty newborn," Edythe mentioned with a snicker. "I rebelled, as children often do, and went off on my own for a while."

"You were dearly missed," Carlisle countered playfully. "Esme fret incessantly."

"Believe me, I shall not forget it," Edythe teased in return, a chuckle bubbling up so beautifully from her throat. "Yet, alas, the prodigal child returned."

Having nearly melted into her arm, I found myself being pressed against the side of her body. Unable to resist once the cool gentleness of her body began to chill me, my head slowly eased to rest against her shoulder. She had wrapped her hair into a small ponytail and her full bouquet of scent enveloped me with something between peace and exhilaration. Chaos in the eye of the storm.

"Your time away was necessary for growth, Edythe. We would never lash blame upon you for needing to come to your own mind without our influence," Carlisle reassured her, and Edythe's body seemed to stiffen before her second arm coiled lovingly around my waist.

"T'was more than I deserved, Carlisle, but I thank you, both."

His hand moved to gently squeeze Edythe's shoulder in reassurance, dropping it as quickly as it came to rest. I was certain there was a conversation passing between Carlisle and her father, as their eyes gazed to each other animatedly for several moments before he looked at me.

"Well, Bella, I wager it's about breakfast time. Feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen," Carlisle said with a honeyed tone. His smile was too endearing for me not to return the gesture and my face glowed. My cheeks flushing fondly with enthusiasm to share in his cheerful demeanor.

"Thank you for sharing your history, Carlisle," I began, though Edythe was already guiding me toward the door.

"Of course, Bella, I'll come say goodbye before you go," He mentioned with pollyannaish gratitude. "I confess, I have more work to do."

Edythe led me out as Carlisle walked back toward his desk. As soon as the office door was closed, she turned to me. Pressing herself close enough that our waists very nearly touched.

"Are you alright?" She asked, as though dreading my answer.

"I am, now," I tried to reassure, my arms folding around her shoulders.

Edythe leaned in, her lips barely hovering over my own, when she stopped. I wasn't entirely sure why she had stopped until I felt her fingers touch my chin to turn my head back toward her.

I had been staring at the cross.

Unnerved at how it watched us from above, my eyes had unconsciously turned, and Edythe caught me. Her eyes seemed to seethe with an emotion I couldn't keenly read. Was she angry? Hurt? She wasn't shaking or squeezing her hands into fists, but it did not erase the fear trembling through me.

"It's just wood, Bella," she insisted as she touched her palm over my heart, which beat against my ribcage like a cornered deer. "It can't hurt you up there."

"I-I know," I blubbered, looking down at our feet, but she was too close to me to be able to see my shoes. I could only watch as her stomach pressed against my own.

Her cold fingers raised my chin again, so I had no shelter from her intense topaz gaze. "Do you?" Her words were teasing, but still they struck me. Pain surged through my chest again and her hand moved back down to hold over my chest. "Your heart is racing, I need to know why."

My tongue suddenly felt swollen; I couldn't breathe. "Just, you being close to me," I lied, desperately hoping that she might believe me. Frustration covered her face, so much so that I could see subtle licks of anger touch her eyes and mouth.

"Your heart rate isn't like this when we kiss," she exposed and I suddenly felt uncomfortably naked. Her arms slid around my waist again and her lips feathered kisses along my cheek and jawline. It was so heavenly a sensation that I couldn't help myself from leaping inwardly at her every touch. Shivers of a different nature overshadowed the shame that welled up within me and I couldn't stop myself from seeking her lips.

We kissed, deeply enough to tangle our lips together, and I forgot myself. I had almost convinced myself that the subject of that cross was over when she pulled away enough to cup my face in her fingers and press our foreheads together. "Dearest, speak to me."

"I-I don't know what to say," I countered. "I don't think I could explain if I tried."

"Come," she said softly, and I followed her toward the beautifully simple cross.

She had me stand under it and I watched as little snippets of sunlight poured down over it's smooth, dark, body. It was a beautiful cross, the kind you saw aloft in church sanctuaries with robes or curtains framing it. A monument of love and sacrifice that had often made me feel more terror than peace as a little girl. It reminded me of cruelty and murder more than love. Nails through the hands and feet, even just in my imagination, thoroughly unsettled me.

"Carlisle's father carved that cross himself, you know," she began. "He wasn't a wholly terrible man, simply prejudiced and misguided by the times."

She paused, to see if I would answer; but, when I didn't she continued, eyes still held high to watch the cross. "The world is a safer place now, for 'peculiar folk' such as we. The Earth has embraced logic and reason as dutifully as it has the faith, and most have clearer eyes more prone to mercy than judgment."

Her fingers touched my cheek as she looked at me; brushing the pad of her thumb over my lips. "God is unfailing love, Bella. If God exists, nothing could change that love for you. He would be like me, just wanting to be near you; know you for the beautiful person you are."

My body trembled, sickness filled me, and tears threatened to tug at my eyes at her words. Nothing she said was unreasonable, or untrue, and yet I felt ensnared by myself. Trapped in invisible chords of rope that tried to suffocate me. "Don't you feel wrong, Edythe? Do you ever feel guilty?"

She laughed, amusement tugging at the sourness which had spread over her eyes at my question. "Of course I do," she began, caressing my face with both hands now. "I wish I could give you everything you deserve. I wish I could have you without stealing you away irreparably from God and your family. Not be a thief in the night, a blood-drinking demon that you could never have a 'future' with."

"Don't say that..." All her words stabbed within me; but, the last cut me too deeply to bear being silent any longer. "What do you mean we can't have a future?" Everything in me wanted to slap her; but, her hands were holding my wrists now, and it would be useless to struggle against them.

Pain glossed over her face as she kissed me. Combing her lips softly over my own before she leaned back again to look at me. "If you become one of us, Bella, you'll always be stuck the way you are now. There will be no children, no growing old together, no permanent place. We'll have to move over and over to hide who we are from the world. It will always be stuck in the present, the same life, replayed over and over forever..."

My lungs stopped heaving as she explained, but it did nothing to erase the pain. "Why is that such a bad thing? If it means we can be together every day, forever?"

Her eyes entreated me, pleaded into my eyes. "It's easy to say that when one is thirsty and has never had a drink of cold water."

"What does that mean?" My eyes blinked excessively from confusion.

"If you had experienced what life has to offer, truly tasted it, you would not be satisfied with the idea of this," she explained. "My sweet, Bella. You deserve so much more than I can give."

Her hands let go of my wrists and I reached up to clutch her perfectly chiseled face between my fingers. "Don't you think it's up to me to decide what's good for me?"

I watched her swallow uncomfortably, even knowing she didn't need to breathe, she held her breath as though she was in physical pain. "Yes," she could not deny the word, even if it slew her to say it. "But I hope you'll make a choice that won't haunt you."

"Ahem," a very familiar voice spoke from around the corner. I looked; but, I didn't see anyone.

Edythe rolled her eyes with irritation. "You can come out, Alice."

She appeared instantly, I didn't even see which room she came from as she held up a black and silver suitcase. "Breakfast, then make up. We only have so much time this morning before Charlie arrives," Alice insisted sweetly and I was both relieved and disappointed to have that conversation halted. We would be talking again soon, of that I had no doubt.

Edythe reluctantly held my hand, guiding me away from her doorway and the hallway cross toward the stairs. Alice seemed to dance as she moved, clearly liberated at the idea of making me look cosmetically beautiful. She was always two steps ahead of us as we walked down the stairs, vanishing the into the dining room as we neared the kitchen.

There was a figure beside the counter already. Esme's soft hands were taking things out of the refrigerator. A carton of eggs, package of bacon, box of pancake mix – everything I could think of eating for breakfast was laid out on the counter. I couldn't even see it all and it made me feel overwhelmed again.

"Mother, must you?" Edythe insisted. "She's fine with cereal."

Esme turned at our approach, her soft heart-shaped face beaming with joy and affection as she looked at me. What pain that lingered from Edythe and I's upstairs conversation was instantly forgotten. My heart numbed, then warmed, and all I could feel was euphoria. "I'm fine with anything."

Edythe rolled her eyes at me. "Don't say that, dearest, she'll make you everything."

Esme chuckled playfully, one hand held over her rosy lips as she moved to my side and gently wrapped her arms around me. "Good morning, Bella, I hope you slept well."

My arms squeezed tightly around her, at odds with how this woman who looked like Edythe's older sister was already feeling like a second mother to me. "I did, thanks. I hope you did t..."

Good God, could I be anymore stupid? Edythe practically snorted beside me.

With a softer chuckle, Esme slipped from me, stepping out of the way with a gesture for me to come forward. One arm raised to showcase all she had bought like a game show host, probably in the hopes of seeing what I might pick out.

On the opposite counters, as this kitchen was as big as my bedroom was, there were a variety of saucepans, pots, serving spoons – an army of brand new appliances that I knew they'd only purchased for me. It made me feel strangely special and my eyes fell to the waffle iron as I touched the box of pancake mix.

"Waffles sound great, but I can make them myself if you want," I insisted; but, Edythe turned her nose up at the sheer idea of me doing any work this morning.

"Nonsense, we can do it," Edythe near demanded as Esme melted herself around her daughter to give her a morning embrace as well. As though feeling embarrassed at all the affection, Edythe soon moved from the arms of her 'mother' like any angsty teenager might do.

"Indeed, Bella. Go have a seat in the dining room, we'll bring them out to you in a little while."

Pouring myself a glass of milk, I acquiesced and walked toward the great round table. Alice had already unpacked more make up kits, brushes, and lipsticks, than I had ever seen in one place outside of a department store. My stomach rumbled uncomfortably and drinking down half the glass of milk did nothing to soothe it.

Why was Alice so happy about this? It was powdery, wet, gunk that was probably going to give me acne.

"Good morning, Bella!" Alice sang. Patting the chair beside her with far more enthusiasm than I felt that chair needed this morning.

"Hey, Alice," I began, desperate to avoid talking about the elephant in the room for a little while. "Where's Jasper?"

She giggled at me with coy cat-like eyes. "He went to Newton's Sporting Goods with Emmett," she explained. "They're buying us some equipment for tonight. There's a thunderstorm headed our way and it's the only time that we can play properly."

"Play what?" I asked as I reluctantly sat down in the chair.

Alice used her dainty, heeled, foot to turn my chair to face her. A brush and a case of skin-colored powder in her hands as she looked at her 'canvas'. "Mmmhmm, we enjoy playing baseball from time to time, but when we use our full strength...it's very loud. Our bodies sound like thunder when we crash together – sometimes it can be heard for miles." Her nose crinkled beautifully with mischief as she began to stroke the brush of floral-scented powder against my cheek. "Wouldn't do to give us away, now would it?"

The idea furrowed my brows. "So you guys play baseball," I couldn't wrap my head around it.

"We love baseball," she corrected. "It's more Edythe and Rosalie's favorite, though."

I tried not to let that fact bother me.

"Do you not like to play sports?" I asked, hoping to have something in common with Alice.

"I prefer long-distance archery, but most of the others find it tedious," she swayed side to side cheerfully as she dabbed the brush against the pad again and wiped my other cheek with skin-colored powder. "Esme tends to whip my tush at poker, though, that isn't exactly a sport."

"How does she do that if you can read the future?"

The brush playfully dotted over the tip of my nose, and I resisted the urge to sneeze. "She doesn't look at the cards and changes her mind constantly to throw me and Edythe off."

I chuckled then, grinning ear to ear at the idea of Esme taking stabs in the dark and winning. "Sounds like she's pretty clever."

Alice's eyes widened playfully in bemused irritation. "Or she knows us very well," she hummed, finishing up the first coat of make up on my face.

Surprisingly, the powder was light and airy and my skin didn't feel like it was being suffocated. She moved her hands then, grasping hold of something that made me nervous – an eyeliner pencil. Not wanting anyone to be near my eyes with pointed objects, especially super powered vampires who could probably jam that thing through my skull without trying, I leaned as far back into the chair as possible.

"Um, Alice..."

She giggled at me. "Just hold still, will you? I'm not going to hurt you, I promise," Alice encouraged as she slid her hand through my hair to hold my head against the back of the dining chair. It felt like I was going to be attacked; but, in a couple of seconds it was over and she was smirking at me.

"Now, was that so terrible?" She teased, and I found myself blinking at how quickly I must have been covered in warpaint.

"Yes," I lied, not wanting to give her the satisfaction.

She scowled at me. "It's a good thing I have no-smudge eyeliner, or we'd have to do that all over again with the way you blink sometimes."

Having that fault commented out loud made me uneasy, and I flushed.

"Alright, hold still, and close your eyes," she ordered while brushing a tiny eye shadow pad against several disks of natural browns, whites, and tan powders. I wasn't entirely sure what she was doing, but, she was clearly going to paint my eyelids now.

Sighing, I closed my eyes. This was strangely relaxing; but, I didn't enjoy the idea of being a barbie doll either. It wasn't like I could even compete with their gorgeous faces, this make up was just artwork for Alice to waste her time with.

Moving from one eyelid to the next, over and over, with layer after layer of wiping and dabbing, Alice began to hum a tune I'd heard before. I wasn't entirely sure where I'd heard the song until I realized it was the same melody that Edythe had been singing the night before. It was such a beautiful little song that I felt sad that I couldn't recall where it came from. I'd never heard it in nursery rhymes or classical music stations. Not even a movie soundtrack came to mind for me, as though the familiar song was always on the precipice of discovery. Bells dinging in the distance without knowing where they coming from.

"What are you humming, Alice?" I finally asked.

"Oh, Edythe's song for you," she mused aloud. "She wrote it after she came back from Alaska," she mentioned, like this was a normal thing.

"She wrote a song for me?" The brush continued to stroke over the base of my eyelid, perhaps because I needed the extra powder, or maybe she realized I liked the sensation and delayed the process?

"Not on purpose, I don't think. When she dwells on anything too long music comes out of her fingers," she moved the eye shadow brush away now and I felt another type of pencil tip brush against my eyebrows. Or maybe it was an eyebrow brush, I kept my eyes closed to not think about this process. "She's played this tune over and over and I'm afraid it's stuck in all of our heads, right now."

"It is a pretty tune," I mentioned softly.

"That it is," she hummed, grinning so much I could hear it in her words. "There, open your eyes, I need to put on the final touch."

Reluctantly, I opened my eyes, only to grimace at seeing a mascara brush.

She sighed at the grimace on my face. "We're almost done, stop your cringing," she insisted with a sharpness to her voice.

Despite not wishing to disappoint her, my mouth couldn't fully relax. Soured at this 'being pampered' business, I sighed and let it happen with the dignity of a wounded animal.

"Just get it over with," I said as playfully as I could, not wishing to hurt her feelings.

Alice didn't seem to mind my tone. She was already too busy gently brushing the damp comb against my eyelashes. A strong contortion of concentration on her face as her delicate fingers kept to their work.

"Mmn, I think we're almost done..." what else could there possibly be?

The answer to that question was never sated. A startling shout from the kitchen caused me to turn my head with a start.

"Corpus Bones!" Edythe shouted – like it was a curse word. The smell of burned smoke wafted from the kitchen as Esme and Edythe crowded around what I presumed to be the steaming waffle iron.

"Ugh! Bella!" Alice's irritated gasp of exasperation made me turn back around and I became painfully aware that she hadn't anticipated the accident in the kitchen.

"What?" My eyes were wide as owls.

Sighing loudly for the second time, Alice moved a mirror toward me and held it up against my face. A large smear of lipstick stretched across my cheek, disrupting her work. Stunned at the appearance of myself, despite the ugly smear of red across my face, the words in the background melted away from me. I could only keep staring at my reflection in awe; gaping my mouth like the fish Charlie left in the refrigerator.

"Eedee, please let me help you," Esme entreated in velvet soft tones. The sound of high-pitched scraping causing me gnash my teeth. "You'll break the iron doing that!"