...October...

...November...

Decem..."Bella!" Charlie's voice, unusually loud and sharp, broke through the fog. I looked up from the cereal I was trying to make myself eat, realizing he'd probably been speaking to me without my noticing. Not for the first time.

"Sorry, what?"

He took a deep breath, apparently trying to be patient. "I asked you about spending Christmas with your mom and Phil."

"Oh." I tried to focus on the question. "I don't know. I could just stay here."

"Wouldn't you like to see your mother over the holidays?"

I didn't want to leave Forks, even for a few days, but I knew Charlie wouldn't like hearing that. "You won't have anybody with you for Christmas."

He mumbled something under his breath, but I got the gist: he would hardly have anybody with him even if I stayed. I thought I should probably feel bad about that in some way. "I know I'm not very good company, Dad..."

"It's not that." He looked guilty now, but I'd already forgotten what had happened to make him feel that way. I needed to pay closer attention. "I have you here every day. Renee wants to see you for Christmas. That's only fair, right?"

I processed this. I didn't see any plausible way to refuse to visit my mother, at least occasionally. Seeing her for the holidays would be a trial, though. Mom loved Christmas. She'd want me to help her decorate the tree, wrap presents. She'd be merry. Just the thought of putting up a decent front, even for a few days, was exhausting.

"Besides, you already agreed to go, remember?"

Yes, I had. Months ago, before my birthday, plans had been made for me to go to Jacksonville for the holidays. I'd forgotten about that, suppressed it because it reminded me of other plans I'd made. Christmas with...him, and his family. Esme had told me the family would keep their Christmas tree up and have a second celebration when I got back to Washington. Alice had teased me about having to receive Christmas presents, and he had laughed... The crack in my heart widened painfully, and I crossed my arms over myself, trying to turn my mind in other, safer directions.

I realized Charlie was waiting for a response. What was I supposed to be responding to? Right, Renee. "Yeah, I remember."

"Well, then. I'll get the plane ticket."

I could see I wasn't getting out of this. Okay, I could get through it. At least trying to cover up for Renee would keep my mind occupied.

"What'd you get her?" Charlie asked. I looked at him blankly. "What did you get your mom for Christmas?"

Oh, yeah. Presents. "Um...nothing." He stared at me. "I mean, I haven't done any Christmas shopping." In fact, this was the first I'd thought of Christmas. The decorations and carols everywhere I went hadn't really sunk in.

"Are you short on cash?"

I shook my head. "No. I'll get on it." I should get a present for Charlie too, I realized, and for Phil. Anybody else? I thought carefully, realizing I was prone to forgetting obvious things, like the existence of family members. No, that would about do it.

"Maybe one of your friends would like to go shopping with you," he suggested.

"Maybe." I tried taking another bite of my cereal. It didn't taste like anything, just wet stuff in my mouth that I had to deal with. I carefully chewed twice and swallowed. Mission accomplished. I sighed as I saw there were six or seven spoonfuls left in the bowl. And fourteen more waking hours left in the day.

"You don't see much of them lately."

I nodded. I didn't see them at all, really. I only spoke to people at school when they spoke to me, which was now almost never. Even the teachers had stopped calling on me. My schoolwork was flawless, which kept my grades high, but classroom involvement was another matter. I noted the time on the kitchen clock, stood to dump out the rest of my cereal and leave for school. I heard Charlie sigh behind me.

"Bella," he called after me as I headed for the door. I turned to him. He seemed to change his mind as he was about to speak. "Have a good day."

"You too, Dad." He looked pained. My voice was probably wrong, I thought as I walked carefully down the stairs and out to my truck. I tried to sound right, but most of the time my voice came out too flat. It was just so hard to simulate normal emotion when I spoke. I'd have to work harder on that.

By the time the plane landed in Jacksonville, I was already tired from the effort of remembering to act normal. I knew it was important in airports and on planes, so I acted normal for the ticket agents, the security guards, the flight attendants. It did keep me distracted, at least. I listened to the emergency instructions with slight interest. The idea of the plane crashing was oddly soothing.

Mom and Phil came together to pick me up at the airport. I prepared myself to greet them, mentally running through the things I should do and say. I spotted them as I left the baggage claim, standing by their car in the pickup lane, smiling and waving to get my attention. I walked toward them, wheeling my suitcase behind me, and prepared to smile and say merry Christmas. When I smiled back at Renee, her eyes widened and she froze momentarily. Apparently I hadn't been very convincing, even after practicing my smile in front of the mirror at home.

As I reached her, she pulled me into her arms. "Bella! Honey, are you okay?"

"Sure, Mom." I tried to sound normal and give her a reassuring smile, but the effect only made her shudder. "It's good to see you." That was one of the phrases I'd taught myself to say in a cheerful voice. "Merry Christmas, Phil."

"Merry Christmas, Bella." Phil offered me a hug as well.

Renee still looked concerned. "Charlie told me..." She hesitated, and glanced over at Phil. "Well, maybe that can wait. Let's get you home."

They loaded my suitcase into the trunk and Phil started finding his way out of the airport and onto the highway. They'd let me take the back seat, which meant I could relax my smiling efforts a little bit. I tried to answer their questions and listen to their news updates as I watched the passing scenery out the car window. It was unfamiliar, not like anything I'd see around Forks, and that made it easier. Nothing I saw had any direct associations with him. I concentrated on acting normal, knowing I had a marathon ahead of me.

I did my best to take things moment by moment. We arrived at the house, and Mom pointed out changes they'd made in the decor. I tried to respond appropriately. Phil carried my suitcase to the guest room, and they showed me where the bathroom was, where the spare towels were, how to get fresh air into the room and which dresser drawers I could use. I kept nodding and thanking them.

I took the wrapped gifts I'd brought out of my suitcase and brought them downstairs to put under the Christmas tree. There were already several brightly decorated packages there. I assumed at least one was for me, and reminded myself to practice looking pleased, for when I unwrapped it tomorrow.

Mom was cooking something in the kitchen, and I joined her and asked if I could help. "No, I've got it under control. You go keep Phil company." She raised her voice slightly and called through the doorway, "Dinner in fifteen minutes!"

I sat down with Phil. He was easier to deal with than my mother. He asked easy questions: how was Charlie, was my flight okay, what's the weather like back in Forks? In no time, we were being called to the table.

I tried to eat, or at least appear to eat, while my mom and Phil talked about plans for the next day. Mom had chosen something unusual in place of turkey for the Christmas dinner, and I tried to express anticipation. Phil told a funny story about decorating the tree, and I tried to laugh when he did. That made Mom cringe a bit. Laughing, apparently, was not going over so well. Skip the laughing.

I put down my fork when the others seemed to be finished eating. Mom looked at my plate. "Go ahead and finish, Bella. Don't let us rush you."

"No, I'm full."

She grimaced and started to gather the plates. "Bella, could you help me with the dishes?"

"Sure." I followed her into the kitchen. I washed and she dried. I tried to focus on the work, but Mom wanted to talk.

"Charlie told me you've been going through a rough time," she began.

"It's nothing." I braced myself. If she started talking about E...about him, I could just leave the room.

"I could tell over the phone that you were pretty depressed." I shrugged. "Charlie said you don't like talking about what happened."

"No." I concentrated on washing every inch of surface on each dish.

"But sometimes you need to do that, honey, so you can get it out of your system and move on."

I nodded, placing a plate carefully in the drying rack.

She seemed to be waiting for me to say something else. "It's awful, breaking up. Especially at your age."

"It's no big deal." Breaking up was exactly what it felt like. Pieces of me being broken off, torn away.

"Honey, of course it's a big deal! I can see it is! You're so..." She broke off helplessly. "I hardly know you. It's like someone turned the light off inside you."

"I'll be okay. Really, Mom, you don't have to worry." I wasn't used to lying to my mother, but I couldn't see any other way. Talking about it would be unbearable. It wasn't like other problems, that got better if you talked them out. This couldn't get better. The pain was bottomless, and nothing could ever make it less.

I'd finished with the dishes, so I took the opportunity to get the hell out of there. "I should go back and talk to Phil," I said, drying my hands on the kitchen towel.

"Sure." She was watching me too closely. I started to smile at her, thought the better of it and headed for the living room.

The next four days were a constant balancing act. I tried to act happy and enthusiastic about presents and festivities, the way I was supposed to, but without pushing the happy appearance too far and getting the startled look from Mom and Phil. I had to keep focusing on saying the right thing and having the right facial expression, when all I wanted was to go somewhere quiet so I could be numb for a while. And all the time, Mom watching me, looking for an opportunity to talk things over.

The day before I left to return to Washington, I came out of the guest room and overheard Mom talking on the phone. I stopped short when I realized she was speaking to Charlie, and shamelessly hid around a corner to listen.

"Charlie, I know you're parentally challenged, but this is ridiculous!"

There was a pause.

"I know. Okay, I'm sorry. I know you're trying. But this has gone too far. Why didn't you tell me?"

Another pause.

"Well, you didn't tell me it was this bad! She's like a zombie!"

Brief pause.

"I'll tell you what I want you to do: I want you to take her to a doctor!" After a few second, she interrupted Charlie's obvious reply to say, "I don't care, Charlie! If she'd broken her leg and didn't want to have it set, would you just accept that? She needs help, and if you can't see that she gets it, I will."

The discussion became more civil after that, Charlie apparently accepting my mom's demands. They began talking over practical matters, naming doctors, speculating about possible treatments.

I was in big trouble.