7,308Indelible
A/N: Thank you for the reviews and rec's. They make me want to write.
Big hugs to Twi-Holic68 for the lovely Indelible banner. She's a big bowl of fabulous for finding Bella's dog, Fitz.
Chapter 3: Food for Thought
I took a quick shower after I'd finished my glass of wine. The hot water soothed me as I washed away the grubbiness of the panic attack I'd had on my way home. I suppose I was also attempting to wash away the crazy imaginings that had brought on that panic attack.
I had pulled on pajamas and just finished drying my hair when the doorbell rang. Grabbing my robe, I shrugged into it as I headed downstairs, where Fitz was already in position, barking at whoever was on the other side of the door. I shushed him and peered through the peephole in the door. Charlie's next-door neighbor stood on the front porch in her raincoat, her hood pulled up to shield her graying red bouffant and stylish tri-focal glasses. She was holding a plastic grocery bag by its tied handles.
Mrs. Cope was sixty-one like Dad had been. They had known each other since childhood, back when she was still Shelly Anderson and Forks only had half its current population. She and Charlie had even been in the same graduating class at Forks High. After graduating, she'd gone off to college and nursing school and then returned to Forks to marry her high school sweetheart, George Cope. They'd bought the house next door to my parents when I was just a toddler.
Opening the door, I greeted her with a smile. She returned my smile, but hers faltered as she surveyed my appearance—all ready for bed at only six o'clock.
"Bella, are you sick, honey?" There was instant concern in her gentle voice and bright blue eyes.
"No, no, I'm fine. I just took an early shower and wanted to get comfortable." I motioned for her to come inside.
Hopefully my words were convincing. I certainly didn't want to tell her I'd had a panic attack because I'd nearly run over my high school boyfriend—a boy who hadn't lived in Forks for two decades—nor did I want her to know that said boy hadn't appeared to age in the intervening twenty years. The nurse in Shelly might be inclined to whisk me off to a trained professional for evaluation and observation if I were to let that slip.
Her smile reappeared as she carefully removed her hood. "Well, you're certainly allowed to get all cozy on a rainy afternoon like this."
She hefted the bag in her hand and I saw it held a plastic container. "I just stopped by because George wanted soup tonight, so I made his favorite—chicken and dumplings. I remembered it was your favorite when you were little, so I brought you some. It's still hot, but it'll keep if you've had dinner already."
When Mom and Dad had divorced, it was Mrs. Cope, off work until the fall, who had watched me during the day whenever Charlie had to work during my summer visits to Forks. The Copes had never had children of their own, but Mrs. Cope had mothered hundreds during the school year, working in the high school attendance office and fulfilling the role of school nurse when needed.
"Oh... Thank you, Mrs. Cope. That was really thoughtful." I smiled and took the bag from her outstretched hand. "I actually haven't eaten. I just… I really…"
I was about to say I didn't have much of an appetite, but as I lifted the lid for a peek into the plastic container, and caught the aroma, my stomach growled. Suddenly I realized just how hungry I was. "Oh, gosh, this smells absolutely wonderful."
She looked pleased. "Well, I just figured…you know…with the rain…and all…maybe you needed some comfort food, honey." Her voice cracked a little and her eyes were suddenly glassy. "Gosh darn it. I told myself I wouldn't cry," she said, dabbing briskly at her eyes.
I shifted the bag to the side and pulled her in for a one-armed hug. "It's okay. Don't worry about it."
"I'm such a big baby," she said as she hugged me back tightly. "I just can't believe he's gone."
"I know," I said, tearing up in her familiar maternal embrace. "Me neither."
Mr. Cope always said he and his wife had picked the safest place in Forks to live—right next to the home of the future Chief of Police. As it turned out, Dad and I had been lucky to have a retired nurse living in the house next door when he had the stroke a year ago. Mrs. Cope had recognized stroke symptoms when he had shown up on her doorstep one morning, slightly disheveled, visibly distressed, and unable to speak. She'd called the paramedics and then called me home from the apartment I'd had in Port Angeles at the time.
We hadn't been as lucky when Charlie suffered the heart attack that had claimed his life a week ago. But Mrs. Cope's presence had bought me a year with my dad that I might not otherwise have had. And despite the fact that it had been a tough year, it had also been a good year, and I would be forever grateful for that extra time with Charlie.
Pulling away gently, Mrs. Cope. gave me an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry, sweetie. I swear I didn't come over here to upset you and make you cry. I just wanted to bring you a little something in case you were hungry and didn't feel like making anything."
I nodded and swiped at my eyes. "I know. It's okay. And I think this soup is just what I need, so thank you for bringing it over."
"Of course." She smiled sympathetically. "You know you're like family, Bella. Our door is always open to you if you ever need anything or you just want some company. George and I are always home."
I nodded and thanked her again, and once we'd said our goodbyes, I settled back at the kitchen table and ate. Fitz followed my every move with a well-practiced look of starvation in his eyes. I thought about Mrs. Cope's kindness throughout the years as I shared the last few bits of chicken and dumpling with him and then washed out the container.
Halfway through my junior year I'd returned to Forks to live with Charlie full-time, freeing Mom up to be a full-time wife and fan and follow Phil from ballpark to ballpark in his rising career in the minors. Even though I knew he loved me, living with Charlie was awkward those first few days, and I wondered how he really felt about having me there for the long haul. I didn't want to be an inconvenient obligation.
It was Mrs. Cope who had given me a different perspective on the situation.
She'd been there in the front office at Forks High my first day—that first day of second semester. She'd handed me my schedule of classes and then leaned forward and quietly said, "I know your dad is on the quiet side, Bella, and he might not show it, but I know he's really been looking forward to having you come live with him." Smiling at my probable look of surprise, she'd added, "Think about it, honey. He makes it his job to keep others safe. Imagine how happy he must be to really have someone of his very own to take care of—and not just for a short visit."
In the days that followed I paid attention to my father's actions and words. He didn't hover like Mom did, but I thought I saw evidence of what Mrs. Cope had surmised. Eventually I decided our initial awkwardness was probably due to both of us feeling equally apprehensive, wondering how the other really felt about the situation.
"Come on, Fitz. Let's go up and read for a while." I patted my leg and he dutifully accompanied me upstairs as my thoughts drifted back to that first day of school.
I'd returned to the office at the end of the day to hand in a copy of my schedule, initialed by each teacher throughout the day as I'd checked into each class. Mrs. Cope had been there at the counter once again, deep in conversation with a student...my Advanced Biology lab partner. Waiting my turn, I'd hung back by the door, trying not to eavesdrop, though I couldn't help but overhear bits and pieces. It seemed he was trying, unsuccessfully, to make a schedule change. Clearly frustrated, he finally gave up, brushing past me with an angry glare and storming out the door.
Mrs. Cope rolled her eyes, but then she smiled at me as I approached. Moments later she burst into a fit of laughter and assured me that Edward Cullen certainly wasn't trying to drop Advanced Biology because of me.
As I entered my bedroom, Fitz bounded up onto the bed, making his circular approach and then flopping into position. I headed to my bookcase, looking for an escape. Something I could sink into so I didn't have to think. Something familiar.
I scanned the books I'd lugged all over the Olympic Peninsula—from Forks, to Seattle, to Port Angeles, and back to Forks again. I hadn't brought all my books back home—not by any stretch of the imagination. Most of them were in storage with the rest of my former apartment. I'd only moved my most important belongings back home, since there was so little room here.
My current pared-down book collection held a few childhood favorites and some well-thumbed classics I'd loved in high school—books I nearly knew by heart, like the leather-bound volume of Shakespeare—its Romeo and Juliet pages coming loose after so many readings. There were a few poetry books and a variety of high school and college required readings that had become more than a requirement to me. There were some other books as well. My eyes skipped over the glossy series of Young Adult romance novels by I. M. Byrd and moved on to some recent purchases I'd read and kept.
I reached out several times, changing my mind each time. Nothing really appealed to me. Nothing spoke to me.
But that was a lie.
Something was speaking to me, all right. It just wasn't here on the shelves with the other published books.
I chewed at my lip for a moment before finally turning away from the bookshelves. I went to my closet, opened the door and then moved my laundry basket aside. Shoved into the corner was an unmarked box that spoke to me—its contents loudly calling to me. I suppose I should have known I would wind up here, crouched on the floor, wrestling the box from its hiding place, so I could retrieve the book I sought from its cardboard vault.
Ignoring several stacks of letters, I took out the notebook that lay beneath them, closed up the box, and shoved it back into the corner. After arranging my pillows and myself on my bed, I looked down at the old spiral notebook in my hands, its green cover matching the faded ink within. The color choice had been purely coincidental, yet fitting, for the scrawled musings of a seventeen year old girl, in the greenest of locales, as her thoughts slowly turned to a boy with the greenest of eyes.
Opening the notebook, I crept into my past.
A/N: So…like the chapter title... there's some food for thought.