The next morning I realized a little too late that I didn't have any fresh food in the house.
Living alone for so long, I'd taken to having most of my meals either at my desk at work or at one of the few local restaurants that were more than happy to offer a discount for the Chief of Police. Still, I at least kept some bacon and eggs on hand, so Bells and I had a quiet breakfast, just the two of us, before her first day of school.
I hated that I had to leave before she did, but I was already late to the station as it was, and I knew there was plenty to catch up on after having taken the previous day off in order to clean, organize, and ready myself for Bella's arrival. I made sure to wish her good luck before heading out. But I also knew she wouldn't need it -- The kids at the school were sure to love her.
The day went by in a long, drawn out blur. I was distracted the whole day thinking about what topics of conversation I could bring up with my daughter when I got home, or what we might do on her first full day in Forks, that I nearly misheard my deputy when he told me that there'd been another murder in Seattle. There was always trouble in those damn cities, which made me glad to live in Forks -- the last murder to happen here was over a decade ago, though "murder" was a bit of an exaggeration; the tragic hunting accident had actually resulted in a manslaughter conviction.
Still, I was right about the pile of work that I'd be returning to, with a number of traffic violations needing signatures, a few disputes needing a visit, and the usual patrol around town to check up on various businesses and abandoned properties. With under 4,000 residents, it's pretty easy to know who to keep an eye on here in Forks, and the most action I usually saw in a day was confiscating some spray paint from the damn McElroy boys before sending them on their way.
I found Bells watching TV when I got home. She seemed okay with me joining her, and we sat together for some time before ordering pizza. She must've realized I didn't have much in the way of groceries in the house, so she offered to go shopping the next day. I was more than happy to oblige her. It had been years since I'd really had much of a reason to use the kitchen for anything other than the microwave, and I thought that maybe it'd be nice to have some home-cooked meals together.
Bells said that her first day of school was fine when I asked, and I didn't press her on it; I'd read that "fine" was teenager-speak for wanting to be left alone, and though I was eager to catch up after so many months apart, I knew that she was probably already feeling a little overwhelmed. So we ordered some pizza and she shut herself up in her room and I spent the night as I usually would with two beers and an old Mariners game. I made sure to say goodnight before going to sleep, and though it was on the tip of my tongue, I swallowed the "I love you, Bells," I'd been wanting to say all day, worried I wouldn't hear the "I love you, dad" that she'd offered up so freely back when she was a kid.
"Boundaries," I muttered to myself instead, remembering what I'd read in Raising Teens: A Handy Guide earlier that summer, once it was decided that she'd be moving back here. The kid just needs me to keep to her boundaries.
We'd have a better day tomorrow, I hoped.
--
Bella must've made a trip out to the Thriftway, because when I got home the next day I could smell potatoes in the oven.
"Bella?" I asked, my voice sounding strangely loud as it echoed throughout the usually silent house.
"Hey Dad, welcome home." Those four little words warmed my heart in a way I hadn't felt for nearly two decades.
"Thanks," was all I could think to say as I slung my gun belt up on its hook and took off my boots. If only I could tell her how much her being here meant to me -- to come home from work to the smells and sounds of another life within these fading yellow walls. Being unable to find the words to express the immense mixture of emotions I was feeling, my mind fled back to its primitive senses. I remembered the smell of potatoes, and a brief recollection of Renee, hair wild and apron a mess, concocting her own recipes with wild abandon in this very same kitchen.
"What's for dinner?" was all I could muster.
"Steak and potatoes," she replied. My own daughter, cooking up a dinner of steak and potatoes for her old man. Had it really been 17 years already?
I felt awkward standing around the kitchen doing nothing, and though I wanted to help -- I didn't want any daughter of mine to feel like she was obligated to cook for any man, even her dad -- I also realized I had no idea how I possibly even could help without getting in the way or making a mess of everything. So I retreated to the living room.
She called me into the kitchen when it was all done, and it smelled amazing. She'd even made a damn salad. Shit. I could've helped with the salad.
"Smells good, Bell," I said.
"Thanks."
We ate in silence. I kept trying to think up things to ask her about her life in Phoenix, or her second day at her new school, or how she honestly felt about Forks after so many years away, but she just kept her eyes on her food, and I was scared of badgering her after she'd made such a great meal for the two of us.
I was full after my first plate, but I didn't want to end dinner without us saying anything at all to each other, so I got some seconds and finally asked her:
"So, how do you like school? Have you made any new friends?" Incredibly basic, sure, but try though I might I couldn't think of anything else to ask.
"Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Jessica. I sit with her friends at lunch. And there's this boy, Mike, who's very friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice."
A boy. While I wasn't about to assume Bella's romantic preference, I couldn't help but worry at the thought of a boy. Mike... Mike. That must be Newton's boy. The skinny little blonde kid. I remembered seeing him around the shop -- he seemed innocent enough.
"That must be Mike Newton. Nice kid -- nice family. His dad owns the sporting goods store just outside town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here," I said, happy to be able to share my near-limitless knowledge of Forks.
"Do you know the Cullen family?" she asked. Cullen. Flowing blonde hair. Shining golden eyes. Carlisle.
"Dr. Cullen's family? Sure. Dr. Cullen's a great man."
"They... the kids... are a little different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school."
I'd heard the same thing from a number of the folks in this town. We actually had the Jamesons call 911 a year ago because she saw one of their kids "acting suspicious" near their house. I love the people of Forks, I really do, but sometimes they can be quite closeminded.
"The people in this town..." I said, feeling myself getting a little worked up. "Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary he gets here. We're lucky to have him -- lucky that his wife wanted to live in a small town." For a split second Renee's rain-drenched face flashed in my memories, as did the sound of a baby's cries cutting through the night like a cold, sharp knife.
"He's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature -- I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should -- camping trips every other weekend... Just because they're newcomers, people have to talk."
I didn't mean to speak so long or so loudly about the Cullens, but Carlisle really was a serious asset to the town, and I'd already been worried that the negative talk about his family might drive him -- well, them -- away.
"They seemed nice enough to me," Bella said. "I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive."
An image of Carlisle, in his immaculate doctor's robe, came to mind when she said that.
"You should see the doctor. It's a good thing he's happily married," I said, without really thinking.
"...A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on their work with him around," I added.
She didn't seem to have much to say after that, and -- embarrassed from my little outburst -- I didn't either. I managed to help clear the table when we were all finished up, but Bells got to the sink first, so with nothing else to do I went back to the TV and she eventually went upstairs. I thought that perhaps I should start watching something other than baseball and maybe she would join me after dinner.
I would need to remember that for next time.
---
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