1. First Sight

Somewhere beneath a never-ending field of dark clouds in the most tepid and boring part of the state of Washington there exists a little town called Forks. It is not named for its roads, or for it's particularly fine dining instruments but rather for the man who first lived there, who is notable in that his name was Charles Forks and that he was otherwise not notable in any way whatsoever.

Charles Forks, like me, loved sunshine and warm weather, and thus forever regretted his decision to settle in the Olympic Peninsula until three decades later when he left his adoring neighbors and moved his entire family to Pheonix. Another nine decades after that, I was born, and every summer for fourteen years after that I made the same journey as Charles Forks - by plane, in reverse - to spend a month in the town I was born for reasons I had never been exceptionally interested in.

It was a gloomy town, filled with gloomy people, and the gloomiest of these people were only usually the dead ones. I hated it: partly because it was not the sprawling, vigorous city I called home; partly because for the last five years of my life I had hated almost everything, including myself. When I was fourteen and thought I was old enough to make my own decisions, I stopped going entirely.

When I was seventeen, I came to stay.

"Bella," my mother said as we stood in the crowded airport terminal, "You don't have to go."
If I had spent more time smiling in the years that I lived - and if I had lived longer - I expect I would look somewhat like my mother. I had her brown eyes and ivory skin but never her demeanor, so innocent and naive. When she talked it was like I was the mother and she the scattered infant.

It wasn't an act. Now that she had Phil, the bills would be paid on time for once, and there would be food in the refrigerator and gas in the car. But I had always been her lifeline before and she clung to my hand as though she knew it.

"I want to go." I said. I was a terrible liar, but this lie I'd been telling so frequently that it almost sounded like truth.

She smiled, then, and let go of my hand. "Say hi to Charlie for me."
"I will."
"You can come home whenever you want."
"I know."
"I'll see you soon."
"..."

She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I was gone.

It's four hours from Pheonix to Seattle by plane, and after a thirty minute transfer it's another hour up to the small town of Port Angeles. I'd never gotten jet-lag, a fact I wished then I had concealed, considering it would have been a perfect excuse not to talk to my driver as he took me the last hour down to Forks.

Charlie had admittedly been really nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for any degree of permanence, and had said he would help me find a car once I got there.

But it was still awkward. Neither of us were the talkative type, and I didn't have anything to say regardless. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision, as both my mother and I had made no secret of our distaste for his little town.

But he was waiting for me in Port Angeles with the cruiser, parked almost on top of the tiny runway. Police Chief Charlie Swan, head of law enforcement in a town that had no crime, waiting awkwardly at the base of the stairs to take me up in an awkward, one-armed hug as I stumbled my way down with bags in tow.

"It's good to see you, Bells," he said, smiling as he caught and steadied me. "You haven't changed much. How's Renee?"

"Mom's fine. It's good to see you too, Charlie." The smile faded. It had been a while since I'd been to Forks, I'd forgotten I wasn't supposed to call him that to his face. Only "Dad" would do.