Chapter 39 - Lent

 

Chapter 39 - Lent

Bella

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For the first time in my life, I fly first class. It feels strange and indulgent. It doesn't feel like me, that's for sure. But as I wipe my hands with a warm towel then sip my scotch, I think I could get used to it.

First class or not, this entire trip back home is indulgent. Alec reminded me just how indulgent about a thousand times.

"You can't go on vacation right after dropping your first album."

"This isn't a vacation."

"What exactly is it, then?"

"It's family."

Angela's little girl was born early and she's not doing nearly as well as Eddie did right out of the gate. Angela says she has faith - she knows Isabelle is stronger than she looks.

I know, I know. She named her daughter after me. It's probably because everyone used to worry about me too, but all things considered, I turned out okay. Maybe it was partially to piss Ben off. Maybe it's also because I'm Isabelle's godmother.

She's actually my second godchild. I'm also headed home so I can get my hands on little Eddie. I had to miss his baptism since I was back on the road and there was no way I could leave the tour a second time. But Rose has been sending me pics almost daily. That kid is trouble with a capital T. He stays awake all night. He's constantly pulling Rose's boobs out in public. And when he finally falls asleep, he curls all of his fingers into a little fist - all except his middle finger. After his brothers and sisters noticed how much it pissed Rose off and made Emmett laugh, they all started doing it too.

It's only a matter of time before Eddie runs away from home and shows up on my doorstep. I'll be there for him when he does.

I just need a doorstep.

I take another sip of my drink. All thoughts of homes and doorsteps lead to the same place - to a little weather beaten cottage on Manhattan Beach. To strong arms, Catholic vows, and hazel eyes filled with unmistakable love.

Every night since I left Brooklyn, I lie in bed and I pretend my fingers are his. Every night I tell him I love him. And each morning I wake up naked and alone.

I do the best I can. I live the life I've always dreamed about. I owe it to myself and I owe it to him. I want to make sure two hearts broke for a good reason. I hope he's doing the same.

I fucking pray he is. I don't know who or what I'm praying to, but I do it anyway.

When I blink open my eyes, we're high above the clouds.

"Can I get you another drink, miss?" the flight attendant asks.

"Do you have herbal tea?"

She rattles off a long list, and before I know it, I have a piping hot cup, a wedge of lemon, a little container of honey, and a package of fancy crackers to go with it all.

Yeah, I could definitely get used to this.

"Excuse me?" the man seated next to me asks. He's sheepish but very handsome, in an older professor kind of way. His shirt's open at the collar and his tweed jacket looks expensive but well worn. "Are you that singer? The one who won't sing her most famous song?"

My cheeks go warm. After Angela's rehearsal dinner, Dad figured out how to upload his video of Lost in Love to YouTube. Em told his firefighter buddies. Alice told her friends from school. Mom told the ladies from church. Once I was back on the road, some fan or another found it online and it spread like wildfire.

"Probably," I tell him. "Don't know any other performer stupid enough to pull shit like that."

He smiles. "Thought so. My daughter loves you. Plays that da… catchy YouTube clip over and over and over again."

"So she's responsible for all those hits? Thank her for me?"

He chuckles. "Actually," he hedges, "Would you mind?" He offers me his napkin and roots in his pocket for a pen.

"What's her name?" I ask.

I pretended I didn't hear the audience shouting requests for Lost in Love for the first few nights. With each city where I ignored people, the chanting became louder.

Alec confronted me in Toledo when I walked off the stage. "What the hell are you doing?"

"My set," I huffed.

"You know what I mean. Give 'em what they want."

I laughed. "When they want it?"

"When else would you give it to them?" he asked, confused and more than a little annoyed.

I lost any right to sing that song when I left him back in Brooklyn without telling him how I felt. I wouldn't sing it to an audience in Toledo, or Pittsburgh, or Richmond.

It became a game. People shouted. I pretended not to hear them. Or I heard a different request instead. It was the number one question they asked when I gave interviews on college radio. There was an opinion piece about it on BuzzFeed. There was a long list of guesses about why I wouldn't sing it underneath Dad's original post.

Most people figured it was because of Mike Newton.

Mike figured it was about him too.

Who wouldn't, I guess?

I'll tell you who - the people who know me best. My family, and the priest of a little parish in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn. But no one was asking them.

"Jess doesn't give a shit if you sing it," Mike told me one night. I was alone on the bus, busy writing. He didn't knock. He just took a seat across from me.

"Good to know." I closed my notebook and set it aside, then looked him calmly in the eye. He'd showered since the show and hadn't bothered to put on a shirt. The strong smell of soap and aftershave filled the cabin and made me feel slightly nauseous.

"I didn't know you felt that way," he said with a smirk. He rubbed a hand over his bare, vow-free chest, relaxed and pleased. Like he'd always suspected I gave my heart to him.

"Never did. Not even close." I pressed my back against my seat in an attempt to get as far away as possible. I clutched my cell, ready for a quick get away or a knee to the groin. Maybe both.

"It's what then? All a publicity stunt?" Mike knit his brows and frowned.

I shrugged. "It wasn't my idea. My dad posted it without my permission."

Mike leaned back in his seat, spread his legs, his hand over his crotch like it just landed there on accident. "No need to play with me like this. All is forgiven."

"I'm here to do a job. Nothing else. I mean, I still really appreciate being on tour."

He leered. "I know. You inked the date I called you." He nodded in my direction, like I was topless too and he could read the effect he'd had on me and my career, written in black ink on my skin.

He was right. He was the reason I was on that bus, playing for stadiums.

Without anyone else's help though, Mike Newton would have destroyed me. It was the last date I added to my list that set me right, that made me believe in who I am, that made me try to be even better.

I wrapped my arms around myself like I had the power to block out Mike's memory of my naked body.

"You're lucky I said yes," I told him.

He bit his bottom lip. "Fuck, yeah I am. You made me feel real lucky."

"Get the fuck off my bus, Mike. I'm writing."

"More songs about me?"

"Get out." I was calm. Didn't raise my voice. I pointed toward the door. "This is business and I have work to do."

"So it is a publicity stunt. That's cool. I can appreciate that. You let me know when you want some more." He grabbed himself and sucked his bottom lip between his teeth.

"I'm so over this shit." I stood up and held the door open for him. "Get the fuck out now, or I'll call Alec."

With every city where I didn't sing the song, the crowds that showed up just for me got larger, their chanting got louder, and Mike hated me a little more. Eventually, he dropped me from the European leg of the tour with some trumped up excuse.

It didn't matter. With all the buzz, Alec had me signed on to my dream label in weeks. They assured me it wouldn't be hard to pull together an album since I already recorded so much material. I just had to keep touring, keep doing interviews, keep rocking. More than any of that, I had to keep refusing to perform the song.

They thought it was a genius strategy.

It was never a strategy. I was just trying to protect myself and to honor him.

Even that little act of self-preservation helped my career.

He'd helped me so much it wasn't even fair.

Dear God, I hope those two weeks helped him too.

I couldn't be sure because Edward was true to his word. He never reached out. I knew what I was doing when I made him promise as much. I just didn't realize what it would do to me. Every day I love him a little more.

I forbid my family to talk to me about him. At first they kept trying, but I shut them down each and every time.

These days, no one mentions his name. There are lots of awkward silences though. Like when they talk about Eddie's baptism, where Emily stood in for me as my proxy, or Christmas Eve mass where Jane sang with the choir for the first time. Or when they mention plans for Liam's first communion in a couple of months.

These days I have to hold myself back from asking.

And now I'm flying home.

Even if I won't see him, I'm flying home to him.

My heart hammers in my chest because he's there. My skin pricks because, unless I hide in the house, I might see him in the street, or at Billy's, or at the corner store buying a pack of smokes.

Would I hide? Would we talk like two old friends? Or would I tell him that he changed me forever.

If I open my mouth, I know which words are likely to come out.

I love you.

You're the best thing to ever happen to me.

xXxXx

"Bella!" Alice shouts when she spots me near baggage claim.

My little sister dodges crowds and jumps over piles of luggage, then throws her arms around my neck and clings to me. I cling right back. I've missed her more than I realized. I'm surprised to feel tears well in my eyes.

After ages, I hold Alice at arms length. She suddenly looks grown up in a pair of dress pants and a silky button-down shirt. Her hair is shorter, in a neat little bob, she's wearing some eye make-up and some lip gloss. "Who even are you?" I ask. "So posh. So chic!"

Alice's cheeks go pink, but she does a little twirl for me just the same, showing herself off. "I came right from my internship."

She's on her way to a master's degree in social work, interning with Catholic Charities since the beginning of the semester.

"You have to tell me all about it," I say, grabbing my luggage from the carousel.

Alice's eyes are wide as she looks at the people around us. "Is it always like this?"

"Yeah, LaGuardia sucks."

"I'm talking about the staring, Bella. My big sister's famous."

I roll my eyes. "Hardly."

Then the girl next to me gets up the courage to ask for a selfie.

"Where to first?" Alice asks once we're headed home. "We could go right to the hospital. Rose is there with Angie. Or help Mom out with all the kids - she's watching them while Emmett's at the station. Or Jane should be -"

"Manhattan Beach?" I hadn't planned on asking. Some things just happen.

Alice looks at me like I'm crazy.

"Please?" I beg.

"Whatever, weirdo."

xXxXx

At the beach, the sand looks grayer here than it does in L.A. The water looks browner than the deep blue Pacific. The cold wind off the water cuts like a knife, and I wrap my arms around myself, not used to the winter chill.

I spot the cottage right away, the fifth in a row of low, gray buildings partially hidden just past the dunes.

I catch my breath when the back door swings open, when someone tall and broad wearing a worn, white t-shirt backs onto the balcony. Then a tiny human charges past the man, and he lunges to catch the toddler, then swings the child over his head.

The little kid shouts with joy. The boy's dad swings him in a circle. It's not him, of course. A small woman pokes her head out of the back door holding out a sunhat and a sippy cup. The guy pulls her outside and the little family sits on the chaise and bundles under a blanket. It's like we were never there.

"You know them?" Alice asks.

Right. I've been staring. I shake my head. "Nah."

Then I notice Alice looking intently at the family. "You?" I ask.

She looks out over the water. "Just a different life than I'll ever have."

I know what she means.

"You and Jane could adopt. Or you could find a donor. You can still have a family."

"First of all, you sound like Mom. I'm twenty-two. Like, back way up with your plans for my uterus."

I laugh and push her toward the water. She charges at me, kicking up wet sand and I scream and dodge.

"Second of all," she tells me when she catches up to me, "It's not the family part. Family is whatever you make it, whoever you make it with. It's just the way the family looks. Sometimes I'm nostalgic for something I never even wanted."

"In a weird way I know what you mean," I glance over my shoulder at figures receding in the distance.

"It's not even close to the same thing," she insists.

"It's something I'll never have either."

Alice rolls her eyes and gives me another playful shove. "The only thing standing between you and a family is your hard head."

"That's not it," I mumble. It's the best I can do.

"Listen, I don't know what happened with you and -"

"No, no, no, no, no," I sing out, my hands over my ears.

"Jesus H. Christmas, you're worse than Liam."

"I told you, Alice. I can't talk about -"

"Edward."

"Yeah." Him.

"Edward Cullen. Say his name, Bella. Say it. Out loud."

I shake my head. I wipe tears from my eyes.

"You're my big sister. I love you. I look up to you. But you're also an idiot."

"Hey!"

"I call 'em like I see 'em. I learned that from you." Alice checks me with her hip.

"You see an idiot?"

"A talented, almost famous, ball-busting idiot who deserves everything. Even the stuff you never knew you wanted."

xXxXx

I manage to make it to the NICU before visiting hours are over for the day. Little Isabelle is about half the size Eddie was when he was born. She wriggles around and kicks her skinny legs in a tiny plastic box. She has a hat on her head, patches over her eyes, and wires everywhere.

"Oh, Izzie," I coo, my hands plastered against the plastic. "Can she hear me?" I ask Angela.

My sister nods. Her smile is brave. "She can hear us just fine. Can't you, my little lady? Can't you?"

Isabelle's legs kick harder. She makes sucking motions with her tiny mouth.

"You know your mommy's voice. Don't you?" Angela asks.

Isabelle starts waving her fists. Her head looks too big for her body as it rocks side to side.

"Feeding time?" a nurse in pastel teddy bear scrubs asks my sister.

Angela settles into a rocker next to the incubator, and I immediately turn my back to her. "What in the world?" she asks me.

"I know all about this shit from Rose. I don't need to see your tits too, Angie."

My sister and the nurse break into a fit of laughter. Even Izzie starts making tiny little huffing sounds.

"Skin on skin is best for preemies," I try to explain. I slowly turn around and peek at the scene through my splayed fingers.

"You're right, it is." The nurse looks surprised that someone like me knows anything about infants.

I didn't know as much as I thought, though. Angie's halfway unbuttoned her shirt and has Izzie clutched to her chest in a snug little pouch. She grasps the thin tube inserted into her daughter's nose while Izzie sucks at the tip of Angie's pinky finger. The girls are nowhere in sight.

"She can't manage sucking and swallowing at the same time yet, but she's getting there. Aren't you, Iz?" Angie looks my way and narrows her eyes. Just a few months ago, any mention of sucking and swallowing would be followed by a snide remark. Instead, we let the moment slide.

"Can I try?" I hold out a pinky finger.

"You washed your hands?" the nurse asks. She truly must think I'm dense.

Angela gently pulls her fingertip from Izzie's mouth. The little girl frets, sucking air and shaking her little head.

"Here, baby girl," I whisper. Her lips are incredibly delicate, like they might dissolve on contact. But when she wraps them around my fingertip, she holds on tight. She sucks so hard I jump a little in my seat.

"Oh my God!" I gasp.

"Right?" Angie asks. "She's really getting the hang of it."

"She's so strong." I stare at the little girl in awe.

"Getting stronger all the time," Angie agrees.

Every time Angie speaks, Izzie sucks harder. "She really does know your voice."

"She's smart and strong," Angie says. "Just like her godmother."

xXxXx

The next morning I'm completely jet lagged as I walk up the path to Rose and Emmett's front door. I don't bother knocking. No one would hear me. The windows practically rattle with the sound of little footsteps stomping and high-pitched voices shouting. Inside, laundry is folded and stacked on every flat surface in the living room. The television is playing cartoons for Grandma, who's napping in the recliner in the corner.

A flash of brown hair runs from the kitchen and takes the stairs two at a time, giggling like a miniature criminal mastermind.

"Liam McCarty, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. No fish sticks in your room!" Mom calls out.

Mom glares up the stairs, like she's debating whether or not to go after her grandson. She looks so much older than she did the last time I saw her. Her hair is graying at the roots and there are a few extra lines around her eyes. For the first time in my life, I think she actually looks like a woman old enough to have six grandkids.

Her eyes light up when she sees me standing in the doorway. She rushes toward me with her arms outstretched.

"I was beginning to think you were too high and mighty for your family." She steps back and looks me over from head to toe. I think I'm okay. I made sure to wear a bra. I haven't had a drink since the plane.

"Green this time?" she asks, fingering my hair. There are worse things she could criticize than my highlights. "Gray-green, even. What kind of color would you call this?"

My hairdresser teased me and called it vomit. I call it hazel… to myself, at least.

"There you are!" Rose shouts as she runs down the stairs.

I can't get over who she's holding. A chubby baby sits up and holds his arms out like he wants me to pick him up.

"Is that Patrick?"

Rose chuckles. "You mean Eddie?"

Whatever his name is, the little guy practically dances in her arms.

"Can I?" I ask.

She rolls her eyes. "Hello, Rose. How are you doing, Rose? It's like no one even sees me anymore." She plops down onto the couch and a pile of laundry next to her topples to the floor.

"Gah! Bla! Bur!" Eddie says. One sticky hand yanks my hair. The other grabs my boob. He aims a drooling mouth right for my -

"Hold him this way," Mom says, plucking him out of my arms and sitting him up so he's looking over my shoulder. Eddie tugs my hair hard enough to make my head snap backward.

"Ow! Fuck," I grunt, trying to untangle myself from his fist.

"Isabella!" Mom warns.

I laugh despite the pain. "Grandma's worried you're gonna' say fuck," I tell Eddie as I bop around the room with him.

"Gah!" he shouts. He yanks on my earring.

I hold him out in front of me. "Can you say Bella?" I ask.

"Blah!"

"Oh my God! He said Bella."

"He is too little. He cannot talk, Auntie Bella," my niece informs me, taking the stairs carefully, one at a time.

Two wet, naked kids holding up their middle fingers run past her, practically knocking her down.

"Auntie Bella!" They cling to my legs. I'm suddenly soaked and struggling to stay upright.

"Yo! Get back up here!" Emmett calls. "No nudity in the living room!"

"Bella!" the kids cheer. I sit down in front of the television so I won't drop Eddie. Wet, naked children climb all over me.

"Em? Can you find Liam?" Rose shouts. "He's hiding with fish again."

Eddie tangles with his brother and sisters on the living room floor like he's been doing it his whole life. I guess he has. He gets knocked down, then pulls himself back up. He gets on his hands and knees and rocks back and forth like he wants to launch his chubby little body over his siblings and across the room.

"He's changed so much," I say. "I don't think this is even going to fit." I pull a Black Eyed Peas onesie out of the pocket of my hoodie.

Mom's mouth drops open.

Rose gasps. "You've got to be kidding."

"I mean, I can get him a bigger one," I try to explain. "It's no big deal."

Mom shakes her head like she's bewildered. "But I just folded it!"

"Folded what?"

She roots around in the pile of laundry and finally holds up a pale blue Black Eyed Peas onesie. It's bigger than the one I brought and looks like it would fit Eddie damn near perfectly. Otherwise it's identical.

Mom looks from me to Rose. "I thought you said they weren't speaking."

"Mom," Rosalie warns.

Emmett jogs down the stairs holding Liam. It looks like they're both covered in pulverized, processed fish. "Ed sent two?" he asks.

My stomach turns. Partially because fish stick goop is smelly and disgusting. I could lie to myself and leave it at that.

But I know it's mostly because Emmett casually said his name. He called him Ed, like they're friends. I guess they are. I can force people to keep him a secret, but it doesn't change anything. Edward knows my godson better than I do.

I'm suddenly irrationally jealous of everyone. I'm jealous that my family gets to hang out with Edward. I'm jealous of the time Edward spends with Eddie. I know I gave up the right to feel this way four months ago. Somehow that makes it even worse.

"Oh my God, Emmett," Rose growls, then nods in my direction.

Emmett's eyes go wide, but he recovers quickly. "Yo, it's my famous sis-in-law. Welcome home!"

As I try to untangle myself from the pile of kids, he pulls me into a fish stick-coated hug. I give up and go with it. I'm already covered in baby drool and bathwater.

"You two and the Peas," he says. "Like seriously, two peas in a pod." Emmett laughs at his joke.

Rose mouths sorry and shrugs. Grandma snores from the recliner.

"What are the chances?" Mom wonders, holding the two onesies up next to each other.

Emmett shakes his head. "I didn't know you were into Fergie too. You know about the poster he hid?"

"Emmett!" Rose warns. "For the love of God!"

"You don't have to shout, Rose. I didn't say his name."

xXxXx

I wait for my dad on the sidewalk outside his construction site, hiding behind sunglasses and wearing an oversized hoodie. I don't have the time to be noticed. I've been home almost twenty-four hours and haven't seen my father.

"Yo, Dad!" I call when he almost walks right by me.

He glances over his shoulder and smiles wide when he recognizes me. "Baby girl?" He holds out his arms like he did when I was little. I run, charging into them.

"It's so good to have you home," he says into my hair. "I was gettin' worried you wouldn't come by."

"It hasn't even been a whole day."

He steps back and looks me over head to toe. "My kid, a rock star. And I wanted to keep you in Brooklyn."

Dad throws an arm over my shoulder. His tool belt bumps against my hip. The world feels like it's been set right as we start walking home.

"Touring bars in Brooklyn doesn't actually sound half bad," I admit.

"Nah. Bars around here couldn't handle you now that you're a big deal."

"Some of that's because of you and your first ever YouTube video. Kinda rocked my world." I lean my head against his shoulder.

My dad whistles. "Glad something good came out of all that mess. You took my breath away that night. This way everyone gets to see it."

Every day, in cities all over the world, people watch me love him. More than Lust, it's my love that pushed me over the top. It was so much easier to ignore on the road, but now that I'm home, the whole neighborhood reminds me of him. He's become part of my family. He changed me forever and I walked away. I must be the worst person in the entire world.

Sorry, God.

I laugh a little, despite threatening tears, because I'll never be able to apologize again without wanting a drink. Without thinking of him.

Without thinking about Edward.

All I have to do is think his name and a hole feels like it opens up in my chest.

"It feels like I used… someone," I admit. With Dad's arm around me I feel safe. Brave enough to talk. "I never wanted to use him. Ever."

"If you feel bad, you can tell it to the Big Guy." Dad stops on the sidewalk and nods across the street.

St. Mary's stands there like a dare, tempting me to throw open the doors and face... him. To march in, sit in the confessional, and tell him how I feel.

I love you.

You're the best thing to ever happen to me.

The church might look strong enough to take it. I don't know if I am, though.

I shake my head. I take a step back. Then another.

"Oh no, Dad. I can't -"

My father checks his watch. "You're good. There's like twenty minutes left for confession."

I wave my hands in front of my face, like somehow it will make him understand. "I haven't even talked to him since the day I left."

Dad's eyes fill with concern. He takes a cautious step in my direction, then clamps a strong hand over my shoulder. "Oh, baby girl. You mean Edward? He's not there. He left right after you did."

Whatever Dad's saying doesn't make sense.

"He's in Europe. Last time I heard he was in Italy."

"But Emmett just said -"

"They Skype. Or FaceTime. However you kids do it."

"You mean, all this time. I don't, I mean, I didn't want to, I couldn't…"

It hits me at once. Ever since I landed I've been afraid of running into him. I didn't know it could get worse. But it can. It did. There's no chance I'm going to see him at all.

The bottom drops out. I can't hold back my tears.

Dad pulls me into his arms. He lets me cry. I feel the pain of our separation more than I ever have before. Now it's real. Now it's over. He's in Europe. After this trip home, I would have been headed there, but instead I'm flying back to L.A.

Edward and I both have lives to live. Dreams to follow. Lives and dreams that don't involve one another.

He's following his path, building his tower. It's what I hoped for. I just didn't know it was going to hurt this much.

Dad unwraps my arms from around his chest. "You, baby girl… you're in the right place. Get your double Catholic ass into that church and lay it all out there. That's what those dark, dank boxes are for."

xXxXx

St. Mary's sanctuary is cool and dark. It's filled with so many memories - from the time I belted out hymns as a kid, to the first time I met him. Whispered conversations, confessions, kisses. I can practically feel him in the air around me. I pass the votive candles on my way to the confessional, but double back and kneel. Mary stands over me, calm and loving. He kissed me here.

"Where is he?" I ask Jesus' mom. She doesn't answer. With a shaky hand, I light one of the candles. It flickers and pops.

"Make sure he's okay?" I whisper to the ceiling.

To his pretend boss.

Fine. To God.

It was one thing when I thought I could come home to him, but now that he's gone, I have nothing. Not a piece of him. Not a picture. Just a memory that will fade with time. As I kneel in front of those candles I go over each moment, trying to cement them in place. I remember drinking secret wine on the altar, I remember how he grabbed my hand and led me to his office, I remember pulling out his collar by the pulpit.

St. Mary's is everything. Shit, I may never leave.

The door of the confessional creaks as I open it. Inside it's dark and musty.

I see the shadow of the priest on the other side of the partition.

I sniff. He silently waits. I make the sign of the cross with a shaky hand.

"Bless me Father for I have sinned. It's been a very long time since my last confession."

The priest nods. "Go on, my child."

"Man, I don't know where to fucking start."

The priest flinches.

"You mind if I say… yeah, you'd probably mind. Sorry?"

He doesn't tell me to drink. He doesn't say a thing. He's probably already tallying my penance.

"I met a guy, Father. He was hot, and funny, and geeky, and he saw something good in me. At the time I was a wreck. I couldn't stand my family. I was drinking. I was ruining my career. I didn't give anyone a fuck- a chance.

"This guy, this amazing guy who was good to the core, he was... already with someone. Like really committed. Like so fu-

"I'm sorry," I tell him. "But I'm just going to have to say 'fuck' if you want me to be honest here."

If the priest has any objections to my language, he keeps them to himself.

"Right. So, this guy, this fucking amazing guy… I fell in love with him and I went for it. We… were intimate, I guess. No guessing about it, really. We were definitely intimate. As many times as we could. Wherever we could."

I leave out the things we probably did in this priest's bedroom at the rectory.

"I think he would have left… this other person. So I lied. I didn't tell him how I felt. He gave me back my family and even gave me back myself. Fuck, it even made me famous. But it broke his heart. I know it broke mine. I'm just so, so sorry. He's gone forever. I know I should be grateful for everything I have. It's all I ever wanted. But the thing is, now I want more. Now I want him."

When I'm done with my confession, I break down into tears.

I lean against the cool wood paneling. I rub my hands over my thighs. The last time I was this upset during a confession, Edward knelt at my feet. He told me I was a good person.

I try to believe it but come up a little short. I decide I can do better. If Edward can Skype with my family from Europe, I can make more time for them too. Stupid, honorable, self-sacrificing priest. He's always making me a better person. Even when he's gone.

This priest doesn't lean his forehead against the grate, confessing that he's done things wrong too. Instead, he clears his throat. "Is that all?"

"Isn't that enough?" My laughter is nervous. He doesn't join in. Right. I almost forgot how an actual confession is supposed to go.

"This is all I can remember," I tell him dutifully. "I am…" but I don't finish the prayer. I'm not sorry. I can't be. It's one of the most essential things Edward taught me. I feel terrible, but I have faith we knew what we were doing.

I look at the shadow of the priest on the other side of the partition. "I don't remember the rest of the prayer," I lie. I glance at the ceiling.

You gotta understand, right?

"That will be twelve Our Fathers and twelve Hail Mary's."

When I don't start praying the Act of Contrition on my own, the priest begins coaching me through it. I end with a shaky, "Amen."

I sit for a moment and wait for this to feel special like it used to when Edward was here. I try to feel a unique connection with God, something different than how it feels when I murmur little words of prayer throughout the day. Instead, I feel very much alone.

I take one last look at the sanctuary before I leave. St. Mary's will always be special to me because of the moments I've shared here. I may come back to remember, I may come back for my family, but those silent talks with God can happen anywhere. When the doors close behind me, I know I'm leaving the Catholic Church for good.

My dad and I are quiet as we walk back home. He doesn't mention my tear-stained face. I don't say a word about… Edward. I've had months of practice, but this evening it's harder than ever before.

Edward had to leave St. Mary's because of me. Now I don't get him and the entire parish doesn't get the benefit of having him either. I try not to worry about the next Alice, or Rose, or Angela that seeks guidance from the church. I cling blindly to faith. Edward said you can't do it wrong.

When we get back home, Dad doesn't even pretend. He heads right to the garage. He holds out his pack of smokes.

"It's nice not having to hide it," he says to me. He raises his eyebrows as he holds out the lighter.

I shrug my shoulders. Take a drag. Hold out the cig. "Since high school," I tell him.

"That's not what I'm talking about, Isabella."

Dad waits patiently.

"I loved him."

Even that's a lie. I summon strength I'm not sure I have.

"I still do," I whisper. "I don't think I'll ever get over him."

"He was standing right in that spot when he told your mom what's what."

"What?" I ask.

"Exactly. Scolded her. Been married to the woman over thirty years and still don't have the balls to talk to her the way he did. Standing up for you. Reminding me it was my job to do the same."

"I didn't know." I stare at the cement floor like I might see an imprint of his feet or where his holy fire left scorch marks.

"That's when I knew," my dad says.

"Knew what?"

"That's the day I knew he loved you. Took him another few days to say the words out loud. And took you leaving for him to say it sober."

"He told you?"

"He confessed while I was in the confessional."

I smile. "He did that a lot."

"He's a strange priest. Always seemed to know what we needed, though."

"When we needed it."

Dad and I finish our smokes and I dutifully collect the butts. Then he sprays the place down with lemon air sanitizer and we head inside for dinner.

xXxXx

I spend the rest of the week with my family. I spend hours at the hospital with Angela and Izzie. I give Rose and Emmett a night off and babysit their brood. I spoil my godchildren practically to death. Alice, Jane and I stay up into the early morning hours talking about my tour, reading some of the short stories Jane's written, and talking about Alice's dreams for the future. I eat dinner at Mom and Dad's almost every night. Mom even joins us for after-dinner smokes in the garage.

Each day Edward's a little further from Brooklyn. Each day I'm a little more certain where I need to be.

"Not a fucking chance in Hell," Alec says when I call him the morning before I fly back.

"It's my home," I tell him. "It made me who I am."

"It's the kind of thing you do after you've made it big. After another five albums. After we get you in a few car commercials. After you play Coachella."

"Coachella's in like twelve weeks," I point out. "This would be after Coachella."

"Summer is for festivals," he insists. "For outdoor venues. For thousands of people showing up just for you."

"Billy Joel played a bunch of piano bars after he released his first album."

"Billy fuckin' who?" Alec argues. "That was like a million years ago. Irrelevant."

"I'm doing this, Alec. With or without you. You've been with me since the beginning. You know me. Don't make me look for someone else."

In the end, he doesn't.

I can't keep traveling the country feeling sorry for myself. It's time I take matters into my own hands. I never felt like I had a home because I never tried to make one.

It's about fucking time I did.