“Hey, baybeeee???” I use my sultry voice, the voice that always gets him. He can’t say no to me with this voice, has never been able to deny it. I haven’t even used the pouty lips and eyes trick yet. I probably won’t have to; I can torment him easily with just the voice. He is the only person it has ever worked on, I tried it with Charlie once; he laughed at me and asked me if I was catching a cold. It was the last time I tried it on Charlie, or anyone else for that matter.

“Bell-ahhhhh!” He yells to me from the living room, his voice has an exasperated tone to it, like he is angry. It sounds more playful to me than anything, I know he isn’t mad at me. It is a rare day when he actually argues with me, it has always been this way. His family claims that we are disgustingly in love. Maybe we are, but I can’t find anything wrong with that. I got into an argument with one of my friends, Mike, back in our senior year of high school. He found it unhealthy to not fight in a relationship. I think it was his last ditch effort to get into my pants, it didn’t work.

As he walks into the room I remain rooted in my position with my face stuck in the freezer, willing some Ben & Jerry’s to appear. No such luck. The frigid air blasts in my face for a few more moments and I finally close the freezer door with a sigh. The look on his face as I turn to him is priceless. He is trying his damndest to look pissed off at me, he furrows his brows but there is a smirk pulling up the side of his mouth. His amusement wins out and a full blown grin breaks through, he really is adorable when he smiles like that. He lost the battle. I win!

“Well, what do you want this time?” Yep, he knows me too well. He folds his arms over his muscular chest and leans back against the kitchen counter.

“I need something sweet and cold, but we don’t have anything here.”

“Bella, its January! How can you want something cold in THIS weather?” He gestures with one of his massive paw-like hands out the kitchen window and to the bleak, cold winter that is falling outside. The sky is a brackish-grey color and currently spewing a mixture of both snow and sleet, we are expecting a 3-day snow storm.

“Look here, Mister!” I walk over to him and stand just under his chin, I raise my had to his chest and crawl my fingers up his broad chest. “It is YOUR fault that I even like it. I NEVER used to like ice cream at all and then you had to go and make me try your hot fudge sundae with pecans. I don’t really even like nuts!” He snorts at me, okay, maybe I shouldn’t have said that.

“Oh, I know of some nuts that you like, no LOVE!!!” He comes closer and starts to gently prod at my sides, forcing a giggle out of me.

I slap at his hands. “Alright, alright. I set myself up for that one. But the fact still remains that I NEED ice cream, and this house holds NONE at the moment.”

He sighs. “Anything for my woman! I’ll run to town and get you one, but you owe me.” He said that with a wink. Hmmm, I’ll have to think of something fun to repay him later.

“Actually, I think I’ll come with, I need to drop a card to Emmett and Rose in the mail. Today’s their anniversary, but I am just now getting it out to them. Better late than never, right?”

He nods at me. “Okay, but go put on a sweater; the temperature has dropped a good ten degrees in the last couple of hours. There is a major front moving in.”

I run upstairs to our bedroom and into the closet. After rifling through my side, I don’t see anything that looks comfortable, so I move to his side and pluck out a dark brown knitted sweater. He’s had it for a long time, something I bought for him years ago, and it is well worn and comfortable. I quickly pull it down over my head and torso. I also pull my winter boots from the closet. Somehow, I have gotten by this far into the winter without having to wear them, but it looks downright blustery out there.

I trudge a bit heavily down the stairs and walk over to the front door. I retrieve my scarf from the hall tree and wrap it around my neck several times and then stuff myself into my coat. It is a bit snug with the large sweater I have on as well as my own clothes, but at least I will be warm. I don’t bother buttoning it; I pull my knitted cap and fingerless gloves from the pockets and slip them on. I made them myself after watching many online tutorials and I’m downright proud of them.

He grabs his coat and hat and shrugs them on. “Ready to go hon?”

“Am I? Pft. I can practically hear the fudge singing to me from here!”

He snickers and shakes his head at me. “You are something else, you know that? You go from barely caring for the stuff to pleading with me to get some for you at LEAST every other day.”

“WHAT? It is NOT every other day. Not even close…okay, maybe every THREE days.”

He rolls his eyes as he grabs my hand, with his other he opens the door. I take the two steps down to the platform and feel my feet going out from under me. My bottom never touches the concrete, his hands are under me in an instant, catching me. I look up at him and smile, slightly embarrassed, he gives me a worried look.

“You okay?”

I stand back upright with his help. “Yeah, you caught me. I’m fine, thanks hon.” He keeps hold of my hand and escorts me to the passenger side of my car.

He hops in and starts the car, then pushes the seat back as far as it will go. “I wish we could take the truck in this weather, but I had to drop it off at the shop to have the tire repaired.”

“What’s wrong with the tire?” I hadn’t realized it wasn’t in the driveway, a bit too preoccupied with the weather and the refusal of my feet to stay under me.

“One of the tires keeps going flat, it's probably punctured somewhere. Leah is going to patch it if she can, or just replace it if it's too bad.”

I nod as he pulls my little four-door compact out of the driveway and onto the street. I fidget with the heat, cranking it to the highest setting. It really has gotten cold, and I feel it prick at my toes. I should have put another pair of socks on.

We drive a few blocks, but take our time on the icy roads. The mixture of snow and sleet is really making it slick. We pull up to the stoplight that is just two blocks from the ice cream parlor; I can already taste the mixture of salty pecans, cool, sweet vanilla ice cream and smooth warm fudge. I’m brought out of my musings by a sharp, piercing noise. It sounds like a shrill train whistle, but the sound is all wrong. All wrong.

It all happens so fast.

I turn my head to the left, just in time to see the logging truck come slamming into the driver’s side door. Into my husband. I feel like I am stuck in a slow-motion sequence of a movie.

I reach out for him, only to grasp at air.

I sit up in my huge bed, panting and covered in sweat, my arms are still out in front of me reaching for him. I had the dream again. I knew it would come again, but so soon? It has been coming more and more frequently. And of course I know why, but even after it is gone and past, will they go away? Will they crawl back to that little closet in my mind and give me some time to recover, or will they continue to haunt me, and not allow me to get on with the day to day things in life?

I thought I’d been getting better. Apparently not.

I glance at the alarm clock on his side of the bed. It mockingly tells me there is yet another two hours before the sun will begin to rise.

May as well get up. There is no way I will be able to go back to sleep after that. The dream doesn’t usually get that far in. I have a sneaking suspicion it is because of today’s date. Well, of course it is because of today’s date.

I head downstairs and into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. His toothbrush is still there, collecting dust particles and just looking lonely. It should have been thrown away. I’ll throw it away, but not today. Nobody can ask me to throw it away today.

That leads me to think of all the people I will have to see and talk to today.

No, it is too early in the morning to meander down that train of thought. I walk into the kitchen and prepare Mr. Coffee, my best friend, to deliver me some Colombian brew. French Vanilla liquid creamer comes in second place in my heart. Some days, I think I could drink that stuff alone. Almost. Okay, not really, but sometimes I think about it.

While I wait for the coffee to brew, I make my way into the living room. Outside the window, I can see the rain falling. It’s going to be a chilly day. Not nearly as cold as this time last year, but cold all the same. I pull back the grate on the fireplace and arrange some fresh kindling and light it. After stoking it for a few minutes and placing a few logs on top I replace the grate. When I'm sure the kindling won't just burn out and the logs begin to smoke I return to the kitchen for my long awaited coffee.

I pour myself a cup and give my Colombian some French Vanilla love then head back into the living room. I sink into the worn leather chair and click on the lamp that sits beside it; I pull his aunt’s homemade afghan across my legs and pick up my tattered copy of Wuthering Heights from the side table and read.

The fire is warm and I notice the words begin to swim on the pages. I don't want to fall asleep again, not after the dream and how far my unconscious mind took me in this time around. I set the book aside and grab my laptop off the floor. I’ve had a lot of time to myself this past year, and I’ve never done well with idle hands, so I have really gotten good with my knitting needles. After Rose saw a pair of fingerless gloves I made a while back, she made me promise to make her a pair. I have yet to, so I guess now is as good a time as any to pick something out. Besides, I 'm not quite ready to go back to work; not sure the inspiration will ever return.

Work is another thing entirely. I am an artist by trade, and have an eternal love/hate relationship with oil paints and canvas. I have made enough money in the last six years selling my paintings that I have not had to work in the last year. I could probably get by for another year, at least, without picking up a brush. It may take me just that long to be able to actually do it.

Besides my own money, there’s also the life insurance money. But I havn't touched that, and don’t plan on ever touching it.

I cringe at the barrage of images that flood my memory. Enough of that.

I log onto Ravelry and start my search; this site is truly fantastic. You can just go from picture to picture, and I do, looking for just the right Rosalie kind of glove. I don't even feel myself slipping this time.

Glass shattering, metal crunching like a fist crunches paper. The metal skid of the car being pushed along pavement. PAIN!


Pain.



Pain.



Numb.



Total numbness.



Where is he?



I can’t see you, baby! Where are you?



Arms out in front.



I’m trying, but I can’t find you. It’s so dark!



“Goodbye, Bella. I’ll love you for always and take care of him. Be well, my wife.”



“No! Stay with me! Please! Take care of him WHO? WHERE ARE YOU?”



Hands, the hands are all over me, and I can’t fight them away.



So I let the black consume me, with hands still grasping at me.



“BELLA!”



I jump at the shouting of my own voice and realize that I once again fell asleep. And dreamt that dream. My laptop almost falls to the floor as I startle awake, but my rarely quick hands somehow manage to catch it before it clatters to the floor.

I throw off the blanket and clamber out of the chair. I gently place my laptop back on the table just as there is a knock at my front door. I quickly glance at the clock on the fireplace mantle and see that it was now after eleven in the morning. I can't believe I slept that long.

There is another short rap on the door before it opens. I walk into the kitchen to reheat my cup of coffee, I already know who my first visitor on this day will be.