Midday Clouds - The Charlie Swan Story

Chapter 2 (Twilight 2/11)

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.