Chapter Text
ONE.
Marley
I had never considered myself to be particularly prone to depressive episodes, but the rain soaked windows of my father’s truck made an omnipresent melancholy worm its way into my thoughts. I had just flown up from Oregon and the reality of my situation began settling in like an itch between my shoulder blades. It wasn’t so much that the town of Forks was any different from my hometown, or that the shaking of my father’s hands on the steering wheel made his need for liquor more apparent; it was the starting over. Again.
My mother’s death had not been easy. The last two weeks without her had flown by like a whirlwind of What are we going to do with her? and Doesn’t her dad live somewhere in Washington? and Marley, can you please stop hovering, you need to rest. The next thing I knew, my plane tickets were purchased and I was being driven to the Portland airport by a surly Uber driver who spoke what might have been French. My dad had picked me up with little comment other than a grunting sort of hello. He wasn’t much for talking.
I frowned down at my pants. They were my oldest pair of jeans, light blue and paint speckled. I had donated most of my clothing in a desperate attempt to control any aspect of my life, but it had failed to do anything other than render me with nothing but the basics. A whiny rock song blared from the stereo. My mom had only listened to piano, and the ache of missing her whimsical calm washed over me in waves. What was I supposed to do without her, my free-spirited and loving mother?
“So, uh, here we are.” We had pulled up to the rickety two-story house where, legend has it, my parents were once happy and in love. I looked at the chipping yellow paint and the overgrown, weedy lawn.
“It looks great. Did you fix the porch since the last time I was here?” The old railing alongside the steps seemed less unstable than they had been two summers back. My dad scratched his neck.
“Yeah, me and your uncle Dan.” Dan was not actually biologically related to me, but he and my dad had been friends since elementary school. A jovial, booming sort of guy, Dan was one of the only people in Forks that I was excited to see again, if only because I knew he would not make my mother’s death the only thing about me.
“Nice, nice.” We opened our doors at the same time to escape more small talk, and I watched my dad muscle my only suitcase out of the back while I shouldered my leather backpack. “Thank you,” I said to him, out of politeness and a necessity to let him know that I appreciated him for taking in the stray daughter that had washed up on his front steps. He smiled a little.
“You’re welcome, kid.” He had left the front door unlocked (what would anyone try to steal, anyway?) and he awkwardly held it open for me while I shuffled inside. My boots made a sort of pathetic squeaking, wet and muddy from the rain, and I slipped them off on the hallway rug. The house smelled stale. Whiskey and tobacco ran strong through the air and I detected the faintest notes of something chemical, likely my dad’s attempt at cleaning. The buzzing of the hall light made my heart ache for home. “You have the whole top floor to yourself,” my dad murmured gruffly, leading me up the creaky steps.
“I thought your room was on the top floor?” My childhood bedroom was on the bottom, not much bigger than a closet and right across from the kitchen. I had dreaded sleeping in that room on the cot-like bed every summer, especially since it got so muggy from the damp heat.
“I figured you’d like to take the master. I don’t need much space anyway.” My throat suddenly felt tight. He pushed open the door to the left of the stairs. An attempt had obviously been made to clean the space; the queen bed in the center was made, poorly, with a plush green comforter and the walls had been freshly painted in a peaceful stone gray. A wooden desk with a small chair housed an old desktop computer. Mounted to the wall above a solid looking dresser, was a small flatscreen TV. I turned to stare at my father in something akin to shock. “I’ve been hunting up some garage sales since I heard you were coming down, and I asked Dan to help me paint. The mattress is new, but I couldn’t find a frame in time so it’s just on the box spring. You said you liked green and gray over the phone, right?” He was blushing under the stubble on his cheeks. In all my life, I couldn’t remember him ever doing anything so deliberately kind for me before.
“Wow, dad, it looks great! I love it.” Suddenly, living in this house didn’t seem quite so bleak. “Is that the bathroom through there?” At my dad’s nod, I opened the small door and found the quaint but also recently scrubbed bathroom. The walls in there were a sagey green, and the shower curtain was only a shade or two darker. A candle on the countertop promised notes of honeysuckle and vanilla.
“Do you like it?” He was standing to the side with his thumbs in his pockets, having set my suitcase down. Overcome, I turned to give him a hug.
“Thank you, seriously. It’s the best surprise.” We hadn’t hugged since I was probably 12, and the both of us recoiled quickly from the contact. But he was grinning sheepishly and so I knew all was well.
“Okay, well, I picked up the late shift tonight. You’ve got school in the morning. Will you be alright on your own? There’s a couple frozen pizzas downstairs, and some soda.” My dad worked at the local bar. It was perfect for him, all things considered, because it was the one place where he’d never get fired for drinking on the job.
“I’m 17 dad, not 10. You don’t have to worry about me.” In truth, the thought of the house to myself made me feel relieved; if I was going to break down over the move and the thought of school, I wanted to do it alone. My dad nodded. His unkempt brown hair was going a little gray and his green eyes, one of the few things I inherited from him, were hollow.
“Alright then. I’ll see you tomorrow. And, uh,” to my surprise, he put a hand on my shoulder, “it’s good to have you home.” As he retreated (bonus points for shutting the door) I sat at the edge of the bed. This was going to be my life for at least the next year. Starting over yet again, but this time without the comfort of my mother.
The rain hammered on outside and provided decent accompaniment for the sound of my shattered sobbing.
- - - - - - - - -
The mile walk to school would have been fine had it not been for the rain. I dressed myself in the only rain appropriate clothing I had, including a thin black coat with no hood, and my the time I made it to the front office I was drenched. My thick rust colored curls were plastered the sides of my face and hanging limply over my shoulders. I knew that once my hair dried, if ever, I wouldn’t be able to escape it developing into a frizzy, untamable mane. With sopping wet socks beneath dark blue boots, I squished my way inside.
The room was pleasantly warm and smelled faintly of cinnamon apples. Aggressively colored posters seemed to shout at me from the walls (SIGN UP NOW! CROSS COUNTRY MEET AT NOON! DON’T DO DRUGS!). A middle-aged receptionist glanced up at me from behind the frame of her oval glasses.
“Oh dear,” she said, far too cheerily for my dark, soaking mood. “Get lost in the rain?” I tried my best not to scowl.
“Something like that. I’m a new student.” The woman’s eyes brightened a trifle, then immediately faded into pity as recognition hit. This is what I was dreading most. Forks was a small enough town, and I knew that it was no secret that poor Freddy’s daughter was being shipped there following the tragic loss of her mother.
“Marley Griffon?”
“Yes.” Her name tag read Diane Hoff. I zeroed in on that to avoid the sympathy in her gaze.
“Right. Here’s your class schedule. It’s not a big campus, so I’m sure you’ll find your way alright. All teachers will need to sign this slip here, and you can drop it off at the end of the day. You have English first, in room 3. It’s through those doors there, and the second door on your right. You can take any empty locker. We rent locks if you’re concerned about theft.”
“No, I’m not. Thank you, Ms. Hoff.”
“Enjoy your first day, Marley!” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from responding.
Dripping wet, cold, and homesick, I doubted that it was going to be enjoying any aspect of the day.