the fire under the ice | j.hale

1 | forks

I sighed as I stepped off the bus, firmly gripping my large travel bag and handbag. Scanning the area for a bus stop, I recalled that all I knew about my new house was its address and the rooms I'd seen in online photos. Thanks to my carefully planned itinerary, I knew which bus line to take and where to disembark. A light drizzle fell, much to my delight. Unlike most people, I adore rain, cold, and wind, but can't stand the heat. Temperatures above twenty degrees Celsius are unbearable to me—a peculiarity I attribute to my Breton heritage.

Half-Breton, half New Yorker. Half-French, half American. This is who I am, and I've always taken pride in it. Though I've only visited Brittany a handful of times, my memories are cherished. I adored everything there: the ever-changing weather, the people's rustic charm, and especially my paternal grandparents. Curiously, I've been to New York just as often as Brittany. San Francisco was my home, first with my family, then with my adoptive one.

After our parents' death, my sister, brother, and I entered the foster care system, eventually being placed with different families. While my siblings found loving homes, I wasn't so fortunate. My adoptive parents, Franck and Julia, never mistreated me, but they also never showed genuine interest.

Franck and Julia were the couple everyone admired—family, friends, neighbors, and colleagues alike. He was a brilliant lawyer; she, a classical dance teacher. They were as beautiful as they were wealthy. The only thing missing from their picture-perfect lives was a child, something they couldn't have naturally. They pinned their hopes on me, an eight-year-old girl who had endured a violent trauma. I could never adequately convey their disappointment when they realized they'd made the wrong choice.

Lost in thought, I boarded the bus heading to my new home. Having turned eighteen five months ago, I received my share of my parents' inheritance. Today, I was using that money to bid farewell to my hometown, Franck and Julia, and embark on a new chapter of my life. I had chosen Forks, a small town with a climate that suited me perfectly. I've never been fond of big cities. San Francisco appealed to me mainly for its 1940s charm, historic buildings, and unique atmosphere, but memories and a desire for change prompted me to leave. As I watched the landscape slowly roll by, I felt eager to finally reach my destination. The furniture was scheduled to arrive that afternoon, giving me the entire weekend to settle in.

When the bus reached my stop, I disembarked and consulted my printed map. My route involved crossing two streets and following a path for about four hundred meters. Though it was a bit of a trek, I didn't mind. I appreciated the isolation of my new home and the lack of neighbors. While I'd love to obtain my driver's license, driving remains one of my irrational fears. The mere thought of being behind the wheel on the road sends me into a panic. As a result, buses have become my faithful companions.

I stopped abruptly when I realized I had arrived. A man was sitting on the porch—Mr. Paulson, my landlord. I looked at the house with a smile. It wasn't big; rather, it was small, with peeling light yellow paint. Though old and weathered, I already loved it. I approached my landlord and introduced myself.

"Mr. Paulson, hello. I'm Tess Lasier."

He stood up and greeted me in turn.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Lasier. Did you have any trouble finding the place?"

"No, not at all," I said, showing him my map.

He smiled and took some keys out of his pocket.

"Well, let's not keep you in suspense any longer."

He opened the thick brown door and ushered me inside. I anticipated a musty odor but was pleasantly surprised by the scent of fresh paint. Inwardly, I sighed with relief, grateful that I wouldn't need to repaint. Everything about this house charmed me. The living room boasted a recent coat of pastel yellow, which continued into the small kitchen. The dining room, upstairs bathroom, and two bedrooms were equally appealing. One bedroom overlooked a quaint garden, while the other faced the street and forest. I was astonished that I hadn't noticed the forest earlier, despite walking alongside it for several minutes. Without a doubt, I knew which room I'd choose.