Jess drove faster than the Chief, so we made it to Port Angeles by four.
It had been a while since I'd had a girls' night out, and the estrogen
rush was invigorating. We listened to whiny rock songs while Jessica
jabbered on about the boys we hung out with. Jessica's dinner with Mike
had gone very well, and she was hoping that by Saturday night they
would have progressed to the first-kiss stage. I smiled to myself,
pleased. Angela was passively happy to be going to the dance, but not
really interested in Eric. Jess tried to get her to confess who her type
was, but I interrupted with a question about dresses after a bit, to spare
her. Angela threw a grateful glance my way.
Port Angeles was a beautiful little tourist trap, much more polished and
quaint than Forks. But Jessica and Angela knew it well, so they didn't
plan to waste time on the picturesque boardwalk by the bay. Jess drove
straight to the one big department store in town, which was a few
streets in from the bay area's visitor-friendly face.
The dance was billed as semiformal, and we weren't exactly sure what
that meant. Both Jessica and Angela seemed surprised and almost
disbelieving when I told them I'd never been to a dance in Phoenix.
"Didn't you ever go with a boyfriend or something?" Jess asked
dubiously as we walked through the front doors of the store.
"Really," I tried to convince her, not wanting to confess my dancing
problems. "I've never had a boyfriend or anything close. I didn't go out
much."
"Why not?" Jessica demanded.
"No one asked me," I answered honestly.
She looked skeptical. "People ask you out here," she reminded me, "and
you tell them no." We were in the juniors' section now, scanning the
racks for dress-up clothes.
"Well, except for Tyler," Angela amended quietly.
"Excuse me?" I gasped. "What did you say?"
"Tyler told everyone he's taking you to prom," Jessica informed me with
suspicious eyes.
"He said what?" I sounded like I was choking.
"I told you it wasn't true," Angela murmured to Jessica.
I was silent, still lost in shock that was quickly turning to irritation. But
we had found the dress racks, and now we had work to do.
"That's why Lauren doesn't like you," Jessica giggled while we pawed
through the clothes.
I ground my teeth. "Do you think that if I ran him over with my truck he
would stop feeling guilty about the accident? That he might give up on
making amends and call it even?"
"Maybe," Jess snickered. '"If that's why he's doing this."
The dress selection wasn't large, but both of them found a few things to
try on. I sat on a low chair just inside the dressing room, by the threeway
mirror, trying to control my fuming.
Jess was torn between two — one a long, strapless, basic black number,
the other a knee-length electric blue with spaghetti straps. I encouraged
her to go with the blue; why not play up the eyes? Angela chose a pale
pink dress that draped around her tall frame nicely and brought out
honey tints in her light brown hair. I complimented them both
generously and helped by returning the rejects to their racks. The whole
process was much shorter and easier than similar trips I'd taken with
Renée at home. I guess there was something to be said for limited
choices.
We headed over to shoes and accessories. While they tried things on I
merely watched and critiqued, not in the mood to shop for myself,
though I did need new shoes. The girls'-night high was wearing off in
the wake of my annoyance at Tyler, leaving room for the gloom to move
back in.
"Angela?" I began, hesitant, while she was trying on a pair of pink
strappy heels — she was overjoyed to have a date tall enough that she
could wear high heels at all.
Jessica had drifted to the jewelry counter and we were alone.
"Yes?" She held her leg out, twisting her ankle to get a better view of
the shoe.
I chickened out. "I like those."
"I think I'll get them — though they'll never match anything but the one
dress," she mused.
"Oh, go ahead — they're on sale," I encouraged. She smiled, putting the
lid back on a box that contained more practical-looking off-white shoes.
I tried again. "Um, Angela…" She looked up curiously.
"Is it normal for the… Cullens" — I kept my eyes on the shoes — "to be
out of school a lot?" I failed miserably in my attempt to sound
nonchalant.
"Yes, when the weather is good they go backpacking all the time — even
the doctor. They're all real outdoorsy," she told me quietly, examining
her shoes, too. She didn't ask one question, let alone the hundreds that
Jessica would have unleashed. I was beginning to really like Angela.
"Oh." I let the subject drop as Jessica returned to show us the
rhinestone jewelry she'd found to match her silver shoes.
We planned to go to dinner at a little Italian restaurant on the
boardwalk, but the dress shopping hadn't taken as long as we'd
expected. Jess and Angela were going to take their clothes back to the
car and then walk down to the bay. I told them I would meet them at
the restaurant in an hour — I wanted to look for a bookstore. They were
both willing to come with me, but I encouraged them to go have fun —
they didn't know how preoccupied I could get when surrounded by
books; it was something I preferred to do alone. They walked off to the
car chattering happily, and I headed in the direction Jess pointed out.
I had no trouble finding the bookstore, but it wasn't what I was looking
for. The windows were full of crystals, dream-catchers, and books about
spiritual healing. I didn't even go inside. Through the glass I could see a
fifty-year-old woman with long, gray hair worn straight down her back,
clad in a dress right out of the sixties, smiling welcomingly from behind
the counter. I decided that was one conversation I could skip. There had
to be a normal bookstore in town.
I meandered through the streets, which were filling up with end-of-theworkday
traffic, and hoped I was headed toward downtown. I wasn't
paying as much attention as I should to where I was going; I was
wrestling with despair. I was trying so hard not to think about him, and
what Angela had said… and more than anything trying to beat down my
hopes for Saturday, fearing a disappointment more painful than the
rest, when I looked up to see someone's silver Volvo parked along the
street and it all came crashing down on me. Stupid, unreliable vampire,
I thought to myself.
I stomped along in a southerly direction, toward some glass-fronted
shops that looked promising. But when I got to them, they were just a
repair shop and a vacant space. I still had too much time to go looking
for Jess and Angela yet, and I definitely needed to get my mood in hand
before I met back up with them. I ran my fingers through my hair a
couple of times and took some deep breaths before I continued around
the corner.
I started to realize, as I crossed another road, that I was going the
wrong direction. The little foot traffic I had seen was going north, and it
looked like the buildings here were mostly warehouses. I decided to turn
east at the next corner, and then loop around after a few blocks and try
my luck on a different street on my way back to the boardwalk.
A group of four men turned around the corner I was heading for,
dressed too casually to be heading home from the office, but they were
too grimy to be tourists. As they approached me, I realized they weren't
too many years older than I was. They were joking loudly among
themselves, laughing raucously and punching each other's arms. I
scooted as far to the inside of the sidewalk as I could to give them
room, walking swiftly, looking past them to the corner.
"Hey, there!" one of them called as they passed, and he had to be
talking to me since no one else was around. I glanced up automatically.
Two of them had paused, the other two were slowing. The closest, a
heavyset, dark-haired man in his early twenties, seemed to be the one
who had spoken. He was wearing a flannel shirt open over a dirty tshirt,
cut-off jeans, and sandals. He took half a step toward me.
"Hello," I mumbled, a knee-jerk reaction. Then I quickly looked away
and walked faster toward the corner. I could hear them laughing at full
volume behind me.
"Hey, wait!" one of them called after me again, but I kept my head
down and rounded the corner with a sigh of relief. I could still hear them
chortling behind me.
I found myself on a sidewalk leading past the backs of several sombercolored
warehouses, each with large bay doors for unloading trucks,
padlocked for the night. The south side of the street had no sidewalk,
only a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire protecting some kind of
engine parts storage yard. I'd wandered far past the part of Port
Angeles that I, as a guest, was intended to see. It was getting dark, I
realized, the clouds finally returning, piling up on the western horizon,
creating an early sunset. The eastern sky was still clear, but graying,
shot through with streaks of pink and orange. I'd left my jacket in the
car, and a sudden shiver made me cross my arms tightly across my
chest. A single van passed me, and then the road was empty.
The sky suddenly darkened further, and, as I looked over my shoulder
to glare at the offending cloud, I realized with a shock that two men
were walking quietly twenty feet behind me.
They were from the same group I'd passed at the corner, though neither
was the dark one who'd spoken to me. I turned my head forward at
once, quickening my pace. A chill that had nothing to do with the
weather made me shiver again. My purse was on a shoulder strap and I
had it slung across my body, the way you were supposed to wear it so it
wouldn't get snatched. I knew exactly where my pepper spray was —
still in my duffle bag under the bed, never unpacked. I didn't have much
money with me, just a twenty and some ones, and I thought about
"accidentally" dropping my bag and walking away. But a small,
frightened voice in the back of my mind warned me that they might be
something worse than thieves.
I listened intently to their quiet footsteps, which were much too quiet
when compared to the boisterous noise they'd been making earlier, and
it didn't sound like they were speeding up, or getting any closer to me.
Breathe, I had to remind myself. You don't know they're following you. I
continued to walk as quickly as I could without actually running,
focusing on the right-hand turn that was only a few yards away from me
now. I could hear them, staying as far back as they'd been before. A
blue car turned onto the street from the south and drove quickly past
me. I thought of jumping out in front of it, but I hesitated, inhibited,
unsure that I was really being pursued, and then it was too late.
I reached the corner, but a swift glance revealed that it was only a blind
drive to the back of another building. I was half-turned in anticipation; I
had to hurriedly correct and dash across the narrow drive, back to the
sidewalk. The street ended at the next corner, where there was a stop
sign. I concentrated on the faint footsteps behind me, deciding whether
or not to run. They sounded farther back, though, and I knew they could
outrun me in any case. I was sure to trip and go sprawling if I tried to
go any faster. The footfalls were definitely farther back. I risked a quick
glance over my shoulder, and they were maybe forty feet back now, I
saw with relief. But they were both staring at me.
It seemed to take forever for me to get to the corner. I kept my pace
steady, the men behind me falling ever so slightly farther behind with
every step. Maybe they realized they had scared me and were sorry. I
saw two cars going north pass the intersection I was heading for, and I
exhaled in relief. There would be more people around once I got off this
deserted street. I skipped around the corner with a grateful sigh.
And skidded to a stop.
The street was lined on both sides by blank, doorless, windowless walls.
I could see in the distance, two intersections down, streetlamps, cars,
and more pedestrians, but they were all too far away. Because lounging
against the western building, midway down the street, were the other
two men from the group, both watching with excited smiles as I froze
dead on the sidewalk. I realized then that I wasn't being followed.
I was being herded.
I paused for only a second, but it felt like a very long time. I turned then
and darted to the other side of the road. I had a sinking feeling that it
was a wasted attempt. The footsteps behind me were louder now.
"There you are!" The booming voice of the stocky, dark-haired man
shattered the intense quiet and made me jump. In the gathering
darkness, it seemed like he was looking past me.
"Yeah," a voice called loudly from behind me, making me jump again as
I tried to hurry down the street. "We just took a little detour."
My steps had to slow now. I was closing the distance between myself
and the lounging pair too quickly. I had a good loud scream, and I
sucked in air, preparing to use it, but my throat was so dry I wasn't sure
how much volume I could manage. With a quick movement I slipped my
purse over my head, gripping the strap with one hand, ready to
surrender it or use it as weapon as need demanded.
The thickset man shrugged away from the wall as I warily came to a
stop, and walked slowly into the street.
"Stay away from me," I warned in a voice that was supposed to sound
strong and fearless. But I was right about the dry throat — no volume.
"Don't be like that, sugar," he called, and the raucous laughter started
again behind me.
I braced myself, feet apart, trying to remember through my panic what
little self-defense I knew. Heel of the hand thrust upward, hopefully
breaking the nose or shoving it into the brain. Finger through the eye
socket — try to hook around and pop the eye out. And the standard
knee to the groin, of course. That same pessimistic voice in my mind
spoke up then, reminding me that I probably wouldn't have a chance
against one of them, and there were four. Shut up! I commanded the
voice before terror could incapacitate me. I wasn't going out without
taking someone with me. I tried to swallow so I could build up a decent
scream.
Headlights suddenly flew around the corner, the car almost hitting the
stocky one, forcing him to jump back toward the sidewalk. I dove into
the road — this car was going to stop, or have to hit me. But the silver
car unexpectedly fishtailed around, skidding to a stop with the
passenger door open just a few feet from me.
"Get in," a furious voice commanded.
It was amazing how instantaneously the choking fear vanished, amazing
how suddenly the feeling of security washed over me — even before I
was off the street — as soon as I heard his voice. I jumped into the
seat, slamming the door shut behind me.
It was dark in the car, no light had come on with the opening of the
door, and I could barely see his face in the glow from the dashboard.
The tires squealed as he spun around to face north, accelerating too
quickly, swerving toward the stunned men on the street. I caught a
glimpse of them diving for the sidewalk as we straightened out and sped
toward the harbor.
"Put on your seat belt," he commanded, and I realized I was clutching
the seat with both hands. I quickly obeyed; the snap as the belt
connected was loud in the darkness. He took a sharp left, racing
forward, blowing through several stop signs without a pause.
But I felt utterly safe and, for the moment, totally unconcerned about
where we were going. I stared at his face in profound relief, relief that
went beyond my sudden deliverance. I studied his flawless features in
the limited light, waiting for my breath to return to normal, until it
occurred to me that his expression was murderously angry.
"Are you okay?" I asked, surprised at how hoarse my voice sounded.
"No," he said curtly, and his tone was livid.
I sat in silence, watching his face while his blazing eyes stared straight
ahead, until the car came to a sudden stop. I glanced around, but it was
too dark to see anything beside the vague outline of dark trees crowding
the roadside. We weren't in town anymore.
"Bella?" he asked, his voice tight, controlled.
"Yes?" My voice was still rough. I tried to clear my throat quietly.
"Are you all right?" He still didn't look at me, but the fury was plain on
his face.
"Yes," I croaked softly.
"Distract me, please," he ordered.
"I'm sorry, what?"
He exhaled sharply.
"Just prattle about something unimportant until I calm down," he
clarified, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with his
thumb and forefinger.
"Um." I wracked my brain for something trivial. "I'm going to run over
Tyler Crowley tomorrow before school?"
He was still squeezing his eyes closed, but the corner of his mouth
twitched.
"Why?"
"He's telling everyone that he's taking me to prom — either he's insane
or he's still trying to make up for almost killing me last… well, you
remember it, and he thinks prom is somehow the correct way to do this.
So I figure if I endanger his life, then we're even, and he can't keep
trying to make amends. I don't need enemies and maybe Lauren would
back off if he left me alone. I might have to total his Sentra, though. If
he doesn't have a ride he can't take anyone to prom…" I babbled on.
"I heard about that." He sounded a bit more composed.
"You did?" I asked in disbelief, my previous irritation flaring. "If he's
paralyzed from the neck down, he can't go to the prom, either," I
muttered, refining my plan.
Edward sighed, and finally opened his eyes.
"Better?"
"Not really."
I waited, but he didn't speak again. He leaned his head back against the
seat, staring at the ceiling of the car. His face was rigid.
"What's wrong?" My voice came out in a whisper.
"Sometimes I have a problem with my temper, Bella." He was
whispering, too, and as he stared out the window, his eyes narrowed
into slits. "But it wouldn't be helpful for me to turn around and hunt
down those…" He didn't finish his sentence, looking away, struggling for
a moment to control his anger again. "At least," he continued, "that's
what I'm trying to convince myself."
"Oh." The word seemed inadequate, but I couldn't think of a better
response.
We sat in silence again. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was
past six-thirty.
"Jessica and Angela will be worried," I murmured. "I was supposed to
meet them."
He started the engine without another word, turning around smoothly
and speeding back toward town. We were under the streetlights in no
time at all, still going too fast, weaving with ease through the cars
slowly cruising the boardwalk. He parallel-parked against the curb in a
space I would have thought much too small for the Volvo, but he slid in
effortlessly in one try. I looked out the window to see the lights of La
Bella Italia, and Jess and Angela just leaving, pacing anxiously away
from us.
"How did you know where… ?" I began, but then I just shook my head. I
heard the door open and turned to see him getting out.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I'm taking you to dinner." He smiled slightly, but his eyes were hard.
He stepped out of the car and slammed the door. I fumbled with my
seat belt, and then hurried to get out of the car as well. He was waiting
for me on the sidewalk.
He spoke before I could. "Go stop Jessica and Angela before I have to
track them down, too. I don't think I could restrain myself if I ran into
your other friends again."
I shivered at the threat in his voice.
"Jess! Angela!" I yelled after them, waving when they turned. They
rushed back to me, the pronounced relief on both their faces
simultaneously changing to surprise as they saw who I was standing
next to. They hesitated a few feet from us.
"Where have you been?" Jessica's voice was suspicious.
"I got lost," I admitted sheepishly. "And then I ran into Edward." I
gestured toward him.
"Would it be all right if I joined you?" he asked in his silken, irresistible
voice. I could see from their staggered expressions that he had never
unleashed his talents on them before.
"Er… sure," Jessica breathed.
"Um, actually, Bella, we already ate while we were waiting — sorry,"
Angela confessed.
"That's fine — I'm not hungry." I shrugged.
"I think you should eat something." Edward's voice was low, but full of
authority. He looked up at Jessica and spoke slightly louder. "Do you
mind if I drive Bella home tonight? That way you won't have to wait
while she eats."
"Uh, no problem, I guess…" She bit her lip, trying to figure out from my
expression whether that was what I wanted. I winked at her. I wanted
nothing more than to be alone with my perpetual savior. There were so
many questions that I couldn't bombard him with till we were by
ourselves.
"Okay." Angela was quicker than Jessica. "See you tomorrow, Bella…
Edward." She grabbed Jessica's hand and pulled her toward the car,
which I could see a little ways away, parked across First Street. As they
got in, Jess turned and waved, her face eager with curiosity. I waved
back, waiting for them to drive away before I turned to face him.
"Honestly, I'm not hungry," I insisted, looking up to scrutinize his face.
His expression was unreadable.
"Humor me."
He walked to the door of the restaurant and held it open with an
obstinate expression. Obviously, there would be no further discussion. I
walked past him into the restaurant with a resigned sigh.
The restaurant wasn't crowded — it was the off-season in Port Angeles.
The host was female, and I understood the look in her eyes as she
assessed Edward. She welcomed him a little more warmly than
necessary. I was surprised by how much that bothered me. She was
several inches taller than I was, and unnaturally blond.
"A table for two?" His voice was alluring, whether he was aiming for that
or not. I saw her eyes flicker to me and then away, satisfied by my
obvious ordinariness, and by the cautious, no-contact space Edward
kept between us. She led us to a table big enough for four in the center
of the most crowded area of the dining floor.
I was about to sit, but Edward shook his head at me.
"Perhaps something more private?" he insisted quietly to the host. I
wasn't sure, but it looked like he smoothly handed her a tip. I'd never
seen anyone refuse a table except in old movies.
"Sure." She sounded as surprised as I was. She turned and led us
around a partition to a small ring of booths — all of them empty. "How's
this?"
"Perfect." He flashed his gleaming smile, dazing her momentarily.
"Um" — she shook her head, blinking — "your server will be right out."
She walked away unsteadily.
"You really shouldn't do that to people," I criticized. "It's hardly fair."
"Do what?"
"Dazzle them like that — she's probably hyperventilating in the kitchen
right now."
He seemed confused.
"Oh, come on," I said dubiously. "You have to know the effect you have
on people."
He tilted his head to one side, and his eyes were curious. "I dazzle
people?"
"You haven't noticed? Do you think everybody gets their way so easily?"
He ignored my questions. "Do I dazzle you?"
"Frequently," I admitted.
And then our server arrived, her face expectant. The hostess had
definitely dished behind the scenes, and this new girl didn't look
disappointed. She flipped a strand of short black hair behind one ear
and smiled with unnecessary warmth.
"Hello. My name is Amber, and I'll be your server tonight. What can I
get you to drink?" I didn't miss that she was speaking only to him.
He looked at me.
"I'll have a Coke." It sounded like a question.
"Two Cokes," he said.
"I'll be right back with that," she assured him with another unnecessary
smile. But he didn't see it. He was watching me.
"What?" I asked when she left.
His eyes stayed fixed on my face. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," I replied, surprised by his intensity.
"You don't feel dizzy, sick, cold… ?"
"Should I?"
He chuckled at my puzzled tone.
"Well, I'm actually waiting for you to go into shock." His face twisted up
into that perfect crooked smile.
"I don't think that will happen," I said after I could breathe again. "I've
always been very good at repressing unpleasant things."
"Just the same, I'll feel better when you have some sugar and food in
you."
Right on cue, the waitress appeared with our drinks and a basket of
breadsticks. She stood with her back to me as she placed them on the
table.
"Are you ready to order?" she asked Edward.
"Bella?" he asked. She turned unwillingly toward me.
I picked the first thing I saw on the menu. "Um… I'll have the mushroom
ravioli."
"And you?" She turned back to him with a smile.
"Nothing for me," he said. Of course not.
"Let me know if you change your mind." The coy smile was still in place,
but he wasn't looking at her, and she left dissatisfied.
"Drink," he ordered.
I sipped at my soda obediently, and then drank more deeply, surprised
by how thirsty I was. I realized I had finished the whole thing when he
pushed his glass toward me.
"Thanks," I muttered, still thirsty. The cold from the icy soda was
radiating through my chest, and I shivered.
"Are you cold?"
"It's just the Coke," I explained, shivering again.
"Don't you have a jacket?" His voice was disapproving.
"Yes." I looked at the empty bench next to me. "Oh — I left it in
Jessica's car," I realized.
Edward was shrugging out of his jacket. I suddenly realized that I had
never once noticed what he was wearing — not just tonight, but ever. I
just couldn't seem to look away from his face. I made myself look now,
focusing. He was removing a light beige leather jacket now; underneath
he wore an ivory turtleneck sweater. It fit him snugly, emphasizing how
muscular his chest was.
He handed me the jacket, interrupting my ogling.
"Thanks," I said again, sliding my arms into his jacket. It was cold — the
way my jacket felt when I first picked it up in the morning, hanging in
the drafty hallway. I shivered again. It smelled amazing. I inhaled,
trying to identify the delicious scent. It didn't smell like cologne. The
sleeves were much too long; I shoved them back so I could free my
hands.
"That color blue looks lovely with your skin," he said, watching me. I
was surprised; I looked down, flushing, of course.
He pushed the bread basket toward me.
"Really, I'm not going into shock," I protested.
"You should be — a normal person would be. You don't even look
shaken." He seemed unsettled. He stared into my eyes, and I saw how
light his eyes were, lighter than I'd ever seen them, golden
butterscotch.
"I feel very safe with you," I confessed, mesmerized into telling the
truth again.
That displeased him; his alabaster brow furrowed. He shook his head,
frowning.
"This is more complicated than I'd planned," he murmured to himself.
I picked up a breadstick and began nibbling on the end, measuring his
expression. I wondered when it would be okay to start questioning him.
"Usually you're in a better mood when your eyes are so light," I
commented, trying to distract him from whatever thought had left him
frowning and somber.
He stared at me, stunned. "What?"
"You're always crabbier when your eyes are black — I expect it then," I
went on. "I have a theory about that."
His eyes narrowed. "More theories?"
"Mm-hm." I chewed on a small bite of the bread, trying to look
indifferent.
"I hope you were more creative this time… or are you still stealing from
comic books?" His faint smile was mocking; his eyes were still tight.
"Well, no, I didn't get it from a comic book, but I didn't come up with it
on my own, either," I confessed.
"And?" he prompted.
But then the waitress strode around the partition with my food. I
realized we'd been unconsciously leaning toward each other across the
table, because we both straightened up as she approached. She set the
dish in front of me — it looked pretty good — and turned quickly to
Edward.
"Did you change your mind?" she asked. "Isn't there anything I can get
you?" I may have been imagining the double meaning in her words.
"No, thank you, but some more soda would be nice." He gestured with a
long white hand to the empty cups in front of me.
"Sure." She removed the empty glasses and walked away.
"You were saying?" he asked.
"I'll tell you about it in the car. If…" I paused.
"There are conditions?" He raised one eyebrow, his voice ominous.
"I do have a few questions, of course."
"Of course."
The waitress was back with two more Cokes. She sat them down
without a word this time, and left again.
I took a sip.
"Well, go ahead," he pushed, his voice still hard.
I started with the most undemanding. Or so I thought. "Why are you in
Port Angeles?"
He looked down, folding his large hands together slowly on the table.
His eyes flickered up at me from under his lashes, the hint of a smirk on
his face.
"Next."
"But that's the easiest one," I objected.
"Next," he repeated.
I looked down, frustrated. I unrolled my silverware, picked up my fork,
and carefully speared a ravioli. I put it in my mouth slowly, still looking
down, chewing while I thought. The mushrooms were good. I swallowed
and took another sip of Coke before I looked up.
"Okay, then." I glared at him, and continued slowly. "Let's say,
hypothetically of course, that… someone… could know what people are
thinking, read minds, you know — with a few exceptions."
"Just one exception," he corrected, "hypothetically."
"All right, with one exception, then." I was thrilled that he was playing
along, but I tried to seem casual.
"How does that work? What are the limitations? How would… that
someone… find someone else at exactly the right time? How would he
know she was in trouble?" I wondered if my convoluted questions even
made sense.
"Hypothetically?" he asked.
"Sure."
"Well, if… that someone…"
"Let's call him 'Joe,'" I suggested.
He smiled wryly. "Joe, then. If Joe had been paying attention, the timing
wouldn't have needed to be quite so exact." He shook his head, rolling
his eyes. "Only you could get into trouble in a town this small. You
would have devastated their crime rate statistics for a decade, you
know."
"We were speaking of a hypothetical case," I reminded him frostily.
He laughed at me, his eyes warm.
"Yes, we were," he agreed. "Shall we call you 'Jane'?"
"How did you know?" I asked, unable to curb my intensity. I realized I
was leaning toward him again.
He seemed to be wavering, torn by some internal dilemma. His eyes
locked with mine, and I guessed he was making the decision right then
whether or not to simply tell me the truth.
"You can trust me, you know," I murmured. I reached forward, without
thinking, to touch his folded hands, but he slid them away minutely, and
I pulled my hand back.
"I don't know if I have a choice anymore." His voice was almost a
whisper. "I was wrong — you're much more observant than I gave you
credit for."
"I thought you were always right."
"I used to be." He shook his head again. "I was wrong about you on one
other thing, as well. You're not a magnet for accidents — that's not a
broad enough classification. You are a magnet for trouble. If there is
anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, it will invariably find you."
"And you put yourself into that category?" I guessed.
His face turned cold, expressionless. "Unequivocally."
I stretched my hand across the table again — ignoring him when he
pulled back slightly once more — to touch the back of his hand shyly
with my fingertips. His skin was cold and hard, like a stone.
"Thank you." My voice was fervent with gratitude. "That's twice now."
His face softened. "Let's not try for three, agreed?"
I scowled, but nodded. He moved his hand out from under mine, placing
both of his under the table. But he leaned toward me.
"I followed you to Port Angeles," he admitted, speaking in a rush. "I've
never tried to keep a specific person alive before, and it's much more
troublesome than I would have believed. But that's probably just
because it's you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day
without so many catastrophes." He paused. I wondered if it should
bother me that he was following me; instead I felt a strange surge of
pleasure. He stared, maybe wondering why my lips were curving into an
involuntary smile.
"Did you ever think that maybe my number was up the first time, with
the van, and that you've been interfering with fate?" I speculated,
distracting myself.
"That wasn't the first time," he said, and his voice was hard to hear. I
stared at him in amazement, but he was looking down. "Your number
was up the first time I met you."
I felt a spasm of fear at his words, and the abrupt memory of his violent
black glare that first day… but the overwhelming sense of safety I felt in
his presence stifled it. By the time he looked up to read my eyes, there
was no trace of fear in them.
"You remember?" he asked, his angel's face grave.
"Yes." I was calm.
"And yet here you sit." There was a trace of disbelief in his voice; he
raised one eyebrow.
"Yes, here I sit… because of you." I paused. "Because somehow you
knew how to find me today… ?" I prompted.
He pressed his lips together, staring at me through narrowed eyes,
deciding again. His eyes flashed down to my full plate, and then back to
me.
"You eat, I'll talk," he bargained.
I quickly scooped up another ravioli and popped it in my mouth.
"It's harder than it should be — keeping track of you. Usually I can find
someone very easily, once I've heard their mind before." He looked at
me anxiously, and I realized I had frozen. I made myself swallow, then
stabbed another ravioli and tossed it in.
"I was keeping tabs on Jessica, not carefully — like I said, only you
could find trouble in Port Angeles — and at first I didn't notice when you
took off on your own. Then, when I realized that you weren't with her
anymore, I went looking for you at the bookstore I saw in her head. I
could tell that you hadn't gone in, and that you'd gone south… and I
knew you would have to turn around soon. So I was just waiting for
you, randomly searching through the thoughts of people on the street —
to see if anyone had noticed you so I would know where you were. I had
no reason to be worried… but I was strangely anxious…" He was lost in
thought, staring past me, seeing things I couldn't imagine.
"I started to drive in circles, still… listening. The sun was finally setting,
and I was about to get out and follow you on foot. And then —" He
stopped, clenching his teeth together in sudden fury. He made an effort
to calm himself.
"Then what?" I whispered. He continued to stare over my head.
"I heard what they were thinking," he growled, his upper lip curling
slightly back over his teeth. "I saw your face in his mind." He suddenly
leaned forward, one elbow appearing on the table, his hand covering his
eyes. The movement was so swift it startled me.
"It was very… hard — you can't imagine how hard — for me to simply
take you away, and leave them… alive." His voice was muffled by his
arm. "I could have let you go with Jessica and Angela, but I was afraid if
you left me alone, I would go looking for them," he admitted in a
whisper.
I sat quietly, dazed, my thoughts incoherent. My hands were folded in
my lap, and I was leaning weakly against the back of the seat. He still
had his face in his hand, and he was as still as if he'd been carved from
the stone his skin resembled.
Finally he looked up, his eyes seeking mine, full of his own questions.
"Are you ready to go home?" he asked.
"I'm ready to leave," I qualified, overly grateful that we had the hourlong
ride home together. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to him.
The waitress appeared as if she'd been called. Or watching.
"How are we doing?" she asked Edward.
"We're ready for the check, thank you." His voice was quiet, rougher,
still reflecting the strain of our conversation. It seemed to muddle her.
He looked up, waiting.
"S-sure," she stuttered. "Here you go." She pulled a small leather folder
from the front pocket of her black apron and handed it to him.
There was a bill in his hand already. He slipped it into the folder and
handed it right back to her.
"No change." He smiled. Then he stood up, and I scrambled awkwardly
to my feet.
She smiled invitingly at him again. "You have a nice evening."
He didn't look away from me as he thanked her. I suppressed a smile.
He walked close beside me to the door, still careful not to touch me. I
remembered what Jessica had said about her relationship with Mike,
how they were almost to the first-kiss stage. I sighed. Edward seemed
to hear me, and he looked down curiously. I looked at the sidewalk,
grateful that he didn't seem to be able to know what I was thinking.
He opened the passenger door, holding it for me as I stepped in,
shutting it softly behind me. I watched him walk around the front of the
car, amazed, yet again, by how graceful he was. I probably should have
been used to that by now — but I wasn't. I had a feeling Edward wasn't
the kind of person anyone got used to.
Once inside the car, he started the engine and turned the heater on
high. It had gotten very cold, and I guessed the good weather was at an
end. I was warm in his jacket, though, breathing in the scent of it when
I thought he couldn't see.
Edward pulled out through the traffic, apparently without a glance,
flipping around to head toward the freeway.
"Now," he said significantly, "it's your turn."
Baby,top.
Dead & gone. || 11:27 PM