"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
hour-long 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."
===========================================================================
9. THEORY
"Can I ask just one more?" I pleaded as Edward accelerated much too
quickly down the quiet street. He didn't seem to be paying any attention
to the road.
He sighed.
"One," he agreed. His lips pressed together into a cautious line.
"Well… you said you knew I hadn't gone into the bookstore, and that I had
gone south. I was just wondering how you knew that."
He looked away, deliberating.
"I thought we were past all the evasiveness," I grumbled.
He almost smiled.
"Fine, then. I followed your scent." He looked at the road, giving me
time to compose my face. I couldn't think of an acceptable response to
that, but I filed it carefully away for future study. I tried to refocus.
I wasn't ready to let him be finished, now that he was finally explaining
things.
"And then you didn't answer one of my first questions…" I stalled.
He looked at me with disapproval. "Which one?"
"How does it work — the mind-reading thing? Can you read anybody's mind,
anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family… ?" I felt silly,
asking for clarification on make-believe.
"That's more than one," he pointed out. I simply intertwined my fingers
and gazed at him, waiting.
"No, it's just me. And I can't hear anyone, anywhere. I have to be fairly
close. The more familiar someone's… 'voice' is, the farther away I can
hear them. But still, no more than a few miles." He paused thoughtfully.
