used to the quiet purr. I was sure the roar of my truck would scare me,
whenever I got to drive it again.
I laughed. "I guess that's right. I suppose I slept just a little bit
more than you did."
"I'd wager you did."
"So what did you do last night?" I asked.
He chuckled. "Not a chance. It's my day to ask questions."
"Oh, that's right. What do you want to know?" My forehead creased. I
couldn't imagine anything about me that could be in any way interesting
to him.
"What's your favorite color?" he asked, his face grave.
I rolled my eyes. "It changes from day to day."
"What's your favorite color today?" He was still solemn.
"Probably brown." I tended to dress according to my mood.
He snorted, dropping his serious expression. "Brown?" he asked
skeptically.
"Sure. Brown is warm. I miss brown. Everything that's supposed to be
brown — tree trunks, rocks, dirt — is all covered up with squashy green
stuff here," I complained.
He seemed fascinated by my little rant. He considered for a moment,
staring into my eyes.
"You're right," he decided, serious again. "Brown is warm." He reached
over, swiftly, but somehow still hesitantly, to sweep my hair back behind
my shoulder.
We were at the school by now. He turned back to me as he pulled into a
parking space.
"What music is in your CD player right now?" he asked, his face as somber
as if he'd asked for a murder confession.
I realized I'd never removed the CD Phil had given me. When I said the
name of the band, he smiled crookedly, a peculiar expression in his eyes.
He flipped open a compartment under his car's CD player, pulled out one
of thirty or so CDs that were jammed into the small space, and handed it
to me,
"Debussy to this?" He raised an eyebrow.
It was the same CD. I examined the familiar cover art, keeping my eyes
down.
It continued like that for the rest of the day. While he walked me to
English, when he met me after Spanish, all through the lunch hour, he
questioned me relentlessly about every insignificant detail of my
existence. Movies I'd liked and hated, the few places I'd been and the
many places I wanted to go, and books — endlessly books.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd talked so much. More often than
not, I felt self-conscious, certain I must be boring him. But the
absolute absorption of his face, and his never-ending stream of
questions, compelled me to continue. Mostly his questions were easy, only
a very few triggering my easy blushes. But when I did flush, it brought
on a whole new round of questions.
Such as the time he asked my favorite gemstone, and I blurted out topaz
before thinking. He'd been flinging questions at me with such speed that
I felt like I was taking one of those psychiatric tests where you answer
with the first word that comes to mind. I was sure he would have
continued down whatever mental list he was following, except for the
blush. My face reddened because, until very recently, my favorite
gemstone was garnet. It was impossible, while staring back into his topaz
eyes, not to remember the reason for the switch. And, naturally, he
wouldn't rest until I'd admitted why I was embarrassed.
"Tell me," he finally commanded after persuasion failed — failed only
because I kept my eyes safely away from his face.
"It's the color of your eyes today," I sighed, surrendering, staring down
at my hands as I fiddled with a piece of my hair. "I suppose if you asked
me in two weeks I'd say onyx." I'd given more information than necessary
in my unwilling honesty, and I worried it would provoke the strange anger
that flared whenever I slipped and revealed too clearly how obsessed I
was.
But his pause was very short.
"What kinds of flowers do you prefer?" he fired off.
I sighed in relief, and continued with the psychoanalysis.
Biology was a complication again. Edward had continued with his quizzing
up until Mr. Banner entered the room, dragging the audiovisual frame
again. As the teacher approached the light switch, I noticed Edward slide
his chair slightly farther away from mine. It didn't help. As soon as the
room was dark, there was the same electric spark, the same restless
craving to stretch my hand across the short space and touch his cold
skin, as yesterday.
I leaned forward on the table, resting my chin on my folded arms, my
hidden fingers gripping the table's edge as I fought to ignore the
irrational longing that unsettled me. I didn't look at him, afraid that
if he was looking at me, it would only make self-control that much
harder. I sincerely tried to watch the movie, but at the end of the hour
I had no idea what I'd just seen. I sighed in relief again when Mr.
Banner turned the lights on, finally glancing at Edward; he was looking
at me, his eyes ambivalent.
He rose in silence and then stood still, waiting for me. We walked toward
the gym in silence, like yesterday. And, also like yesterday, he touched
my face wordlessly — this time with the back of his cool hand, stroking
once from my temple to my jaw — before he turned and walked away.
Gym passed quickly as I watched Mike's one-man badminton show. He didn't
speak to me today, either in response to my vacant expression or because
he was still angry about our squabble yesterday. Somewhere, in a corner
of my mind, I felt bad about that. But I couldn't concentrate on him.
I hurried to change afterward, ill at ease, knowing the faster I moved,
the sooner I would be with Edward. The pressure made me more clumsy than
usual, but eventually I made it out the door, feeling the same release
when I saw him standing there, a wide smile automatically spreading
across my face. He smiled in reaction before launching into more
cross-examination.
His questions were different now, though, not as easily answered. He
wanted to know what I missed about home, insisting on descriptions of
anything he wasn't familiar with. We sat in front of Charlie's house for
hours, as the sky darkened and rain plummeted around us in a sudden
deluge.
I tried to describe impossible things like the scent of creosote —
bitter, slightly resinous, but still pleasant — the high, keening sound
of the cicadas in July, the feathery barrenness of the trees, the very
size of the sky, extending white-blue from horizon to horizon, barely
interrupted by the low mountains covered with purple volcanic rock. The
hardest thing to explain was why it was so beautiful to me — to justify a
beauty that didn't depend on the sparse, spiny vegetation that often
looked half dead, a beauty that had more to do with the exposed shape of
the land, with the shallow bowls of valleys between the craggy hills, and
the way they held on to the sun. I found myself using my hands as I tried
to describe it to him.
His quiet, probing questions kept me talking freely, forgetting, in the
dim light of the storm, to be embarrassed for monopolizing the
conversation. Finally, when I had finished detailing my cluttered room at
home, he paused instead of responding with another question.
"Are you finished?" I asked in relief.
"Not even close — but your father will be home soon."
"Charlie!" I suddenly recalled his existence, and sighed. I looked out at
the rain-darkened sky, but it gave nothing away. "How late is it?" I
wondered out loud as I glanced at the clock. I was surprised by the time
— Charlie would be driving home now.
"It's twilight," Edward murmured, looking at the western horizon,
obscured as it was with clouds. His voice was thoughtful, as if his mind
were somewhere far away. I stared at him as he gazed unseeingly out the
windshield.
I was still staring when his eyes suddenly shifted back to mine.
"It's the safest time of day for us," he said, answering the unspoken
question in my eyes. "The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way…
the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so
predictable, don't you think?" He smiled wistfully.
"I like the night. Without the dark, we'd never see the stars." I
frowned. "Not that you see them here much."
He laughed, and the mood abruptly lightened.
"Charlie will be here in a few minutes. So, unless you want to tell him
that you'll be with me Saturday…" He raised one eyebrow.
"Thanks, but no thanks." I gathered my books, realizing I was stiff from
sitting still so long. "So is it my turn tomorrow, then?"
"Certainly not!" His face was teasingly outraged. "I told you I wasn't
done, didn't I?"
"What more is there?"
"You'll find out tomorrow." He reached across to open my door for me, and
his sudden proximity sent my heart into frenzied palpitations.
But his hand froze on the handle.
"Not good," he muttered.
"What is it?" I was surprised to see that his jaw was clenched, his eyes
disturbed.
He glanced at me for a brief second. "Another complication," he said
glumly.
He flung the door open in one swift movement, and then moved, almost
cringed, swiftly away from me.
The flash of headlights through the rain caught my attention as a dark
car pulled up to the curb just a few feet away, facing us.
"Charlie's around the corner," he warned, staring through the downpour at
the other vehicle.
I hopped out at once, despite my confusion and curiosity. The rain was
louder as it glanced off my jacket.
I tried to make out the shapes in the front seat of the other car, but it
was too dark. I could see Edward illuminated in the glare of the new
car's headlights; he was still staring ahead, his gaze locked on
something or someone I couldn't see. His expression was a strange mix of
frustration and defiance.
Then he revved the engine, and the tires squealed against the wet
pavement. The Volvo was out of sight in seconds.
"Hey, Bella," called a familiar, husky voice from the driver's side of
the little black car.
"Jacob?" I asked, squinting through the rain. Just then, Charlie's
cruiser swung around the corner, his lights shining on the occupants of
the car in front of me.
Jacob was already climbing out, his wide grin visible even through the
darkness. In the passenger seat was a much older man, a heavyset man with
a memorable face — a face that overflowed, the cheeks resting against his
shoulders, with creases running through the russet skin like an old
leather jacket. And the surprisingly familiar eyes, black eyes that
seemed at the same time both too young and too ancient for the broad face
they were set in. Jacob's father, Billy Black. I knew him immediately,
though in the more than five years since I'd seen him last I'd managed to
forget his name when Charlie had spoken of him my first day here. He was
staring at me, scrutinizing my face, so I smiled tentatively at him. His
eyes were wide, as if in shock or fear, his nostrils flared. My smile
faded.
Another complication, Edward had said.
Billy still stared at me with intense, anxious eyes. I groaned
internally. Had Billy recognized Edward so easily? Could he really
believe the impossible legends his son had scoffed at?
The answer was clear in Billy's eyes. Yes. Yes, he could.
===========================================================================
12. BALANCING
"Billy!" Charlie called as soon as he got out of the car.
I turned toward the house, beckoning to Jacob as I ducked under the
porch. I heard Charlie greeting them loudly behind me.
"I'm going to pretend I didn't see you behind the wheel, Jake," he said
disapprovingly.
"We get permits early on the rez," Jacob said while I unlocked the door
and flicked on the porch light.
"Sure you do," Charlie laughed.
"I have to get around somehow." I recognized Billy's resonant voice
easily, despite the years. The sound of it made me feel suddenly younger,
a child.
I went inside, leaving the door open behind me and turning on lights
before I hung up my jacket. Then I stood in the door, watching anxiously
as Charlie and Jacob helped Billy out of the car and into his wheelchair.
I backed out of the way as the three of them hurried in, shaking off the
rain.
"This is a surprise," Charlie was saying.
"It's been too long," Billy answered. "I hope it's not a bad time." His
dark eyes flashed up to me again, their expression unreadable.
"No, it's great. I hope you can stay for the game."
Jacob grinned. "I think that's the plan — our TV broke last week."
Billy made a face at his son. "And, of course, Jacob was anxious to see
Bella again," he added. Jacob scowled and ducked his head while I fought
back a surge of remorse. Maybe I'd been too convincing on the beach.
"Are you hungry?" I asked, turning toward the kitchen. I was eager to
escape Billy's searching gaze.
"Naw, we ate just before we came," Jacob answered.
"How about you, Charlie?" I called over my shoulder as I fled around the
corner.
"Sure," he replied, his voice moving in the direction of the front room
and the TV. I could hear Billy's chair follow.
The grilled cheese sandwiches were in the frying pan and I was slicing up
a tomato when I sensed someone behind me.
"So, how are things?" Jacob asked.
"Pretty good." I smiled. His enthusiasm was hard to resist. "How about
