BONNIE!" CHARLIE CALLED AS SOON AS HE GOT OUT OF HIS CAR.
I turned toward the house, motioning to Jules for her to follow as I ducked under the porch. I heard Charlie greeting her loudly behind me.
"I'm going to pretend I didn't see you behind the wheel, young lady."
"We get permits early on the rez," Jules said while I unlocked the door and flicked on the porch light.
Charlie laughed. "Sure you do."
"I have to get around somehow." I recognized Bonnie's deep voice easily, despite the years. The sound of it made me feel suddenly younger, just 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 Jules helped Bonnie out of the car and into her 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," Bonnie answered. "I hope it's not a bad time." Her dark eyes flashed up to me again, their expression unreadable.
"No, it's great. I hope you can stay for the game."
Jules grinned. "I think that's the plan—our TV broke last week."
Bonnie made a face at her daughter. "And, of course, Jules was eager to see Beau again," she added. Jules returned the scowl.
"Are you hungry?" I asked, turning toward the kitchen. Bonnie's searching gaze made me uncomfortable.
"Naw, we ate just before we came," Jules answered.
"How about you, Charlie?" I called over my shoulder as I escaped around the corner.
"Sure," he replied, his voice moving in the direction of the front room and the TV. I could hear Bonnie'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?" Jules asked.
"Pretty good." I smiled. Her enthusiasm was hard to resist. "How about you? Did you finish your car?"
"No." She frowned. "I still need parts. We borrowed that one." She pointed with her thumb in the direction of the front yard.
"Sorry. I haven't seen any… what was it you were looking for?"
"Master cylinder." She grinned. "Is something wrong with the truck?" she added suddenly.
"No."
"Oh. I just wondered because you weren't driving it."
I stared down at the pan, pulling up the edge of a sandwich to check on the bottom side. "I got a ride with a friend."
"Nice ride." Jules's voice was admiring. "I didn't recognize the driver, though. I thought I knew most of the kids around here."
I nodded noncommittally, keeping my eyes down as I flipped sandwiches.
"My mom seemed to know her from somewhere."
"Jules, could you hand me some plates? They're in the cupboard over the sink."
"Sure."
She got the plates in silence. I hoped she would let it drop now.
"So who was it?" she asked, setting two plates on the counter next to me.
I sighed in defeat. "Edythe Cullen."
To my surprise, she laughed. I glanced down at her. She looked a little embarrassed.
"Guess that explains it, then," she said. "I wondered why my mom was acting so strange."
I faked an innocent expression. "That's right. She doesn't like the Cullens."
"Superstitious old bat," Jules muttered under her breath.
"You don't think she'd say anything to Charlie?" I couldn't help asking, the words coming out in a low rush.
Jules stared at me for a minute, and I couldn't read the expression in her dark eyes. "I doubt it," she finally answered. "I think Charlie chewed her out pretty good last time. They haven't spoken much since—tonight is sort of a reunion, I think. I don't think she'd bring it up again."
"Oh," I said, trying to sound like it didn't matter much to me either way.
I stayed in the front room after I carried the food out to Charlie, pretending to watch the game while chatting absently with Jules. Mostly I was listening to the adults' conversation, watching for any sign that Bonnie was about to rat me out, trying to think of ways to stop her if she started.
It was a long night. I had a lot of homework that was going undone, but I was afraid to leave Bonnie alone with Charlie. Finally, the game ended.
"Are you and your friends coming back to the beach soon?" Jules asked as she pushed her mother over the lip of the threshold.
"Uh, I'm not sure," I hedged.
"That was fun, Charlie," Bonnie said.
"Come up for the next game," Charlie encouraged.
"Sure, sure," Bonnie said. "We'll be here. Have a good night." Her eyes shifted to mine, and her smile disappeared. "You take care, Beau," she added seriously.
"Thanks," I muttered, looking away.
I headed for the stairs while Charlie waved from the doorway.
"Wait, Beau," he said.
I cringed. Had Bonnie gotten something in before I'd joined them in the living room?
But Charlie was relaxed, still grinning from the unexpected visit.
"I didn't get a chance to talk to you tonight. How was your day?"
"Good." I hesitated with one foot on the first stair, trying to think of details I could safely share. "My badminton team won all four games."
"Wow, I didn't know you could play badminton."
"Well, actually I can't, but my partner is really good," I admitted.
"Who is it?" he asked with token interest.
"Um… McKayla Newton."
"Oh yeah—you said you were friends with the Newton girl." He perked up. "Nice family." He mused for a minute. "She didn't want to go with you to the dance this weekend?"
"Dad!" I groaned. "She's kind of dating my friend Jeremy. Besides, you know I can't dance."
"Oh yeah," he muttered. Then he smiled at me apologetically. "So I guess it's good you'll be gone Saturday.… I've made plans to go fishing with the guys from the station. The weather's supposed to be real warm. But if you wanted to put your trip off till someone could go with you, I'd stay home. I know I leave you here alone too much."
"Dad, you're doing a great job," I said, hoping my relief didn't show. "I've never minded being alone—I'm too much like you." I grinned at him, and he smiled his crinkly-eyed smile.
I slept better that night, too tired to dream again. When I woke to the pearl gray morning, I felt almost high, my mood was so optimistic. The tense evening with Bonnie and Jules seemed harmless enough now; I decided to forget it completely. I caught myself whistling while I was yanking a comb through my hair, and later again as I hurtled down the stairs. Charlie noticed.
"You're cheerful this morning," he commented over breakfast.
I shrugged. "It's Friday."
I hurried so I would be ready to go the second Charlie left. I had my bag packed, shoes on, teeth brushed, but even though I rushed to the door as soon as I was sure Charlie would be out of sight, Edythe was faster. She was waiting, windows down, engine off.
I didn't hesitate this time as I climbed into the passenger seat. She flourished her dimples, and my chest did its mini–heart attack thing. I couldn't imagine anything more beautiful—human, goddess, or angel. There was nothing about her that could be improved upon.
"How did you sleep?" she asked. I wondered if she knew just how irresistible her voice was, if she made it that way on purpose.
"Fine. How was your night?"
"Pleasant."
"Can I ask what you did?"
"No." She grinned. "Today is still mine."
She wanted to know about people today: more about my mom, her hobbies, what we'd done in our free time together. And then the one grandmother I'd known, my few school friends—and then I was going red in patches when she asked about girls I'd dated. I was relieved that I'd never really dated anyone, so that particular conversation couldn't last long. She seemed surprised at my lack of romantic history.
"So you never met anyone you wanted?" she asked in a serious tone that made me wonder what she was thinking about.
"Not in Phoenix."
Her lips pressed together into a thin line.
We were in the cafeteria at this point. The day had sped by in the pattern that was rapidly becoming routine. I took advantage of her brief pause to take a bite of my sandwich.
"I should have let you drive yourself today," she said suddenly.
I swallowed. "Why?"
"I'm leaving with Archie after lunch."
"Oh." I blinked, disappointed. "That's okay, it's not that far of a walk."
She frowned at me impatiently. "I'm not going to make you walk home. We'll go get your truck and leave it here for you."
"I don't have my key with me." I sighed. "I really don't mind walking." What I minded was losing my time with her.
She shook her head. "Your truck will be here, and the key will be in the ignition—unless you're afraid someone might steal it." She laughed at the thought.
"Okay," I agreed. I was pretty sure my key was in the pocket of a pair of jeans I wore Wednesday, under a pile of clothes in the laundry room. Even if she broke into my house, or whatever she was planning, she'd never find it. She seemed to feel the challenge in my consent. She smirked, overconfident.
"So where are you going?" I asked as casually as I could manage.
"Hunting," she answered grimly. "If we're going to be alone together tomorrow, I'm going to take whatever precautions I can." Her face was suddenly sad… and pleading. "You can always cancel, you know."
I looked down, afraid of the persuasive power of her eyes. I would not let her talk me out of our day alone, no matter how real the danger might be. It doesn't matter, I repeated in my head.
"No," I whispered, glancing back at her face. "I can't."
"Perhaps you're right," she murmured. Her eyes almost seemed to darken in color as I watched.
I changed the subject. "What time tomorrow?" I asked, already depressed by the thought of her leaving now.
"That depends.… It's a Saturday. Don't you want to sleep in?" she offered.
"No," I answered too fast, and she grinned.
"Same time as usual, then?"
I nodded. "Where should I pick you up?"
"I'll come to your place, also as usual."
"Um, it doesn't help with the Charlie situation if an unexplained Volvo is left in the driveway."
Her smile was superior now. "I wasn't intending to bring a car."
"How—"
She cut me off. "Don't worry about it. I'll be there, no car. No chance that Charlie will see anything out of the ordinary." Her voice turned hard. "And then, if you don't come home, it will be a complete mystery, won't it?"
"Guess so," I said, shrugging. "Maybe I'll get on the news and everything."
She scowled at me and I ignored it, chewing another bite of my lunch.
When her face finally relaxed—though she still didn't look happy—I asked, "What are you hunting tonight?"
"Whatever we find in the park. We aren't going far." She stared at me, a little frustrated and a little amused by my casual reference to her unusual life.
"Why are you going with Archie? Didn't you say he was being annoying?"
She frowned. "He's still the most… supportive."
"And the rest of them?" I asked hesitantly, not sure I really wanted to know. "What are they?"
Her brow puckered. "Incredulous, for the most part."
I glanced toward them. They sat staring off in different directions, exactly the same as the first time I'd seen them. Only now there were just the four of them; their perfect, bronze-haired sister was mine, for this hour at least.
"They don't like me," I guessed.
"That's not it," she disagreed, but her eyes were too innocent. "They don't understand why I can't leave you alone."
I frowned. "Me, either."
She smiled. "You're not like anyone I've ever known, Beau. You fascinate me."
Part of me was sure she was making fun of me—the part that couldn't escape the fact that I was the most boring person I knew. "I can't understand that," I said.
"Having the advantages I do," she murmured, touching one finger to her forehead, "I have a better-than-average grasp of human nature. People are predictable. But you… you never do what I expect. You always take me by surprise."
I looked away, my eyes hitting their default position—the back corner of the cafeteria where her family sat. Her words made me feel like a science experiment. I wanted to laugh at myself for expecting anything else.
"That part is easy enough to explain." I felt her eyes on my face, but I couldn't look at her yet. I was sure she would see the self-contempt in my eyes. "But there's more," she went on, "and it's not so easy to put into words—"
I was still staring absently at the Cullens while she spoke. Suddenly Royal turned his head to look directly at me. Not to look—to glare, with dark, cold eyes. I wanted to look away, but I was frozen by his overt antagonism until Edythe broke off mid-sentence and made an angry noise under her breath—a kind of hiss.
Royal turned his head, and I was relieved to be free. I looked back at Edythe, my eyes wide.
"That was definitely dislike," I muttered.
Her expression was pained. "I'm sorry about that. He's just worried. You see… it's dangerous for more than just me if, after spending so much time with you so publicly…" She looked down.
"If?"
"If this ends… badly." She dropped her head into her hands, obviously in anguish. I wanted to comfort her somehow, to tell her that nothing bad would ever happen to her, but I didn't know the right words. Automatically, I reached out to place my hand lightly against her elbow. She was wearing just a long-sleeved t-shirt, and the cold soaked through to my hand immediately. She didn't move, and as I sat there I slowly realized that what she'd said should frighten me. I waited for that fear to come, but all I could feel was an ache for her pain.
She still had her face in her hands.
I tried to speak in a normal voice. "And you have to leave now?"
"Yes." She let her hands drop. I kept my hand against her forearm. She looked at the place where we were connected, and she sighed. Suddenly her mood shifted and she grinned. "It's probably for the best. We still have fifteen minutes of that wretched movie left to endure in Biology—I don't think I could take any more."
I jumped, yanking my hand back. Archie—taller than I'd thought, his hair just a shadow of dark stubble against his scalp, his eyes dark as ink—was suddenly standing behind Edythe's shoulder.
Edythe greeted him without looking away from me. "Archie."
"Edythe," he answered, imitating her tone with a mocking twist. His voice was a soft tenor, velvety like hers.
"Archie, Beau—Beau, Archie," she introduced us, a wry smile on her face.
"Hello, Beau." His eyes glittered like black diamonds, but his smile was friendly. "It's nice to finally meet you." Just the lightest stress on the finally.
Edythe flashed a dark look at him.
It was not hard for me to believe that Archie was a vampire. Standing two feet away from me. With dark, hungry eyes. I felt a bead of sweat roll down the back of my neck.
"Um, hey, Archie."
"Are you ready?" he asked her.
Her voice was cold. "Nearly. I'll meet you at the car."
He left without another word; the way he moved was so fluid, so sinuous, it made me think of dancers again, though it wasn't really that human.
I swallowed. "Should I say 'have fun,' or is that the wrong sentiment?"
"'Have fun' works as well as anything." She grinned.
"Have fun, then." I tried to sound enthusiastic, but of course she wasn't fooled.
"I'll try. And you try to be safe, please."
I sighed. "Safe in Forks—what a challenge."
Her jaw tightened. "For you it is a challenge. Promise."
"I promise to try to be safe," I recited. "I was meaning to deal with the laundry… or is that too hazardous a task? I mean, I could fall in or something."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Okay, okay, I'll do my best."
She stood, and I rose, too.
"I'll see you tomorrow." I sighed.
She smiled a wistful smile. "It seems like a long time to you, doesn't it?"
I nodded glumly.
"I'll be there in the morning," she promised, and then she walked to my side, touched the back of my hand lightly, and turned to walk away. I stared after her until she was gone.
I really did not want to go to class, and I thought about a little healthy ditching, but I decided it would be irresponsible. I knew that if I disappeared now, McKayla and the others would assume I'd gone with Edythe. And Edythe was worried about the time we'd spent together publicly… if things went wrong. I wasn't going to think about what that would mean, or how painful it might be. I just worked out the ways I could make things safer for her. Which meant going to class.
I felt certain—and I thought she did, too—that tomorrow would change everything for us. She and I… if we were going to be together, we had to face this square on. We couldn't keep trying to balance on this precarious edge of almost-together. We would fall to one side or the other, and it all depended on her. I was all in, before I'd even consciously chosen, and I was committed to seeing this through. Because there was nothing more terrifying to me, more painful, than the idea of never seeing her again.
It didn't help my concentration so much that she wasn't next to me in Biology. The tension and electricity were gone, but my mind was too wrapped around the idea of tomorrow to pay attention.
In Gym, McKayla seemed to have forgiven me. She said she hoped I had a good time in Seattle. I carefully explained that I'd canceled the trip due to truck issues.
She was suddenly sulky again. "Are you taking Edythe to the dance?"
"No. I told you I wasn't going."
"What are you doing, then?"
I lied cheerfully. "Laundry, and then I have to study for the Trig test or I'm going to fail."
She frowned. "Is Edythe helping you 'study'?"
I could hear the quotation marks she put around the last word.
"Don't I wish," I said, smiling. "She's so much smarter than I am. But she's gone away somewhere with her brother for the weekend." It was funny how much easier than usual the lies were coming. Maybe because I was lying for someone else, and not for myself.
McKayla perked up. "Oh. You know, you could still come to the dance with us all. That would be cool. We'd all dance with you," she promised.
The mental image of Jeremy's face made my tone sharper than necessary.
"I'm not going to the dance, McKayla, okay?"
"Fine," she snapped. "I was just offering."
When Gym was finally over, I walked to the parking lot without enthusiasm. I wasn't looking forward to walking home in the rain, but I couldn't think of how she would have been able to get my truck. Then again, was anything impossible for her?
And there it was—parked in the same spot where she'd parked the Volvo this morning. I shook my head, amazed, as I opened the door and found the key in the ignition as promised.
There was a piece of white paper folded on my seat. I got in and closed the door before I opened it. Two words were written in her fancy calligraphy handwriting.
Be safe.
The sound of the truck roaring to life startled me, and I laughed at myself.
When I got home, the handle of the door was locked, the deadbolt unlocked, just as I'd left it this morning. Inside, I went straight to the laundry room. It looked just the same as I'd left it, too. I dug for my jeans and, after finding them, checked the pockets. Empty. Maybe I'd hung my key up after all, I thought, shaking my head.
Charlie was absentminded at dinner, worried over something at work, I guessed, or maybe a basketball game, or maybe he was just really enjoying his lasagna—it was hard to tell with Charlie.
"You know, Dad…," I began, breaking into his reverie.
"What's that, Beau?"
"I think you're right about Seattle. I think I'll wait until Jeremy or someone else can go with me."
"Oh," he said, surprised. "Oh, okay. So, do you want me to stay home?"
No, Dad, don't change your plans. I've got a hundred things to do… homework, laundry.… I need to go to the library and the grocery store. I'll be in and out all day.… You go and have fun."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely, Dad. Besides, the freezer is getting dangerously low on fish—we're down to a two, maybe three years' supply."
He smiled. "You're sure easy to live with, Beau."
"I could say the same thing about you," I said, laughing. The sound of my laughter was off, but he didn't seem to notice. I felt so guilty for deceiving him that I almost took Edythe's advice and told him where I would be. Almost.
As I worked on the mindless chore of folding laundry, I wondered if, with this lie, I was choosing Edythe over my own father—after all, I was protecting her and leaving him to face… exactly what, I wasn't sure. Would I just vanish? Would the police find some… piece of me? I knew I wasn't able to process exactly how devastating that would be for him, that losing a child—even one he hadn't seen much for the last decade—was a bigger tragedy than I was able to understand.
But if I told him I would be with Edythe, if I implicated her in whatever followed, how did that help Charlie? Would it make the loss more bearable if he had someone to blame? Or would it just put him in more danger? I remembered how Royal had glared at me today. I remembered Archie's glittering black eyes, Eleanor's arms, like long lines of steel, and Jessamine, who—for some reason I couldn't define—was the most frightening of them all. Did I really want my father to know something that would make them feel threatened?
So really, the only thing that could help Charlie at all would be if I taped a note to the door tomorrow that read I changed my mind, and then got in my truck and drove to Seattle after all. I knew Edythe wouldn't be angry, that a part of her was hoping for exactly that.
But I also knew that I wasn't going to write that note. I couldn't even imagine doing it. When she came, I would be waiting.
So I guess I was choosing her over everything. And though I knew I should feel bad—wrong, guilty, sorry—I didn't. Maybe because it didn't feel like a choice at all.
But all of this was only if things went badly, and I was nearly ninety percent sure that they wouldn't. Part of it was that I still couldn't make myself be afraid of Edythe, even when I tried to picture her as the sharp-fanged Edythe from my nightmare. I had her note in my back pocket, and I pulled it out and read it again and again. She wanted me to be safe. She'd dedicated a lot of personal effort lately to ensuring my survival. Wasn't that who she was? When all the safeties were off, wouldn't that part of her win?
The laundry wasn't the best job for keeping my mind busy. As much as I tried to focus on the Edythe I knew, the one I loved, I couldn't help picturing what ending badly might look like. Might feel like. I'd seen enough horror flicks to have some preconceived notions, and it didn't look like the very worst way to go. Most of the victims just seemed sort of limp and out of it while they were… drained. But then I remembered what Edythe had said about bears, and I guessed that the realities of vampire attacks were not much like the Hollywood version.
But it was Edythe.
I was relieved when it was late enough to be acceptable for bedtime. I knew I would never get to sleep with all this crazy in my head, so I did something I'd never done before. I deliberately took unnecessary cold medicine—the kind that knocked me out for a good eight hours. I knew it was not the most responsible choice, but tomorrow would be complicated enough without me being loopy from sleep deprivation on top of everything else. While I waited for the drugs to kick in, I listened to Phil's CD again. The familiar screaming was oddly comforting, and somewhere in the middle of it, I drifted off.
I woke early, having slept soundly and dreamlessly thanks to the drug abuse. Though I was well rested, I was on edge and jittery—now and then, almost panicked. I showered and threw clothes on, dressing in layers out of habit, though Edythe had promised sun today. I checked out the window; Charlie was already gone and a thin layer of clouds, white and cottony, covered the sky in a temporary-looking way. I ate without tasting the food, rushing to clean up when I was done. I'd just finished brushing my teeth when a quiet knock had me vaulting my way down the stairs.
My hands were suddenly too big for the simple deadbolt, and it took me a second, but finally I threw the door open, and there she was.
I took a deep breath. All the nerves faded to nothing, and I was totally calm.
She wasn't smiling at first—her face was serious, even wary. But then she looked me over and her expression lightened. She laughed.
"Good morning," she chuckled.
"What's wrong?" I glanced down to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything important, like shoes, or pants.
"We match." She laughed again.
She had on a light tan sweater with a scoop neck, a white t-shirt on underneath, and jeans. My sweater was the exact same shade, though that and my white tee both had crew necks. My jeans were the same color blue, too. Only, she looked like a runway model, and I knew that I did not.
I locked the door behind me while she walked to the truck. She waited by the passenger door with a martyred expression that was easy to un-derstand.
"You agreed to this," I reminded her as I unlocked her door and opened it.
She gave me a dark look as she climbed past me.
I got in my side and tried not to cringe as I revved the engine very loudly to life.
"Where to?" I asked.
"Put your seat belt on—I'm nervous already."
I rolled my eyes but did what she asked. "Where to?" I repeated.
"Take the one-oh-one north."
It was surprisingly difficult to concentrate on the road while feeling her eyes on my face. I compensated by driving more carefully than usual through the still-sleeping town.
"Were you planning to make it out of Forks before nightfall?"
"This truck is old enough to be the Volvo's grandfather—have a little respect."
We were soon out of the town limits, despite her pessimism. Thick underbrush and dense forest replaced the lawns and houses.
"Turn right on the one-ten," she instructed just as I was about to ask. I obeyed silently.
"Now we drive until the pavement ends."
I could hear a smile in her voice, but I was too afraid of driving off the road and proving her right to look over and be sure.
"And what's there, at the pavement's end?" I wondered.
"A trail."
"We're hiking?"
"Is that a problem?"
"No." I tried to make the lie sound confident. But if she thought my truck was slow…
"Don't worry, it's only five miles or so and we're in no hurry."
Five miles. I didn't answer, so that she wouldn't hear the panic in my voice. How far had I hiked last Saturday—a mile? And how many times had I managed to trip in that distance? This was going to be humiliating.
We drove in silence for a while. I was imagining what her expression would look like the twentieth time I face-planted.
"What are you thinking?" she asked impatiently after a few minutes.
I lied again. "Just wondering where we're going."
"It's a place I like to go when the weather is nice." We both glanced out the windows at the thinning clouds.
"Charlie said it would be warm today."
"And did you tell Charlie what you were up to?" she asked.
"Nope."
"But you probably said something to Jeremy about me driving you to Seattle," she said thoughtfully.
"No, I didn't."
"No one knows you're with me?" Angrily, now.
"That depends.… I assume you told Archie?"
"That's very helpful, Beau," she snapped.
I pretended I didn't hear that.
"Is it the weather? Seasonal affective disorder? Has Forks made you so depressed you're actually suicidal?"
"You said it might cause problems for you… us being together publicly," I explained.
"So you're worried about the trouble it might cause me—if you don't come home?" Her voice was a mix of ice and acid.
I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road.
She muttered something under her breath, the words flowing so quickly that I couldn't understand them.
It was silent for the rest of the drive. I could feel the waves of fury and disapproval rolling off her, and I couldn't think of the right way to apologize when I wasn't sorry.
The road ended at a small wooden marker. I could see the thin foot trail stretching away into the forest. I parked on the narrow shoulder and stepped out, not sure what to do because she was angry and I didn't have driving as an excuse not to look at her anymore.
It was warm now, warmer than it had been in Forks since the day I'd arrived, almost muggy under the thin clouds. I yanked off my sweater and tossed it into the cab, glad I'd worn the t-shirt—especially with five miles of hiking ahead of me.
I heard her door slam, and looked over to see that she'd removed her sweater, too, and twisted her hair into another messy bun. All she had on was a thin tank top. She was facing away from me, staring into the forest, and I could see the delicate shapes of her shoulder blades almost like furled wings under her pale skin. Her arms were so thin; it was hard to believe they contained the strength that I knew was in them.
"This way," she said, glancing over her shoulder at me, still annoyed. She started walking into the dark forest directly to the east of the truck.
"The trail?" I asked, trying to hide the panic in my voice as I hurried around the front of the truck to catch up to her.
"I said there was a trail at the end of the road, not that we were taking it."
"No trail? Really?"
"I won't let you get lost."
She turned then, with a mocking half-smile, and I couldn't breathe.
I'd never seen so much of her skin. Her pale arms, her slim shoulders, the fragile-looking twigs of her collarbones, the vulnerable hollows above them, the swanlike column of her neck, the gentle swell of her breasts—don't stare, don't stare—and the ribs I could nearly count under the thin cotton. She was too perfect, I realized with a crushing wave of despair. There was no way this goddess could ever belong with me.
She stared at me, shocked by my tortured expression.
"Do you want to go home?" she asked quietly, a different pain than mine saturating her voice.
"No."
I walked forward till I was close beside her, anxious not to waste one second of the obviously numbered hours I had with her.
What's wrong?" she asked, her voice still soft.
"I'm not a fast hiker," I answered dully. "You'll have to be very patient."
"I can be patient—if I make a great effort." She smiled, holding my gaze, trying to pull me out of my suddenly glum mood.
I tried to smile back, but I could feel that the smile was less than convincing. She searched my face.
"I'll take you home," she promised, but I couldn't tell if the promise was unconditional, or restricted to an immediate departure. Obviously, she thought it was fear of my impending demise that had upset me, and I was glad that I was the one person whose mind she couldn't hear.
"If you want me to hack five miles through the jungle before sundown, you'd better start leading the way," I said bitterly. Her eyebrows pulled down as she tried to understand my tone and expression.
She gave up after a moment and led the way into the forest.
It wasn't as hard as I'd been afraid it would be. The way was mostly flat, and she seemed content to go at my pace. Twice I tripped over roots, but each time her hand shot out and steadied my elbow before I could fall. When she touched me, my heart thudded and stuttered like usual. I saw her expression the second time that happened, and I was suddenly sure she could hear it.
I tried to keep from looking at her; every time I did, her beauty filled me with the same sadness. Mostly we walked in silence. Occasionally, she would ask a random question that she hadn't gotten to in the last two days of interrogation. She asked about birthdays, grade school teachers, childhood pets—and I had to admit that after killing three fish in a row, I'd given up on the practice. She laughed at that, louder than usual, the bell-like echoes bouncing back to me from the trees.
The hike took me most of the morning, but she never seemed impatient. The forest spread out around us in a labyrinth of identical trees, and I started to get nervous that we wouldn't be able to find our way out again. She was perfectly at ease in the green maze, never showing any doubt about our direction.
After several hours, the green light that filtered down through the canopy brightened into yellow. The day had turned sunny, just as promised. For the first time since we'd started, I felt excitement again.
"Are we there yet?" I asked.
She smiled at the change in my mood. "Nearly. Do you see the clearer light ahead?"
I stared into the thick forest. "Um, should I?"
"Maybe it is a bit soon for your eyes."
"Time to visit the optometrist." I sighed and she grinned.
And then, after another hundred yards, I could definitely see a brighter spot in the trees ahead, a glow that was yellow-white instead of yellow-green. I picked up the pace, and she let me lead now, following noiselessly.
I reached the edge of the pool of light and stepped through the last fringe of ferns into the most beautiful place I had ever seen.
The meadow was small, perfectly round, and filled with wildflowers—violet, yellow, and white. Somewhere nearby, I could hear the liquid rush of a stream. The sun was directly overhead, filling the circle with a haze of buttery sunshine. I walked slowly forward through the soft grass, swaying flowers, and warm, gilded air. After that first minute of awe, I turned, wanting to share this with her, but she wasn't behind me where I thought she'd be. I spun around, searching for her, suddenly anxious. Finally I found her, still under the dense shade of the canopy at the edge of the hollow, watching me with cautious eyes, and I remembered why we were here. The mystery of Edythe and the sun—which she'd promised to solve for me today.
I took a step back, my hand stretched out toward her. Her eyes were wary, reluctant—oddly, it reminded me of stage fright. I smiled encouragingly and started walking back to her. She held up a warning hand and I stopped, rocking back onto my heels.
Edythe took a deep breath, closed her eyes, then stepped out into the bright glare of the midday sun.