I drove down the long, winding road from La Push. I stared straight ahead, not really seeing the road in front of me, or the dark forest on either side. I didn't see anything at all.
It wasn't until the truck drifted from the road to the rough gravel shoulder beside it that I realized I was in no shape to drive. So I pulled off and set the truck into park, shutting off the engine.
The sudden, all-consuming silence came down on me, like a smothering blanket. I bent slowly over the steering wheel, and I realized I was blinking rapidly. I closed my eyes, trying to force the churning emotions back down, but they wouldn't go. I felt my eyes burning behind my lids, my throat tight.
The decision was made. I didn't regret it; I knew I'd made the right choice, the only choice. Yet—still I could see the one darkened path ahead, and it was littered with inevitable regrets. I couldn't control it, couldn't stop it.
I opened my eyes again, but my vision was blurred—so I didn't notice her right away.
My burning eyes finally shifted slightly, and I saw a figure sitting in the passenger's seat beside me, perfectly still.
Again, I felt that same flicker of déjà vu, and I went back to that day that felt like years ago when I had run out to my truck to go to La Push, only to find Edythe had sabotaged my truck.
I looked away, quickly wiping my eyes. But my throat was still too tight to speak.
I felt Edythe's cool, gentle hand on my back. "You have...made a decision?" she asked softly.
I managed to nod.
"Between you and her, things are..." She seemed to search for the right word. "Broken?"
I nodded once slightly again, though less certainly this time.
"Was she very upset?" she asked gently.
I hesitated. I shook my head slightly, then hesitated again. I swallowed hard, then swallowed again, trying to force down the lump in my throat, but a part of it still lingered there even as I forced myself to speak. "Not...not too much. Not openly." I hesitated, then added, "I think...we'll still be friends."
Edythe's brows contracted slightly above her eyes. She studied my face—trying, I knew, to understand this outpouring of emotion, where it was coming from.
Edythe's gentle hand moved to my arm, and the pain in her face was almost as acute as mine. "Beau," she whispered. "Is this really the right choice? I can't bear to see... I mean, if you could see your own face now..."
I forced myself to really look at her. In spite of how ugly I knew I must be at the moment—my eyes burning, my skin covered in red splotches as I fought to keep down the storm raging in my mind and chest—I didn't look away. Her eyes were kind, understanding as always.
The hand on my arm I took and gripped between mine. I pressed her hand to my lips and closed my eyes—and while the storm of pain continued, it seemed suddenly slightly more bearable.
"I've been worse," I whispered hoarsely, and I knew it was true, as I thought back to those months of darkness what seemed so long ago.
When I opened my eyes again, I was sure they were still rimmed with red, but as I spoke, my shaking voice was slightly more steady.
"Edythe, would you...drive me home?"
"Of course," she said immediately.
I nodded. "I don't think...I don't think I'm safe to drive."
She pressed her other hand to my cheek, stroking it soothingly.
I took a deep breath, then added, "And...when I get there...will you come see me in the morning?"
She hesitated. Her eyes met mine, and she seemed to understand. "You don't want me to stay?" she asked softly. Her tone was more gentle than hurt.
I didn't want her to get the wrong idea. "Edythe, I...decided. It wasn't really a decision. But, I can't...I don't want you to see me like this. I just need a little time to work it through. Before everything can be what it's supposed to be again."
Edythe regarded me for a long moment. She pulled the hand I had been holding from my grip, and put it to my other cheek, and cradled my face in her hands. "If this is something that you must do alone, so be it," she said softly. "But—I hope you won't send me away if it is only to spare my feelings. If you have really, truly chosen me—no, even if you hadn't—you know I would do anything to ease your suffering."
I gazed down at her, and I found my own hand rising to touch her face. She really was too good for me. The truth was, I wanted her to stay. I wanted to bury my face in her shoulder and let the terrible grief fighting to tear itself from my throat come flooding out. I wanted to let myself find solace in her compassion and understanding and impossible love that never wavered—but I wouldn't do that. I had to send her away, before I could ever let her let me be that selfish.
We quietly traded seats, Edythe somehow slipping over me and shifting me over without my even realizing it. Edythe held my hand as she took me home.
As I headed in the front door, and Charlie got a look at my pale, dead face, I nearly sent him into a panic. I had to reassure him that Jules was okay, that nothing had happened to her. She was out of danger, as Carine had said—out of physical danger anyway. Charlie could obviously tell that something was wrong, but he didn't ask for any details and I didn't offer any.
I found the room dark as I entered. For just a moment, some childish part of me hoped to find Edythe had ignored what I said, and would be there waiting for me after all—but of course, she wasn't. I had given her my request, and now she was honoring it.
Without turning on the light, I went and laid down on my bed, not even bothering to change. I lifted my wrist, and I saw once again the leather bracelet with the wooden wolf. On the quiet drive here, I had seen it, and I'd moved for the cord to pull it off. Edythe had reached over and put a hand over mine, to stop me.
"Keep it," she had murmured. "It's a part of you, Beau."
I let my wrist fall back to the bed, and I closed my eyes.
It was a long night. The memories continued to churn like a violent storm in my head—my first memories of meeting Edythe, and all the memories of La Push. They seemed to fight and tear at each other, trying to pull me apart.
When at last I finally fell asleep, ghostly images floated through my consciousness. I found myself back in the tent on the side of the mountain, Edythe and Jules facing one another down, faces contorted in wild snarls—only in the dream, they both transformed, and suddenly it was no longer Jules and Edythe, but two versions of myself. Angrily they snarled at each, on the verge of a fight.
However, as the hours of the night passed, and morning approached, the memories settled, and instead of violence, I saw Edythe's gentle face as she told me to consider, that she would be happy with whatever I chose, and I saw Jules's slightly sardonic smile as she told me she was giving up, that she understood, that she would let me be the person I wanted to be, and simply be my friend.
And as I remembered their kindness, the two snarling halves settled as well. The side that, even now, still longed to return to that place in La Push, to go back and sit on the bed and talk and joke and contemplate a very different future from the one I had chosen, retreated back, accepting defeat. Not gone or forgotten—but calm. The fight was over.
I opened my eyes to the sound of birds outside—it was morning, and as I sat up, I saw soft morning light filtering in through the window. I felt exhausted after the night. My mouth felt dry, my limbs all ached. And yet, I felt oddly at peace. I was hardly absolved of guilt for all I had done, especially how much I had hurt one of my closest friends—but I had chosen my path, and now my gaze was fixed upon it. The conflict had settled, and in spite of those two sets of separate feelings, I was of one mind again. One heart.
I saw a figure, sitting in the rocking chair near the window. Her eyes were on me, and I knew she had probably been watching me for some time. Her face was filled with concern—and, I thought, as painfully beautiful as I could remember.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly.
I nodded once.
"And you are..." She hesitated. "Decided?"
Again, I nodded. I turned to put my feet on the floor, and I stood up. I meant to go over to her, but she was at my side in a moment—perhaps afraid I might get vertigo.
I touched her arm, and pulled at her slightly, and in a moment we were both sitting down on the bed, my hand on her arm beside me, her hand touching mine.
"Yeah," I said, smiling. "I told you I was. I just...needed a chance to work through."
"Is this really the right thing?" she whispered, for the umpteenth time. "Are you sure, Beau? Absolutely sure?"
I stared back at her seriously, earnestly. I nodded once. "I'm sure. When it comes to things like this, I'm not the kind of guy who goes halfway, back and forth. I love you, Edythe, need you, and I always will. I...couldn't live without you. So I'm going to do my best to love you the best way I know how, the way you deserve."
Edythe nodded slowly.
I breathed deeply, then I smiled and took her hand. And strangely, everything felt oddly normal.
"You know, we really need to get a move on our wedding," I said conversationally. "I hear there's a ton of stuff to plan."
Edythe smiled wistfully. "Not if we go to Vegas." She hesitated. "I've been thinking, Beau...I know you weren't really thrilled by my request, even though you agreed. And I know it may cause some strife between you and your mother. So—I've changed my mind. We don't have to get married if you don't want to, even Vegas. I'll change you myself anyway—and there will be plenty of opportunities for weddings after that. I'm sure we'll have more than enough."
I shook my head. "No, you were right. Before I change, I want my parents to be able to experience this with me. To see what my choice is." I grinned a little ruefully. "Even if my mom is ticked off at me."
I held her slender hand between mine. "It's going to be a traditional wedding," I said. "I want it to be like you want it to be. You choose who to invite, what kind of cake we'll have, what vows we'll read...make it everything you ever wanted it to be, and I'll be happy."
Edythe gazed back at me for a moment. She opened her mouth as though to say something, and I quickly added, "And don't try to tell me you'll just be happy with anything I want, because it'll just be a completely circular conversation and we'll probably be here all day. This is one argument you're not going to win."
Edythe paused, still looking up at me, then slowly shook her head. "You really shouldn't let what Archie said get to you, you know. Just ignore him."
I stared back at her for a long minute. Then, without answering, I got up from the bed.
I went to the closet and began rummaging through it. At last I reached up and pulled a shoebox off the top shelf. Blowing off the dust, I reached inside and beneath a collection of other sentimental trifles, I found what I was looking for.
I pulled it out, holding it in my palm.
"What is it?" Edythe asked uncertainly, still sitting on the bed. She couldn't see from her angle.
I gripped the small box tightly. Then, replacing the larger box on the shelf, I slowly turned around.
I fidgeted a moment, looking a little sheepish.
"I want to do something. Something kind of embarrassing, and maybe kind of dumb after how I've been acting the last day or so. But...I've decided. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices, and I hope when you see me make sacrifices—real sacrifices—you won't be sorry about it, it'll just make you realize how much I love you. How much I want to be with you."
I approached slowly, and I stood in front of her, where she still sat on the edge of the bed. I got down, awkwardly, on one knee, and the little black box I was clutching to my chest I held out.
"Um, E-Edythe," I began, stuttering a little. I could feel the heat creeping up my neck, red splotches forming on my face. Totally ridiculous, as we had already had this conversation and I knew the answer—yet my heart was hammering in my chest and sweat had broken out on my palms.
"Edythe Cullen...I love you...more than anything. Would you...do me the honor...marry me?"
It was not graceful, it was not smooth. Any movie director worth his salt probably would have fired me from any romantic role based on this performance alone.
But as Edythe gazed down at me, her face was full of such emotion it was impossible to describe.
"Yes," she whispered.
I realized I'd forgotten to open the box, and I fumbled with it a minute, before it finally sprang open. I was almost half afraid the ring would somehow be gone—I hadn't looked inside since it had first been given to me years ago—but there it was, nestled in the cushions. I also had the thought I wished I'd thought to polish it up a bit earlier, but as I looked at it, though the outside of the box was a bit dusty, the ring didn't look as though it needed any cleaning. The small diamond glittered in the light of my room, the gold band gleaming.
I held the box up for Edythe to see, and she extended one delicate hand willingly.
I pulled out the ring, and gently eased it onto her finger.
She lifted her hand and gazed down at it, and though I knew vampires couldn't cry, she blinked rapidly, and her gold irises seemed to turn to liquid.
"That was my grandfather's," I said. "Gramps. I guess that was the engagement ring he gave my grandmother. He gave it to me before he died. Um, I guess we'll have to get it sized..."
Edythe was still gazing down at the ring, almost mesmerized, then her eyes flickered up to my face. She opened her mouth as though to speak, but then she closed it again.
I awkwardly climbed to my feet, face still slightly red, and a moment later I felt Edythe's arms around me, her head resting against my shoulder.
"I don't deserve you, Beau," she murmured.
"No," I agreed, wrapping my arms around her and sighing as I rested my chin on her head. "You could have done so much better."
She laughed softly. "I would try to point out the error in reasoning there...but I'm afraid you're growing accustomed to winning arguments now."
Edythe must have sensed my distraction or a sudden tension in my body, because after a minute of silence she asked with some concern, "Is something wrong?"
I sighed heavily and pulled away to look in her face. "Are you up for something that might be kind of dangerous?" I asked.
"Anything," she said immediately, then considered. "Well, dangerous for me," she amended. "You...we might have to negotiate."
"I mean kind of emotionally threatening," I said. "Like, totally awkward. Like telling Charlie we're getting married in a month."
Edythe smiled slowly—an expression that lit her entire face. However, she said teasingly, "Do you ever think, Beau, sometimes, you have your priorities a little backward? Like social events and awkward conversations are, in fact, not on par with potential death by vampires?"
I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. "Death by vampires sounds cooler than dying of embarrassment. It's all about the glory."
Edythe laughed again, softly, that musical laugh I always found so distracting. She turned, linking her fingers through mine. I felt the cool metal of the ring still on her finger.
"Don't worry, I'll protect you," she said, her eyes glittering. "From even the most minor embarrassments. What's a wife for, if not to make her husband look good?"
My mind flitted back to an old conversation on a long drive, getting parts for a pair of rusted out motorcycles, and I felt the pain again as a distant throb. But I let the memory pass on—not suppressed, not buried, but not to be obsessed with either. Instead, it remained a part of me, still painful, yet fading—and I knew that part of myself would fade, the way an old vehicle rusted out and fell apart when it wasn't in use.
"I think you just undid fifty years of progress toward women's equality," I said. "That's not a very modern thing to say."
Edythe smiled. "Did I ever claim to be modern? I am a century old. Things were done differently back in my time."
I frowned as Edythe headed toward the window. "Do I need to ask Earnest for his blessing?"
Her eyes glittered. "I can ask him, if you want. Archie might have already told him, though. As soon as we decided to tell Charlie...well, he'll consider it open season, trust me. Sometimes I think there's nothing he hates more than keeping a secret when he's dying to tell people. I hate to say it, but he's always been a bit of a gossip."
I sighed, rubbing my temples. Sometimes having a psychic for a best friend was a bit exhausting. I followed Edythe to the window—if we were going to tell Charlie, she would have to leave and drive back.
I smiled wryly. Always with the pretenses, always keeping up appearances. It was almost becoming like second nature to me now.
A second before she left, I reached out and took her hand again, and she looked back. I leaned down and lightly pressed my lips to hers.
"Be safe," I murmured.
Edythe bent and pressed her lips gently to my throat. "And you," she said softly.
I stood at the window, watching her slim form disappear into the green, misty forest. I left the window open, letting the cool morning breeze brush across my face.
The crack in my heart still throbbed, an open wound. And yet, I was at peace. Because I had chosen my path, and now I would walk it without regret, for the one I loved as much as for myself.
At last, it would soon be Edythe and I—for all eternity.