Life and Death: Twilight Reimagined (Twilight #5)(75)
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.