He could drive well, when he kept the speed reasonable, I had to admit.

　　Like so many things, it seemed to be effortless to him. He barely lookedat the road, yet the tires never deviated so much as a centimeter fromthe center of the lane. He drove one-handed, holding my hand on the seat.

　　Sometimes he gazed into the setting sun, sometimes he glanced at me — myface, my hair blowing out the open window, our hands twined together.

　　He had turned the radio to an oldies station, and he sang along with asong I'd never heard. He knew every line.

　　"You like fifties music?" I asked.

　　"Music in the fifties was good. Much better than the sixties, or theseventies, ugh!" He shuddered. "The eighties were bearable.""Are you ever going to tell me how old you are?" I asked, tentative, notwanting to upset his buoyant humor.

　　"Does it matter much?" His smile, to my relief, remained unclouded.

　　"No, but I still wonder…" I grimaced. "There's nothing like an unsolvedmystery to keep you up at night.""I wonder if it will upset you," he reflected to himself. He gazed intothe sun; the minutes passed.

　　"Try me," I finally said.

　　He sighed, and then looked into my eyes, seeming to forget the roadcompletely for a time. Whatever he saw there must have encouraged him. Helooked into the sun — the light of the setting orb glittered off his skinin ruby-tinged sparkles — and spoke.

　　"I was born in Chicago in 1901." He paused and glanced at me from thecorner of his eyes. My face was carefully unsurprised, patient for therest. He smiled a tiny smile and continued. "Carlisle found me in ahospital in the summer of 1918. I was seventeen, and dying of the Spanishinfluenza."He heard my intake of breath, though it was barely audible to my ownears. He looked down into my eyes again.

　　"I don't remember it well — it was a very long time ago, and humanmemories fade." He was lost in his thoughts for a short time before hewent on. "I do remember how it felt, when Carlisle saved me. It's not aneasy thing, not something you could forget.""Your parents?""They had already died from the disease. I was alone. That was why hechose me. In all the chaos of the epidemic, no one would ever realize Iwas gone.""How did he… save you?"A few seconds passed before he answered. He seemed to choose his wordscarefully.

　　"It was difficult. Not many of us have the restraint necessary toaccomplish it. But Carlisle has always been the most humane, the mostcompassionate of us… I don't think you could find his equal throughoutall of history." He paused. "For me, it was merely very, very painful."I could tell from the set of his lips, he would say no more on thissubject. I suppressed my curiosity, though it was far from idle. Therewere many things I needed to think through on this particular issue,things that were only beginning to occur to me. No doubt his quick mindhad already comprehended every aspect that eluded me.

　　His soft voice interrupted my thoughts. "He acted from loneliness. That'susually the reason behind the choice. I was the first in Carlisle'sfamily, though he found Esme soon after. She fell from a cliff. Theybrought her straight to the hospital morgue, though, somehow, her heartwas still beating.""So you must be dying, then, to become…" We never said the word, and Icouldn't frame it now.

　　"No, that's just Carlisle. He would never do that to someone who hadanother choice." The respect in his voice was profound whenever he spokeof his father figure. "It is easier he says, though," he continued, "ifthe blood is weak." He looked at the now-dark road, and I could feel thesubject closing again.

　　"And Emmett and Rosalie?""Carlisle brought Rosalie to our family next. I didn't realize till muchlater that he was hoping she would be to me what Esme was to him — he wascareful with his thoughts around me." He rolled his eyes. "But she wasnever more than a sister. It was only two years later that she foundEmmett. She was hunting — we were in Appalachia at the time — and found abear about to finish him off. She carried him back to Carlisle, more thana hundred miles, afraid she wouldn't be able to do it herself. I'm onlybeginning to guess how difficult that journey was for her." He threw apointed glance in my direction, and raised our hands, still foldedtogether, to brush my cheek with the back of his hand.

　　"But she made it," I encouraged, looking away from the unbearable beautyof his eyes.

　　"Yes," he murmured. "She saw something in his face that made her strongenough. And they've been together ever since. Sometimes they liveseparately from us, as a married couple. But the younger we pretend tobe, the longer we can stay in any given place. Forks seemed perfect, sowe all enrolled in high school." He laughed. "I suppose we'll have to goto their wedding in a few years, again.""Alice and Jasper?""Alice and Jasper are two very rare creatures. They both developed aconscience, as we refer to it, with no outside guidance. Jasper belongedto another… family, a very different kind of family. He became depressed,and he wandered on his own. Alice found him. Like me, she has certaingifts above and beyond the norm for our kind.""Really?" I interrupted, fascinated. "But you said you were the only onewho could hear people's thoughts.""That's true. She knows other things. She sees things — things that mighthappen, things that are coming. But it's very subjective. The futureisn't set in stone. Things change."His jaw set when he said that, and his eyes darted to my face and away soquickly that I wasn't sure if I only imagined it.

　　"What kinds of things does she see?""She saw Jasper and knew that he was looking for her before he knew ithimself. She saw Carlisle and our family, and they came together to findus. She's most sensitive to non-humans. She always sees, for example,when another group of our kind is coming near. And any threat they maypose.""Are there a lot of… your kind?" I was surprised. How many of them couldwalk among us undetected?

　　"No, not many. But most won't settle in any one place. Only those likeus, who've given up hunting you people" — a sly glance in my direction —"can live together with humans for any length of time. We've only foundone other family like ours, in a small village in Alaska. We livedtogether for a time, but there were so many of us that we became toonoticeable. Those of us who live… differently tend to band together.""And the others?""Nomads, for the most part. We've all lived that way at times. It getstedious, like anything else. But we run across the others now and then,because most of us prefer the North.""Why is that?"We were parked in front of my house now, and he'd turned off the truck.

　　It was very quiet and dark; there was no moon. The porch light was off soI knew my father wasn't home yet.

　　"Did you have your eyes open this afternoon?" he teased. "Do you think Icould walk down the street in the sunlight without causing trafficaccidents? There's a reason why we chose the Olympic Peninsula, one ofthe most sunless places in the world. It's nice to be able to go outsidein the day. You wouldn't believe how tired you can get of nighttime ineighty-odd years.""So that's where the legends came from?""Probably.""And Alice came from another family, like Jasper?""No, and that is a mystery. Alice doesn't remember her human life at all.

　　And she doesn't know who created her. She awoke alone. Whoever made herwalked away, and none of us understand why, or how, he could. If shehadn't had that other sense, if she hadn't seen Jasper and Carlisle andknown that she would someday become one of us, she probably would haveturned into a total savage."There was so much to think through, so much I still wanted to ask. But,to my great embarrassment, my stomach growled. I'd been so intrigued, Ihadn't even noticed I was hungry. I realized now that I was ravenous.

　　"I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from dinner.""I'm fine, really.""I've never spent much time around anyone who eats food. I forget.""I want to stay with you." It was easier to say in the darkness, knowingas I spoke how my voice would betray me, my hopeless addiction to him.

　　"Can't I come in?" he asked.

　　"Would you like to?" I couldn't picture it, this godlike creature sittingin my father's shabby kitchen chair.

　　"Yes, if it's all right." I heard the door close quietly, and almostsimultaneously he was outside my door, opening it for me.

　　"Very human," I complimented him.

　　"It's definitely resurfacing."He walked beside me in the night, so quietly I had to peek at himconstantly to be sure he was still there. In the darkness he looked muchmore normal. Still pale, still dreamlike in his beauty, but no longer thefantastic sparkling creature of our sunlit afternoon.

　　He reached the door ahead of me and opened it for me. I paused halfwaythrough the frame.

　　"The door was unlocked?""No, I used the key from under the eave."I stepped inside, flicked on the porch light, and turned to look at himwith my eyebrows raised. I was sure I'd never used that key in front ofhim.

　　"I was curious about you.""You spied on me?" But somehow I couldn't infuse my voice with the properoutrage. I was flattered.

　　He was unrepentant. "What else is there to do at night?"I let it go for the moment and went down the hall to the kitchen. He wasthere before me, needing no guide. He sat in the very chair I'd tried topicture him in. His beauty lit up the kitchen. It was a moment before Icould look away.

　　I concentrated on getting my dinner, taking last night's lasagna from thefridge, placing a square on a plate, heating it in the microwave. Itrevolved, filling the kitchen with the smell of tomatoes and oregano. Ididn't take my eyes from the plate of food as I spoke.

　　"How often?" I asked casually.

　　"Hmmm?" He sounded as if I had pulled him from some other train ofthought.

　　I still didn't turn around. "How often did you come here?""I come here almost every night."I whirled, stunned. "Why?""You're interesting when you sleep." He spoke matter-of-factly. "Youtalk.""No!" I gasped, heat flooding my face all the way to my hairline. Igripped the kitchen counter for support. I knew I talked in my sleep, ofcourse; my mother teased me about it. I hadn't thought it was something Ineeded to worry about here, though.

　　His expression shifted instantly to chagrin. "Are you very angry with me?""That depends!" I felt and sounded like I'd had the breath knocked out ofme.

　　He waited.

　　"On?" he urged.

　　"What you heard!" I wailed.

　　Instantly, silently, he was at my side, taking my hands carefully in his.

　　"Don't be upset!" he pleaded. He dropped his face to the level of myeyes, holding my gaze. I was embarrassed. I tried to look away.

　　"You miss your mother," he whispered. "You worry about her. And when itrains, the sound makes you restless. You used to talk about home a lot,but it's less often now. Once you said, 'It's too green.'" He laughedsoftly, hoping, I could see, not to offend me further.

　　"Anything else?" I demanded.

　　He knew what I was getting at. "You did say my name," he admitted.

　　I sighed in defeat. "A lot?""How much do you mean by 'a lot,' exactly?""Oh no!" I hung my head.

　　He pulled me against his chest, softly, naturally.

　　"Don't be self-conscious," he whispered in my ear. "If I could dream atall, it would be about you. And I'm not ashamed of it."Then we both heard the sound of tires on the brick driveway, saw theheadlights flash through the front windows, down the hall to us. Istiffened in his arms.

　　"Should your father know I'm here?" he asked.

　　"I'm not sure…" I tried to think it through quickly.

　　"Another time then…"And I was alone.

　　"Edward!" I hissed.

　　I heard a ghostly chuckle, then nothing else.

　　My father's key turned in the door.

　　"Bella?" he called. It had bothered me before; who else would it be?

　　Suddenly he didn't seem so far off base.

　　"In here." I hoped he couldn't hear the hysterical edge to my voice. Igrabbed my dinner from the microwave and sat at the table as he walkedin. His footsteps sounded so noisy after my day with Edward.

　　"Can you get me some of that? I'm bushed." He stepped on the heels of hisboots to take them off, holding the back of Edward's chair for support.

　　I took my food with me, scarfing it down as I got his dinner. It burnedmy tongue. I filled two glasses with milk while his lasagna was heating,and gulped mine to put out the fire. As I set the glass down, I noticedthe milk trembling and realized my hand was shaking. Charlie sat in thechair, and the contrast between him and its former occupant was comical.

　　"Thanks," he said as I placed his food on the table.

　　"How was your day?" I asked. The words were rushed; I was dying to escapeto my room.

　　"Good. The fish were biting… how about you? Did you get everything donethat you wanted to?""Not really — it was too nice out to stay indoors." I took another bigbite.

　　"It was a nice day," he agreed. What an understatement, I thought tomyself.

　　Finished with the last bite of lasagna, I lifted my glass and chugged theremains of my milk.

　　Charlie surprised me by being observant. "In a hurry?""Yeah, I'm tired. I'm going to bed early.""You look kinda keyed up," he noted. Why, oh why, did this have to be hisnight to pay attention?

　　"Do I?" was all I could manage in response. I quickly scrubbed my dishesclean in the sink, and placed them upside down on a dish towel to dry.

　　"It's Saturday," he mused.

　　I didn't respond.

　　"No plans tonight?" he asked suddenly.

　　"No, Dad, I just want to get some sleep.""None of the boys in town your type, eh?" He was suspicious, but tryingto play it cool.

　　"No, none of the boys have caught my eye yet." I was careful not toover-emphasize the word boys in my quest to be truthful with Charlie.

　　"I thought maybe that Mike Newton… you said he was friendly.""He's Just a friend, Dad.""Well, you're too good for them all, anyway. Wait till you get to collegeto start looking." Every father's dream, that his daughter will be out ofthe house before the hormones kick in.

　　"Sounds like a good idea to me," I agreed as I headed up the stairs.

　　"'Night, honey," he called after me. No doubt he would be listeningcarefully all evening, waiting for me to try to sneak out.

　　"See you in the morning, Dad." See you creeping into my room tonight atmidnight to check on me.

　　I worked to make my tread sound slow and tired as I walked up the stairsto my room. I shut the door loud enough for him to hear, and thensprinted on my tiptoes to the window. I threw it open and leaned out intothe night. My eyes scanned the darkness, the impenetrable shadows of thetrees.

　　"Edward?" I whispered, feeling completely idiotic.

　　The quiet, laughing response came from behind me. "Yes?"I whirled, one hand flying to my throat in surprise.

　　He lay, smiling hugely, across my bed, his hands behind his head, hisfeet dangling off the end, the picture of ease.

　　"Oh!" I breathed, sinking unsteadily to the floor.

　　"I'm sorry." He pressed his lips together, trying to hide his amusement.

　　"Just give me a minute to restart my heart."He sat up slowly, so as not to startle me again. Then he leaned forwardand reached out with his long arms to pick me up, gripping the tops of myarms like I was a toddler. He sat me on the bed beside him.

　　"Why don't you sit with me," he suggested, putting a cold hand on mine.

　　"How's the heart?""You tell me — I'm sure you hear it better than I do."I felt his quiet laughter shake the bed.

　　We sat there for a moment in silence, both listening to my heartbeatslow. I thought about having Edward in my room, with my father in thehouse.

　　"Can I have a minute to be human?" I asked.

　　"Certainly." He gestured with one hand that I should proceed.

　　"Stay," I said, trying to look severe.

　　"Yes, ma'am." And he made a show of becoming a statue on the edge of mybed.

　　I hopped up, grabbing my pajamas from off the floor, my bag of toiletriesoff the desk. I left the light off and slipped out, closing the door.

　　I could hear the sound from the TV rising up the stairs. I banged thebathroom door loudly, so Charlie wouldn't come up to bother me.

　　I meant to hurry. I brushed my teeth fiercely, trying to be thorough andspeedy, removing all traces of lasagna. But the hot water of the showercouldn't be rushed. It unknotted the muscles in my back, calmed my pulse.

　　The familiar smell of my shampoo made me feel like I might be the sameperson I had been this morning. I tried not to think of Edward, sittingin my room, waiting, because then I had to start all over with thecalming process. Finally, I couldn't delay anymore. I shut off the water,toweling hastily, rushing again. I pulled on my holey t-shirt and graysweatpants. Too late to regret not packing the Victoria's Secret silkpajamas my mother got me two birthdays ago, which still had the tags onthem in a drawer somewhere back home.

　　I rubbed the towel through my hair again, and then yanked the brushthrough it quickly. I threw the towel in the hamper, flung my brush andtoothpaste into my bag. Then I dashed down the stairs so Charlie couldsee that I was in my pajamas, with wet hair.

　　"'Night, Dad.""'Night, Bella." He did look startled by my appearance.............