Page 69 of Life and Death

“What?”

“Your hands,” she reminded me. I looked down at my palms, at the almost-healed scrapes across the heels of my hands. She didn’t miss anything.

“I fell.”

“That’s what I thought.” Her lips curved up at the corners. “I suppose, being you, it could have been much worse—and that was the possibility that tormented me the entire time I was away. It was a very long three days. I really got on Eleanor’s nerves.”

“Three days? Didn’t you just get back today?”

“No, we got back Sunday.”

“Then why weren’t you at school?” I was frustrated, almost angry as I thought of how much her absence had affected me.

“Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn’t. But I can’t go out in the sunlight—at least, not where anyone can see.”

“Why?”

“I’ll show you sometime,” she promised.

I thought about it for a moment. “You could have told me.”

She was puzzled. “But I knew you were fine.”

“Yeah, butIdidn’t know whereyouwere. I—” I hesitated, dropping my eyes.

“What?” Her silky voice was as hypnotic as her eyes.

“It’s going to sound stupid . . . but, well, it kind of freaked me out. I thought you might not come back. That somehow you knew that I knew and . . . I was afraid you would disappear. I didn’t know what I was going to do. Ihadto see you again.” My cheeks started heating up.

She was quiet. I glanced up—she looked pained, like something was hurting her.

“Edythe, are you okay?”

“Ah,” she groaned quietly. “This is wrong.”

I couldn’t understand her response. “What did I say?”

“Don’t you see, Beau? It’s one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved.” She turned her anguished eyes to the road, her words flowing almost too fast for me to understand. “I don’t want to hear that you feel that way. It’s wrong. It’s not safe. I’ll hurt you, Beau. You’ll be lucky to get out alive.”

“I don’t care.”

“That’s a really stupid thing to say.”

“Maybe, but it’s true. I told you, it doesn’t matter to me what you are. It’s too late.”

Her voice whipped out, low and sharp. “Never say that. It’snottoo late. I can put things back the way they were. Iwill.”

I stared straight ahead, glad again for the scarf. My neck was a mass of crimson splotches, I was sure.

“I don’t want things back the way they were,” I mumbled. I wondered if I was supposed to move my hand. I held it still. Maybe she would forget it was there.

“I’m sorry I’ve done this to you.” Her voice burned with real regret.

The darkness slipped by us in silence. I realized the car was slowing, and even in the dark I recognized the landmarks. We were passing into the boundaries of Forks. It had taken less than twenty minutes.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Do you want to?” she whispered.