Page 47 of Life and Death: Twilight Reimagined (The Twilight Saga)

I nodded and turned to scavenge. There was lasagna left over from last night.

I put a square on a plate, changed my mind, and added the rest that was in the pan, then set the plate in the microwave.

I washed the pan while the microwave revolved, filling the kitchen with the smell of tomatoes and oregano. My stomach growled again.

“Hmm,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“I’m going to have to do a better job in the future.”

I laughed. “What could you possibly do better than you already do?”

“Remember that you’re human. I should have, I don’t know, packed a picnic or something today.”

The microwave dinged and I pulled the plate out, then set it down quickly when it burned my hand.

“Don’t worry about it.”

I found a fork and started eating. I was really hungry. The first bite scalded my mouth, but I kept chewing.

“Does that taste good?” she asked.

I swallowed. “I’m not sure. I think I just burned my taste buds off. It tasted good yesterday.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“Do you ever miss food? Ice cream? Peanut butter?”

She shook her head. “I hardly remember food. I couldn’t even tell you what my favorites were. It doesn’t smell . . . edible now.”

“That’s kind of sad.”

“It’s not such a huge sacrifice.” She said it sadly, like there were other things on her mind, sacrifices that were huge.

I used the dish towel as a hot pad and carried the plate to the table so I could sit by her.

“Do you miss other parts about being human?”

She thought about that for a second. “I don’t actually miss anything, because I’d have to remember it to be able to miss it, and like I said, my human life is hard to remember. But there are things I think I’d like. I suppose you could say things I was jealous of.”

“Like what?”

“Sleep is one. Never-ending consciousness gets tedious. I think I’d enjoy temporary oblivion. It looks interesting.”

I ate a few bites, thinking about that. “Sounds hard. What do you do all night?”

She hesitated, then pursed her lips. “Do you mean in general?”

I wondered why she sounded like she didn’t want to answer. Was it too broad a question?

“No, you don’t have to be general. Like, what are you going to do tonight after you leave?”

It was the wrong question. I could feel my high start to slip. She was going to have to leave. It didn’t matter how short the separation was—I dreaded it.

She didn’t seem to like the question, either, at first I thought for the same reason. But then her eyes flashed to my face and away, like she was uncomfortable.

“What?”

She made a face. “Do you want a pleasant lie or a possibly disturbing truth?”

“The truth,” I said quickly, though I wasn’t entirely sure.

She sighed. “I’ll come back here after you and your father are asleep. It’s sort of my routine lately.”

I blinked. Then I blinked again.

“You come here ?”

“Almost every night.”

“Why?”

“You’re interesting when you sleep,” she said casually. “You talk.”

My mouth popped open. Heat flashed up my neck and into my face. I knew I talked in my sleep, of course; my mother teased me about it. I hadn’t thought it was something I needed to worry about here.

She watched my reaction, staring up at me apprehensively from under her lashes.

“Are you very angry with me?”

Was I? I didn’t know. The potential for humiliation was strong. And I didn’t understand—she’d been listening to me babble in my sleep from where? The window? I couldn’t understand.

“How do you . . . Where do you . . . What did I . . . ?” I couldn’t finish any of my thoughts.

She put her hand on my cheek. The blood under her fingers felt burning hot next to her cold hand. “Don’t be upset. I didn’t mean any harm. I promise, I was very much in control of myself. If I’d thought there was any danger, I would have left immediately. I just . . . wanted to be where you were.”

“I . . . That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“What are you worried about?”

“What did I say ?”

She smiled. “You miss your mother. When it rains, 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 .’ ” She laughed softly, hoping not to offend me again.

“Anything else?” I demanded.

She knew what I was getting at. “You did say my name,” she admitted.

I sighed in defeat. “A lot?”

“Define ‘ a lot .’ ”

“Oh no,” I groaned.

Like it was easy, natural, she put her arms around my shoulders and leaned her head against my chest. Automatically, my arms came up to wrap around her. To hold her there.

“Don’t be self-conscious,” she whispered. “You already told me that you dream about me, remember?”

“That’s different. I knew what I was saying.”

“If I could dream at all, it would be about you. And I’m not ashamed of it.”

I stroked her hair. I guessed I really didn’t mind, when it came down to it. It wasn’t like I expected her to follow normal human rules anyway. The rules she’d made for herself seemed like enough.

“I’m not ashamed,” I whispered.

She hummed, almost like a purr, her cheek pressed over my heart.

Then we both heard the sound of tires on the brick driveway, saw the headlights flash through the front windows, down the hall to us. I jumped, and dropped my arms as she pulled away.

“Do you want your father to know that I’m here?” she asked.

I tried to think it through quickly. “Um . . .”

“Another time, then . . .”

And I was alone.

“ Edythe? ” I whispered.

I heard a quiet laugh, and then nothing else.

My father’s key turned in the door.

“Beau?” he called. I remembered finding that funny before; who else would it be? Suddenly he didn’t seem so far off base.

“In here.”

Was my voice too agitated? I took another bite of my lasagna so I could be chewing when he came in. His footsteps sounded extra noisy after I’d spent the day with Edythe.

“Did you take all the lasagna?” he asked, looking at my plate.

“Oh, sorry. Here, have some.”

“No worries, Beau. I’ll make myself a sandwich.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled again.

Charlie banged around the kitchen getting what he needed.

I worked on eating my giant plate of food as fast as was humanly possible while not choking to death.

I was thinking about what Edythe had just said— Do you want your father to know that I’m here?

Which was not the same as Do you want your father to know that I was here?

in the past tense. So did that mean she hadn’t actually left? I hoped so.

Sandwich in hand, Charlie sat in the chair across from me. It was hard to imagine Edythe sitting in the same place just minutes ago. Charlie fit. The memory of her was like a dream that couldn’t possibly have been real.

“How was your day? Did you get everything done that you wanted to?”

“Um, not really. It was . . . too nice out to stay indoors. Were the fish biting?”

“Yep. They like the good weather, too.”

I scraped the last of the lasagna into one huge mouthful and started chewing.

“Got plans for tonight?” he asked suddenly.

I shook my head, maybe a little too emphatically.

“You look kinda keyed up,” he noted.

Of course he would have to pay attention tonight.

I swallowed. “Really?”

“It’s Saturday,” he mused.

I didn’t respond.

“I guess you’re missing that dance tonight. . . .”

“As intended,” I said.

He nodded. “Sure, dancing, I get it. But maybe next week—you could take that Newton girl out for dinner or something. Get out of the house. Socialize.”

“I told you, she’s dating my friend.”

He frowned. “Well, there’re lots of other fish in the sea.”

“Not at the rate you’re going.”

He laughed. “I do my best. . . . So you’re not going out tonight?” he asked again.

“Nowhere to go,” I told him. “Besides, I’m tired. I’m just going to go to bed early again.”

I got up and took my plate to the sink.

“Uh-huh,” he said, chewing thoughtfully. “None of the girls in town are your type, eh?”

I shrugged as I scrubbed the plate.

I could feel him staring at me, and I tried really hard to keep the blood out of my neck. I wasn’t sure I was succeeding.

“Don’t be too hard on a small town,” he said. “I know we don’t have the variety of a big city—”

“There’s plenty of variety, Dad. Don’t worry about me.”

“Okay, okay. None of my business anyway.” He sounded kind of dejected.

I sighed. “Well, I’m done. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“’Night, Beau.”

I tried to make my footsteps drag as I walked up the stairs, like I was super tired. I wondered if he bought my bad acting. I hadn’t actually lied to him or anything. I definitely wasn’t planning on going out tonight.

I shut my bedroom door loud enough for him to hear downstairs, then sprinted as quietly as I could to the window. I shoved it open and leaned out into the dark. I couldn’t see anything, just the shadow of the treetops.

“Edythe?” I whispered, feeling completely idiotic.

The quiet, laughing response came from behind me. “Yes?”

I spun around so fast I knocked a book off my desk. It fell with a thud to the floor.

She was lying across my bed, hands behind her head, ankles crossed, a huge dimpled smile on her face. She looked the color of frost in the darkness.

“Oh!” I breathed, reaching out to grab the desk for support.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Just give me a second to restart my heart.”

She sat up—moving slowly like she did when she was either trying to act human or trying not to startle me—and dangled her legs over the edge of the bed. She patted the space next to her.

I walked unsteadily to the bed and sat down beside her. She put her hand on mine.

“How’s your heart?”

“You tell me—I’m sure you hear it better than I do.”

She laughed quietly.

We sat there for a moment in silence, both listening to my heartbeat slow. I thought about Edythe in my room . . . and my father’s suspicious questions . . . and my lasagna breath.

“Can I have a minute to be human?”

“Certainly.”

I stood, and then looked at her, sitting there all perfect on the edge of my bed, and I thought that maybe I was just hallucinating everything.

“You’ll be here when I get back, right?”