Eclipse, стр. 15

I WAS HAVING A BAD WEEK.

I knew that essentially nothing had changed. Okay, so Victoria had not given up, but had I ever dreamed for one moment that she had? Her reappearance had only confirmed what I’d already known. No reason for fresh panic.

In theory. Not panicking was easier said than done.

Graduation was only a few weeks away, but I wondered if it wasn’t a little foolish to sit around, weak and tasty, waiting for the next disaster. It seemed too dangerous to be human — just begging for trouble. Someone like me shouldn’t be human. Someone with my luck ought to be a little less helpless.

But no one would listen to me.

Carlisle had said, “There are seven of us, Bella. And with Alice on our side, I don’t think Victoria’s going to catch us off guard. I think it’s important, for Charlie’s sake, that we stick with the original plan.”

Esme had said, “We’d never allow anything to happen to you, sweetheart. You know that. Please don’t be anxious.” And then she’d kissed my forehead.

Emmett had said, “I’m really glad Edward didn’t kill you. Everything’s so much more fun with you around.”

Rosalie had glared at him.

Alice had rolled her eyes and said, “I’m offended. You’re not honestly worried about this, are you?”

“If it’s no big deal, then why did Edward drag me to Florida?” I’d demanded.

“Haven’t you noticed yet, Bella, that Edward is just the teeniest bit prone to overreaction?”

Jasper had silently erased all the panic and tension in my body with his curious talent of controlling emotional atmospheres. I’d felt reassured, and let them talk me out of my desperate pleading.

Of course, that calm had worn off as soon as Edward and I had walked out of the room.

So the consensus was that I was just supposed to forget that a deranged vampire was stalking me, intent on my death. Go about my business.

I did try. And surprisingly, there were other things almost as stressful to dwell on besides my status on the endangered species list. . . .

Because Edward’s response had been the most frustrating of them all.

“That’s between you and Carlisle,” he’d said. “Of course, you know that I’m willing to make it between you and me at any time that you wish. You know my condition.” And he had smiled angelically.

Ugh. I did know his condition. Edward had promised that he would change me himself whenever I wanted . . . just as long as I was married to him first.

Sometimes I wondered if he was only pretending that he couldn’t read my mind. How else had he struck upon the one condition that I would have trouble accepting? The one condition that would slow me down.

All in all, a very bad week. And today was the worst day in it.

It was always a bad day when Edward was away. Alice had foreseen nothing out of the ordinary this weekend, and so I’d insisted that he take the opportunity to go hunting with his brothers. I knew how it bored him to hunt the easy, nearby prey.

“Go have fun,” I’d told him. “Bag a few mountain lions for me.”

I would never admit to him how hard it was for me when he was gone — how it brought back the abandonment nightmares. If he knew that, it would make him feel horrible and he would be afraid to ever leave me, even for the most necessary reasons. It had been like that in the beginning, when he’d first returned from Italy. His golden eyes had turned black and he’d suffered from his thirst more than it was already necessary that he suffer. So I put on a brave face and all but kicked him out the door whenever Emmett and Jasper wanted to go.

I think he saw through me, though. A little. This morning there had been a note left on my pillow:

I’ll be back so soon you won’t have time to miss me. Look after my heart — I’ve left it with you.

So now I had a big empty Saturday with nothing but my morning shift at Newton’s Olympic Outfitters to distract me. And, of course, the oh-so-comforting promise from Alice.

“I’m staying close to home to hunt. I’ll only be fifteen minutes away if you need me. I’ll keep an eye out for trouble.”

Translation: don’t try anything funny just because Edward is gone.

Alice was certainly just as capable of crippling my truck as Edward was.

I tried to look on the bright side. After work, I had plans to help Angela with her announcements, so that would be a distraction. And Charlie was in an excellent mood due to Edward’s absence, so I might as well enjoy that while it lasted. Alice would spend the night with me if I was pathetic enough to ask her to. And then tomorrow, Edward would be home. I would survive.

Not wanting to be ridiculously early for work, I ate my breakfast slowly, one Cheerio at a time. Then, when I’d washed the dishes, I arranged the magnets on the fridge into a perfect line. Maybe I was developing obsessive-compulsive disorder.

The last two magnets — round black utilitarian pieces that were my favorites because they could hold ten sheets of paper to the fridge without breaking a sweat — did not want to cooperate with my fixation. Their polarities were reversed; every time I tried to line the last one up, the other jumped out of place.

For some reason — impending mania, perhaps — this really irritated me. Why couldn’t they just play nice? Stupid with stubbornness, I kept shoving them together as if I was expecting them to suddenly give up. I could have flipped one over, but that felt like losing. Finally, exasperated at myself more than the magnets, I pulled them from the fridge and held them together with two hands. It took a little effort — they were strong enough to put up a fight — but I forced them to coexist side-by-side.

“See,” I said out loud — talking to inanimate objects, never a good sign — “That’s not so horrible, is it?”

I stood there like an idiot for a second, not quite able to admit that I wasn’t having any lasting effect against scientific principles. Then, with a sigh, I put the magnets back on the fridge, a foot apart.

“There’s no need to be so inflexible,” I muttered.

It was still too early, but I decided I’d better get out of the house before the inanimate objects started talking back.

When I got to Newton’s, Mike was methodically dry mopping the aisles while his mom arranged a new counter display. I caught them in the middle of an argument, unaware that I had arrived.

“But it’s the only time that Tyler can go,” Mike complained. “You said after graduation —”

“You’re just going to have to wait,” Mrs. Newton snapped. “You and Tyler can think of something else to do. You are not going to Seattle until the police stop whatever it is that is going on there. I know Beth Crowley has told Tyler the same thing, so don’t act like I’m the bad guy — oh, good morning, Bella,” she said when she caught sight of me, brightening her tone quickly. “You’re early.”

Karen Newton was the last person I’d think to ask for help in an outdoor sports equipment store. Her perfectly highlighted blond hair was always smoothed into an elegant twist on the back of her neck, her fingernails were polished by professionals, as were her toenails — visible through the strappy high heels that didn’t resemble anything Newton’s offered on the long row of hiking boots.

“Light traffic,” I joked as I grabbed my hideous fluorescent orange vest out from under the counter. I was surprised that Mrs. Newton was as worked up about this Seattle thing as Charlie. I’d thought he was going to extremes.

“Well, er . . .” Mrs. Newton hesitated for a moment, playing uncomfortably with a stack of flyers she was arranging by the register.

I stopped with one arm in my vest. I knew that look.

When I’d let the Newtons know that I wouldn’t be working here this summer — abandoning them in their busiest season, in effect — they’d started training Katie Marshall to take my place. They couldn’t really afford both of us on the payroll at the same time, so when it looked like a slow day . . .

“I was going to call,” Mrs. Newton continued. “I don’t think we’re expecting a ton of business today. Mike and I can probably handle things. I’m sorry you got up and drove out. . . .”

On a normal day, I would be ecstatic with this turn of events. Today . . . not so much.

“Okay,” I sighed. My shoulders slumped. What was I going to do now?

“That’s not fair, Mom,” Mike said. “If Bella wants to work —”

“No, it’s okay, Mrs. Newton. Really, Mike. I’ve got finals to study for and stuff. . . .” I didn’t want to be a source of familial discord when they were already arguing.

“Thanks, Bella. Mike, you missed aisle four. Um, Bella, do you mind throwing these flyers in a Dumpster on the way out? I told the girl who left them here that I’d put them on the counter, but I really don’t have the room.”

“Sure, no problem.” I put my vest away, and then tucked the flyers under my arm and headed out into the misty rain.

The Dumpster was around the side of Newton’s, next to where we employees were supposed to park. I shuffled along, kicking pebbles petulantly on my way. I was about to fling the stack of bright yellow papers into the trash when the heading printed in bold across the top caught my eye. One word in particular seized my attention.

I clutched the papers in both hands as I stared at the picture beneath the caption. A lump rose in my throat.

SAVE THE OLYMPIC WOLF

Under the words, there was a detailed drawing of a wolf in front of a fir tree, its head thrown back in the act of baying at the moon. It was a disconcerting picture; something about the wolf’s plaintive posture made him look forlorn. Like he was howling in grief.

And then I was running to my truck, the flyers still locked in my grip.

Fifteen minutes — that’s all I had. But it should be long enough. It was only fifteen minutes to La Push, and surely I would cross the boundary line a few minutes before I hit the town.

My truck roared to life without any difficulty.

Alice couldn’t have seen me doing this, because I hadn’t been planning it. A snap decision, that was the key! And as long as I moved fast enough, I should be able to capitalize on it.

I’d thrown the damp flyers in my haste and they were scattered in a bright mess across the passenger seat — a hundred bolded captions, a hundred dark howling wolves outlined against the yellow background.

I barreled down the wet highway, turning the windshield wipers on high and ignoring the groan of the ancient engine. Fifty-five was the most I could coax out of my truck, and I prayed it would be enough.