The Twilight Saga Collection part 1(182)

I glanced at the bikes again and saw that they were resting on a pile of yard clippings and dead branches. “Are you positive about that?”

“Sure, you want to ask her?”

It was probably better not to involve adults who might mention this to Charlie.

“No, I believe you.”

“You want me to help you?” he offered. “They’re not light.”

“Okay, thanks. I only need one, though.”

“Might as well take both,” the boy said. “Maybe you could scavenge some parts.”

He followed me out into the downpour and helped me load both of the heavy bikes into the back of my truck. He seemed eager to be rid of them, so I didn’t argue.

“What are you going to do with them, anyway?” he asked. “They haven’t worked in years.”

“I kind of guessed that,” I said, shrugging. My spur-of-the-moment whim hadn’t come with a plan intact. “Maybe I’ll take them to Dowling’s.”

He snorted. “Dowling would charge more to fix them than they’d be worth running.”

I couldn’t argue with that. John Dowling had earned a reputation for his pricing; no one went to him except in an emergency. Most people preferred to make the drive up to Port Angeles, if their car was able. I’d been very lucky on that front—I’d been worried, when Charlie first gifted me my ancient truck, that I wouldn’t be able to afford to keep it running. But I’d never had a single problem with it, other than the screaming-loud engine and the fifty-five-mile-per-hour maximum speed limit. Jacob Black had kept it in great shape when it had belonged to his father, Billy....

Inspiration hit like a bolt of lightning—not unreasonable, considering the storm. “You know what? That’s okay. I know someone who builds cars.”

“Oh. That’s good.” He smiled in relief.

He waved as I pulled away, still smiling. Friendly kid.

I drove quickly and purposefully now, in a hurry to get home before there was the slightest chance of Charlie appearing, even in the highly unlikely event that he might knock off early. I dashed through the house to the phone, keys still in hand.

“Chief Swan, please,” I said when the deputy answered. “It’s Bella.”

“Oh, hey, Bella,” Deputy Steve said affably. “I’ll go get him.”

I waited.

“What’s wrong, Bella?” Charlie demanded as soon as he picked up the phone.

“Can’t I call you at work without there being an emergency?”

He was quiet for a minute. “You never have before. Is there an emergency?”

“No. I just wanted directions to the Blacks’ place—I’m not sure I can remember the way. I want to visit Jacob. I haven’t seen him in months.”

When Charlie spoke again, his voice was much happier. “That’s a great idea, Bells. Do you have a pen?”

The directions he gave me were very simple. I assured him that I would be back for dinner, though he tried to tell me not to hurry. He wanted to join me in La Push, and I wasn’t having that.

So it was with a deadline that I drove too quickly through the storm-darkened streets out of town. I hoped I could get Jacob alone. Billy would probably tell on me if he knew what I was up to.

While I drove, I worried a little bit about Billy’s reaction to seeing me. He would be too pleased. In Billy’s mind, no doubt, this had all worked out better than he had dared to hope. His pleasure and relief would only remind me of the one I couldn’t bear to be reminded of. Not again today, I pleaded silently. I was spent.

The Blacks’ house was vaguely familiar, a small wooden place with narrow windows, the dull red paint making it resemble a tiny barn. Jacob’s head peered out of the window before I could even get out of the truck. No doubt the familiar roar of the engine had tipped him off to my approach. Jacob had been very grateful when Charlie bought Billy’s truck for me, saving Jacob from having to drive it when he came of age. I liked my truck very much, but Jacob seemed to consider the speed restrictions a shortcoming.

He met me halfway to the house.

“Bella!” His excited grin stretched wide across his face, the bright teeth standing in vivid contrast to the deep russet color of his skin. I’d never seen his hair out of its usual ponytail before. It fell like black satin curtains on either side of his broad face.

Jacob had grown into some of his potential in the last eight months. He’d passed that point where the soft muscles of childhood hardened into the solid, lanky build of a teenager; the tendons and veins had become prominent under the red-brown skin of his arms, his hands. His face was still sweet like I remembered it, though it had hardened, too—the planes of his cheekbones sharper, his jaw squared off, all childish roundness gone.