The Twilight Saga Collection part 2(8)

Charlie peeked through the front window when he heard me slam the car door. He waved to Alice, and then went to get the door for me.

“Did you have fun?” Charlie asked.

“Sure, it was great. Very . . . girlie.”

I carried my stuff in, dumped it all at the foot of the stairs, and wandered into the kitchen to look for a snack.

“You’ve got a message,” Charlie called after me.

On the kitchen counter, the phone message pad was propped up conspicuously against a saucepan.

Jacob called, Charlie had written.



He said he didn’t mean it, and that he’s sorry. He wants you to call him. Be nice and give him a break. He sounded upset.



I grimaced. Charlie didn’t usually editorialize on my messages.

Jacob could just go ahead and be upset. I didn’t want to talk to him. Last I’d heard, they weren’t big on allowing phone calls from the other side. If Jacob preferred me dead, then maybe he should get used to the silence.

My appetite evaporated. I turned an about face and went to put my things away.

“Aren’t you going to call Jacob?” Charlie asked. He was leaning around the living room wall, watching me pick up.

“No.”

I started up the stairs.

“That’s not very attractive behavior, Bella,” he said. “Forgiveness is divine.”

“Mind your own business,” I muttered under my breath, much too low for him to hear.

I knew the laundry was building up, so after I put my toothpaste away and threw my dirty clothes in the hamper, I went to strip Charlie’s bed. I left his sheets in a pile at the top of the stairs and went to get mine.

I paused beside the bed, cocking my head to the side.

Where was my pillow? I turned in a circle, scanning the room. No pillow. I noticed that my room looked oddly tidy. Hadn’t my gray sweatshirt been draped over the low bedpost on the footboard? And I would swear there had been a pair of dirty socks behind the rocking chair, along with the red blouse I’d tried on two mornings ago, but decided was too dressy for school, hanging over the arm. . . . I spun around again. My hamper wasn’t empty, but it wasn’t overflowing, the way I thought it had been.

Was Charlie doing laundry? That was out of character.

“Dad, did you start the wash?” I shouted out my door.

“Um, no,” he shouted back, sounding guilty. “Did you want me to?”

“No, I got it. Were you looking for something in my room?”

“No. Why?”

“I can’t find . . . a shirt. . . .”

“I haven’t been in there.”

And then I remembered that Alice had been here to get my pajamas. I hadn’t noticed that she’d borrowed my pillow, too — probably since I’d avoided the bed. It looked like she had cleaned while she was passing through. I blushed for my slovenly ways.

But that red shirt really wasn’t dirty, so I went to save it from the hamper.

I expected to find it near the top, but it wasn’t there. I dug through the whole pile and still couldn’t find it. I knew I was probably getting paranoid, but it seemed like something else was missing, or maybe more than one something. I didn’t even have half a load here.

I ripped my sheets off and headed for the laundry closet, grabbing Charlie’s on the way. The washing machine was empty. I checked the dryer, too, half-expecting to find a washed load waiting for me, courtesy of Alice. Nothing. I frowned, mystified.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Charlie yelled.

“Not yet.”

I went back upstairs to search under my bed. Nothing but dust bunnies. I started to dig through my dresser. Maybe I’d put the red shirt away and forgotten.

I gave up when the doorbell rang. That would be Edward.

“Door,” Charlie informed me from the couch as I skipped past him.

“Don’t strain yourself, Dad.”

I pulled the door open with a big smile on my face.

Edward’s golden eyes were wide, his nostrils flared, his lips pulled back over his teeth.

“Edward?” My voice was sharp with shock as I read his expression. “What —?”

He put his finger to my lips. “Give me two seconds,” he whispered. “Don’t move.”

I stood frozen on the doorstep and he . . . disappeared. He moved so quickly that Charlie wouldn’t even have seen him pass.

Before I could compose myself enough to count to two, he was back. He put his arm around my waist and pulled me swiftly toward the kitchen. His eyes darted around the room, and he held me against his body as if he were shielding me from something. I threw a glance toward Charlie on the couch, but he was studiously ignoring us.

“Someone’s been here,” he murmured in my ear after he pulled me to the back of the kitchen. His voice was strained; it was difficult to hear him over the thumping of the washing machine.