Author's Note: Thanks again to EKSmith and miaokuancha for pre-reading. Stephenie Meyer owns all characters.


Chapter 7

I feel things start to change after Edward's and my discussion at Pacific Pizza. He still isn't the most talkative guy, but he began having dinner with Alice and me on Sundays and actually contributes somewhat to our conversations. When he's like that, I feel like he could become a good friend — despite what he says about it not being a good idea. Whatever that means.

What is the saying — a riddle inside a mystery wrapped up in an enigma? Something like that, anyway. I love solving puzzles… I just want to get to know Edward, learn all of his secrets. The fact that he's a very, very attractive man has nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. You're kidding yourself, Bella, my subconscious tries to speak up, but I push those thoughts to the back of my mind. No matter how attractive Edward is, nothing can happen between us.

I do understand a little of why he is the way he is. Clearly, Edward has had a pretty rough life, between his adoption and prison time. I wonder how long he was behind bars, but I'm too chicken to ask. He doesn't trust people easily, that much is clear. I've tried to let him know that he can trust me, but am I really that trustworthy when I'm lying to everyone in town about my life before Forks?

I'm on borrowed time here; I know that. Realistically, I have to go home and face what I left behind. The longer I stay away, the worse it'll be to go back — for me and for everyone else. And I've got a new consideration now — the new friends I'm making here in Forks, who will miss me when I'm gone. I know this, and yet, when I think of going home, I can literally feel my blood pressure rise. No, I'm not ready yet.

I clear my head of negative thoughts as I walk into the coffee shop where I am meeting Alice for lunch, about a week and a half after our dinner with Edward and Jasper. Just after the server sets down our plates, the subject of Edward comes up.

"You know," she begins, picking at her Cobb salad, "I have never seen Edward this… friendly since he moved back to Forks. You're a good influence on him."

"Oh, I don't know about that."

"Come on, Bella, don't be so modest. You've gotten sullen, moody emo guy out of his shell. I never thought that would happen. One thing I still don't understand though, is why he was so pissed at us for going to Port Angeles that one night."

"What?" I ask, shocked. Doesn't she remember?

"You know, that night he came and picked us up from Twilight. I was pretty drunk, but I remember he wasn't happy about us being out."

"He, um, didn't want us drinking and driving," I say tentatively.

"Pfft, it's not like he ever cared about me before… So it must be you," she concludes.

I debate filling Alice in on what Edward had said that night — after all, he thinks she already knows — but in the end I decide to keep my mouth shut.

"So are you attracted to Edward?" Alice asks out of the blue.

"Alice!" I shout, as I nearly choke on my tuna salad sandwich.

"What? It's a fair question. Even I know he's hot, though he's not my type."

"He is… good-looking, I suppose. But I'm not interested in dating anyone right now."

"Oh come on, Bella! You should flirt with him a little, see how he responds."

"I — no, I can't do that. We live together; it might be awkward." Please buy that, Alice.

"Now you're just making excuses," Alice admonishes.

Shit.

"What about you and Jasper?" I ask, trying desperately to change the subject.

"Oh Bella, he is just so wonderful," she gushes. "I gave him my number that night at Pacific Pizza, and we've been talking on the phone pretty much every night since then. I'm going to go visit him in Seattle the weekend after next."

"That's great, Alice," I say genuinely. "He seemed like such a Southern gentleman."

"He is; I've been waiting to meet someone like that for a long time."

I smile at the dreamy look on Alice's face. "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks, but don't you see, I want the same for you. You deserve happiness, too, Bella."

Given the things I've done, I'm not so sure I agree with her.


One evening a few days later, I arrive home from work to find Edward at the piano again. Mrs. Cope is sitting on the sectional, watching him with rapt attention. He looks up when I come in, but doesn't seem to mind when I take a seat next to Mrs. Cope and watch him play. I don't recognize the song again — I know it's not the same one he played last time.

From where I'm seated, I can't see Edward's hands, but I'm mesmerized watching his shoulders, of all things, peeking up above the top of the piano. His eyes are open this time, as he concentrates on the keys. I only studied piano for about six months, but I know enough to realize that the song he's playing would be very difficult to play — far beyond my talent level. I'm in awe of his musical ability. What the hell is he doing in Forks, instead of on a concert stage somewhere?

When he finishes the song, Mrs. Cope speaks up, "Edward, do you know Clare de Lune?"

"I do," he nods.

"Could you play it? That song is so special to me… the piano you're playing belonged to my favorite aunt, and she played Debussy at my wedding."

"Sure, I can," he smiles, before launching into the song. I'm not familiar with it, but after just a few bars, I can understand why Mrs. Cope loves it so much.

Once again, Edward appears to lose himself in the song, eyes closed as he concentrates. I'm tempted to walk over to where I can watch him play, watch his hands moving across the keys. Instead I stare at his face, so serene, and a stray lock of too-long hair that falls over one of his eyes.

Mrs. Cope's eyes are glistening with tears by the time the song comes to an end. "Thank you, Edward," she says fervently, as she stands and gives him a quick hug. "I always love it when you play for us."

He smiles shyly at her. "Anytime you want to hear something, just ask."

"You're so talented," I say quietly once Mrs. Cope retreats to her personal quarters.

"Thank you." He shrugs. "I studied music at U-Dub."

"Alice says you teach music?"

"Um, yeah. I give private lessons, piano and guitar mostly. I tried to get a job as a music teacher at Forks High last year, but—"

He stops suddenly, and I wait patiently for him to continue. When he stares down at the piano keys, I prompt him, "But…?"

"But they wouldn't hire a convicted felon, even if I had completed my degree."

I stare at Edward, a little shocked at what he just admitted to me.

"Don't pretend you didn't know," he says flatly.

"Um…"

"Who told you?"

"Paul — bartender at The Lodge."

"Figures," he says bitterly. "All the gossips in this fucking town." He shakes his head.

"That's awful, the way people treat you," I say. "That one mistake shouldn't define who you are."

"Yeah, well, it does… That one mistake ended up costing a young man his life. No matter what I do, I can never make up for that."

Though my heart goes out to Edward, I have no answer for him, no way to relieve his guilt. Instead, I choose to get back to the original subject. "So was that your dream, to teach music?"

"No, I actually thought about being a concert pianist once. Or a rock star." He grins. "When I got out of prison, I answered an ad for a guitar player in a local rock band. It wasn't really my kind of music, but it paid the bills for a while, you know?"

"Why did you move back to Forks then?" I ask curiously.

"Ah, that's a question for another day," he says, standing up from the piano bench. "Goodnight, Bella. I have an early lesson tomorrow; one of my students always has her lessons before school."

"Goodnight, Edward."

.


Around 1am Saturday night — or Sunday morning — I am jolted from sleep by the sounds of whimpers and loud moans coming from the room next door. It almost sounds like Edward has a woman in his room and they're having sex… I refuse to dwell on the fact that I am upset by that thought. I listen more closely; now it almost sounds like cries.

Remembering that Alice is in Seattle with Jasper this weekend, I wonder if I should go see what's going on. I glance down at my pajamas, decide that they more than cover everything necessary, then quickly crawl out of bed and make my way out into the hallway. I tap lightly on Edward's door and call his name. When he doesn't respond after a few seconds, I push the door open and slowly enter the room.

The moonlight illuminates Edward's figure lying on the bed, shaking. I step closer to the bed and tentatively lay a hand on his shoulder and give him a little shake.

"Edward?" I whisper.

His eyes open and he gasps, scurrying back from me. He stares at me wild-eyed and I wonder if he recognizes me.

"Edward? It's me, Bella."

"Bella?" he whispers.

"Yes… you were having some sort of nightmare."

He sits up and lays his forehead on his bent knees, rubbing at his face.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," he says curtly.

"Well, you weren't fine a couple minutes ago. Come on, why don't you come downstairs with me and I'll make you some hot chocolate. It'll help," I add with a small smile.

Edward looks up at me, and for a minute he looks like a lost little boy. Finally he sighs and climbs out of bed. I try not to notice the fact that he's only wearing boxers.

In the kitchen, I flip the light switch then dig around in the pantry for the box of hot chocolate mix that I know I saw in there the last time I cooked dinner. Finally I find the box and pull out two packets, emptying them into mugs. I decide to take a shortcut and heat up some water in the microwave instead of a teakettle. I watch the clock tick down on the microwave to avoid looking at half-naked Edward.

When it beeps, I pour the steaming water into the mugs, stir and bring them to the table. "Here you go," I say, pushing Edward's mug towards him before sitting down.

"Thanks," he says quietly.

"So, does this happen often?"

He takes a long breath before speaking quietly, "Not too often."

"Do you remember what it was about? Was it about the accident?" I ask, curiously.

"No."

"It's ok if you don't want to tell me," I say, though I really want to know. I fully realize it's ridiculous for me to push Edward to talk when I have so many secrets of my own.

I try not to stare at his bare chest while I wait for him to decide whether or not to open up. Just the right amount of chest hair…

"Sometimes," he begins, startling me from my ogling, "I dream of what my life would've been like if my parents hadn't adopted me. I mean, I was five years old, and most couples looking to adopt seem to want babies. It's not unreasonable to think that I may have lived in that orphanage until I was 18 — or been shuttled from foster home to foster home."

"No, I suppose not, but they did adopt you, and they seem like great parents," I add, taking a sip of my hot chocolate.

"They are; I'm very lucky they found me."

"How come you don't live with them?"

"I did, for a month or so when I first came back to Forks. I just… I don't know, Mom kinda worries too much about me when I'm living under her roof. It made her nervous when I'd play a gig in Port Angeles and get home at two in the morning. Mom wouldn't fall asleep until I got home safely. I did that to her," he says, shaking his head.

"Edward, you shouldn't feel guilty about that. She's your mom — it's her job to worry."

"Still my fault…" he says, staring down at the table. I want to reach out and hug him. Instead, I decide to change the subject.

"Could they, um — I mean, why did they adopt?"

"Esme had had three miscarriages in the 10 years they'd been married. The doctors didn't think she'd ever carry a child to term, so they decided to go the adoption route."

"Ah, I see," I reply. "Were you living in Forks then?"

"No," he replies. "We lived in Alaska."

"Alaska? Wow, I didn't expect that."

"Yeah, I'm from Anchorage. Esme and Carlisle are originally from the Midwest somewhere — Ohio, I think — but they moved to Anchorage for his medical school residency."

"When did you move to Forks?"

"When I was 11 — right before I started middle school. Carlisle had had a standing job offer at the hospital here in Forks for a couple years, but they stuck around in Alaska just in case my real parents tried to contact me. They never did."

"Will you tell me now what happened to your real parents? I guess — I guess they didn't die."

He glances up at me and the look on his face is heartbreaking. "They didn't want me," he says flatly.

"What? They gave you up, just like that?"

"Well, not quite," he replies. "My mom left my dad when I was four. She fell in love with another guy and he didn't want her kid, so she left me behind with my dad. He tried his best, but he started drinking a lot after she left, and eventually he was fired from his job at the Port. When he couldn't afford to feed me anymore, he gave me up."

"Edward, that's horrible," I say, tears running down my face. "But it's not your fault — I mean, that doesn't mean they didn't want you."

"Of course it does," he says bitterly. "My mom chose another man over me and my dad chose the bottle over me. They didn't want me. They left me. Unless you've been through it, you can't imagine what it does to a kid to feel unwanted," he says, shaking his head.

My tears are falling faster now, as my heart breaks. Surely he can understand that his dad was just doing what he thought was best?

"Edward, by giving you up, your dad was trying to save you, give you a better life. He wasn't being selfish."

"Don't try to defend him, Bella," Edward says almost angrily.

"Ok, ok, I won't," I placate him. "Is this why you have such a hard time trusting people?"

"It's part of the reason," he replies with a sigh. "I'm not up for the rest right now though, all right?"

"Ok, sure, of course. Are—are you feeling better?"

"Yeah, thank you, Bella. For the hot chocolate — and for listening." He stands and places his mug in the sink. "See you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Edward," I call, watching him walk away.

I hastily rinse both of our mugs in the sink and climb the stairs back to my room. After I close the door and crawl into bed, I begin sobbing.


A/N: More answers for everyone!