Author's Note: This story is written in a colloquial, first person point of view, so you as a reader can feel like Bella, and hear her thoughts.
** THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES QUOTES FROM CHAPTERS 10-12 OF TWILIGHT. **
Disclaimer: Everything and anything related to the Twilight saga belongs to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fiction based on her writings. No harm is meant by it.
Chapter Eleven:
Here Comes The Sun
I reread the note, twice. His handwriting is flawless and reminiscent of calligraphy. He's the only boy I know that writes well. I trace each of the letters slowly, feeling the indentations they've made on the paper. He likes to press down hard when he writes.
According to my clock, I have two hours before I have to leave, and even so, I rush into the bathroom and frantically go through my routine. Once out of the bathroom, it's no different.
I dress in a rush and waste time fidgeting with a tan sweater until it hangs right over my jeans the way I want it to. I sneak a swift look out the window to see that Charlie's already gone like I knew he'd be. He's long gone by now, and he's probably caught some fish already.
A thin, cotton-like layer of clouds, veils the sky, but you can already see streaks of sunlight peering through them. I wonder what the sun has to do with what Edward wants to show me.
I run down the stairs, carefully, so I don't tumble down them. My savior isn't here to catch me. It's odd how I miss him, though we've only really spoken for the last couple of days. Walking into the kitchen, I expect and secretly hope to find him, but having already read the note, I know he won't be there.
It's still a disappointment not seeing his tall frame working over the stove. I walk over to the freezer, pull out two frozen chocolate chip waffles, and pop them into the toaster. While I wait for them to cook, I grab some orange juice and maple syrup from the fridge.
I don't even bother grabbing a glass; I drink straight from the carton. There's only enough for one cup anyway. When the waffles finish cooking, the popping sound of the toaster startles me. I grab one, and up playing a game of catch with my hands. It's ridiculous how I never seem to understand that the waffles will be searing hot once they pop up. I'll never learn.
I skip on the syrup and just eat the waffles, but I don't even taste them. I'm so nervous about Edward and the woods, that I don't even taste the usually delicious chocolatey goodness of my Ego waffles.
Right after, I go upstairs to brush my teeth. I head back to my bedroom and grab my coat. I see that I have a little over forty minutes to get to Edward, so I slow down—just a bit—but the butterflies in my stomach are still a flutter. I wonder what he wants to show me.
I take to the stairs, slowly, counting my blessings when I reach the bottom unscathed for the second time. It must be my lucky day. I check to make sure that the toaster is unplugged before I head out.
I trip on the last step of the front porch. So much for my lucky day!
The closer I get to my truck, the faster the butterflies in my stomach flutter. I'm beyond nervous; that much is certain. I feel like I'm going to puke, and I haven't even stepped into the truck.
My hands shake as I turn the ignition. The erratic shaking of the engine only makes the nausea worse, and the seatbelt is unusually tight against my chest today. It's like it's pressing down extra firm.
I grip the steering wheel tightly as I back out of the driveway. I drive through Forks to the sounds of Beethoven. Whatever radio station Edward had programmed yesterday is the one I'm listening to. On any other day, the music would be soothing, but not today. I don't even really hear it because my head is swarming with hundreds of different scenarios.
I'm soon out of the town limits, despite my overriding anxiety. Thick underbrush and green-swathed trunks replace the lawns and houses of Forks. It's surprisingly difficult to concentrate on the road while thinking about meeting up with Edward. I compensate by driving carefully, as I turn right onto the one-ten, and for the next twenty minutes I barely breathe as I drive until the border of the woodlands that Forks owns and the part that borders the Quileute Reservation.
The pavement ends here.
The end of the road constricts into a thin foot trail with a wooden marker. I park on the narrow shoulder, and spot Edward off in the corner, waiting, leaning against a tree, staring right at my truck as it sputters turning off. He helps me get out of the car, pulling me by my hand, and instantly, the cold travels up my arm.
"Good morning, or should I say afternoon," he greets me, chuckling as he closes the door to my truck behind me. Immediately, I grow self-conscious, glancing down to make sure I haven't forgotten my shoes or my pants. Sadly, it wouldn't be the first time.
"What's wrong?" I ask, and he continues to laugh.
"We match." I look at him and realize he has a long, tan sweater on, with a white collar showing underneath and blue jeans. I find it odd that he actually goes about changing clothes everyday when I'm the only person that sees him. His argument is that sister—if she found him wearing the same outfit consecutively—would kill him, if he wasn't already dead,.
I laugh with him, trying to hide my nerves, but he manages to see right through it.
"Are you nervous?" he asks, smirking.
"No," I answer, my voice betrays me by wavering. He chuckles again.
"Why are you so nervous?" he implores, brushing a piece of stray hair that's fallen into my eye, behind my ear. It only serves to make me more nervous.
"I—I don't know," I stutter as he pulls away. I take the opportunity to turn around and lock the door to my truck, simultaneously hiding the blush making its way up my neck.
"What's here?" I wonder, out loud, turning back around to find Edward leaning against the cab of my truck.
"A trail."
"I can see that. Wait, we have to hike for you to show me whatever is you have to show me?" I mentally praise myself for thinking ahead and wearing sneakers.
"Is that a problem?" He sounds as if he already expected as much from me.
"No." I try to make the lie sound confident.
"Don't worry," he comforts, "It's only five miles or so, and we're in no real hurry."
I gulp audibly. Five miles!
He takes a left, away from the trail, and I stare curiously, as to why he's walking through the trees instead of the cut out path.
"This way," he says, glancing over his shoulder at me. He has a backpack with him, which I can only assume are things for me, since he doesn't need any survival gear. I hope he's brought a first-aid kit.
"The trail?" Panic is clear in my voice, as I hurry to catch up with him.
"We're not taking it," he answers, blandly, grabbing my hand to help me step over a broken tree trunk as we begin our hike.
"No trail?" I ask, desperately.
"I won't let you get lost," he promises, smiling.
Great. Not only do I have to walk five miles, but I have to walk five miles of treacherous roots and loose stones, trying to twist my ankles or otherwise incapacitate me. This is going to be humiliating, and quite possibly, impossible.
We walk in silence for a while as I contemplate what it is he has to show me. I also keep my eyes firmly planted on the ground the further we walk. The last thing I need to do is fall in the woods. It's like a Bella death trap out here.
"You're awfully quiet," Edward comments, as I watch the blue aura stop before me. "Do you want to go home?" he asks hesitantly.
"No." I walk forward, and he turns around and extends his hand out again. I take it, and hop over a hole in the ground, tripping up on a twig. Edward catches me easily, and I hold on for longer than I should, but I can't help it. I love the cold that pervades my senses. Who am I kidding? I just love that he's holding me.
"Are you okay?" he asks, pulling my upright. I just nod my head and tear my gaze away, looking back down intently at the ground.
"What are you thinking?" he asks, impatiently, after we start walking again.
I lie again. "Just wondering where we're going."
"It's a place I used to go to when the weather was nice. It's also a good place because the canopy above is open. We'll get plenty of sunlight."
"What happens in the sun?" I ask, picking up my pace. I can tell I'm slowing us down. Edward keeps looking up at the sky, and I can see the clouds thinning.
"I have to show you," he chides, offhand, and I halt my steps. Quickly, he apologizes for his tone of voice.
"Sorry, Bella. It's just that I want to get to the clearing before the sun comes out."
"It's okay."
Again, we let the silence overtake us as we walk. The only sounds are those of the birds and the random twigs we keep snapping with our feet.
"We're getting closer," Edward speaks up, an hour later, breaking the silence.
"Okay," I manage to say.
This new part of the trail isn't as hard as I feared it would be. The way is mostly flat, and Edward pulls back any damp ferns and webs of moss aside for me to walk. He helps me over any fallen trees or boulders, easily lifting me up over them. His cold touch on my skin, never once, fails to make my heart thud erratically. We have only been on the trail for a little over two hours when Edward stops and sits on a boulder.
"How are you doing, Bella?" he asks, as I sit down beside him, trying to steady my breathing, but sitting next to him, doesn't aid the situation.
"I'm okay," I answer, and he knocks his shoulder into mine, gently, chuckling as he does.
"No need to lie. If you want to rest, we can. I have some water in the bag." He pulls it out and I take a large swig of it, getting as much water out of the bottle as possible. Most of the water is ice, but some of it still manages to slip down my chin. Edward swiftly wipes it away, the water crystallizing on his thumb.
"Whoa!" we both remark, looking at the little ice crystals on the tip of his thumb.
"That would explain why the water is mostly ice," I mention. He nods in agreement.
We start our hike once again, and I trip on a small pebble, this time I fall straight to the ground. Edward hears my cry of agony, and helps me up.
"I'm sorry," I apologize.
"Why are you apologizing, Bella? It's not like you purposely fell."
"I'm not a good hiker," I answer dully. "I'm slowing us down."
"It's okay, Bella." He smiles grandly as he begins to walk again, this time much slower. I smile, noticing the change of pace. How considerate, I think as I wipe a drop of sweat traveling down the corner of my eyebrow.
It was warmer out now, warmer than it had been when I left Forks this morning. It feels almost muggy under the clouds. I pull off my sweater, and knot it around my waist, glad that I have though to wear a light, sleeveless shirt–especially if there are still miles left ahead of me. I groan, and Edward turns around, noting my change of appearance.
"Hot?" he asks, making to remove his own sweater, though I doubt he needs to. I stifle a gasp, as his arms come into view. He's also wearing a white, sleeveless shirt, except his is a button down that he's left unbuttoned, so that I can see the smooth white skin of his throat flow uninterrupted over the marble contours of his chest. Yes marble! His chest looks like a slab of marble, soft, pale, beautiful marble.
I nod absentmindedly, trying to regain any semblance of rational thought. Godlike, is the only thing I can think to describe him.
We walk in silence. He asks me random questions. Nothing is overly personal. The hike takes most of the early afternoon, but he never shows any sign of impatience. I'm more than positive he can just pop into the spot he wants to be, but I'm slowing him down.
The forest around us is a boundless labyrinth of ancient trees, and I begin to get nervous, because how are we supposed to find our way out of here afterwards. Then another thought comes to me. I have to walk another five miles to get back to my truck! As if it didn't already suck the first time, now I have to repeat the journey. Edward looks perfectly at ease in the green maze, never seeming to feel any doubt about our direction.
The light that filters through the canopy above us transforms suddenly from the murky olive tone to a brighter jade. The sun has come out, just like he said. For the first time since we've entered the woods, I feel a thrill of excitement, which quickly turns to impatience.
"Are we there yet?" I tease, pretending to scowl. I just want to see this "unbelievable" feat already.
"Nearly." He smiles back at me, pointing to a spot up ahead. "Do you see the brightness up ahead?"
"Um, should I?" I ask, peering into the forest in the direction he's pointing. I don't see anything but trees.
He smirks. "Maybe it's something else I can do. I can see far distances." I nod as we continue to walk. After another hundred yards, I can see the lightening in the trees ahead, a glow that's yellow instead of green. I pick up my pace, my eagerness growing with every step. He lets me lead now, following quietly behind.
I reach the edge of the pool of light and step through the last fringe of ferns into the loveliest place I've ever seen. It's a meadow. It's small, perfectly round with wildflowers—violet, yellow and soft white. Somewhere nearby, I can hear the bubbling music of a stream.
The sun is directly overhead, filling the circle with a haze of buttery sunshine. I walk slowly around the meadow, awestruck by its sheer beauty. I halfway turn to share this with Edward, but he's nowhere to be found. I search for him with sudden alarm. I spot him, still under the dense shade of the woods. He watches me cautiously, afraid to make a move toward me. At the moment, I remember what the beauty of the meadow has driven away from my mind—the enigma of Edward Cullen and the sun.
I take a step back toward him, my eyes alight with curiosity. His eyes widen, reluctantly. I smile to goad him to step into the sun, beckoning him with my hand afterwards because it doesn't work. I take another step toward him, but he holds his hand up to stop me. I hesitate, rocking on the heels of my feet.
He takes what looks like a deep breath and then he steps out into the bright glows of the midday sun.
I stare at him, and nothing looks different. He walks toward me with a serious expression on his face.
"What am I supposed to be seeing, Edward?" I ask, timidly. I feel ridiculous and like a failure for not seeing what he wants me to see.
"Take a good look, Bella. Take a closer look," he stands his ground, speaking firmly.
He's standing only a foot from me, and that's when I notice.
"Where's the–" I say, moving my hands in an outline of his body where the blue aura is supposed to be.
"Touch me, Bella."
"Excuse me?" I ask, clearing my throat.
He doesn't repeat himself; instead, he grabs my hand and places it on his chest. It's unnecessary. I could already feel it in his hand.
He's warm.
"Y–y–you feel warm," I stutter, letting my hand travel the planes of his chest. I grab at his shoulder, and it's soft.
"You're—you're so soft. You don't feel like a glacier." He nods. He feels alive, though I can't feel a pulse, he feels alive. His hair tousles with the gentle wind as it tangles mine, and ruffles the grass around us.
"How?" I ask, my voice breaking.
"I don't know," he finally speaks up, taking my hand and leading me to the center of the meadow. He sits and takes me down with him.
Hesitantly, as if I'm afraid that he'll disappear, I reach out a finger and stroke the back of his hand, where it lies within my reach. It's such an odd sensation, such a contrast from the past days. I'm so used to the frigid nature of his touch, that this feels so foreign, and at the same time, it feels incredibly normal.
"You have no idea, how wonderful that feels," he whispers, grabbing the finger in his hand, pulling my hand into his.
"What do you mean?" I whisper, breathlessly.
"This," he squeezes my hand gently, "The fact that I can hold your hand without having to fear that I might give you pneumonia, or worse break it. Do you know how hard it is to function when you can pretty much break anything? I'm so cautious now, and it kills me." He sounds as if he's in agony; it's heartbreaking.
"This is so weird," I murmur, but he hears me and chuckles.
"Tell me about it." This time I chuckle.
"How did you find out about this thing with the sun?"
"Billy Black saw me." I gasp, because I had been right. Billy had seen Edward; he had known.
"Wait, are you telling me that he can see you as well?"
"No, just in the sun. Quileute legends may have been watered down substantially from the past, much like the Brothers Grimm fairly tales, but they are all truthful. He knew I was dead when he saw me. Remember when I told you to ask Jacob about the legend, Billy was the one who suggested that I look it up, but all I found was the attenuated Disney-esque version of it. I thought perhaps Jacob might have known the real story, but he didn't. Billy also knows that you can see me, but before you worry, he's not going to tell your father or Jacob."
I relax my shoulders, once he's done speaking. So, Billy knows. Maybe he can help.
I don't speak; I can't really. Edward is playing with my hand, slowly letting his forefinger travel up and down from my palm to the tip of each of my fingers. The sensations startle me, causing me to shiver, and pull my hand away.
"Sorry," he murmurs. I look up in time to see his eyes, a sparkling shade of green. "It's too easy to be myself with you."
I place my hand back in his, and his eyes pop open, and he smiles.
"That's fine with me, Edward."
"You're amazing, Isabella Swan," he smiles, shyly.
"Just because you keep repeating that, doesn't make it true."
"Bella, you don't get it," he remarks, shaking his head.
"I don't. Care to elaborate," I suggest, folding my hands in my lap.
"I've never been so comfortable around someone in my entire life. I feel as if I can tell you my deepest darkest secret," he confesses, staring straight into my eyes. It's almost like he's staring into me.
"Which is?" I goad.
"Nice try," he chuckles.
"I'll show you mine, if you show me yours," I suggest, but he still refuses.
"No"
We lay down against the grass and just stare up at the clear blue sky. It's such a rarity to see in the Pacific Northwest. We're so accustomed to any facet of the color gray. I hear the grass under Edward ruffle as he turns his head toward me. I reciprocate by turning my head to face him.
We sit silently, looking into each other's eyes—trying to read each other's thoughts.
He breaks the silence first.
"I'm so glad that you're the one to be able to see me."
"Me too," I answer lowly, and he smiles timidly back at me, reaching a hand to brush my hair aside.
"You're so beautiful, Bella," he speaks clearly, unquestionably. I blush, but brush the compliment aside.
"You're wrong," I argue, and he scoffs.
"No, I'm not. You're gorgeous, exquisite, beautiful. You're pretty much perfect, Bella." I scoff this time, shifting my gaze from his. Though I don't believe him, his words still touch me. I blush profusely, and he rubs the back of his hands against my cheek.
"You're the beautiful one, Edward," I argue, and he shakes his head.
"Ask me what you really want to ask me?" He looks nervous as he says it, but it doesn't matter because I don't know what he's talking about it.
"What?" I ask, confused.
"Remember last night, you wanted to ask me something. Go ahead, ask me?" Realization sets in.
"Who was the girl?" I ask, afraid to hear the answer. It's not as if he's gonna say me.
"The girl is incredibly intelligent–" he begins, but I cut him off.
"You're not going to tell me her name, are you?" He shakes his head as he laughs.
"You'll figure it out. Where was I?"
"She's intelligent," I condescend, and he chuckles.
"Right! She's intelligent, compassionate, helpful, and fearless. She's incredibly kind and selfless. She's beautiful, and when she blushes, it makes me smile because it's precious. I think I may love her, and always have. Figured it out yet?" he asks, and I'm taken aback, because everything he's said, is a description of me, give or take a few things.
"N–no," I stutter, and he smiles.
"Silly, clueless Bella. I'm talking about you," he says, and it's like a slow motion moment in a movie. My hearts fills and bursts all in one breath. I'm speechless.
"Bella?" Edward asks, nervously.
I close my eyes, willing back the tears. I don't even know why I'm crying. I rub roughly at the traitorous ones that spill down my cheeks, and Edward wipes them as well.
"Bella, please open your eyes. Please say something," he pleads, sitting us both up. I open my eyes slowly to find him staring straight at me, concerned.
"Why didn't you ever say anything to me?" I ask without realizing what I'm saying. At the moment, my brain has no filter, but I want to know. Why did he have to die for this to happen? Why was it my fate to fall in love with a ghost? Why was it my fate? In another life, this would have been possible.
"I don't know," he sullenly answers, turning away from me.
"Look at me!" I shout, boldly. I don't know where the sudden burst of confidence comes from. He turns to me, and his eyes are still green.
"Why?" I ask again.
"Because I don't deserve you."
"How so?"
"Didn't you listen to me? You're a good person. You're selfless and beautiful. You're amazing, and I'm not good for you," he concedes, shrugging his shoulders dejectedly.
"Thanks for making that decision for me," I scoff, getting up off the ground. Edward follows diligently. I walk towards the shade. When he reaches me, I grab his hand.
It's ice cold.
I let my eyes circumnavigate the blue aura around him.
"I wish you would have at least said 'hi' to me before this," I whisper quietly, looking down at out hands. The cold causes my finger tips to tingle.
"Me too," he answers, lifting my chin up. I smile tightly, and he mimics it. He rubs the backs of his fingers against my cheek, and I blush.
"I love when you blush," he says, smiling. I blush even more. "I love when you smile, and the way you bite your lip when you're embarrassed. I love how selfless you are. I love how you've helped Alice and Emmett. I love everything about you," he declares, his eyes focused on me the entire time.
"I—I feel the same," I choke on my words. I've never had anyone say such things to me, with such conviction. I've never felt this way before.
"Good," he proclaims, pulling me in tight. "I love how warm you are."
"I like how cold you are," I say, before the reality of the situation sets in again.
"I'm an idiot," Edward berates himself, sweeping his hand through his hair.
"Then so am I. I fell in love with someone I never stood a chance with and will never have the chance to love." He pulls me in again, tighter this time, yet still strained. I hadn't noticed it the other times, but his touch was tentative.
"I should have left long ago," he sighed. "I should leave now. But I don't know if I can."
"I don't want you to leave," I mumble, pathetically, staring down again.
"Which is exactly why I should, but don't worry. Unlike you, I'm essentially a selfish guy. I crave your company, your warmth. I'm not going anywhere, just yet."
I smile brightly at him, but he doesn't return it. I raise my eyebrow at the gesture.
"This isn't smart for either of us. It's going to hurt us in the end."
"It already does," I counter, and he nods in agreement.
"So it does," he says, still holding me close to him.
"Promise me something?" he asks, pulling me away from him. I look up at him, his eyes golden-brown in shade.
"Promise me that you won't do anything dangerous, Bella. Promise me you won't get hurt. I don't think I could handle seeing you in my position. The day in the parking lot haunts me. You could have been crushed," his voice shakes. "Promise me, Bella," he demands and pleads, and I nod my head. "I couldn't live with myself if you ever got hurt because of me. You don't know how it would torture me." He looks down ashamed.
"The thought of you, white, cold…to never see you blush again, to never see the flash of intuition in your eyes…it would be unendurable." He lifts his glorious, agonized eyes to mine. "You are the most important thing to me now."
He meets my eyes again, and they're surprisingly tender and back to their normal shade of green. My head is spinning with everything he's said.
At that moment, there are about three things I'm absolutely positive about. First, Edward was a ghost. Second, he has unfinished business that I have to help solve. And third, I'm unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him, and he with me.
"I promise," I say, and this time he smiles.
"Thank you," he responds, hugging me once more.
"If you love something, set it free; if it comes backs it's yours, if it doesn't, it never was," he murmurs, and I chuckle. The quote is written on a poster up by the English department office. Not until now, did it make sense.
I take his hand in mine, rubbing it gently. I let myself reach my other hand toward his face.
"Don't move," I whisper. No one could be still like Edward. He closes his eyes and becomes as immobile as stone, a carving under my hand.
I move slowly as I caress his cheek, delicately stroking his eyelid. I trace the shape of his perfect nose, and then, so carefully, his flawless lips. They part under my hand, and I can feel his cool breath on my finger tips. I want to lean in, to kiss him, like I've been dreaming about for days. I drop my hand when the thought enters my head, and he opens his eyes; they're pitch black.
I gasp, and take a step back out of his grasp.
"What's wrong", he asks.
"You're eyes are black again. Are you angry?"
"No," he answers.
"But–" His finger on my lips cuts me off. I shiver as my lips begin to tingle, and go numb.
"Let's get you home," he says, popping into the center of the meadow to grab the backpack before appearing before me again. I groan, looking back at the trail we've just come from, and Edward laughs.
"Can I show you something?" he asks, sudden excitement flaring in his eyes.
"Show me what? I thought you already showed me what you had to."
"Well, show you something I found out the other day. When I ran away from Billy Black after he saw me, I found out something."
"What?" I asks, and swiftly, he drops the backpack and grabs me and puts me on his back. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his waist.
"Edward please put me down! I'm sure I weigh a lot compared to the bag."
"Don't worry about it. Do you trust me?" he asks grabbing the bag so I can wear it.
"Sort of," I warily say.
"I'll take that. Bella, listen to me carefully, you're safe. Just hold on, tightly."
I grasp onto him as tightly as possible when he takes off into the woods. In a flash, we're by my truck.
"Exhilarating, isn't it?" His voice is high and excited.
He stands motionless and waits for me to climb down. I try, but my muscles don't respond. My arms stay locked around him while my head spins uncomfortably.
"Bella?" he asks, anxiously.
"I think I need to lie down," I gasp.
"Oh, sorry." He waits for me, but I still can't move. He laughs quietly and gently loosens my stranglehold on his neck. There's no resisting the iron grip strength of his hands. How hadn't I noticed that before today?
He pulls me around to face him, cradling me in his arms like a small child. He holds me for a second before he carefully places me on the springy ferns.
"How do you feel?" he asks.
"Dizzy, I think."
"Put your head between your knees," he suggests.
I try it and though it helps, it's not enough. I feel him sitting beside me. The moments pass, and eventually I raise my head. There's a hollow ringing sound in my ears.
"That wasn't the best idea," he muses.
I try to be positive, but my voice is weak. "No, it was very interesting." And it was. It felt like, what I can only assume would be a bullet being shot out of a gun.
"Hah! You're as white as ghost—no in fact, you're as white as me!"
"I think I should have closed my eyes."
"Remember that next time."
"Next time!" I groan.
He laughs; his mood still radiant.
"Show-off," I mutter.
"Open your eyes, Bella," he says quietly.
And he's right there, his face is so close to mine. His beauty stuns my mind—it's too much, an excess.
"I was thinking, while we sort of popped here–" he pauses.
"About trying not to kill me, I hope."
"Silly Bella," he chuckles. "No, I was thinking there was something I wanted to try." He takes my face into his hands, and I can't breathe.
He hesitates before suddenly his cold lips are pressed very softly against mine. I've never been kissed before but I'm pretty sure that Edward is in fact that best kisser there is. His lips hard, and cold against my soft, and warm is such a sweet contrast. My lips tingle as his move against mine. It's slow and gentle, and absolutely perfect. I'm so glad that no one's around to see as he pulls away, and I fall into him.
"Are you still faint from the travel? Or was it my kissing expertise?" He light heartily jokes.
"I can't be sure, I'm still woozy," I manage to respond. "I think it's a little of both, though."
"Maybe you should let me drive."
"Are you insane?" I protest.
"I can drive better than you on your best day," he teases.
"I'm sure that's true, but remember the whole 'phantom driver'."
"Please," he begs, but I don't budge, fingering the keys in my pocket.
"It's my car." Suddenly, a thought hits me like a ton of bricks.
"Edward, your car?"
"What about it?" he asks, confused.
"Whose car did you drive the night of the accident?"
"James's. Why?"
"James," I repeat, and with that, Edward suddenly becomes more translucent.
