Chapter 28 – The Truth

School started in September. It was my senior year. With this realization, I began to realize how little time I truly had. I had a month to finish my festival projects. I had three months to start sending in applications into various colleges, which I had yet to make up my mind about. I had only nine months left with Evan. Nine months may seem to be longer in comparison with the other two. However, look at how fast the last eight months had flown by.

It hurt to think that in less than a year we would go our separate ways – forever.

I had never talked to someone so openly before, not even my own mother. It's hard to come to a new school and develop the intimate relationships that one used to have that took a whole childhood to develop. I was beginning to do that with Maggie, Dani, and Regan and more successfully with Zach since we had a history and family connection, but with Evan, I was able to go on a whole new level. I can't explain why. He was just different. You know, aside from the vampire thing, or maybe it was because of it.

We talked of my dreams of creating at least one beautiful thing that would relieve some of the ugliness of the world. My mother would have been supportive, but then counter it with a practical back up plan. Ian would have been proud of my idealism, but I'm not sure he would have thought it wise to dream so big as well, although he would have never voiced that concern. Evan was different. When I mentioned it to him, his golden eyes warmed not with just pride but with understanding and faith.

We talked of our biggest regrets. He, of course, wished that he had been able to resist his nature as successfully as Carlisle or Bella. I told him of my wish that I had not got caught up in my anger at my changing world to the point that I didn't notice what was going on with Vanessa. I had never voiced this before because I didn't want to see or hear that belief confirmed by another, advice given, or denial made out of misguided loyalty. None of these would have been helpful. Evan recognized this simple truth, held my hand, and just listened.

We talked of our fears also. We were sitting on the front porch swing after school. I no longer felt embarrassed to have Ian see him because fortunately the two of them met while I was at Gabby's. (Emilie happened to witness this so I got the long drawn out version of the encounter over the phone that night. Afterwards, I was quite content with both Ian's "I saw him at Tink's. He seems to be an alright boy," and Evan's "It went well. There was no awkwardness. It was just a 'Hi-Hello-Nice to meet you' exchange. You worried for nothing," accompanied with a playful tweaking of my hair.)

"What's your greatest fear?" I asked as the squirrel that I had been watching vanished from sight.

He took awhile to answer me, but then he whispered, "I'm afraid that I'll hurt someone I love." He looked at me and then my throat significantly then so that I would not misunderstand what he meant by "hurt."

I nodded. People hurt loved ones all the time, but he was concerned that he would do what he almost did the night he went back to his family. I wanted to grab his face and tell him that he hadn't then so he wouldn't now or ever, but I knew he would only respond with 'there is a first time for everything' line. However, I know that it's because I trust him so implicitly that he feels the need to worry for the both of us. So I just took his marble-hard hand in mine and gave it a little squeeze before interlacing our fingers.

"What's yours?"

I sighed. "It's irrational and stupid. But I'm afraid that everyone will abandon me," I finally admitted aloud, trailing off into whisper in embarrassment.

"Why do you think it's irrational?" he asked gently. "People go their separate ways all the time, so it's logical to feel some apprehension about it, especially since you are about to start a new chapter in your life."

I snorted, "Logical that I should feel apprehension about change, yes. Logical that my heart rate goes up and I become short of breath and I imagine myself all alone and screaming in the middle of a crowded room knowing that no one that I love is there to hear me and hold me because they have more important things to do than be with me in my crisis? No."

A tear began to fall down my cheek then because I knew that he could not say the words that I wanted him to say that would make it all better. He could say that my father or my mother would jump on a plane in an instant to come to me if I needed them to, and it would be true. He himself could not though. Who knew that a folktale creature of the night would become my sunshine?

The tear didn't even get passed my nose before he took his hand from mine to wipe it gently off my cheek, and then he pulled me into his side and laid my head on his shoulder. We rocked like that until Ian called me into dinner, and he went home. Just before he left, he did a rare thing. He drew me into a full bodied hug and let me return the embrace with all my meager might, ending it with a soft kiss to the forehead.

I was quiet all through dinner, and once again I was thankful for who my father was because he respected a teenage girl's need to brood in silence.


I think it was a combination of my depression, the stress of meeting my deadline for my festival projects, and my autumn allergies that my annual being-back-to-school cold hit me so hard that I missed school for a week.

I wasn't so depressed that I had withdrawn emotionally from everyone. No, that would have been a crime. I made every moment that I could count with my friends and even Ian, but especially with Evan and his family. It was just that I suffered from a loss of appetite and a sudden case of insomnia, which didn't help matters.

Evan came over everyday after school and visited with me despite the fact that I wasn't the most pleasant person to be around. I get real cranky and whiny when I'm sick. I suppose, it's a good thing that I lost my voice by day three.

When Ian protested, to my horror, because I could still be contagious, Evan just waved him off and boyishly proclaimed that there was "No worries," for he was "healthy as a horse, just ask Carlisle." Then when Ian turned to go back to his workshop, he winked at me causing me to laugh, which quickly turned into a racking cough.

On Saturday, which was day five, he brought over a chicken broth that Esme had made for me. He also returned to me my sketchbook that I had thought I had lost. It had been missing for over a week.

"Here you go." Evan said handing me my sketchbook after he put the broth on the stove to keep warm for later.

I hugged it to myself, checked to make sure nothing was missing or damaged, and then mouthed, "Where?"

He sighed in aggravation, "Nessie."

I mouthed "Oh," before I looked at him nervously and mimed as best I could "Did you see it?" We had managed to master this form of communication within hours of discovering the necessity of it. It took Ian a few tries every time we attempted it.

A pained expression crossed his face before answered, "No, I didn't, she showed it to the rest of the family. Apparently, she thinks you are quite good and wished to share it with them because she knew you never would."

I buried my head in my hands to regain my composure, and then I mouthed "Thank you" before demonstrating to him what I would like to do with Ms. Nosy Nessie. He let out a deep rumbling chuckle in response that made me smile in contentment.

I then nudged the sketchbook towards him and raised a questioning eyebrow.

He didn't reach for it at first, and only asked hesitantly, "You're sure?"

When I nodded trying my hardest not to betray my nervousness, he reached for it, never taking his eyes off of me until he opened the first page. After the third page, he looked up and said, "Breathe, Cadie Rowan Darby. Nessie was right: these are quite good."

I did let out the breath that I had been holding and then for the next few minutes I focused on telling myself when to inhale and when to exhale. This was not necessary because I needed him to praise my work, (not to be conceited or anything), but I knew that they were decent enough that I didn't need him to. It was more because most of that sketchbook was filled with depictions of him and his family, but mostly him. I didn't want him to think that I was obsessed or anything.

He never let on what he thought while he perused them. And "peruse" them he did. I knew from what Nessie had told me of their extra-sensory perception that he could have gone a lot faster, but he took his time to scrutinize every one of them. If I hadn't been so concerned about his reaction, I would have drifted off to sleep as I was want to do since I became sick.

He finally put it down after going back and reexamining a few of them to my dismay, and said solemnly, "Like I said, they are quite good, but I think your subject matter could be better chosen. I would suggest Mr. Freckles the Pimp, for instance." At this, he let out a puckish smile.

I threw one of my many pillows at him and rolled my eyes before demanding that he hand it back to me. I did a quick sketch of Jeremy from prom night while I had the energy. When I was done, I showed it to him. His only reaction was to say cheekily, "Jaunty," in reference to the positioning of Jeremy's fedora.

I stuck my tongue out at him, and then mouthed "Favorite?"

He got up and moved behind the couch so that he could turn the pages from over my shoulder. He showed me three of them: the one of Esme working on her greenhouse, the one of Nessie playing the violin, and the only one of me. I mouthed "Why?" but he only tweaked my hair and went into the kitchen to get my lunch and refill my tea cup.

While he was busy in there, I contemplated the possible answers. I knew that he was closest to Esme and Nessie. But those weren't the only ones I had done of them, and of Esme's that was not the best. No, the one I had done of her leaning back into Carlisle who was laughing at some story that Emmet had been telling at the time was by far the best. I suppose, though, such a couple-ish portrait would not be as attractive to him as when the two of them were working on the same project.

I turned to the one of me. Sketching myself is not my most favorite thing to do, but I do it for the same reason most people eat vegetables. This one was of me looking out my window. I had had Ian take a picture of me, and I had positioned several mirrors to reflect the image to me so that I would not have to change positions too much. I recall that I had done it on one of the weekends that Evan had gone hunting and I hadn't been in the mood to work on my projects as a result.

By the time Evan came back, I could only conclude that he was weird.

He gave me the bowl only after he had me positioned just right and had given me a napkin to place over my shirt. He then turned the TV on, pretending to watch it, knowing that I felt subconscious about him watching me eat, when he wasn't as well. He's thoughtful like that.

While keeping his eyes on the TV, he asked me, "Can you do me a favor?"

I obviously couldn't say anything, nor could I gesture what I wanted to say, which was "Tell me first," as my hands were occupied with the bowl of broth, so I waited, warily.

He smirked realizing that I was not going to fall for so simple a ploy and faced me, answering my unasked question, "I want you to trust me and not take the south bridge into or out of town. I don't think it's sound enough to endure the torrential rains that Alice and the weathermen are predicting for this season."

This was a huge favor to ask because by taking the north bridge I would be adding a half hour or more on to my trip to town, but I trusted him. I did not agree immediately, however, until I made sure he was not just concerned for my safety alone. I raised an eyebrow hoping he would understand what I wanted.

He was not a mind reader like Edward though, so I had to spell it out for him, literally, as I set down my bowl and wrote out my request on the notepad that I usually reserved for communicating with Ian.

"Of course, I have already informed the town council of it," he informed me with mock offense, and then amended more jovially, "as an anonymous concerned citizen, since I highly doubt they would value the calculations performed by a mere high school student, even one of excellent academic standing as myself."

"Whether or not," he continued, "they act upon it, I don't know, so if you want I can use my gift for the benefit of Ian and your friends as well…?"

What an ethical conundrum – safety of loved ones or freewill? After much thought, I compromised. Picking up the pad, I asked via written word, "Can you plant a suggestion to take the longer route but still leave them the option of not?"

He thought about it for a minute, his face forming briefly into a deeply pensive expression, before carefully answering, "I'll try, but if not I'll leave it up to you to convince them."

I nodded, and then carefully washed my hands again in with antibacterial soap, (which was kind of silly since he couldn't get sick from me), before shaking his hand in the imitation of one concluding a deal.

He smiled with that self-satisfied smirk of his before returning to the TV to leave me to my lunch. I was observing him from out of the corner of my eye as I pondered that whole interchange, realizing that I had been deftly manipulated by him, yet again. I wasn't too mad at him because for one, he did give me a choice, and secondly, it was for my benefit. I could have been mad at him for being an arrogant figurative bastard about it, but I couldn't because I –

"Are you alright?" Evan was at my side in a tenth of a second, removing the bowl from my grasp and handing me napkins and tissues so that I could wipe up the mess I made and blow my nose, both of which were necessary after spewing and snorting my soup all at the same time.

As inelegant as this reaction was, having broth go up my sinus cavities gave me an excuse to have tears drip down my face. I nodded to reassure him, and then I indicated that I was done and was going to take a nap. Since it was Saturday, I knew he had planned to stay until dinner even if I slept through most of the afternoon.

He settled back down and went back to pretending to watch some sports game, but his acting was not as good this time around as I saw his gaze flicker in my direction repeatedly through the thin slit I had left open between my eyelids.

I'm not sure if my acting was entirely successful either. It was hard to remember to regulate my breathing as I contemplated my revelation. It was just typical of me to have this grand realization in the most unromantic of circumstances. I was suffering a cold, for goodness sakes! My nose was alternating between stuffy and runny. My throat felt as dry as the Sahara Desert, and then, every time I coughed, it felt as if Mount Mauna Loa had decided to erupt out my mouth, spewing volcanic rock that scraped my esophagus on the way out. I was suffering from a fever that went back and forth between the chills and the sweats so I didn't feel clean or pretty or even remotely comfortable.

It was this moment that I had to discover that I was in love with Evan Reilly Keegan, charming Irish vampire. Ugh.

I wish I could have focused on just that one superficial fact, but I couldn't. I had to then begin to worry about the consequences of such feelings. No, not feelings, but a truth. Feelings can be rationalized, beaten into submission, influenced by chocolate or a half-gallon of ice cream. Truths are like, well, death and taxes. One can attempt to avoid them (and will fail), but no one denies their existence.

And no one escapes their consequences, which brings me back full circle. I was in love with Evan. I did not know if he loved me back, but nevertheless that did not matter. It didn't, because I knew him enough to know that as much as he had wanted to have her live with him forever, he would not want me to. He would be like Edward and want me to live a proper and natural human life. As much as I'm grateful for the effect the Cullens have had on his life, I curse them for making him so noble and selfless now.

I was in love with Evan, and I was destined to never see him again past high school.

Bloody hell.

The fact that this is bothered me to the extent that it did scared me more than anything else. I was now one of those girls. I was the latest member of the Juliet Club, someone who had fallen in love with the most impractical person she knows before she had gone out and experienced life and now felt that she could never move on. I would always compare others to Evan's perfection. Let's face it, he had silky black curls, warm expressive eyes, no matter if they were golden or black, an equally expressive mouth with not too full lips, and a strong determined chin. His build was muscular without being bulky. And it radiated vibes of self-restrained predatory and leonine power. His height was tall, but not being overly so, at least for me.

I could go on and on about his physical beauty, but I would actually prefer if I could not. Anyways, it wasn't his gorgeousness that resulted in The Truth. It was him, his kindness, his playfulness, his intelligence and curiosity, his protectiveness (though at times that could be annoyingly ridiculous rather than endearing), his charm, his dark humor, and … etc.

Merde.