This chapter's especially for dawntwilight000 and aliceg1967 for reccing me at ADifferentForest, and for all the lovely reviewers. Thank you. There's more to come, and soon!
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Julian's embarrassment seems to wear off pretty quickly, and he becomes a regular visitor in the evenings to collect Scott, no longer content to wait outside in his car. Mrs Ainsley definitely does not approve, but her sour looks go entirely unheeded by both of us.
At first he just asks after my day and how Scott's reading is coming along, but I find him easy to talk to, and so he starts to come a little earlier and linger a little longer. Scott even gets to the point where he doesn't pack all his books away before his dad arrives, so that he can tuck himself up in a chair by the door and keep reading while Julian chats to me.
"You must think I'm a terrible father, leaving him here every afternoon, but I've tried after-school care. I've tried my parents. I even scraped enough together for a nanny for while. This is what he loves best, being here with the books."
I think about my own childhood books, crammed into overflowing shelves in my room in Chicago. My human memory may be getting fuzzier every day, but I still know what it's like to want to escape into fantasy.
"Scott likes it," I reply with a shrug. "I don't think it's doing him any harm. He's just expanding his world in his own way."
I find Julian charming and humble, with a quirky sense of humor. I also find him a paralyzing exercise in self-restraint. He tends to lean across the counter as he talks to me, and so I'm grateful for the physical barrier. Since I arrived in Hollis, people have largely treated me with kid gloves. They keep their distance, literally and figuratively, which has suited me and my young thirst just fine. But Julian's wife died of cancer three years ago, so he's used to being the town object of pity as well. He doesn't seem to observe the same social boundaries, and as a result, every evening my throat bursts into flames.
I hunt more regularly, and further afield, so I can take down larger kills. It makes me feel sloshy, gluttonous, and it only barely helps. Every time he leans across the counter and invades my personal space even a little, the inferno ignites again.
I know I should draw back, discourage him. Take myself out of the situation before something dreadful happens. But I enjoy his company too much. He makes me feel normal, almost human. The trade off seems worth it.
There's a dark thought that wells up within me, though, every time Julian tries to close the distance between us.
How did Edward do it?
How did he lie with me, night after night? How did he hold me, kiss me? God, the very idea of it is inconceivable. Impossible. Like arguing with gravity.
Two weeks go by before I find another package addressed to me in the mail. This one is larger, about the size of a coffee table book. When I open it, out slides a picture frame made of dark wood. The image is a page from an old manuscript, medieval or earlier, and I fervently hope it's a reproduction. It has beautiful, rich colors, and intricate detailed penmanship. The margins are stunningly decorated with Celtic knotwork and a stylized figure of a swan.
Mrs Ainsley recognizes it immediately. "That's from the Book of Kells," she says, leaning over my shoulder to get a better look. I clamp my throat shut as her scent fills my nostrils. "Mavis and I saw it when we went on the tour to Europe last year."
"Where?" I whisper, not taking my eyes off the framed page.
"Trinity College, Dublin."
That night I read as much as I can online about the illuminated manuscript, the abbey in which it was housed, the designs, borders and letters. Then I turn my attention to the swan, reading the Irish legend of the Children of Lir. It raises more questions than it answers. In some versions the 900 year old children turn back into ancient, withered people and die. In others, they are baptized and go to heaven. What future for this Swan? I turn off the computer in frustration, hitting the treeline at a sprint before my back door even clicks shut.
Julian is persistent. I turn down invitations for coffee, for movies, for breakfast before work.
"I was wondering," he tries finally, "You know - since eating isn't really your thing, if you wanted to go to the park with Scott and I tomorrow afternoon? The weather isn't meant to be up to much, but it might be nice to get outdoors. You seem to spend all your time in here. You need a tan."
I smirk at him, and think about the miles of 'outdoors' that I experienced just before dawn. But the park sounds harmless. Unless they bring a dog. Dogs hate me. I rack my brains trying to think whether Scott has ever mentioned pets. "Sure. That sounds lovely."
His face lights up, and I feel momentarily overwhelmed. What am I doing?
"Okay. We'll meet you at Nichols Field around 1?"
I nod, unable to speak. This whole farce seems like a betrayal, but I can't tell if I'm worried about betraying Edward or myself.
It's only as I approach the park the next day that I realize the mistake I've made. It's Saturday afternoon. We're not here to throw a frisbee or walk a dog. We're at the damned baseball diamond.
Scott and Julian climb out of an SUV parked up ahead of me and sure enough, Scott's wearing his uniform and bouncing around like he's had too much sugar. Julian gives me a little wave, and it's too late now. I've made this particular bed.
Edward looks up in surprise, catching my scent as soon as I step through the trees. He's wearing a dark grey henley and jeans, with a baseball cap keeping his unruly hair under control. He narrows his eyes as he takes in the way Julian is steering me toward the bleachers with a hand on the small of my back, and then Edward abruptly turns away from me and crouches down to talk to his team.
I feel sick to my stomach. I feel wracked with guilt. I feel white-hot rage.
He started this, I try to convince myself, this is not my fault.
Julian appears not to notice my discomfort, leaning in too close, too close, to point out various community figures, to tell me hilarious stories about the children. Suddenly Scott's up to bat, and we both cheer and clap wildly as he takes his first swing and a miss. Even at this distance I can see the blush spread up his face. My fading memories of sporting embarrassment make me want to rush out and comfort him, but he straightens up and swings again and connects with a solid whack of the bat that sends the ball flying and his tiny legs sprinting around the bases. Julian and I are both on our feet yelling and whistling, and before I can appreciate what's happening he's hugging me.
I am instantly aware of two things. Every nerve ending in my body has become a live wire, my entire skin screaming, my thirst clawing its way out. And somewhere, on the other side of the diamond, with a small anguished cry, Edward has accidentally cracked a baseball bat in half.
I push back from Julian, a little too forcefully, and his face clouds with misunderstanding. I can't breathe, I can't do anything but shake my head abruptly and leave the bleachers as fast as a human might. I abandon the car where it is, and as soon as I feel confident I'm out of sight I am running as swiftly as this traitorous body will allow.
Elk.
Elk.
Deer.
Still all I can think about is the roar of his blood, the thunder of his heartbeat.
Deer.
Cougar.
Elk.
All I can hear is Edward's pain, the snap of the bat.
I finally collapse to the dry ground like a broken doll. When I catch my breath I dial the numbers from memory. She answers before it even has time to ring.
"Alice," my voice sounds shattered, unrecognizable. "I need to speak to Jasper."
"It's okay. It's okay," she soothes. "He's right here. You're okay. It was bad for a while, Bella-bear, I won't lie. That's why I kept emailing you. But it all came right about an hour ago."
"Please," I whisper, "I don't care. Please...just...I just need to talk to Jasper."
If there is anyone who will understand this monstrous terror, this crushing disappointment, it is the Cullen who has had the least success with this lifestyle.
"I'm right here, Bella" he says, and even his voice is enough to make me relax. "I'm right here."