Driving into Hollis in an R8 is more or less the same as stripping naked on the common, a mistake I only realize once it's too late.
Monday morning, my coffee comes with a free grilling.
"So, you've met the new doctor, then? I hear he has a nice car." Gerald's aiming for nonchalant, and hitting pretty damn obvious. Edward's been here for months. I wonder how long he will be considered "new". Am I still the "new" librarian? My brain freezes as I try to think what to tell Gerald, my finger tracing a spidery crack in the counter Formica.
I decide impulsively to stick to the truth. "We went to high school together," I announce with a confidence I don't feel. Insecurity makes me pause, waiting for Alice to light up my phone, but it doesn't ring. Maybe this version of the story is okay, for now.
Gerald's eyebrows threaten his thinning hairline at this juicy new detail, but he says nothing. I'm saved by the bell above the door announcing the arrival of another early-bird customer, and I seize the distraction to clutch my coffee and muffin and leave.
At work that afternoon, Casey is far more direct.
"That car is something else, Isobel. Matt tweeted a pic, and he told me what they cost. That is insane, right there. I mean, is it true? That you and the Doc were childhood sweethearts? In Oregon or Seattle or whatever? That's what everyone is saying."
"No, nothing like that..." Well, not for him, at least. "We just, we were in some of the same classes."
"And then you both end up here in Hollis, which is like, the tiniest town in the world. I mean, if that's not fate then..."
I thrust a new pile of magazines at her.
"...then...oooh, wait. Have you seen these pictures!" Casey brandishes a cover showing a young, exhausted-looking starlet. "She is such a strung-out loser..."
Fate. Can Casey be right? Am I delaying the inevitable? Your number was up the first time I met you. I'm determined to believe in my own free will, now more than ever.
There's something that's been on my to-do list for too long, so rather than sinking into an unwanted preoccupation with kismet, I head back to the staff room and pick up the phone. She answers after several rings, sounding hostile.
"Alice says you're not coming home for Thanksgiving?"
"Hello to you too, Rose."
There's a pause. I know her. Inimitable, unbending. Rosalie is never quick to admit when she's wrong. It's been too long, and I miss her strength, her strident, uncompromising love.
"It's good to hear from you," Rosalie's voice softens, chastened. "Bells, I'm so sorry. For everything."
"Don't." I don't want to get into this with her. If Edward is right, then all of it is past, done, gone. Everyone did what they thought was best. Everyone was wrong. What use are apologies?
"You've seen him?" She knows this. Alice must have seen it, and she would have told them. But for some reason Rosalie wants to hear it from me.
"Yes."
"And?" No nonsense, not interested in nuance. Rosalie only wants the details.
"And, I don't know Rose. We're...getting to know each other again."
The answer must surprise her, because there is no immediate sarcastic retort. We are both quiet for a long stretch.
"Just...be careful, Bella. Take your time."
When Edward first reappeared I felt like we'd wasted too much time. Now I realize how crazy that is. He needs to be patient, and I need to be sure. I think Rosalie understands that better than any of us.
Edward calls me at the library the next day. I know it wouldn't be hard for him to find my home number or cell, or really, just to turn up somewhere, so he's being deliberate about this, respecting my boundaries.
"I'm sorry, about the car," he says in a rush. "I should have realized, it was idiotic. It didn't even cross my mind until today at work."
I'm struck, not for the first time, by the strangeness of the way Edward lives: without the benefit of obliviousness; encompassed continuously by the noise of the crowd.
"What are people thinking?"
"They're pretty evenly split," he admits, "between those who think we have a mysterious romantic past, and those who think I am actually your evil ex-fiancee here to win you back."
I gasp a little at this idea, which had definitely not occurred to me before now. I'd figured I would be painted as the villain.
"I forgot, I guess. Small towns; how fast news travels. I hope I haven't made things difficult for you."
I know what he means, but I don't want to talk about it with him.
"It's fine," I say quickly. "They'll find something else to gossip about soon. We're not that interesting."
He chuckles at this obvious falsehood.
"Bella, my number's on the Clinic's website. I'll...leave it up to you. Call me when, if, you want to."
The line goes dead. So the ball's in my court, and this side of Edward is so completely unexpected that I'm at a loss. I'm so used to him making all the decisions for me, about me. Assuming he knows best. But he seems to comprehend now, perhaps better than I do, that they're my decisions, my responsibility.
I lose track of time a little bit, and am suddenly brought up short by Mrs Ainsley's conspicuous cough and her glare in the general direction of the clock. I hurry back into the library.
"So, I need a favor."
Sinking cross-legged to the floor, I'm trying to sort large wooden puzzle pieces into the right bags, a task proving harder than it really should given the puzzles are designed for three-year-olds. Casey is perched on the low table beside me, smacking her gum and generally not helping.
"We have our winter formal next Friday, and obviously I'm on the committee, and we're short a chaperone."
I'm already shaking my head with a disbelieving smile. She has to be kidding.
"Oh come on, Isobel," she pleads. "I just need one more grown-up, and I will not ask my mother. Don't make me ask my mother. I have the most ah-mazing dress, and Matt will just die, and I will not, not, not have my mother there cramping my style. Please! Please!"
Her completely insincere begging makes me giggle. "No way, Casey. Not a chance."
"Oh please, please. You must have memories of your school dances, your prom. Don't steal that from me, Isobel," she whines melodramatically. "Don't deprive me..."
The laugh slides from my face. I don't have those memories. The closest I've been to a school dance is grinding away in the clubs of New York night after night during my dark phase. It's a depressing thought. Before I realize what I'm doing, I find myself agreeing to Casey's preposterous plan, plugging my ears at her squeals of excitement.
I spend the next two weeks regretting the decision.
I'm absolutely terrified by the thought of being in a hall full of high school students, because surely someone will realize that, physically, I'm the same age. I spend a long time on my appearance, settling on a dark green wrap dress from a little boutique in Nashua, and twisting my hair up into a complicated array of tiny braids, loose curls and an unreasonable number of pins.
Walking into the school through an archway of paper flowers and balloons, my throat catches a little. I never thought these rites of passage were important, but looking around at the flushed faces, the over-applied make-up and borrowed cologne, I wonder if I have things a little backward. In my new life, there's a sudden absence of milestones. What do vampires look forward to? Their tenth college graduation? Their fifth honeymoon?
Then I realize Casey's now blindingly obvious ulterior motive, because there's another vampire in the room and he's staring at me in a way that makes me thank my lucky stars I'll never blush again. Which is probably fair enough, because I am certainly staring back. Edward's wearing the hell out of a dark suit and shirt with no tie, and he's walking towards me with a predatory look in his eye.
"If I'd known you were coming, I would have picked you up."
And that wouldn't have been awkward at all. Edward coming to my door to collect me for a school dance, like some dreadful parody of everything we missed.
Edward looks like a black and white photo from Italian Vogue, all clean lines and impeccable tailoring. He smells like lightening, like the spaces between thunderclaps. My brain is liquid. I can't think what to say, except that I need to find Casey and either hug her or throttle her. I haven't decided which.
"Dance with me."
"We're not supposed to dance, we're supposed to lurk around the edges of the hall being old and boring, preventing the punch from getting spiked."
Edward rolls his eyes at me with an amused look. "I just stopped every guy thinking about a flask on the way in. It wasn't exactly taxing."
"You!" I poke him in the chest with mock horror, "Are no fun! They are supposed to get drunk and fall down. It's part of the ritual, or something." Rituals I won't know. Experiences I won't have.
"Dance with me." He steps in close, his voice serious, placing one hand lightly on my hip, and I swear now I am drunk and about to fall down. My arms, suddenly disconnected from my brain, reach up instinctively and entwine themselves around Edward's neck. He draws me out onto the floor to sway to a lame power ballad warbling in the background.
"I would have taken you, you know. To prom." Edward's words are impossibly close to my ear, his breath ghosting over my skin. "Alice had already seen it. You wore a blue dress, and you looked beautiful." His hand, in the small of my back, traces lazily up my spine. "I thought you were everything then, but...you were just a girl, you...God, Bella, now? Like this?" He exhales slowly. "Bella, you're transcendent."
A small shiver arcs through me. His hand at my side toys with the tie of my dress, and the heat from his body against mine seems to light up all of the air around us.
Edward tenses, and then draws back from me. Every fragment of my body keens at the loss. He leans down and rests his forehead briefly against mine, whispering, "I'm sorry. I didn't know he was here." Then he releases me, and I look up in confusion to see Julian staring at us both. Edward hesitates for a beat, clearly trying to keep his territorial instincts in check. "I guess I'll go embarrass the kids making out under the bleachers," he says quietly, and slips away.
Julian manages a tiny, wounded smile as I walk over.
"You look beautiful, Isobel."
"Thank you."
"So. Not too soon for the ex, huh?"
Even standing a foot away, the heat of him is almost too much. My throat feels angry and raw. I wish things were somehow different, that I could be to Julian even something of what he wants me to be. But it wouldn't matter. Even if I could control my thirst, it wouldn't be long before I would need to leave Hollis, betraying both Julian and Scott with my unchanging appearance.
"It's complicated."
How such truth sounds like such a lie.
"Is he good enough for you?"
I wonder for a moment if Julian is in the camp that thinks Edward is making up for whatever abuse he inflicted in my unspoken past. I suppose in some ways he is.
"He's trying to be," I answer honestly, knowing Edward will be listening, unable to help himself.
Julian nods, and takes half a step towards me, as if he might hug me again. I hold my breath, but he thinks twice, and instead reaches out to touch my arm for a brief second. "I hope so, Isobel. You deserve someone who will be nothing but their very best for you." I want nothing more than to be able to weep openly in this moment, but my stony face remains unmoved.
"I should...I..." I can't get the words out. I need to not be here, suffocating in his disappointment. "I think you have enough chaperones," I manage finally. I leave without even collecting my coat, tugging the pins from hair as soon as I get into the car, tearing from the parking lot at a speed that would make Alice proud.
I hunt for hours, but return home craving, unfulfilled.
On Sunday night, I call Edward. He sounds relieved and surprised to hear from me.
"Come over," he says straight away, as if I might change my mind given half a chance. When I get to his house the front door is open and Edward is rummaging around in the hall cupboards. He hears me come in and bursts out triumphantly brandishing ice skates. I can't help but laugh.
"Why do you even have those?"
He shrugs, looking at the skates. They look well worn, the leather creased and soft. "They were at the New York apartment, Rose loves the rink in the Park. I grabbed them while we were there."
"You're putting a lot of trust in my vampire equilibrium," I caution him.
We wrap up in coats and scarves, and he drives us to a nearby pond. Edward kneels in front of me at the edge of the ice, helping me lace my skates, and takes my gloved hands in his to help me to my feet. There is no moon tonight, leaving the pond too dark for anyone but us. The silence is breathtaking, broken by the carve and slice of our skates rushing over the ice. We race and spin, and I slip only once, Edward there to catch me before I'm anywhere near the ground. My balance, my ballast.
He takes my hand and we skate a slow, sloppy figure of eight together.
"Do you remember the day we played baseball?"
The memory is watery, inexact, but one detail stands out.
"You said you loved me. It was the first time you'd said it."
His answering smile is sad, soft.
"I was blinded by my fear, Bella. I hated that I wasn't strong enough to keep away from you, that I kept putting you in danger."
"But I loved you too." The past tense darkens Edward's expression, but I press on. "You didn't seem to understand that. I didn't want you to keep away."
"I didn't think it meant the same thing to you. It couldn't have. You couldn't have felt what I did. Don't you see that now?" We slow to a halt, facing each other, our breath making small, mingling puffs in the frozen night air.
I realize I can't be offended on behalf of my former self any more. I don't recall enough of what she felt, what she believed, to have a handle on whether he's right or not. I only know what I feel now. So much has changed. Nothing has changed. Edward's hand in mine, his arms around me, his breath in my ear. Just Edward. Flawed, beautiful Edward, who loved me then, and loves me still.
He reaches out and lifts the locket around my neck gently. "Carlisle has impeccable taste. May I?"
He clicks the locket open, and I look down at his fingers against the pale skin of my throat, staring at the beautiful black & white photo of Edward that lies there.
"...how did you?" He looks up at me in amazement.
"Alice. She's relentless with her albums. I asked her to find one of you where you weren't scowling. It took her a while."
"How long have you been wearing this?"
"The locket? Since Carlisle gave it to me in Chicago. I asked Alice for the photo last Christmas."
"Before I came back?"
I nod, but don't offer any explanation. I don't have words for him yet. I can't articulate everything, anything, that I'm thinking. He closes the locket, traces my scarf where it has come unlooped, lying across my collar bone.
"Esme emailed this week, to see what my plans were for the holiday." It was a careful email. I could imagine her overruling Alice, trying to be more subtle with her approach. It made me miss her desperately.
"You should go, I know they'd love to see you." Edward is genuine, but his voice holds an ache that feels unbearable.
"Edward..." I reach out to take his hand. "I think we should both go."
His eyes are wide, hope perching in his soul. He places one gloved hand against my cheek, and I lean into it with a smile. Edward's look could thaw the ice beneath our feet.
I dig my phone out to call Alice, who threatens my eardrum with both her volume and her octave. When she finally pauses to catch her breath, I confirm what she already knows.
"We're coming home for Christmas."