Chapter 19

Kate

Luke and I sat on the beach next to each other, him holding me against his chest as I played with the drawstring on his cut-off sweats. He ran his fingers through my hair and I troubled over what had happened between Todd and I yesterday. It made me think of other things that made me feel even worse—it made me think of my own father.

"Luke," I said, my brows knitting together.

"What is it?" he asked, looking down at me, his chin resting on the top of my head.

"Have you heard anything from my father between this summer and the last?" I asked.

Luke hesitated before answering, probably thinking of what he was going to say. "He called my father a couple days after you disappeared. He was looking for you and was trying to organize a search party."

"Did he get one going?" I asked.

Luke cleared his throat, getting ready to say something difficult for him. I knew this was hard for him to talk about, for the both of us, so I tried to make it as easy for us as possible. "That part was one of the hardest for me this entire past year. I knew they were searching for someone they wouldn't find. Your dad got the police in it and huge group of his friends from both Forks and La Push. Even both the Forks and La Push high school got involved. Although, most of the elders from La Push already knew that you were gone, they wanted to make your dad feel better, give him some closure."

This didn't really make me feel better, although I didn't know if that was the effect I was looking for. I never wanted to put my father through losing me, especially losing both me and Adam in a few months. I could only imagine what he had gone through.

"Did you search with them?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I knew it was futile, so I didn't bother. I conducted my own searches that followed the trail of Carrie and Charlotte."

I nodded. "Did you ever talk to my father?" I asked.

"I couldn't put myself through that. Hearing his voice would remind me of yours. I would have completely lost it."

"What did your father tell him? That I was in La Push and disappeared?"

"Something to that effect."

I nodded solemnly. Luke let me be silent for a minute while I absorbed what Luke was telling me. "I want to see him," I told Luke. "I want to see how he's doing."

Luke slowly shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea. I don't know what you'll find when you get there…"

"I still want to do it."

Luke knew he wouldn't stop me, so he let it go, kissing me on the forehead. "Just be careful."

I crossed the Forks town limits at eight o'clock at night. Luke asked to come with me, but I told him this was something I wanted to do by myself. I just felt that seeing my father was something I needed to finish alone.

I walked among the town streets in the darkness. Nobody was out, which made it easier to be in the open. Everybody was probably getting ready for bed, so maybe my father was as well.

As I strolled through the town, I found the school, dark and uninhabited during the mid-summer. I cut through the parking lot and tried to remember what it was like to walk these sidewalks, to hurry from class to class. The image was unclear since it was experienced with my human senses, which didn't seem to be compatible with my new vampire senses. The parking lot was empty and the school was nearly unchanged. As I passed the office windows, I noticed a poster—a poster with my face on it. Pasted above my latest school picture were the words 'help find Kate.' There was contact information for my father and the police station under the picture. All around the edges of the poster were handwritten notes from what I supposed were the students. They read various things such as 'we love you Kate' and 'we won't stop searching.' One note that caught my attention was that of a particularly small, scratchy handwriting that I did not recognize. It read 'even though we were never friends, I always wanted to be.'

As I progressed along the outside of the office building, I found a similar poster for Adam, his senior picture pasted onto the white paper. Again, notes of endearment were scribbled upon the edges of the poster, but I didn't stop to read them.

Leaving the school grounds, I cut across the road to enter the cover of the trees. I would get to my house from the back, where I would be able to watch my father through the back windows that were usually open at night.

Strolling closer to the house, not needing to rush anything, the smell of humans nearby from the neighborhood filled my nose. The subtle change infiltrated my senses only for a moment, when I could manage to focus again. In the pitch-black night, I could see where I was going and recognize the familiar landmarks of the forest near my house from my muddy human senses. Remembering my past was like anybody else trying to remember the details of their childhood, they knew it happened, but they cannot recall specific fine points.

Even moving at a slow stroll, I spotted within a few moments the light from my kitchen windows making its imprint upon the trees. With my enhanced senses I was able to pick out the sounds and smells of my father apart from the others within the houses along our secluded street. He was cooking—I hadn't remembered if my father actually could cook. It smelled like chicken. Burning chicken.

I searched the smells deeper and caught what must have been my father's scent underneath all the aromas of the kitchen. It was hearty and fleshy—a smell only a human would have. Being careful to remain in the cover of the trees lining my backyard, I inched closer to the house. I knew his human eyes wouldn't detect me, but I didn't want to slip up, just in case. Through the kitchen window, I managed to catch a glimpse of him.

My father had changed. I wasn't sure if I was looking at the same man anymore—and he looked good. His long gray ponytail had been cut off; his hair was left in short natural spikes on the top of his head. From what I remembered, he was still a skinny man.

As I examined him, his mouth moved slightly and rapidly, but no one else was in the house as far as I could tell. Then I listened closely and heard him muttering cooking instructions as he scattered himself throughout the kitchen. He didn't seem excessively depressed or lonely, although the marks of loss did show up on his face. He seemed to be preparing for something by the rushed pace of his work.

There was a light tap on the front door and as it stole my attention I caught a new scent standing on the other side of the house. I darted around, staying in the trees, and spotted a familiar-looking woman standing at the front door waiting, holding a pan of something smelling of crust and apples. There was no car, no bike, and there were no taxis in Forks; this woman must live nearby or have taken the time to walk to my father's house.

But there was something strange about her appearance at my father's house. She was dressed rather nice to be stopping by and she seemed too nervous to be randomly visiting a friend. Was this a date?

And then there was something else about her appearance. She was normal looking—medium height, slight aged lines, and curly dark blonde hair. However, she seemed to be part of my life as a human, although a small part… something about the Cold War kept popping up in my mind. And then something clicked—history. Ms. Steckler, my junior US history teacher. Ms. Steckler—meaning she was either concealing her true surname or she was single.

My father opened the door and I understood. He stepped out and put his hand on her back, leading her inside. I darted around to the back of the house again, closely watching my father—he was smiling a lot and his hands shook with nerves. This was a full on date; my father was dating.

Normally I would feel angry about this. A new woman in my father's life wasn't something I would normally want, but since he had no one else, and since I had left him alone, I was glad for her—thankful that my father had someone to comfort him, to be there for him.

I left it at that. I didn't to prolong anything or dwell on the fact that I could have crushed my father when I was taken away. Instead, I left the image of my father building a new life for himself as the last one in my head. This was what I wanted.