Chapter 9: Doctor

The pack and I step out of the tent, leaving Carlisle to tend his patient without us crowding him. (As we leave, I grab the clothing Esme left for me; it is next to a pile of clothes for the wolves, but they don't need them yet so I don't mention it.) Carlisle is focusing on her spine first; he agrees that she shouldn't risk the transformation while her spinal cord is severed, and he thinks it will be less stressful on her body, and more straightforward for him, if she can return to human form as soon as possible.

Sam changes forms and some of the tension he is feeling immediately eases. I am intrigued that, in the back of his mind, he is glad he can still communicate just as effectively with me—though that is nothing to how I feel at the tacit agreement of the other wolves. I'm not surprised that one more person hearing their thoughts doesn't bother them, but I am still, by nature, their enemy. Tonight, that seems more obvious than ever, to me; to them, my humanity has never seemed more real or pure, and their trust in me is the only reason they can trust Carlisle. All over again, I feel truly humbled by their generosity of spirit.

While I change my clothes, shedding the torn, bloody shirt and trousers, Sam debates what to tell Sue. None of the wolves can figure out what to say to her, and Seth's guilt doesn't help. He and Leah had run off without thinking about their mother and what she was going through, ignoring Sam's sage advice to stay close for the night and focus on learning how to phase back. Instead, they had both been selfish—Leah focusing on her own pain and Seth on his excitement. But Sam excuses their impulsiveness and blames himself: against his better judgment, he had let Leah and Seth run off by themselves. He should've ordered them to stay on the Reservation, and he definitely shouldn't have asked the other wolves to do their best to stay in human form. He'd been trying to help the new wolves by minimizing the number of voices in their heads, but what he'd actually done was leave two inexperienced wolves and the tribe open to attack.

"We all thought the danger had passed," I tell him softly, trying to ease his guilt. "Tonight was supposed to be your night off."

He sighs, then asks me how I'd known Leah was in danger—had I been nearby? I smile and shake my head. "I was at Bella's. Your thoughts must've routed through Seth's for a split second, even though his mind wasn't overly familiar to me and he was well beyond the usual limit of my telepathy. I heard just enough to see that Leah was in danger, and to locate her."

You left Bella—?, Sam asks, picturing exactly what had happened—me shooting off with barely an explanation.

"Yes, but I called Alice on the way; she's with Bella now."

Seth listens to Sam's appreciation of my actions, leaving Bella momentarily alone so that I would reach Leah as soon as possible, and adds his own to it.

"You're welcome," I murmur to both of them, in awe of how well Seth is coping with hearing and making sense of the others' thoughts (and Sam is, too—even Jacob wasn't as quick to adjust). "I wanted to help—I owe you for protecting Bella." But that doesn't feel like the whole story, so I add, "And I like hearing your thoughts; I've never met anyone else who could read minds."

They are torn between understanding and wishing they weren't stuck hearing each other's thoughts.

"I've never wished anyone could hear my thoughts," I say, "but I did tonight."

That sobers them. We are all glad Leah wasn't truly alone with the vampire: losing the privacy of their thoughts is a small sacrifice to save her life.

Then Sam heaves a sigh. If she hadn't been running from my thoughts, she might have stayed nearer home.

And if we hadn't been fighting, Seth adds, I would've been closer.

"And Riley might've killed Leah—or you—before I got there."

Seth wants to think the two of them would've been a better match for the newborn, but they all agree with me. Riley's strength shocks them all. And then I remember the other newborns—the army Victoria had put in his charge.

"Riley wasn't Victoria's only newborn," I tell them as I pull out my phone. "She was building an army in Seattle."

They are understandably horrified, and as surprised as I am that I hadn't found it out from Victoria.

While they're still working through their agitation at this very bad news, I call Alice. She answers before the end of the first chime of the first ring. "Tell me everything!" she demands, even as Bella says, "Put him on speaker!"

"We took out the newborn without further injury," I tell them both, "and Carlisle is hopeful he can help Leah heal completely." Bella sighs with relief, but I expect Alice isn't any less irritated, because I haven't really told her anything. "I'd like to stay here a bit longer if that's all right."

"Of course," Bella says immediately.

"Convenient," Alice growls; I can hear Bella patting her arm consolingly.

"We can talk tomorrow," I promise my impatient sister.

"You better," she snaps.

"But you'll come back tonight, won't you?" Bella asks, her voice tight with apprehension.

"Of course," I promise, but this line of questioning is making the pack ask those awkward questions I had been hoping to avoid. "I won't miss saying goodnight," I say—but it doesn't stop them wondering how I say goodnight.

"Okay," she agrees, sounding happier.

"I'd better—"

"Don't you dare hang up," Alice warns.

"Tomorrow," I repeat, hoping she won't corner me at Bella's.

"We'll see," she retorts, proving she has something on her mind, and then she hangs up on me.

Why's she mad?, Seth asks innocently.

"Alice has a gift, too," I explain for the benefit of the new wolf. "In simple terms, she can see the future. I just spent the past six months fighting a future that she sees as inevitable, which played havoc with her visions of our whole family's future, and now she can't see around you. She's not used to being blind, and it's as challenging for her as it was for me when I first met Bella."

Sam and the others know I'm referring to Bella's mysterious mental silence; Seth listens to this little detail with amazement. Sam thinks about what I said yesterday—that I had almost killed her the day we met. I decide to try to explain.

"Human blood makes our throats burn with thirst—and only blood eases the burning—but the scent of her blood, to me, was exceptionally potent. It made all other blood seem like water in comparison." They do their best to understand, but they can't really appreciate the overwhelming need to quench the burn. "If we had been alone—" I flinch; so do the wolves. "I like to think I still could've stopped myself," I say, trying to defend my poor self-control, "but not hearing her thoughts would've counted against her."

Is that why you courted her, despite the danger?, Sam asks. His thoughts intrigue me—he feels the same guilt about his inability to protect Emily from himself, and it helps the other wolves understand my selfishness.

I sigh. "At first, I ran away, and Carlisle counseled me to leave—Bella would be gone in a couple of years—but I didn't want to be chased away from my home by an ordinary little girl—" they all enjoy the joke; Bella is about as far from ordinary as they are (although I am still avoiding admitting the whole truth). "And then she was almost killed by one of her classmates when his van skidded on a patch of ice—" they gasp; my comment yesterday hadn't alerted them to the incident's seriousness—"and I couldn't let it hurt her. I risked exposing my whole family to save her.

"I pulled her out of the way, then held the van off her legs, but she was the only one who saw me doing anything superhuman," I explain, in answer to their questions. "And that was the day Alice saw that I was going to fall in love with her."

That throws them. It is even harder for them to come to terms with that situation—being told how you're going to feel beforehand—than with imprinting.

"When I didn't regret risking my family for her sake, I knew there was something special about her," I point out, though I do agree with their assessment.

Sam is especially sympathetic at how shocking it must've been to fall in love with a human. He remembers the arguments the council had had over my relationship with Bella, and I am surprised that Billy was so insistent on leaving us be. Was his belief in the treaty that strong or had Bella convinced him that she deserved the right to choose a vampire boyfriend? Or was he hoping one of us would tire of the other before it got too serious?

But I don't want to raise the question with Billy, and the newborns in Seattle are preying on my mind. I've put off doing something about them for long enough, for the wrong reason—to save Bella a little anxiety—because every minute I don't act is another minute they're out causing havoc. So I give Sam a grateful smile, and then call Emmett.

"Calling to gloat?" Emmett grumbles.

I can't help but smile. "Actually, I'm calling to share the fun."

"Oh?"

"Jasper with you?"

"Yeah."

"Victoria has been making an army in Seattle—the one we killed tonight is the oldest. I saw six different faces, but I don't know how many there are now, and they're all under a month old."

Emmett whoops with joy.

"Did you see where?" Jasper asks, his tone contrastingly serious.

"I got a glimpse of the house they hole up in during the day—he told them the sun will burn them, so they won't run away—" Emmett chuckles, while the wolves are curious; they've never seen a vampire in the sun—"but call Alice first." I don't want Bella to worry, but sending my brothers in blind is worse. I picture the two houses Riley and Victoria had been using (one for the newborns, one for the transitioning humans), and plan out the steps I'd take to find them, hoping Alice will be able to see it.

"We won't be the ones in trouble," Emmett taunts; he knows Alice will be mad that I told them and not her.

"I'm already in trouble."

"Bella can hack it," he argues. "She's gonna be one fierce newborn!"

"She'll kick your ass," I retort. He laughs pregnantly, and I add, "I'll kick your ass." My voice comes out a little gruffly as I struggle with the image of Emmett wrestling with Bella.

"You don't fight fair," he complains.

"Save your anger for the newborns—they won't fight fair either."

I can almost feel his excitement through the phone. "Where are they?"

I give him a brief description of the two houses, then hang up before he can make any other 'jokes'.

The pack is mostly thinking about the newborns—their instincts make them want to go after them, but they wouldn't leave their home unprotected and the number is understandably daunting—but Sam is also thinking about Bella. He is wondering what my brother meant.

"He thinks she'll be fierce because she's tough," I say, to reassure him. "And fearless. He doesn't mean she'll be bloodthirsty."

You don't know what she'll be like.

I shrug. "Alice sees her adjusting well." I don't mention that the timing of Alice's vision is completely unknown. Then the full meaning of what we're discussing sinks in. I am sitting with five men who are literally made to kill vampires, fifty yards from their gravely injured pack-sister, discussing the creation of another vampire. Part of me wants to laugh, and part of me is gratified, but the part that wants to cry is so much stronger.

My sadness is obvious to the pack, though they debate the cause—am I worried about a change of heart when Bella becomes the living dead?

"I promised that I would change her," I explain. "Which means that, one day, she'll ask me to bite her—to put her through three days of unendurable agony."

They don't know how vampires are created, so I give them a quick explanation.

Carlisle changed you all?, Sam asks, wondering how such a seemingly gentle man could be so cruel.

"Alice and Jasper joined our family after they were individually changed—" I can't help but smile as I remember their unexpected arrival—"so Carlisle only changed four of us, and we were all at the point of death."

Their curiosity mingles with a shared distaste—their instincts tell them they would rather die than be forced to live off blood (human or otherwise) for the rest of their lives.

"Your physiology does you a favor, then," I say, trying to joke; it amuses them somewhat, but I quickly go on with my explanation to satisfy their curiosity. "I was mortally ill, Esme fell off a cliff, Rosalie was attacked, and Emmett was mauled by a bear." Embry shudders, and I remember his experience. "That's why Emmett likes hunting bears," I say to him. Embry likes the sound of that.

Meanwhile, Sam wonders why Carlisle chose the four of us; a doctor must see hundreds of dying people.

"He had good reasons—well, good intentions, perhaps," I add, with a chuckle. "My dying mother asked him to save me; he felt a deep connection with Esme; he saved Emmett because Rosalie asked him to; and he saved Rosalie—" I hesitate. Will Bella be unhappy if I tell them the truth on that one? But their eagerness is too hard to refuse—especially Seth's fascination. I want to give him an amusing distraction from the ever-present grief. "He thought Rosalie and I might…" I don't need to say any more.

The wolves are all surprised. Sam has seen Rosalie once, at the hospital, so they can all picture the blonde bombshell, complete with a refined sneer on her face—no doubt from smelling Sam.

Did you—?

"No!" I interrupt, amusing them all with my vehement denial. I laugh with them for a moment. "I wasn't the least bit interested in her, and she was mightily offended by my indifference." In answer to their thoughts, I add, "Our relationship is somewhat uneasy—though it is much improved since Emmett joined us."

What does she think of Bella?, Seth asks astutely.

"She thinks we're both idiots," I joke. Then, to distract them, I answer their earlier curiosity about the effect of sunlight on vampires.

They can't remotely imagine what it looks like, so I promise to show them when it's sunny next. "That's part of why we love Forks so much—the most overcast town in the US."

Why do you live in town?, Jared asks. Why not just live by yourselves?

"Carlisle enjoys his work, and being around people is a lot healthier than hiding from them."

It's still dangerous, he thinks, remembering my own admission about how close I had come to killing Bella.

"That's another reason we love Forks—there aren't many people, and most live there long-term, so it's easier to manage our thirst. Bella was definitely in the minority moving there."

They all agree that Bella is unique in that, and I find it interesting that they think she attracts trouble, too.

"Leah," Carlisle murmurs, speaking for the first time in twenty minutes. We all focus on him, and on Leah's muddled thoughts; Carlisle has sedated her as heavily as he dares, but she is still semi-conscious because her body processes the morphine so quickly. "I'm going to break the vertebra now—you'll hear a crack and you may feel something, but you shouldn't feel any pain."

The crack sounds disturbingly loud. Leah whimpers, but we know from her thoughts that she didn't feel anything. Carlisle has already repaired the other damage to her spine, though it still needs time to heal, and he is even more confident that he can encourage her spinal cord to reconnect.

"Edward?" he asks, for the wolves' sakes. "I could use another pair of hands."

I go to him and the pack follows, though it is not anxiety that drives them. I try to untangle the pleasantly warm feelings the pack and I have for each other; then, as Carlisle begins to instruct me, I put that question aside for another time.

The pack watches as I obey Carlisle's thoughts as though my body is merely an extension of his, and they are as intrigued as they are amused. But even more than that, they all see how useful it is. Truly, Leah could not get better care from anyone else.

Before we begin the intricate work on the spinal cord, Carlisle asks me to monitor Leah's sensitivity closely, and I hear his wish—as close to envy as I have ever heard from him—that he could hear Leah's thoughts as I can.

We have joked with each other, on occasion, about the usefulness of my gift in Carlisle's line of work—that it would be both a blessing and a curse for a doctor who spends hours every day in a crowded hospital full of sick people to be able to read the minds of his patients—but this is the first time he has felt so strongly about it. I am reminded of my wish for the ability to share my thoughts with the pack, and the pack's definitive acceptance of their mental link.

"I'm listening," I assure him.

Carlisle continues to guide my hands and I'm glad of the medical training I have, because it helps me to follow—and even pre-empt—his instructions with the same degree of precision that he could achieve himself.

Fourteen tense minutes later, we have fixed the vertebra in place and (hopefully) rebuilt enough of the spinal cord so that her body can do the rest. The technique Carlisle used is brand new, but based on centuries of medical experience augmented by the miraculous healing he has witnessed so far tonight. Though Leah's battered body has caused itself almost as many problems as it solved, the healing it has effected is incredible in both its speed and its capability.

We wait, motionless, for the reconnected spine to heal itself, calculating how long it might theoretically take. Carlisle is also concerned that his efforts could backfire: there is a chance that the spinal cord will regrow with a deformed structure or the nerves won't heal as they should, leaving her paralyzed despite the repairs—or worse, in constant pain.

Three minutes pass with no apparent change, but then Leah feels a vague, fleeting sense of pressure and then a tingling in her spine.

"I think it's working," I murmur. "She can feel tingling in her spine."

Carlisle smiles, but his concerns are not lessened; tingling might be all she ever feels. Her tail twitching, on the other hand, is a definite cause for celebration. We spare a moment to grin at each other. Carlisle checks the alignment of the vertebrae and muscles, then closes up the opening in her body, while I remove my gloves and then hold her tail to keep as much tension off her spine as possible.

Forgoing stitches, Carlisle simply holds the two sides of skin together until they knit back together. He smiles and strips off his gloves with practiced ease.

"I wish treating all my patients were so instantly rewarding," he jokes.

I smile, appreciating the genuine joy Carlisle finds in helping people, and then I ask two questions on the pack's behalf. "Will you fix anything else tonight? Can she be moved?"

"No, best not to. I'd rather keep her as still as possible overnight, and then we can test how much feeling she has regained in the morning. We'll decide then whether she feels up to changing form, but regardless, I will start resetting the broken bones tomorrow."

Sam nods, and I speak his thanks.

"Best to let her rest now," Carlisle advises. "I'll stay with her all night and watch her. You're all welcome to stay, too. If you'd prefer beds—"

"The ground is fine—they're happy to sleep in wolf form," I assure him, and he smiles.

Seth licks Leah's muzzle, and she thinks his name slowly, her mental voice slurred. He doesn't want to leave her, but he knows he ought to go home. Sam offers to call Sue on his behalf, but Seth shakes his head.

I should call her, he says resolutely, before glancing at me. Can I borrow your phone?

Taking one hand off Leah's tail, I pull out my phone and enter in the number Seth gives me. The tail muscles tense briefly, then relax.

"The tingling has stopped," I tell Carlisle, "and she can still feel her tail."

"Good!" He takes over from me, feeling along the tail and growing more and more excited by the responsiveness of the muscles.

Seth uses his sister's tremendous progress to help calm him in preparation for the change, but even with the whole pack thinking with him, he struggles to shift back to his human form. His guilt is distracting him.

"She'll forgive you," I say.

He looks across at me, and the wave of sorrow and guilt and grief wells up inside him and engulfs us all. He doesn't think he deserves forgiveness. I know what that feels like. If I could cry, I would be bawling my eyes out, and the moistness of the wolves' eyes confirms they're in the same state.

There is no way he will manage to change now. While Sam tries to comfort Seth, and the others try to pull themselves together despite Seth's powerful emotions, I hit 'call' on my phone.

Emily answers on the fourth ring.

"Emily, it's Edward Cullen," I say, hoping she won't be alarmed; the wolves gratefully refocus on me.

"Oh," she replies, her tone a mix of surprise, confusion, and a pleasing amount of friendliness. "Did you want to speak to—?"

"It might be best if I explain to you first, and then Seth can talk to his mother."

"Seth's with you?"

"Yes. Seth and the rest of the pack—except—"

"Of course. How are they?"

"We had a bit of trouble with an intruder," I say, figuring she'll understand my meaning, but hoping the understatement will help ease the shock. "Leah was hurt, so we took her to our house, and Carlisle is treating her."

"I see," she murmurs, her voice strained with worry.

"He's hopeful she'll make a full recovery, but he wants to keep her here overnight. Some of the pack will stay with her—Seth and Sam are going to come home now."

"Is that Leah?" I hear Sue ask in the background; her usually strong voice is lamentably shaky.

"Uh, no, it's Sam," Emily blurts; I wonder if anyone believes her.

"Has he found them?" Billy asks.

"Yes," she tells him; then she asks me, "Is Seth ready to speak to Sue yet?"

"Not quite."

"I can speak to him," Sue says; the volume of her voice increases as she speaks—she is walking toward Emily.

"Hang on," Emily replies quickly, and I wonder if Sue is holding her hand out for the phone. "Sam?" she asks, trying to sound casual though her desperation is clear.

I glance at Sam, but he is still mixed up in Seth's struggle for composure—thinking with him in an attempt to ease his transition has scattered his own concentration, compounding his own acute sense of guilt for tonight's disaster.

"He's trying to help Seth."

Emily doesn't reply; I hear the unmistakable sound of the handset passing from one hand to another.

"Sam?" Sue asks.

"Not quite, ma'am," I reply politely, hoping she doesn't take it the wrong way. "He's here, though—and Seth and Leah."

"Are they all right?" she asks sharply.

"We had a bit of trouble with an intruder," I say, getting straight to the point. She gasps, so I pause a moment before continuing. "Leah was injured, but Seth and I took care of the intruder, and Carlisle is treating Leah. She's healing well."

"Where are you?"

I hesitate, but Seth and Sam both agree I shouldn't lie. "At our house."

Sue doesn't answer for almost a minute; I hear her breath catch in her throat and then a series of deep breaths as she struggles to keep the tears at bay. Then she says, "Can I speak to Seth, please?"

"He can hear you," I tell her, hoping she will accept that; Seth plods up to my side, frustrated that he can't control himself enough to change back. "I can speak for him, too, if you don't mind."

"He's okay?"

"Aside from the guilt, yes."

She sighs, then she gives a tiny, half-stifled chuckle. "Seth, baby," she murmurs. "It's not your fault."

Seth puts his head by the phone and whines softly, hoping she can hear him.

"He's sorry he ran off."

"I understand," she says tenderly. "It's a lot to cope with—let me help."

The need to respond to his mother seems to focus his thoughts—he pictures himself in his human form, and then ten seconds later, his hand slams down on my shoulder and he staggers forward into me, then uses me for balance. The other wolves are still a little revolted by the thought of touching me, and Carlisle is momentarily surprised, but Seth is only apologetic for being so rude; he hadn't factored in the disorientation—and the massive increase in arm span. The 14-year-old boy hasn't returned; this is another body entirely. He had been shorter than me, but now he is an inch taller; his previously boyish features are now distinctly manly; and his physique, though somewhat lankier than his pack-brothers', is decidedly musclier.

"It's fine," I assure him, holding out my phone for him.

He takes it, but he is still unsteady, so he rests an arm on my shoulder and leans on me. "Mom," he says, and we are all thrown by the change in his voice—neither the changes in his body nor the slight shift in his mental voice, which I had ascribed to grief and the stress of the change (and the wolves hadn't given a thought), has prepared us for the profound deepening of his voice.

She gasps. "Seth?"

"Yeah. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. I love you."

"Love you, too."

"Are you coming home now?"

"I can drive you home," I offer, speaking too softly for Sue to hear me; now that he's human again, he can't make his own way home so easily.

"Edward will drive me," he tells her, pleased to avoid a second transformation so quickly.

"And Leah?"

He twitches guiltily. "Carlisle doesn't want to move her tonight—Jared and Paul and Embry are gonna stay with her, and we'll bring her home in the morning."

Sue sighs. "All right. Can I speak to her?"

"She's resting," Seth mumbles.

"We'll tell her you're thinking of her," I say, raising my voice a little so that Sue will hear.

"Thank you," she murmurs. "Will you bring my son home now?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She sighs, then murmurs, "See you soon."

"See you soon," Seth replies.

She hangs up, so he passes the phone back to me, and then he pulls himself fully upright. He looks himself over, surprised at how much everything has grown—his forearms and hands feel like they belong to someone else and he feels unbalanced, despite the inbuilt sense of poise that comes with being a shapeshifter.

"Who am I?" he asks.

"You're a Quileute wolf," I tell him, incorporating a few thoughts from the pack into this one simple truth.

He looks at me, and then smiles. "Thank you," he says. Then he glances at the pack. "It's so quiet."

I chuckle. "Be grateful you can turn it off."

He grins at me, then takes a deep breath. "Are we going home, then?"

Sam rises up on his hind legs as he phases back, so that he finishes up standing comfortably on his human feet.

"Show off," Seth mutters.

To tease Seth, Sam jerks his chin in a gesture of smugness and authority; then he glances at the other pile of clothing. "Is that for us?"

I nod. He walks over and picks up the top pair of sweatpants. They are navy blue, and I can smell that they are made of bamboo thread. Sam is surprised by how soft they are. They're too expensive for us rowdy wolves.

"Esme just wants you to be comfortable—she doesn't care about the expense, or how long they last."

Seth chuckles at that and accepts the pair Sam holds out for him. He pulls them on, grinning at how soft they are. "Please tell her thanks," he says. Then he realizes he hasn't thanked Carlisle; he doesn't know what he can possibly say, but he doesn't let that stop him. He goes up to Carlisle and when Carlisle turns, he holds out his hand. "Thank you for helping us, sir," he says.

Carlisle shakes his hand. "You're very welcome," he says warmly. "It is my pleasure."

Seth nods, then turns to me; he feels more ready to go home now, although he still feels odd in this new body. My heart goes out to him—he has had to do a lot of growing up today. In triggering his supernatural heritage years earlier than usual, his father's death has forced him to grow up physically as well as emotionally, and I want to help him through it.

Sam is debating whether he can leave Seth and me to drive back while he runs back himself. Despite his trust in me, he can't in good conscience leave Seth alone with me—he trusts me with his own life, but is afraid to trust me with Seth's. But he still hasn't put on any pants.

"Run back," Seth tells him. "I'll look after Edward."

Sam rolls his eyes, but he only debates it for another moment, before tying the pants loosely around his waist. The other wolves aren't sure, but when Sam phases back, he reminds them of his memories of Seth's thoughts, watching me put myself on the line to help Leah. Why would I hurt Seth after doing that?

I bid them goodnight, and then point Seth in the direction of the garage. "Volvo or Aston Martin?" I ask as we walk.

His eyes widen, then he laughs. Aston Martin! His mental voice is already lowing further to match the change in his physical voice.

I smile and veer off to my favorite car, which is no longer covered (Esme's doing, I assume). My little black panther hasn't been used in over six months, but I trust Esme's care will ensure it roars into life as it always does.

Seth slides himself into the passenger seat—it's low, but he has plenty of room, even for his long legs.

Lucky Sam didn't come!, he thinks, knowing we couldn't take this car with another person.

"Seatbelt," I tease as I turn the key. The engine growls, alert at once, and I smoothly accelerate out of the garage and onto the driveway.

He obeys—for his mother's sake. Where's your seatbelt?

I just laugh and plant my foot, shooting down the roadway, pushing the limit to give him a thrill, and it's like I'm experiencing it for the first time all over again through him. He has never been in a car like this—never even seen a car like this.

It is easy to forget he is only fourteen.