After Carlisle's departure I returned to the tent. I needed to keep focused, and finding specific tasks helped me to suppress my worries temporarily. The first task I assigned myself was preparing breakfast.

I had little appetite; anxiety always had that effect on me. However, I knew it was crucial to maintain my energy, as well as my equanimity, while I was caring for Bella. She needed to eat, too, but it was important to provide her with food that posed little risk for choking and would be easy for her system to digest.

Carlisle had placed all the food in several large, resealable bags, which allowed me to see all the items easily while preventing any enticing aromas from escaping and attracting bears. I selected an orange, several fig bars, and a juice pack, offering the latter to Bella. I drank water, since our supply of juice was limited. There was tea and instant coffee, but those would have to wait until I could light the fire. We also had quick-cooking rice and cups of dehydrated soup. I thought I might attempt a hot meal for dinner—and then I felt a twinge of panic again as I wondered how many meals I would need to prepare before Carlisle returned with help.

I pushed those ruminations aside and tried to focus on Bella. She sipped the juice slowly and took a small bite of the fig bar. She seemed to be forcing herself to eat.

"You aren't hungry?" I asked. "If that doesn't taste good to you, I can find something else—"

"No, it's fine," she replied softly. "I don't have much of an appetite, I guess."

"I know it's painful, but please try to eat at least a little."

She nodded. "You too."

I glanced down at the fig bar in my hand. I had yet to bite into it. I broke off a piece and put it in my mouth. It tasted dry and unappealing, but I forced myself to chew and swallow it. The orange held slightly more appeal, and when I offered Bella a section, she took it fairly readily.

"Tastes good," she said.

"It does," I agreed. "I can make some soup later. How does that sound?"

"Nice, thank you."

When she accepted another piece of the orange, I smiled, sincerely pleased to see her eating. "So, you like oranges. Any other favorite fruits?"

"I really like all kinds," she replied. "Salads, too, especially spinach."

This sparked a distant memory for me. "My mother used to make a spinach salad with oranges," I said. "It was very good."

"I've made that, too. Does she use mandarin oranges?"

"I don't remember what kind she used…She didn't make it very often, but when she did she'd put extra oranges on mine."

"She sounds like a great mom."

"Yes, she was."

Suddenly I felt Bella's hand touch mine. "Oh, I'm sorry Edward."

"She always did little things like that; she had this wonderful way of making me feel special and letting me know how much she loved me." I paused. My words surprised me. I rarely spoke about my parents, but I felt no hesitation sharing this memory with Bella.

"How long has she been gone?" Bella asked gently. "Unless you don't want to talk about it."

"No, it's all right." And it really was. "I lost both of my parents in a car accident when I was seventeen."

Her fingers curled around my hand. "I can't even imagine how terrible that must have been."

"It was," I admitted, my throat feeling tight. Her thumb moved softly over my palm. It was such a light touch, yet in it I found sincere sympathy and support. I continued, because this was the first time I had ever felt comfortable remembering that awful period. The memories were dreadful, of course, but I felt no resistance, no hesitation, in sharing them. Indeed, simply by admitting that the experience had been horrible a tiny bit of the pain I had restrained for seven years seemed to break free and dissipate.

Bella's gaze was upon me, her expression open and empathetic. Yet she was injured and possibly ill. It was wrong for me to add to her burden in any way.

I had been silent for several long seconds before she spoke again. "Were you still in high school?"

I nodded. "Yes. I was a senior; it was just before the end of the first quarter."

I felt her squeeze my hand gently once more.

"That's when I met Carlisle," I continued. In retrospect, that night in the ER had altered the entire course of my life. For some reason, it seemed important to share this with Bella. "He had just begun his residency—he had assisted in the trauma rooms when my parents were brought in—and he saw me afterward, after the attending had told me what happened. I was sitting alone, and he sat down beside me. He didn't say much… I suppose there's really not much anyone can say in a situation like that… but his presence brought me comfort. There was something about him, a true desire to help others and ease their pain, that touched me deeply."

"He's the reason you went into medicine," she concluded softly.

"Yes. I threw myself into my studies immediately. I needed a purpose, something to work toward…"

"Something within your control," she finished gently.

Astonished by her perspicacity, I acknowledged her with a nod.

"I think," she said, her gaze upon me intent, "that tragedy splits our lives apart, but some people find a different direction, a new path that they would never have considered before. And sometimes that path leads to something positive, something ultimately good."

"You almost lost your father."

She nodded. "I know it's not even close to what you went through, but, like you, it changed the course of my life. It brought me here."

Surely she meant to the Olympic Peninsula, to the town of Forks…But when I looked into her eyes, I sensed a deeper meaning. I lifted her hand and pressed my lips softly over her knuckles.

A tiny sigh escaped her. At first I perceived it as an indicator of pain, but Bella's expression was serene. Keeping her hand in mine, I slid my arm around her shoulders. She leaned into me, her cheek against my chest. She would need to do her breathing exercises soon, but she deserved a little time to feel calm and content. She had helped me to realize that we both did.

Bella did not complain as she performed the breathing exercises, but I could see the pain in her expression. By the time she was finished, she was pallid and clammy. Her small hand gripped mine weakly, and I could feel the coolness of her skin.

"Okay," I tried to soothe once she was done. "Good job."

She offered me a wan smile in response even as she blinked back tears. Keeping her partially upright, I helped her to settle back against the make-shift pillows then tucked the sleeping bag around her.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Why don't you try to sleep for a little while," I suggested. She looked exhausted.

I was surprised when she shook her head. "I'm not sleepy."

"No?"

"No—tired, but not sleepy."

I understood and gave her a nod. "Is there anything I can get you? Some water or juice?"

"No, thank you." Her soft, brown eyes fixed upon me with gentle intensity. "But would you…" She took a shallow breath. "Would you tell me something else about yourself?"

I smiled. "What would you like to know?"

"Anything you want to tell me." Her pale cheeks colored a bit as she added, "I like hearing your voice. It's very nice."

This was news to me. "Is it?"

"Yes…soft and very smooth."

Now I felt my own face flushing. "No one's ever told me that before."

"Hmm." A little smile quirked at her lips.

"So, um," I began. I felt as though I should be self-conscious, but I wasn't. Bella's expression was patient and encouraging as she waited for me to speak again. Finally I said, "I'm an only child."

"Yes? I am, too. That's something we have in common."

For some reason, this pleased me. "It is. I never really minded. Did you?"

"No. It was the only thing I knew."

"Same for me. It didn't occur to me to miss having siblings. I was always good at entertaining myself with books or music."

"What kind of books did you read?"

"The classics, mostly. Dickens was always a favorite of mine."

"I like Dickens, but I prefer Jane Austen and the Brontes."

An image of Bella curled up on a window seat, a well-worn book in her hands, filled my mind. She would enjoy something romantic, of course, but she would find the romance most satisfying if its path were arduous. I took a guess and said, with an arch of my eyebrow, "Wuthering Heights?"

Bella grinned in delight. "How did you know? It's my favorite."

"I had a feeling."

Still smiling, she reached for my hand. "Tell me about your music. You must play an instrument…" She studied my fingers for a few moments. "Piano?"

I chuckled. "Did you have a feeling, too?"

"Just a lucky guess. Do you still play?"

"I haven't in a long time, not since-" I swallowed. "Not since my parents died."

"Did you take lessons as a child?"

Bella had such a natural way of engaging me in conversation; I felt no reticence when telling her about things I had kept out of my mind for a very long time. "Yes," I replied. "I began when I was six and continued until I was sixteen."

"Wow, you must be very good."

I shrugged lightly. "I'm sure I'm extremely rusty now. But when I was a young teen I was pretty serious about it. My mother sometimes had to stop me from practicing because I'd get so involved in a piece that I'd forget about everything else."

"Who are your favorite composers?"

Strains of melodies flowed through my mind. The memories were pleasant, not painful as they once had been. "Debussy," I said, "and Tchaikovsky were my favorites to play."

"'Claire de Lune,'" Bella said rather dreamily.

"You know it?"

She nodded. "My mom has pretty eclectic taste, and she tends to move from one genre to the next fairly quickly, but 'Claire de Lune' was something she always came back to. It's such a beautiful piece."

"It is." I could easily envision Bella listening to the dulcet strains, book in her hand and eyes closed. It was a lovely image. "Aside from Debussy, what type of music do you like?" I asked.

"Almost anything but country or rap," she replied.

"I'm with you there. Do you have a favorite song?"

"Not really…"

"No special song shared by you and your boyfriend?"

She blushed again. "I don't have a boyfriend."

"Oh—I didn't mean to be intrusive." Now I was as embarrassed as she was. "I guess I just assumed … I mean, you're so kind and intelligent and sweet."

"I've never dated much," she said softly, almost hesitantly. "I got a full scholarship for college, so I was pretty focused on my studies. I went out a few times, but the guys seemed like they were still in high school. I wasn't interested in attending frat parties or hanging out in bars."

I nodded in understanding. "I get that."

"So you aren't dating anyone?"

"No. I got through my undergrad in two-and-a-half years, so there was literally no time for dating then. And med school is pretty all-consuming. That's not to say that students didn't date—one of my classmates even got engaged last year—but my priority was school. That's another thing we have in common."

"I suppose so, in a way. I mean I didn't attempt anything as rigorous as medical school… I didn't even go to grad school."

Something in her tone told me that she had intended to continue her education at the post-graduate level. "Were you planning to?"

"Yes. I'd been accepted into a really amazing Master's program at Northwestern. I was going to specialize in learning disabilities. But then my dad got hurt, and I knew that Washington was where I needed to be, at least for now."

"You should consider that Master's, Bella. You'd be wonderful with special needs students."

"Thank you for saying that."

"I mean it."

Her demeanor changed quickly; now she appeared grave.

"Bella?" I questioned. "What is it?" Was she in significant pain?

"I just…" She exhaled slowly, looking down. "Thinking about the future frightens me."

"And why is that?" I asked gently.

"What if something happens to Carlisle? How long can we stay out here by ourselves?"

I cupped her cheek softly with my hand. "Carlisle is an excellent and experienced hiker; he'll make it to the ranger station safely, probably by tonight or tomorrow at the latest. Once he does, he'll get help quickly. Until then, we have everything we need: food, water, shelter, and sleeping bags for warmth."

I had hoped my words would assuage her fear, but when I felt a teardrop brush my thumb I knew I had failed to help her.

"Really, Bella, it's going to be all right."

She lifted her eyes to look at me. Despite the tears, her gaze seemed slightly dull. Her voice was low, almost a whisper, as she said, "I don't know."

"What's worrying you?"

She hesitated for a few moments before answering. "James might still be out there."

Instinctively my eyes flicked to the entrance of the tent, then I looked back at her. "No, he's not. He's probably in another state by now. He knows your father is the chief of police; there's no way he'd stick around and risk being apprehended."

My words seemed to comfort her somewhat. Her expression softened slightly. I stroked her cheek with my fingertips. She was no longer cool; her skin felt warm now. I hoped it was just a reaction to the surge of fear she had experienced.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, trying to keep the apprehension from my tone.

She offered me a wan smile. I hadn't known Bella for long, but I already knew that she was hesitant to complain or to express her discomfort.

"I'm okay," she said after a few moments. "How is your knee?"

While her question was probably an attempt to deflect my attention from her own condition, her tone conveyed true concern, as well. "Not too bad," I replied.

Perhaps I was downplaying my discomfort slightly, but it was important that Bella trust that I would take care of her. While I was not particularly mobile, I was not ill, and my injury posed no threat to my life.

Bella's gaze was losing focus. Her body needed sleep, but she had resisted it before. Almost without realizing it, I began to hum. The melody began as something remembered from years ago, but soon it seemed to change, to become a new, gentle tune that flowed through my mind.

"That's… so pretty," Bella sighed sleepily.

I smiled, keeping the tune flowing quietly, and soon her features relaxed as she slipped into deep slumber. I continued humming for a long time.

Bella slept for several hours. I watched her carefully, observing her for any signs of illness. When she shivered, I tucked the sleeping bag around her more securely, wondering if her chill was the beginning of a fever. When her cheeks looked slightly flushed, my concern intensified. She became restless, appearing uncomfortable, shortly before waking. Her eyes opened, and she blinked at me blearily.

"Hey," I said softly. "How are you feeling?"

For a moment she seemed confused, then her eyes widened in fear. Her gaze darted around the tent.

"It's okay, Bella," I soothed. "You're safe."

She exhaled slowly. "Edward."

With a smile, I nodded. "Yes. You've been sleeping."

"I was dreaming," she murmured. Her brow furrowed, and I realized her dreams had been disturbing. Perhaps that explained her flushed cheeks and apparent discomfort.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" I offered.

She shook her head. "I can't really remember… " She coughed lightly, wincing at the action.

I reached for a water bottle. "Have some of this."

I helped her to sit up fully, watching as she took several tiny sips, swallowing them slowly. By the time she had finished, she was very pale, and when I touched her cheek I found it clammy.

"How much pain are you in?" I asked.

"It's not too bad," she replied, looking down as she spoke.

I gave her another dose of Tylenol. My professional instincts were prickling; I needed to listen to her lungs. However, I didn't want to alarm her. Helping Bella to remain calm was an important part of her care. If she realized that I was checking for signs of pneumonia, her anxiety would likely spike. Fortunately, I had routine on my side. Carlisle always listened to her lungs after she did her breathing exercises, and it was time for another round.

Bella struggled this time, more so than on previous occasions. I tried to keep my words and expression positive, but I grew more concerned with each pained cough she produced. When she finished the arduous task, I offered her an encouraging smile then reached for the stethoscope.

She sat quietly while I assessed her lungs. I listened intently to each inhalation and exhalation, dismayed by what I heard. I could distinguish late inspiratory rales. I recognized the distinctive little clicks that resembled the crumpling of cellophane. Carlisle had been correct in his suspicion that she was developing pneumonia.

I set aside the instrument and helped Bella to settle against the pillows again, semi upright. She wanted to lie on her side again, but I knew it was important that she avoid a supine position if possible. I told her that it would be easier for her to breathe deeply if she were sitting up, at least for a little while. She was exhausted from the exercises and nascent illness, but she accepted my recommendation without complaint. I did what I could to make her comfortable, wishing there were more options available to me. Aside from keeping her warm and hydrated, there was little I could do.

Bella dozed for about an hour. She did not sleep deeply, almost rousing several times. I hummed softly whenever she appeared most agitated, and this seemed to soothe her somewhat.

When she woke fully, I gave her some water, noticing that a slight chill shook her as she drank.

"Are you cold?" I asked.

"A little," she admitted.

"Let me check the firewood. If I can get a fire going, we can have some hot tea."

A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. "That would be nice."

I crawled through the tent flap then hobbled toward the fire pit Carlisle had prepared. It was late afternoon now, but the sun still shone. The day had been relatively warm and bright, and I was pleased to find that the kindling was dry. The larger pieces beneath it remained damp, but I was hopeful that they would ignite eventually.

I lit the twigs, stepping back at the small burst of flame. I returned to the tent, reporting the small bit of good news to Bella as I retrieved a pan and a bottle of water. By the time the water had heated, a few of the bigger branches were smoldering. I hoped that we would have a good fire by nightfall.

Bella's smile was genuine when I brought the cup of tea to her. She thanked me, wrapping her hands around the warm metal. She took a tentative sip then another. A hint of rosiness suffused her pale cheeks. I felt infinitely grateful that I could bring this small measure of comfort to her.

We spent the remainder of the afternoon in quiet conversation. As daylight began to fade, I slipped from the tent again to check the fire. I added some more wood from the pile Carlisle had left, pleased by the steady glow and surrounding warmth. I heated soup for dinner. Bella's appetite was lacking, but she managed a few spoonfuls. I suspected she was feeling worse, but she didn't complain.

It was dark by the time we had finished our meager supper. With the disappearance of the light, my mood sagged. I had harbored a vague hope that Carlisle might reach the ranger station by mid-afternoon and send out a rescue party immediately. When nightfall came, I had to acknowledge that help would not arrive until the next day—or possibly longer.

I had kept up with my own medication regimen, taking ibuprofen every four hours. My knee remained extremely tender, and I knew the swelling had increased with my movements about the campsite. Still, those were unavoidable. The fire was important for both signal purposes—unlikely as a night search might be—and for Bella's comfort. About an hour after dinner, I needed to help her out of the tent so that she could relieve herself. For many young women, I imagined embarrassment might be the primary emotion in such a situation. For Bella, however, it was remorse and apology. She felt terrible about the discomfort my assistance caused for me.

Once I had gotten her settled in the tent again, I checked the fire once more. I thought there was enough wood to last most of the night. I made another cup of tea for Bella then joined her inside.

She was drowsy, so I set aside the cup and tucked the sleeping bag around her. "Sleep well," I said gently.

Bella's eyes closed as I murmured that everything would be fine. It felt like an empty promise that gnawed at me as I drifted into a fitful sleep.

To be continued…