Isabella was lifeless as a paperweight and perched on the roof. Every time he came out and found her still sitting there, Edward had the urge to chuck a stone at her, but apparently fear was a better deterrent than Carlisle's disapproval. In this first week, Edward had learned to wait out her silence by slaking his thirst with a hunt or pounding out a tune on the somewhat battered piano, and this morning he was poring over sheet music he'd discovered in the bench.
Sometime between his childhood lessons and now, musical notation had become a foreign language again. Though he was grateful that the edge had rubbed off the worst of his human memories, everything he'd learned before the change seemed to be swirling down the drain. He wanted to complain, but in truth it was only taking him an hour to relearn a skill that had cost him weeks of lessons the first time around, and anyway it passed the time until Isabella returned to the living, or – to be entirely accurate – the undead.
"I hardly recognize you when you play," she said.
He spun around on the bench to find her standing behind him.
"You're back."
"I never left." She smiled at him, and he felt it in his knees. "I need to run an errand today, and I thought you might like to come along so you can talk to Carlisle."
Edward hadn't bothered to bring his cell phone with him. There couldn't be any reception out here.
"You look confused," she said.
"Maybe."
She turned and left. He'd gotten used to her lack of explanation, and he knew that if he could stay calm and hold his tongue, she'd give him the answers he wanted faster than he'd get them by taking a door off its hinges. He waited while she was out back tipping fuel into a generator. After a few pulls at a starter, the engine rumbled to life. When she returned, she headed for a kitchen drawer, pulled out a cell phone the size of a brick, and plugged it in.
"That your iPhone?" he asked.
"My what?"
He turned away when he couldn't hide a smirk. Every modern reference besides WD-40 and the Swiss Army knife had gone over her head. He wondered how long it had been since she'd ventured out of these woods.
"How do you get things like floor polish, soap, gasoline?" he asked.
"Bat comes out a few times a year."
"Bat?"
"Bartholomew, but he goes by Bat."
"Is that supposed to be a joke?"
"It was a common enough nickname."
"So this guy brings you whatever you need." Edward thought maybe he would take a door off its hinges after all.
"I've known him a long time."
Edward didn't even want to speculate on what 'a long time' was to Isabella.
"Does he owe you or something?" he asked.
She shrugged, so he reached for the answer in her mind, but he only saw himself, looking at her as she looked at him. She stepped around him and went out front to sweep the leaves and needles off the porch. She did this daily, though on a windy day it seemed about as useful as sweeping back the tide.
Eventually the red light turned to green on her clunker of a phone, which was a blessing, since he'd had more than enough of her mind – the repetitive motion of the broom and the pauses when she'd stoop to move a beetle to safety. She put the phone in a canvas bag that she slung over her shoulder, and they were off running. He had to hold back, because he didn't know where they were headed. The farther they went, the thicker the trees became, until it was easier to push off from the trunks than to run on the ground.
She skidded to a stop without warning, and Edward almost plowed into her. He was pretty sure that knocking her down would qualify as the forbidden act of 'laying a hand on her', so he'd swerved to her right, and the ground dropped away. He clawed into the dirt, but it crumbled beneath his hands, and he slid further down a cliff amid a shower of rocks and clay, until finally he caught a thick root sticking out in a gnarled loop, and he swung back and forth in the air.
"Jesus Christ," he said.
Isabella hunkered down so that she was sitting on her heels as she peered over the edge.
"There's a straight drop," she said.
"No kidding."
"Do you need a hand?"
"No." Now that he had his bearings it was a simple matter to climb back up and flip himself onto his feet. He shot her a glare.
"I'm sorry, I didn't see how close you were," she said.
"That's great. You notice every little thing, but you can't pay attention enough to remember that I'm right behind you?"
"I was paying attention. Just not to you."
"Perfect."
"I was minding the trees."
"Ok," Honestly, he gave up. She took more notice of a beetle than she did of him.
"Edward," she said. She walked over to him, and he held his breath. "You're fine. A fall like that couldn't hurt you." She placed a hand on his forearm. The long sleeve of his t-shirt was pushed up to his elbow, so her palm moved back and forth against his bare skin in what was probably just a comforting gesture, but for a moment he knew what it was to immerse himself as she often did in every small sensation. He felt the softness and the pressure of each finger. He felt her thumb press a circle that grazed the underside of his wrist.
"Ok," he said.
She stepped back, and before he could listen in on her thoughts she'd turned her attention to the view. Far below them in the distance, the woods gave way to farmland, and she pointed to the opposite hill that framed the valley. There was a cell tower perched in a bald strip where the tree line had been cleared.
"From here we can make a call without going into town," she said.
Carlisle picked up on the third ring, and Edward listened to both sides of the conversation as they exchanged greetings. It was his first real chance to read her mind while she talked to someone else. The night he arrived, he'd been overwhelmed and out the door, but today he listened as her words came to her and her voice followed right behind like an echo. Only once did she think something other than what she said.
"And how has Edward been?" Carlisle asked. His voiced sounded tinny through the receiver, but there was no mistaking the anxiety behind his question.
For the briefest flash, Edward saw himself in her mind, saw his black eyes and his arm shaking as he reached straight out to pin her to the wall.
"He's been fine of course," she said.
He hadn't known that she had it in her to tell a lie.
Carlisle pressed with a few more questions, all asked in different ways, but circling back to the same concerns. Was Edward staying near the cabin? Was Edward trying her patience? Was Edward the worst thing that ever happened to her? Alright, Carlisle hadn't asked that last question, but honestly Edward didn't need to be able to read minds through the phone to know what Carlisle was thinking.
"Why don't I let you talk to him," Isabella said.
"Hello." Edward's voice sounded oddly formal to his own ears.
"Edward, how have you been?"
"Fine." There was a pause, and he knew he should fill it, but he couldn't think of what to say.
Isabella wandered into the trees and out of sight, probably to give him a sense of privacy, though of course she would still be able to hear him.
"I understand you're behaving."
Edward came about as close as possible to saying, "Right. I'm a good dog. I've been paper trained," but he knew if he did, Carlisle would assume he was being mouthy to Isabella, and that would lead to a longer phone conversation than her aged battery could probably take.
"Things have been alright," he said.
"Good, good."
Again the silence crackled through their patchy connection, but it wasn't as if Edward had so many adventures to relate.
"Esme is completely fine now," Carlisle said.
Of course. That's what Edward was supposed to have asked about in the gap. "That's good." And then because that didn't seem to be enough, he said. "That's really good."
"Well, I'm glad everything has gone smoothly out there."
"Listen, Isabella just came back, and I think she wants to say goodbye."
She was still out of sight, but she must have heard him, because she came around a tree and raised her eyebrows at him as he handed her the phone.
"Don't worry, Carlisle. We're fine," she said.
After she hung up, they stood looking at one another for a long moment.
"I need to call Bat," she said.
He wondered if he was supposed to give her some privacy, but she didn't ask him to go. The phone rang and rang long after anyone's voice mail would have picked up, but eventually there was an answer.
"I hope I didn't drag you back from a hunt," Isabella said.
"Not at all. I was just out on the deck," the man on the other end told her. His voice was strange – musical, but raspy just the same. It reminded him of the stuttering wheeze of a car that was straining to make it up a hill.
"Well I won't keep you. I just wanted to add something to the list if I could. We need more sheet music." Isabella put her hand over the phone and turned to Edward. "What do you want?"
He tried to retrieve composers from the murky depths of human recollection. "Mahler? Brahms. Maybe Beethoven. Definitely Mahler."
She passed along the names. "And whatever else looks good to you," she said.
"Will do."
"Thanks, Bat. I appreciate it."
She put the phone in her bag and turned toward home. They started walking back, still far faster than a human pace, but slow enough that she had time to notice the sensations of her feet against the forest floor. Edward left her to her odd habit until his curiosity drove him to speak.
"Why did you lie?" he asked. "You told Carlisle that I'd been fine."
She smiled. If he stayed here one hundred years he would never understand her bizarre sense of timing.
"You have been fine," she said.
He let out a snort, and then he read her mind and saw that she meant it.
"I screwed up and grabbed you by the neck. I saw you remember it."
"Nothing happened."
"I could have ripped your head off."
"No you couldn't."
He caught a glimpse in her mind of the moment he lay huddled at her feet before he fled the room.
"Stop it," he said.
"It's just a memory. If you're going to poke around in my head, you're going to see whatever comes to mind. You do realize that we can't always control what we think, don't you? It's only what you do – your actions, your words. Those are yours."
He wasn't sure if she was defending her thoughts or giving him a not so subtle reminder not to leap at her again, but either way this conversation was taking a turn he didn't like.
"So you weren't just covering for me with Carlisle?"
"There's a reason newborns get dragged to the middle of the wilderness for a decade or so. It'll work itself out."
He didn't even want to contemplate a decade of feeling the way he had the last two years, so he set that aside and continued walking.
"Thanks for asking about the music," he said.
"It's not a problem." She stepped closer and nudged into him for a moment.
He decided to start counting these small physical connections, because it seemed to him that they were happening more often.
"Would you like to race back?" he asked.
"You think Carlisle didn't warn me about you?"
It was Edward's turn to smile.
He saw her decision to take off before she sprinted away, and it only took three seconds to pass her. He let go and the branches were a windy blur brushing against him as he zigged through the trees. When he reached the cabin, he stopped and waited for her on the porch.
All the usual characters, settings, etc. are the property of S. Meyer. Original characters and plot are mine. No copyright infringement is intended. May not be reprinted without express written permission.