Author's Notes (May 25, 2011): Sorry updates are a little slower lately; real life ain't always peachy. Hugs and sloppy kisses to duskwatcher2153, Aleeab4u, GreatChemistry and smexy4smarties.

Chapter pic: bit(dot)ly/sotpm23-pic

Chapter music: bit(dot)ly/sotpm23-music

"SINS OF THE PIANO MAN"
CHAPTER 23: OF BURIALS AND EXHUMATIONS

"All we have to believe with is our senses, the tools we use to perceive the world:
our sight, our touch, our memory. If they lie to us, then nothing can be trusted."

From "American Gods" by Neil Gaiman

ISABELLA SWAN
Fidgeting in a black dress, I rattled my car keys at the bottom of the stairs. "Hurry up, Mom! We need to head out!" I was not going to be late to my father's funeral.

"Just fixing my hair! You know what being on a plane is like."

I glanced at a clock. "I'll give you three minutes!"

While waiting for Renée, I paced the living room, knots in my stomach. I hated today. Hated it. It felt like my father was dying all over again, but this time my grief would be on display. Why did I make his funeral open to the public? I didn't want to face anyone. I didn't give a damn about them, and they didn't give a damn about me, really. I'd never fit in here. Why did it matter if they got a chance to say goodbye or not? And yet I'd made it public. It was going to be public. People were going to be there with all their meaningless pity.

I felt sick.

Charlie's eulogy felt heavy in the one pocket of my black dress, even though it was just three sheets of folded notebook paper.

The medicine I'd taken to curb my nausea wasn't working. I'm going to be sick. I'm going to be sick.

No.

No, you aren't. Take a deep breath. Relax.

I tried to breathe like Edward, where each breath was slow and tranquil. I thought of his music for my father, the lullaby that he'd declared was mine. His love grounded me, at least for the moment.

Five minutes had passed.

"Mom, I'm going! You can take your rental car!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Renée shouted back as she came to the top of the stairs and sprinted down, her light brown hair bouncing in curls. Sweet-scented perfume flowed with her. The scent of it reminded me of the sea and sunshine.

I started out the door, but she stopped me.

"Do I look okay?" she asked, smoothing one hand down her dress. It wasn't black or grey or anything you'd expect to see on a person going to a funeral. She had a black shawl, but the dress was turquoise, a long-sleeved wrap dress that she'd probably bought at some new age store that specialized more in crystals than fabrics.

She looked ridiculous, but I told her she looked fine. "Now let's go."

It had turned cold after lunchtime, and the inside of my car was freezing. Our teeth chattered, and I laughed as I fumbled with the heating, while turning onto the 101. "Sorry," I apologized. It always took forever for the heating to kick in.

"It's okay," Renée said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. "It's probably just me. You know I don't handle the rain and cold well."

"Yeah. Guess I've sort of gotten used to it."

"Maybe so. You've been here long enough for that. Do you plan to stay?"

"In Washington?"

From the corner of my eye, I saw her nod.

Great. Now I get to have this conversation with her. It'd been uncomfortable enough with Edward.

I wasn't sure how I should answer. Edward's face came to mind, pale and beautiful. My stomach flipped again. I'm going to be sick. "I don't know," I answered.

"Well, there's no reason for you to stay now. You should consider moving somewhere warmer."

I gripped the steering wheel tightly. "I'm just taking things one day at a time." Anything else and I'd explode.

As if she hadn't heard me at all, she said, "You should come to Jacksonville, baby. There's a great school. It's sunny—get to wear your shades and flip-flops. The people are great. Lots of cute guys. Oh, you know we miss you, too. It'd be so good to have you near us. You could even stay with us while you get set up! It'd be just like old times!"

Old times. I almost laughed. When I was my mother's parent? I didn't want "old times." And I seriously doubted my stepdad Phil would be thrilled to have me move back.

Would I ever fit in anywhere?

"Mom, I don't know what I'll do. Esme Cullen is going to help me sell Dad's house and his truck. Then…I don't know." I laughed, and it came out a harsh and short. "Maybe I'll take the money and run off to Europe." If there was any money left after I paid back the Cullens and Edward for all their help.

"Oh, it's dreary there, too, honey. You need sunshine. You're so pale. You never really liked Washington, especially after Jacob. I thought you were just here for your father."

I didn't reply.

Renée was quiet for a moment. My stomach gurgled loudly in the car. I hadn't eaten; it was the sound of acid eating at me.

"This is about a boy, isn't it?"

I'd forgotten how perceptive my mother could be. I cleared my throat and glared out the windshield. It was misting rain; set to the slowest speed, the windshield wipers periodically dashed water away. "I've been seeing someone, yeah." I hadn't told her about Edward. All recent conversations with Renée had been pleas for her to help Charlie and me.

"Is he cute?"

That would be her first question. In spite of my mood, I laughed. "You could say that," I said, while thinking cute was too silly of a word for someone of inhuman beauty.

Maybe he's a ghost. An angel. A devil. An alien. Maybe I am just crazy.

I'd never let go of that possibility, not totally.

"Oh, come on, give me details."

I worked hard to keep the dorky grin off my face, but it didn't work. "He's tall," I said. "Messy, reddish hair, but it works. Nice hands." I blushed and spluttered, "He plays piano, I mean."

"Why haven't you told me about him?" Renée asked, her tone chastising. "Oh, well, tell me everything now. What's his name? How'd you meet? How long have you been going out? Oh, wait, let me guess. You met him at school. He's a lit major. Very political."

"Slow down, Mom," I sighed. "We met a few months ago on my birthday." That she'd forgotten, but I didn't say that. "He's been great, everything I could want, but I'm not sure things will work out between us." I felt sick again, this time with want. "And his name is Edward."

She didn't say anything for a long time, then she began hacking loudly.

Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, I patted her back, alarmed. "Mom? You okay?"

Gasping for breath, she nodded and leaned back in her seat. "Just swallowed the wrong way. Must be all that plane cabin air—recycled stuff, completely unhealthy. Edward, you said?"

"Um, yeah."

Again, Renée didn't say anything for a minute, and when I glanced at her, she was staring straight ahead, looking paler than usual under her Florida tan.

"You don't look so good," I said. "Are you okay?" Maybe Dad's death has finally hit her.

"I'm okay," she whispered. The fabric of her dress rustled as she twisted and knotted her fingers in it. "You're being careful with this—this Edward? He's… Is he good to you?"

I knew I wasn't being careful with Edward and that relationships shouldn't be founded on lies. I didn't go into any of that, though. I just said "yes." As an afterthought, I added, "Dad liked him."

"Charlie was always a good judge of character. Maybe it's okay then," she said, and her voice was high and loud in the car, a little hysterical. "I'm sure it'll be okay," she continued. "What do I know, anyway? I'm certainly not one to give you relationship advice."

I couldn't argue with her there.

Quieting, she looked out the passenger window then, fingers still twisting in turquoise. She didn't say anything else, and I left her to her grief.

Charlie had organized a simple funeral behind my back, and I'd made it open to the public. I could have upgraded everything, had a proper wake, a church service, a procession, but this felt right—the simplicity he'd signed himself up for. Here at the Forks cemetery, my father was beneath an open, if cloudy, sky and amid green grass. There'd be no viewing of the body here, no parading of sickly skin and bones. I was glad. I didn't want anyone to remember him that way. I didn't want to remember him that way. I was working on that part.

The rain stopped by the time we pulled into the cemetery, but there was still something akin to fog settling. Renée had calmed. She now looked as determined as I felt. Determined to get through this.

Do. Not. Get. Sick.

The Cullens got to the cemetery around the same time we did. Dressed in an elegant, black dress and old-fashioned, lacy hat, Esme strode over and pulled me into a hug. She kissed my cheek. "Hello, dear. How are you holding up?" she asked, while grasping my hands in her thinly gloved ones; they did little to mask the chill of her skin.

"I'm okay," I said. Carlisle passed by, taking a moment to kiss my hair.

When Carlisle and Esme started talking to my mother—reintroducing themselves, because they'd only met briefly at my high school graduation—Alice slipped to my side and rested her head on my shoulder. A lock of her black hair flitted against my neck, soft as silk. "I miss your dad, Bella."

Swallowing the knot in my throat, I whispered back, "I do, too."

Everything hurt like hell, but the nausea wasn't so bad with the Cullens here. I'd think about how fucked up that was later. What was wrong with me that I continued to take comfort in liars who weren't even human?

The five of us made our way to Charlie's burial plot. It was on a small hill, beside a giant pine tree. It made me think of the day we'd spent together at Ozette Lake, and how I wished I'd had more days like that with him.

Punctual as always, Pastor Weber was waiting for us beside the casket, his worn, red-leather Bible clasped in long-fingered hands. Angela, her mother and two younger brothers stood beside him, stoic. They'd done this dozens of times for dozens of Forks' families; they knew the drill. Lauren stood with them as well, her lips pursed, whether in sadness or discomfort, I didn't know.

I hugged Angela and Lauren for a long time. I hadn't seen them in over a week, and the tears in my eyes were as much for my loss of Charlie as they were my loss of young adulthood, my slow but inevitable loss of them. A lot of things were dying in my life—my father, my innocence, the stability of my world. I think they felt it, too, in the way you always feel stages of your life die off. Angela and Ben would be married soon, and their child would take up their world, as he or she should. Lauren was leaving for New York in three days, to grab hold of dreams.

I would be here—or elsewhere—trying to sort myself out. Possibly alone.

We clung to each other until we had to let go. You always have to let go eventually. There seems to be some unspoken rule.

With my mother beside me, I forced myself to look at the casket, which was surrounded by flowers. The casket wasn't anything special. It wasn't the cheapest thing, either, but it was modest. Why shouldn't it be? It was just going in the ground. I'd told the Cullens as much when they'd offered to get some extravagant mahogany thing with platinum handles and fancy, hand-sewn lining. I'd told them there was no point. My father wasn't really in this box, after all.

I wished I did know where he was, if he was anywhere at all.

Renée wept quietly at my right. I stood still, not close enough that we were touching, but beside her. I should have been a good daughter, reached out to her, because it would have been the right thing to do, and she was the only parent I had left, but her tears left me cold. I wandered away a little, tried to ignore her as I looked at the names and dates on other gravestones. I recognized many of the surnames. People tended to get stuck in Forks. That was another reason to sell Charlie's house. I didn't want to be one of the stuck ones. I didn't want to be buried here.

Carlisle consoled my mother. I pretended not to notice or care, and felt bitter and guilty for it. It was going to take time for me to forgive Renée.

I'm jaded, I thought with a snort. I hadn't always been. Or had I?

The night before, I'd sat outside with Edward's music playing, and I'd known peace; all the pain and anger and nausea had gone away. I'd known that everything was okay. That I was safe and going to get through this—this death, this craziness with Edward. That Charlie was at rest, maybe even happy. I couldn't find any of those peaceful feelings now.

Want. I wanted Edward. I kept glancing toward the cemetery entrance, but he was never there.

Maybe he won't come. Maybe you've pushed him away too much.

A sea of pale-skinned Forks residents in black, grey and dark blue, some toting umbrellas, began to make their way toward Charlie's plot. It didn't look like I was going to get peace any time soon.

I couldn't remember everyone's names, but I knew their faces—people my father had pointed out to me at the diner, those he'd worked for or with as a cop. There were people I'd gone to school with, too, who looked older, and better or worse for it.

Many stopped to say things to me, to offer pity and cluck their tongues. You'd think the aggrieved would be given a break, but it's the exact opposite. People swarm in with flowers and words, with absolutely no true regard for how you're doing. It's all about how they think they're supposed to react to your grief. Rituals.

"Too soon," they said, shaking their heads. They spoke softly—everyone does in a cemetery. "Cancer. Such a hard thing to beat," they said, touching my shoulder, my hands, my arms. "It was good he had you." Many looked at Renée when they said that; they were surprised she was here, and curious, as small town people always are.

Nosy is more like it.

They meant well enough, but they didn't know me or mine—no matter what they thought. I stopped listening after a while.

I spotted tan skin in the crowd; some of the Quileutes had come, of course. I saw the Clearwaters—Sue, the woman who could have healed my father's heart; her son, Seth; and her daughter, my bitter, almost-housemate, Leah. At Seth's right, clothed in a suit jacket that poorly fit his muscled form, Jacob pushed Billy's wheelchair, unbothered by the less than ideal gravel terrain. Noticing me, he handed Billy off to Seth, and then made a beeline in my direction. My nausea resurfaced.

"Thanks for coming," I mumbled when he stood before me.

He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry he's gone. It's our loss, too. Dad hasn't been sleeping well since it happened."

I nodded, understanding. My sleep was haunted by dreams filled with scary monsters.

He looked at his father and the group of people around us. "You got a minute to talk?" He nodded his head toward the parked cars some distance away.

"I don't know," I hedged, thinking the last thing I wanted to do was get stuck talking to Jacob. "There are people here, wanting to say…stuff to me."

"Oh, come on. You don't care what these people have to say. I know you better than that."

"You don't know the first thing about me," I said, bristling even though he was right. "Look, Jacob, as glad as I am that you and Billy came today, I don't have the stomach to get into it with you." I made to leave and join my mother and the Cullens, but Jacob grabbed my shoulder. I jerked away from his touch and glared at him.

"Sorry," he said, holding up his hands. "Bella, please—really, it'll only take a minute to hear what I've got to say. It's important." His jaw was set, determined.

Jacob could be as stubborn as Edward. Or me. He wouldn't leave me alone.

"Okay," I relented with a sigh, "but make it quick."

A few minutes later, we stood beside the red 1986 Volkswagen Rabbit that Jacob had fixed up for himself when we were younger. It was hard to imagine his giant body fitting into this car.

"All right," I said. "What's so important?"

"Keep your voice down."

"Why?" I asked in a normal tone.

"Just do it," he hissed, glancing quickly behind him, up the hill where the funeral would take place. "I need you to remember something. The problem is I could get into a lot of trouble for this conversation—probably will."

"Trouble? What's going on?"

"It's the Cullens. And Edward." He coughed and took a deep breath. "They're not what they seem." He shuddered.

Overwhelmed, I think I stopped breathing for a minute. Little more than a month ago, I'd thought the Quileutes and Cullens had some strange ethnic dispute, but I knew better now. I knew the Cullens weren't human, and I knew…something wasn't quite right with Leah and Jacob, at the very least. I just couldn't put my finger on it.

I'd thought the Quileutes might know something about the Cullens and Edward—and here was possible proof!—but I'd never known how much they knew or how I could talk to them about it. And since Charlie's death, I hadn't even thought about them. Now Jacob was coming to me.

I took a risk. "You know…what they are."

Eyes wide, he nodded and wheezed out a cough. "You're crazy. You mean to say you know they're not like—"

"They're not like us," I agreed more calmly than I felt, "but I don't know what they are. If you know, you have to tell me," I said. "Tell me everything."

"I can't tell you everything," he muttered.

"What do you mean you can't?" My heart raced in my chest. "You have to. I'll do anything for the truth."

"It's not that easy, Bella. I wish it was."

"Of course it's that easy." I glared at him. "Why are we even having this conversation if you're not going to tell me anything? I mean, you're pulling me aside at my dad's funeral. This better be good."

"I'll—I'll tell you what I can." His voice was tight, his teeth clenched. "It's not much. It may not work at all, but I've got to try. I wish I could explain more, but I'm on a tight leash. Sam—"

"What does Sam have to do with this? No, wait, never mind," I growled. "Just fucking forget it. I don't know why you want to talk to me if you're just going to give me riddles instead of answers. What's the point?"

"I'm sorry," he said, and it did sound as though he meant it. "I really am sorry. This is so frustrating."

"You think it's frustrating for you? Try living in the dark all the time."

We stared at each other for a long moment, and still Jacob breathed heavily, like he'd been running in a marathon.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

He nodded once. "It really is a tight leash," he said, smiling grimly. "Some secrets aren't mine to give, so I'm kept from giving them." He rubbed at his throat as if he was genuinely pained.

"So you're saying Sam doesn't want you telling this…secret. Their secret." This was potentially bigger than I'd been aware. I'd never known Sam Uley and his rumored gang held so much sway in La Push. Rumor was Jacob was in that gang…

What did that mean?

"The crazy thing is you already know the truth," Jacob said abruptly. "We've told you everything. We hide it under your nose."

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you remember the bonfires we used to go to when we were dating?"

"What do the bonfire nights have to do with anything?"

"Just hear me out. You remember them?"

"Yeah, of course."

I'd been to many a Quileute bonfire. Smoke and flames and the scent of burning wood. Barbecue chicken, grilled fish, toasted marshmallows, s'mores when we had the graham crackers and chocolate. Boys and girls chasing each other along the beach. My first kiss with the boy—the man—standing before me. It seemed like a long time ago, but I remembered what I felt were the important moments.

"The stories," Jacob said, interrupting my thoughts. "Remember the stories."

I stared at him. "That's it?"

"It's all I can say."

"Remember a bunch of scary stories. Yeah, okay. Thanks a lot, Jacob."

"At least—at least this way you might figure it out. You have to remember. It's important for you to. You're in danger; you shouldn't be anywhere near them, especially Edward—I don't trust him at all. I've wanted to say something. I wanted to tell you when you came to La Push… I just didn't know how, and you ran away." He scoffed and ran a hand along the back of his neck. "Sam's gonna kill me for all this."

Sam was the least of his worries. I wanted to kill him. "That is the most cryptic bullshit anyone's fed to me in, in—well, a couple of weeks. You're as bad as Edward." He opened his mouth to say something, but I waved him off. "Don't even start."

Frustrated, I shoved past him and made my way back to the funeral.

Pastor Weber's voice carried over the standing crowd, which surprisingly looked to be at least a hundred or more people. "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: A time to be born and a time to die."

The time was too soon, I thought.

Biting my lip, I looked back, searching for Edward. He still wasn't here, as far as I could see.

"A time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build."

I looked again, searching the other side of the crowd. Not there, either.

"A time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak. A time to love—"

There. There he was, standing calmly at the very back. He stood out, a paler face among pale faces, reddish hair among black and brown and blond. Though many people were between us, he caught my eye immediately and gave me a small smile, which I returned.

Remember the stories.

But nothing came to mind.

I nudged Renée. "Mom, he's here," I whispered. I sounded and felt relieved. I didn't think I could say goodbye to Charlie without Edward. Regardless of our interpersonal drama, he'd been with me through the worst of the storm. Selfishly, I needed him.

Renée's head snapped to the right, looking behind us. I turned slightly, intending to point Edward out, but he wasn't standing there anymore.

"I don't see him," she said.

"He must have moved. That's strange… Oh, well, I'll introduce you after." Even though I probably shouldn't. What girl brings home an inhuman boyfriend? Were we together? Why was I still pretending he was normal?

Did I want him to be normal? It didn't matter if I did or not. He wasn't. I didn't think I cared, but there was so much I didn't know…

We said nothing else as the funeral proceeded, and I didn't search for Edward again. I didn't need to. I felt his eyes on me, his silent support. And I felt peace in the presence of the man who'd written beautiful, heartfelt music and held my hand as my father died.

All the while, Pastor Weber reminded us to love one another and to value our time on earth. Chief Mark Green spoke after Pastor Weber's introduction. He was a pockmarked man with grey-tinged sideburns who had been a deputy under my father. I'd always liked him after he'd let me off the hook for speeding on my motorcycle. As far as I knew, he'd never told Charlie, because I would have been grounded forever, otherwise.

He spoke of Charlie's dedicated service to the town of Forks, how my father had been willing to come in at any hour he was needed. Of course, Chief Green didn't mention that the reason Charlie had done that for so long was because his work had been his life. I wondered if the people of Forks had known that or been too caught up in their own lives to realize it.

Two other people spoke, and then it was my turn to speak.

On wobbly legs, I cleared my throat and faced the crowd. I'd never liked public speaking. Standing up in front of people wasn't my thing as a wallflower, and now, even when I so wanted to do this well, my voice shook. "Th-thank you for coming. My dad would be so honored to have you here."

I took a deep breath and glanced up. And caught sight of Edward. He nodded in encouragement, and my hands shook just a little less.

I'd decided to open with a quote from Tuesdays with Morrie. "Death ends a life," I said, "not a relationship."

I got into the swing of things once I dove into my notes. It probably wasn't a very typical eulogy—I didn't care—I just wanted everyone to know that Charlie Swan had been a good father and man and that he would always be with me, in me. They thought they knew him. They thought they knew me. I wanted them to see that they didn't. In a way, I wanted to shame them. I wanted them to know that just because Charlie had been their town chief, just because they'd seen him at the diner time and again, didn't mean they knew the first thing about him or his daughter or his ex-wife or any damn thing. I wanted them to know how much they'd lost by not truly knowing him. It was something I hadn't learned until I'd moved here at seventeen; I'd lost so many years with him.

"My dad wasn't a very touchy-feely guy," I said, "but he told me something when I was six that I've never forgotten. It wasn't something I valued then. I don't think I truly understood it until I was twenty. He told me that he was my father first, above everything and everyone else." I looked at my mother, who stared at me with large eyes. "I could always trust in him, because my dad was constant."

I told stories about scraped knees and fishing. I told them about Charlie carrying a petrified seven-year-old-me out of Disneyland's Space Mountain, how he'd told Goofy to "go to hell" when the oversized mascot had tried to cheer me up and only scared me in the process. I told them about growing up as a teen with a cop for a dad, how he'd called every week to make sure all the boys were treating me right (even though there never had been any boys to speak of until I came to Forks), even though he'd lived a thousand miles away and couldn't really do anything. We'd never said much, but we'd said enough—the meaningful stuff—and I remembered it all.

"My dad loved nature," I told them. "I've got all the pictures of him holding up big fish to prove it. He liked the silence of the wild, how everything—even the brutal stuff—can make sense out there." I searched for Billy's face in the crowd and said, "He loved La Push for that reason, I think. You know, he always stayed in Forks, but I think it was La Push that really kept him here. Maybe we've got Indian blood, and we just don't know it.

"Some of my fondest memories of my father include quiet afternoons of him fishing on the reservation. Then all of us would sit around a fire, eating whatever had been caught that day. I used to think the fire made him look really young." I laughed a little. "Until recently, I think I always believed my dad was old. He wasn't. He too young for all of this."

I remembered his face then, the orange glow on his smooth features, the wind tousling his dark brown hair—the hair I'd gotten from his genes. One memory stood out the most. It had been a Saturday, and we'd spent the whole day at La Push. Jacob and I were dating then, sitting side by side on a log, holding hands. Harry Clearwater cracked a joke that had made my father roll his eyes and bare a white-toothed grin.

What was the joke Harry told?

I kept speaking, but my mind was elsewhere.

What joke had made my father grin like that?

Dentists. Something about dentists.

"I don't understand why my dad's time had to be now," I said aloud, against tightness in my throat.

Finally, I remembered the joke.

"What did Dracula say after his appointment with the town dentist?" Eyes crinkled at the corners, Harry looked at each of us; some of the boys groaned, having heard this one before. "Fangs very much!" He'd nudged Sue playfully, but she didn't seem to find it funny.

And just like that, I stammered over my words, and then couldn't speak anymore, because I remembered more than Harry Clearwater's joke. I remembered the scary story that had been told around the fire that night. Would I have remembered if Jacob hadn't put it in my mind to think on these things?

It was a story about Quileute men who turned into wolves—werewolves, but not exactly werewolves, because it wasn't the moon they reacted to. They responded to their enemies, their fellow predators. It was a story about their one enemy, an enemy they referred to as the cold ones—cold, because they were lifeless, heartless, ruthless. It was a story about a tenuous treaty from the early 1900s, an agreement between the Quileutes and the one "civilized" clan of the cold ones the tribe had met, a barely kept peace between mythical beings. I'd thought it was a scary story, a mythological tall-tale.

But now I knew. I knew it, like a part of me had always known it. I felt an echo of the cold breath from my dreams on the back of my neck. It raised all my fine hairs.

Cold body. Cold skin. Cold one.

Vampire. Vampire.

I looked at Carlisle Cullen, who sat in his fine grey suit and black woolen coat, his arm around Esme. I'd never known a more civilized man.

Not a man.

And Edward, in the back, staring at me with furrowed brows. Not a man. A thing. A creature.

Vampire.

People were staring at me, fidgeting uncomfortably, murmuring. I'd been quiet for too long, but I couldn't speak. Oh, God, I couldn't finish. Because I was overwhelmed and furious and afraid and unsure of whether I should fight or take flight.

Because I knew. Jacob was right. The Quileutes did hide it right under your nose. So did the Cullens. What better place to hide the biggest secret ever than in the one place you can't and wouldn't even think to look?

"I'm sorry," I croaked out and looked to Pastor Weber. He leapt forward to take over and awkwardly close the ceremony with a prayer from Psalms.

Numb, I returned to Renée's side. I thought I might throw up or faint or scream, but I just stood, just bowed my head and said "amen" when the time came. So much was going on inside of me, but on the outside I was shutting down.

"Are you okay, baby?" Renée asked as she put an arm around my waist. "What happened?"

"I—" I couldn't tell her. No one would believe me. After all, vampire was one of the things I'd been so sure wasn't right, couldn't be right. I'd put it in my Definitely Not column. Who would believe in vampires? Carlisle had stitched up my bloody wounds. I'd seen them eat food; I'd tasted garlic on Edward's mouth after dinner. They'd all been out during the day. Where were the coffins, the crypts?

What did they really eat? Dizziness swept through me.

"Bella!" Renée grabbed hold of my arm, and I realized she was holding me up.

I'm fainting. Fuck, I'm fainting.

Was she safe here? Was anyone at all safe? The Cullens were holding a dinner at their house directly after the funeral. People were headed to their cars, intending to go there. Many had probably come to the funeral, just to go to the mysterious Cullens' mansion afterward.

To go into the lion's den, I thought.

But how could I think that about the Cullens, about Edward? They were good. Weren't they?

Renée called out, "Dr. Cullen!"

I jerked away from her, a burst of adrenaline forcing me to stay upright. "No!" I snapped, drawing the attention of several people nearby. "No, you need to leave. Right now."

"Baby, what's going on? What's wrong?"

The Cullens were coming back toward us with their usual grace. Edward was nowhere to be seen. I needed to talk to him—or should I? Renée needed to leave first. This was my life, not hers. I couldn't have her in danger. Was she in danger? What was happening? I felt dizzy again.

I'm going to be sick, faint.

No.

Not yet.

"I just want you gone," I said, knowing the only way she'd leave was if I was cruel. I hated saying these words just twenty feet away from my father's casket. It was a betrayal. "You have no right to be here. You shouldn't be here."

"Of course I should be here."

"No, I shouldn't have invited you. You weren't here when it counted. You can't just come and go as you please." How many times had I thought saying these words would make me feel good? They didn't now.

Renée's eyes filled with tears. "I know. I'm so sorry. I regret not coming sooner."

"It's too late now!" Now I was crying and sweating and shaking. "Just go! I don't want you here. Leave me alone."

Carlisle came to stand beside me, his brow furrowed. "Is something the matter?"

"Renée needs to go home early," I said and tried to put anger behind my words. It wasn't easy when I was so upset, when all I was saying was only a half-truth at best, when a—a monster was standing beside me.

Is he a monster? I don't believe that, do I?

But this was real. It wasn't speculation anymore. Was it?

"Why don't we have a talk about this at our place?" Esme suggested while discretely handing Renée a tissue. "I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding."

"There's no misunderstanding," I said. "I'm seeing everything clearly now."

Alice looked at me with wide, gold eyes. "I can't believe it…" she murmured. "That dog broke the treaty!"

"What?" Renée asked, confused.

If I'd had any doubts left, they vanished then. Dog. So the Quileutes were werewolves—or just Sam and his gang—Jacob? Had I never dated anyone normal?

"I'll drive Renée to her hotel," Esme offered.

"No!" I grabbed my mother's arm and said to her, "Have Angela and Lauren take you to Port Angeles."

"Bella, don't do this. I never meant for things to happen this way."

"Just go."

She stared at me for a moment, and I did my best to keep my face hard and unforgiving, then she leaned forward and gave my cheek a kiss. "All right, baby. I'll go. I love you. Please know that at least."

I couldn't say it back, not if I was going to keep up this façade. I watched her sagging shoulders as she caught up with Angela and Lauren, who both looked over at me in surprise and maybe a little disappointment.

"Bella, dear," Esme said, touching my hand.

I snatched it away. "Don't Bella, dear me." I looked at all three of them and was completely unsure of what I should be feeling. I wasn't running, at least. Not yet. "So is it true?" I snapped, while wondering why I thought monsters would tell me anything but lies. They were all liars—chronic ones. "Jacob Black knows the truth?"

They consulted each other with silent looks.

"I didn't see this coming…" Alice said to Carlisle and Esme. "I'm sorry."

I asked again. "Does he know the truth?"

Alice looked at me, and she seemed helpless and frustrated. "Yeah, he would know."

Those words were enough.

"Stay away from me," I demanded, unsure of whether they'd heed my words.

I took off running, not caring that I was causing a scene as I pushed past people.

At first I thought I was running from the Cullens, but I wasn't running from them. I was running toward Edward. I didn't even know why, but I had to confront him. It was a driving force in me that turned all my fear and uncertainty into red hot anger. I was possessed by it. Even if it meant I would die, I had to do this.

I saw Renée being led by Lauren and Angela to the right out of the cemetery; the Quileutes were walking out with them. I caught sight of Edward's hair among a line of people headed left.

I went left.

"Edward!" I shouted as I stumbled down the gravel-covered, hilly entrance of the cemetery. Renée and Jacob looked back at me, but for only a moment. They both knew, in their own way, that I'd made my choice.

Edward didn't turn around as he slapped a hat on the top of his head. He pretended he didn't hear me. I knew he could hear me. He had amazing hearing. Inhuman hearing.

A vampire's hearing.

I chased him, and he pretended not to notice, but that cost him, because it meant he also couldn't run away in response. I caught up to him and grabbed hold of his arm. It was hard as rock, and for the first time since I'd met him, it was not reassuring.

"Don't act like you don't hear me, Edward Masen."

People all around were looking at us. There was the sound of ding-ding-ding as cars with their keys in the ignition were left open, so owners could stand halfway out of their vehicles to watch the scene unfold. Some small town people are shameless.

"Edward, I know now. You don't have to tell me. Someone else beat you to it." I don't know why I was egging him on, but I couldn't control it. I wanted him to react.

He didn't turn around, kept walking toward—I realized—his car, which was parked far away from all the others. "I've gathered that you found out," he replied, his voice tight.

I stopped following him. "And you haven't got anything to say about it?"

"Not here," he said, and his voice was a growl that crawled up my spine and reminded me that I didn't exactly know what I was getting myself into.

Still, I said, "Then where?"

He unlocked his car. "Get in."

"With you?" I asked. The question—a stupid one—came out all squeaky, somewhere between afraid and surprised.

"No one else is driving, so I suppose so." He sounded as furious as parts of me felt.

I stilled beside the passenger's door, feeling more than a little strange. It was the first time he'd never opened my door for me. "Why? Where are you taking me?" Why am I considering going?

He turned to get into the car, and I finally saw his face. His lips twisted into a bitter smirk. "Afraid now, are we?"

"No." I sounded unsure. "But where are you taking me?"

"Someplace we can talk," he said. "Someplace where I can undo what that fucking mutt has done."

"Mutt or not, he just told me the truth," I said defensively, "which is more than I can say for—"

"For me," he interrupted, his face softening with the words. "Bella, would you believe me if I said I'd planned to tell you the truth tomorrow?"

"No," I whispered.

Jaw set, he nodded.

Though I remembered his gentleness as he made love to me, the music he composed that warmed my soul, I also remembered bruises and distrust, and my anger still simmered beneath all of that. How much of him was a monster? How much of him was a man? What did any of that even mean?

I wanted to ask, Is this it? Are you going to kill me now that I know?

He must have read it in my face, because his softness turned to cold steel; his wrath returned. He snatched the hat off of his head, crushing its crisp shape in his hand, and threw it into the car; his hair stood up wildly. "I could have killed you long ago, Isabella," he snarled. "By God or luck, I didn't. Now get in the car. We aren't talking anymore about this here."

Shaking, I sunk down to the passenger's seat. My legs burned from running. Blistered, my feet hurt in the heels I'd clumsily run in. My nerves were shot, though I was still filled with grief and skepticism and anger. And I was in a car with a vampire. By choice.