back.
And then Mike changed his strategy. He leaned forward, resting his chin on the shoulder of my seat; his
cheek almost touched mine. I shifted away, turning my back toward the window.
"Doesn't the radio work in this thing?" Mike asked with a hint of petulance, interrupting Jacob
mid-sentence.
"Yes," Jacob answered. "But Bella doesn't like music."
I stared at Jacob, surprised. I'd never told him that.
"Bella?" Mike asked, annoyed.
"He's right," I mumbled, still looking at Jacob's serene profile.
"How can you not like music?" Mike demanded.
I shrugged. "I don't know. It just irritates me."
"Hmph." Mike leaned away.
When we got to the theater, Jacob handed me a ten-dollar bill.
"What's this?" I objected.
"I'm not old enough to get into this one," he reminded me.
I laughed out loud. "So much for relative ages. Is Billy going to kill me if I sneak you in?"
"No. I told him you were planning to corrupt my youthful innocence."
I snickered, and Mike quickened his pace to keep up with us.
I almost wished that Mike had decided to bow out. He was still sullen—not much of an addition to the
party. But I didn't want to end up on a date alone with Jacob, either. That wouldn't help anything.
The movie was exactly what it professed to be. In just the opening credits, four people got blown up and
one got beheaded. The girl in front of me put her hands over her eyes and turned her face into her date's
chest. He patted her shoulder, and winced occasionally, too. Mike didn't look like he was watching. His
face was stiff as he glared toward the fringe of curtain above the screen.
I settled in to endure the two hours, watching the colors and the movement on the screen rather than
seeing the shapes of people and cars and houses. But then Jacob started sniggering.
"What?" I whispered.
"Oh, c'mon!" he hissed back. "The blood squirted twenty feet out of that guy. How fake can you get?"
He chuckled again, as a flagpole speared another man into a concrete wall.
After that, I really watched the show, laughing with him as the mayhem got more and more ridiculous.
How was I ever going to fight the blurring lines in our relationship when I enjoyed being with him so
much?
Both Jacob and Mike had claimed the armrests on either side of me. Both of their hands rested lightly,
palms up, in an unnatural looking position. Like steel bear traps, open and ready. Jacob was in the habit
of taking my hand whenever the opportunity presented itself, but here in the darkened movie theater, with
Mike watching, it would have a different significance—and I was sure he knew that. I couldn't believe
that Mike was thinking the same thing, but his hand was placed exactly like Jacob's.
I folded my arms tightly across my chest and hoped that both their hands fell asleep.
Mike gave up first. About halfway through the movie, he pulled his arm back, and leaned forward to put
his head in his hands. At first I thought he was reacting to something on the screen, but then he moaned.
"Mike, are you okay?" I whispered.
The couple in front of us turned to look at him as he groaned again.
I could see the sheen of sweat across his face in the light from the screen.
Mike groaned again, and bolted for the door. I got up to follow him, and Jacob copied me immediately.
"No, stay," I whispered. "I'll make sure he's okay."
Jacob came with me anyway.
"You don't have to come. Get your eight bucks worth of carnage," I insisted as we walked up the aisle.
"That's okay. You sure can pick them, Bella. This movie really sucks." His voice rose from a whisper to
its normal pitch as we walked out of the theater.
There was no sign of Mike in the hallway, and I was glad then that Jacob had come with me—he ducked
into the men's bathroom to check for him there.
Jacob was back in a few seconds.
"Oh, he's in there, all right," he said, rolling his eyes. "What a marshmallow. You should hold out for
someone with a stronger stomach. Someone who laughs at the gore that makes weaker men vomit."
"I'll keep my eyes open for someone like that."
We were all alone in the hallway. Both theaters were halfway through the movie, and it was
deserted—quiet enough for us to hear the popcorn popping at the concession counter in the lobby.
Jacob went to sit on the velveteen-upholstered bench against the wall, patting the space beside him.
"He sounded like he was going to be in there for a while," he said, stretching his long legs out in front of
him as he settled in to wait.
I joined him with a sigh. He looked like he was thinking about blurring more lines. Sure enough, as soon
as I sat down, he shifted over to put his arm around my shoulders.
"Jake," I protested, leaning away. He dropped his arm, not looking bothered at all by the minor rejection.
He reached out and took my hand firmly, wrapping his other hand around my wrist when I tried to pull
away again. Where did he get the confidence from?
"Now, just hold on a minute, Bella," he said in a calm voice. "Tell me something."
I grimaced. I didn't want to do this. Not just not now, but not ever. There was nothing lett in my life at
this point that was more important than Jacob Black. But he seemed determined to ruin everything.
"What?" I muttered sourly.
"You like me, right?"
"You know I do."
"Better than that joker puking his guts out in there?" He gestured toward the bathroom door.
"Yes," I sighed.
"Better than any of the other guys you know?" He was calm, serene—as if my answer didn't matter, or
he already knew what it was.
"Better than the girls, too," I pointed out.
"But that's all," he said, and it wasn't a question.
It was hard to answer, to say the word. Would he get hurt and avoid me? How would I stand that?
"Yes," I whispered.
He grinned down at me. "That's okay, you know. As long as you like me the best. And you think I'm
good-looking—sort of. I'm prepared to be annoyingly persistent."
"I'm not going to change," I said, and though I tried to keep my voice normal, I could hear the sadness in
it.
His face was thoughtful, no longer teasing. "It's still the other one, isn't it?"
I cringed. Funny how he seemed to know not to say the name—just like before in the car with the music.
He picked up on so much about me that I never said.
"You don't have to talk about it," he told me.
I nodded, grateful.
"But don't get mad at me for hanging around, okay?" Jacob patted the back of my hand. "Because I'm
not giving up. I've got loads of time."
I sighed. "You shouldn't waste it on me," I said, though I wanted him to. Especially if he was willing to
accept me the way I was—damaged goods, as is.
"It's what I want to do, as long as you still like to be with me."
"I can't imagine how I could not like being with you," I told him honestly.
Jacob beamed. "I can live with that."
"Just don't expect more," I warned him, trying to pull my hand away. He held onto it obstinately.
"This doesn't really bother you, does it?" he demanded, squeezing my fingers.
"No," I sighed. Truthfully, it felt nice. His hand was so much warmer than mine; I always felt too cold
these days.
"And you don't care what he thinks." Jacob jerked his thumb toward the bathroom.
"I guess not."
"So what's the problem?"
"The problem," I said, "is, that it means something different to me than it does to you."
"Well." He tightened his hand around mine "That's my problem, isn't it?"
"Fine," I grumbled. "Don't forget it, though."
"I won't. The pin's out of the grenade for me, now, eh?" He poked me in the ribs.
I rolled my eyes. I guess if he felt like making a joke out of it, he was entitled.
He chuckled quietly for a minute while his pinky finger absently traced designs against the side of my
hand.
"That's a funny scar you've got there," he suddenly said, twisting my hand to examine it. "How did that
happen?"
The index finger of his free hand followed the line of the long silvery crescent that was barely visible
against my pale skin.
I scowled. "Do you honestly expect me to remember where all my scars come from?"
I waited for the memory to hit—to open the gaping hole. But, as it so often did, Jacob's presence kept
me whole.
"It's cold," he murmured, pressing lightly against the place where James had cut me with his teeth.
And then Mike stumbled out of the bathroom, his face ashen and covered in sweat. He looked horrible.
"Oh, Mike," I gasped.
"Do you mind leaving early?" he whispered.
"No, of course not." I pulled my hand free and went to help Mike walk. He looked unsteady.
"Movie too much for you?" Jacob asked heartlessly.
Mike's glare was malevolent. "I didn't actually see any of it," he mumbled. "I was nauseated before the
lights went down."
"Why didn't you say something?" I scolded as we staggered toward the exit.
"I was hoping it would pass," he said.
"Just a sec," Jacob said as we reached the door. He walked quickly back to the concession stand.
"Could I have an empty popcorn bucket?" he asked the salesgirl. She looked at Mike once, and then
thrust a bucket at Jacob.
"Get him outside, please," she begged. She was obviously the one who would have to clean the floor.
I towed Mike out into the cool, wet air. He inhaled deeply. Jacob was right behind us. He helped me get
Mike into the back of the car, and handed him the bucket with a serious gaze.
"Please," was all Jacob said.
We rolled down the windows, letting the icy night air blow through the car, hoping it would help Mike. I
curled my arms around my legs to keep warm.
"Cold, again?" Jacob asked, putting his arm around me before I could answer.
"You're not?"
He shook his head.
"You must have a fever or something," I grumbled. It was freezing. I touched my fingers to his forehead,
and his head was hot.
"Whoa, Jake—you're burning up!"
"I feel fine." He shrugged. "Fit as a fiddle."
I frowned and touched his head again. His skin blazed under my fingers.
"Your hands are like ice," he complained.
"Maybe it's me," I allowed.
Mike groaned in the backseat, and threw up in the bucket. I grimaced, hoping my own stomach could
stand the sound and smell. Jacob checked anxiously over his shoulder to make sure his car wasn't
defiled.
The road felt longer on the way back.
Jacob was quiet, thoughtful. He left his arm around me, and it was so warm that the cold wind felt good.
I stared out the windshield, consumed with guilt.
It was so wrong to encourage Jacob. Pure selfishness. It didn't matter that I'd tried to make my position
clear. If he felt any hope at all that this could turn into something other than friendship, then I hadn't been
clear enough.
How could I explain so that he would understand? I was an empty shell. Like a vacant
house—condemned—for months I'd been utterly uninhabitable. Now I was a little improved. The front
room was in better repair. But that was all—just the one small piece. He deserved better than
that—better than a one-room, falling-down fixer-upper. No amount of investment on his part could put
me back in working order.
Yet I knew that I wouldn't send him away, regardless. I needed him too much, and I was selfish. Maybe
I could make my side more clear, so that he would know to leave me. The thought made me shudder,
and Jacob tightened his arm around me.
I drove Mike home in his Suburban, while Jacob followed behind us to take me home. Jacob was quiet
all the way back to my house, and I wondered if he were thinking the same things that I was. Maybe he
was changing his mind.
"I would invite myself in, since we're early," he said as we pulled up next to my truck. "But I think you
might be right about the fever. I'm starting to feel a little… strange."
"Oh no, not you, too! Do you want me to drive you home?"
"No." He shook his head, his eyebrows pulling together. "I don't feel sick yet. Just… wrong. If I have to,
I'll pull over."
"Will you call me as soon as you get in?" I asked anxiously.
"Sure, sure." He frowned, staring ahead into the darkness and biting his lip.
I opened my door to get out, but he grabbed my wrist lightly and held me there. I noticed again how hot
his skin felt on mine.
"What is it, Jake?" I asked.
"There's something I want to tell you, Bella… but I think it's going to sound kind of corny."
I sighed. This would be more of the same from the theater. "Go ahead."
"It's just that, I know how you're unhappy a lot. And, maybe it doesn't help anything, but I wanted you to
know that I'm always here. I won't ever let you down—I promise that you can always count on me.
Wow, that does sound corny. But you know that, right? That I would never, ever hurt you?"
"Yeah, Jake. I know that. And I already do count on you, probably more than you know."
The smile broke across his face the way the sunrise set the clouds on fire, and I wanted to cut my tongue
out. I hadn't said one word that was a lie, but I should have lied. The truth was wrong, it would hurt him.
I would let him down.
A strange look crossed his face. "I really think I'd better go home now," he said.
I got out quickly.
"Call me!" I yelled as he pulled away.
I watched him go, and he seemed to be in control of the car, at least. I stared at the empty street when he
was gone, feeling a little sick myself, but not for any physical reason.
How much I wished that Jacob Black had been born my brother, my flesh-and -blood brother, so that I
would have some legitimate claim on him that still left me free of any blame now. Heaven knows I had
never wanted to use Jacob, but I couldn't help but interpret the guilt I felt now to mean that I had.
Even more, I had never meant to love him. One thing I truly knew—knew it in the pit of my stomach, in
the center of my bones, knew it from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, knew it deep in my
empty chest—was how love gave someone the power to break you.
I'd been broken beyond repair.
But I needed Jacob now, needed him like a drug. I'd used him as a crutch for too long, and I was in
deeper than I'd planned to go with anyone again. Now I couldn't bear for him to be hurt, and I couldn't
keep from hurting him, either. He thought time and patience would change me, and, though I knew he
was dead wrong, I also knew that I would let him try.
He was my best friend. I would always love him, and it would never, ever be enough.
I went inside to sit by the phone and bite my nails.
"Movie over already?" Charlie asked in surprise when I came in. He was on the floor, just a foot from the
TV. Must be an exciting game.
"Mike got sick," I explained. "Some kind of stomach flu."
"You okay?"
"I feel fine now," I said doubtfully. Clearly, I'd been exposed.
I leaned against the kitchen counter, my hand inches from the phone, and tried to wait patiently. I thought
of the strange look on Jacob's face before he drove away, and my fingers started drumming against the
counter. I should have insisted on driving him home.
I watched the clock as the minutes ticked by Ten. Fifteen. Even when I was driving, it took only fifteen
minutes, and Jacob drove faster than I did. Eighteen minutes. I picked up the phone and dialed.
It rang and rang. Maybe Billy was asleep. Maybe I'd dialed wrong. I tried again.
On the eighth ring, just as I was about to hang up, Billy answered.
"Hello?" he asked. His voice was wary, like he was expecting bad news.
"Billy, it's me, Bella—did Jake make it home yet? He left here about twenty minutes ago."
"He's here," Billy said tonelessly.
"He was supposed to call me." I was a little irritated. "He was getting sick when he left, and I was
worried."
"He was… too sick to call. He's not feeling well right now." Billy sounded distant. I realized he must want
to be with Jacob.
"Let me know if you need any help," I offered. "I could come down." I thought of Billy, stuck in his chair,
and Jake fending for himself…
"No, no," Billy said quickly. "We're fine. Stay at your place."
The way he said it was almost rude.
"Okay," I agreed.
"Bye, Bella."
The line disconnected.
"Bye," I muttered.
Well, at least he'd made it home. Oddly, I didn't feel less worried. I trudged up the stairs, fretting. Maybe
I would go down before work tomorrow to check on him. I could take soup—we had to have a can of
Campbell's around here somewhere.
I realized all such plans were canceled when I woke up early—my clock said four thirty—and sprinted to
the bathroom. Charlie found me there a half hour later, lying on the floor, my cheek pressed against the
cold edge of the bathtub.
He looked at me for a long moment.
"Stomach flu," he finally said.
"Yes," I moaned.
"You need something?" he asked.
"Call the Newtons for me, please," I instructed hoarsely. "Tell them I have what Mike has, and that I
can't make it in today. Tell them I'm sorry."
"Sure, no problem," Charlie assured me.
I spent the rest of the day on the bathroom floor, sleeping for a few hours with my head on a crumpled
up towel. Charlie claimed that he had to work, but I suspected that he just wanted access to a bathroom.
He left a glass of water on the floor beside me to keep me hydrated.
It woke me up when he came back home. I could see that it was dark in my room—after nightfall. He
clumped up the stairs to check on me.
"Stillalive?"
"Sort of," I said.
"Do you want anything?"
"No, thanks."
He hesitated, clearly out of his element. "Okay, then," he said, and then he went back down to the
kitchen.
I heard the phone ring a few minutes later. Charlie spoke to someone in a low voice for a moment, and
then hung up.
"Mike feels better," he called up to me.
Well, that was encouraging. He'd only gotten sick eight hours or so before me. Eight more hours. The
thought made my stomach turn, and I pulled myself up to lean over the toilet.
I fell asleep on the towel again, but when I woke up I was in my bed and it was light outside my window.
I didn't remember moving; Charlie must have carried me to my room—he'd also put the glass of water on
my bedside table. I felt parched. I chugged it down, though it tasted funny from sitting stagnant all night.
I got up slowly, trying not to trigger the nausea again. I was weak, and my mouth tasted horrible, but my
stomach felt fine. I looked at my clock.
My twenty-four hours were up.
I didn't push it, eating nothing but saltine crackers for breakfast. Charlie looked relieved to see me
recovered.
As soon as I was sure that I wasn't going to have to spend the day on the bathroom floor again, I called
Jacob.
Jacob was the one who answered, but when I heard his greeting I knew he wasn't over it.
"Hello?" His voice was broken, cracking.
"Oh, Jake," I groaned sympathetically. "You sound horrible."
"I feel horrible," he whispered.
"I'm so sorry I made you go out with me. This sucks."
"I'm glad I went." His voice was still a whisper. "Don't blame yourself. This isn't your fault."
"You'll get better soon," I promised. "I woke up this morning, and I was fine."
"You were sick?" he asked dully.
"Yes, I got it, too. But I'm fine now."
"That's good." His voice was dead.
"So you'll probably be better in a few hours," I encouraged.
I could barely hear his answer. "I don't think I have the same thing you did."
"Don't you have the stomach flu?" I asked, confused.
"No. This is something else."
"What's wrong with you?"
"Everything," he whispered. "Every part of me hurts."
The pain in his voice was nearly tangible.
"What can I do, Jake? What can I bring you?"
"Nothing. You can't come here." He was abrupt. It reminded me of Billy the other night.
"I've already been exposed to whatever you have," I pointed out.
He ignored me. "I'll call you when I can. I'll let you know when you can come down again."
"Jacob—"
"I've got to go," he said with sudden urgency.
"Call me when you feel better."
"Right," he agreed, and his voice had a strange, bitter edge.
He was silent for a moment. I was waiting for him to say goodbye, but he waited too.
"I'll see you soon," I finally said. "Wait for me to call," he said again. "Okay… Bye, Jacob."
"Bella," he whispered my name, and then hung up the phone.
10. THE MEADOW
JACOB DIDN'T CALL.
The first time I called, Billy answered and told me that Jacob was still in bed. I got nosy, checking to
make sure that Billy had taken him to a doctor. Billy said he had, but, for some reason I couldn't nail
down, I didn't really believe him. I called again, several times a day, for the next two days, but no one
was ever there.
Saturday, I decided to go see him, invitation be damned. But the little red house was empty. This
frightened me—was Jacob so sick that he'd needed to go to the hospital? I stopped by the hospital on
the way back home, but the nurse at the front desk told me neither Jacob or Billy had been in.
I made Charlie call Harry Clearwater as soon as he got home from work. I waited, anxious, while
Charlie chatted with his old friend; the conversation seemed to go on forever without Jacob even being
mentioned. It seemed that Harry had been in the hospital . . some kind of tests for his heart. Charlie's
forehead got all pinched together, but Harry joked with him, blowing it off, until Charlie was laughing
again. Only then did Charlie ask about Jacob, and now his side of the conversation didn't give me much
to work with, just a lot of hmms and yeahs. I drummed my fingers against the counter beside him until he
put a hand over mine to stop me.
Finally, Charlie hung up the phone and turned to me.
"Harry says there's been some trouble with the phone lines, and that's why you haven't been able to get
through. Billy took Jake to the doc down there, and it looks like he has mono. He's real tired, and Billy
said no visitors," he reported.
"No visitors?" I demanded in disbelief.
Charlie raised one eyebrow. "Now don't you go making a pest of yourself, Bells. Billy knows what's best
for Jake. He'll be up and around soon enough. Be patient."
I didn't push it. Charlie was too worried about Harry. That was clearly the more important issue—it
wouldn't be right to bug him with my lesser concerns. Instead, I went straight upstairs and turned on my
computer. I found a medical site online and typed "mononucleosis" into the search box.
All I knew about mono was that you were supposed to get it from kissing, which was clearly not the case
with Jake. I read through the symptoms quickly—the fever he definitely had, but what about the rest of
it? No horrible sore throat, no exhaustion, no headaches, at least not before he'd gone home from the
movie; he'd said he felt "fit as a fiddle." Did it really come on so fast? The article made it sound like the
sore stuff showed up first.
I glared at the computer screen and wondered why, exactly, I was doing this. Why did I feel so… so
suspicious, like I didn't believe Billy's story? Why would Billy lie to Harry?
I was being silly, probably. I was just worried, and, to be honest, I was afraid of not being allowed to see
Jacob—that made me nervous.
I skimmed through the rest of the article, looking for more information. I stopped when I got to the part
about how mono could last more than a month.
A month? My mouth fell open.
But Billy couldn't enforce the no-visitors thing that long. Of course not. Jake would go crazy stuck in bed
that long without anyone to talk to.
What was Billy afraid of, anyway? The article said that a person with mono needed to avoid physical
activity, but there was nothing about visitors. The disease wasn't very infectious.
I'd give Billy a week, I decided, before I got pushy. A week was generous.
A week was long. By Wednesday, I was sure I wasn't going to live till Saturday.
When I'd decided to leave Billy and Jacob alone for a week, I hadn't really believed that Jacob would go
along with Billy's rule. Every day when I got home from school, I ran to the phone to check for
messages. There never were any.
I cheated three times by trying to call him, but the phone lines still weren't working.
I was in the house much too much, and much too alone. Without Jacob, and my adrenaline and my
distractions, everything I'd been repressing started creeping up on me. The dreams got hard again. I
could no longer see the end coming. Just the horrible nothingness—half the time in the forest, half the time
in the empty fern sea where the white house no longer existed. Sometimes Sam Uley was there in the
forest, watching me again. I paid him no attention—there was no comfort in his presence; it made me feel
no less alone. It didn't stop me from screaming myself awake, night after night.
The hole in my chest was worse than ever. I'd thought that I'd been getting it under control, but I found
myself hunched over, day after day, clutching my sides together and gasping for air.
I wasn't handling alone well.
I was relieved beyond measure the morning I woke up—screaming, of course—and remembered that it
was Saturday. Today I could call Jacob. And if the phone lines still weren't working, then I was going to
La Push. One way or another, today would be better than the last lonely week.
I dialed, and then waited without high expectations.
It caught me off guard when Billy answered on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"Oh, hey, the phone is working again! Hi, Billy. It's Bella. I was just calling to see how Jacob is doing. Is
he up for visitors yet? I was thinking about dropping by—"
"I'm sorry, Bella," Billy interrupted, and I wondered if he were watching TV; he sounded distracted.
"He's not in."
"Oh." It took me a second. "So he's feeling better then?"
"Yeah," Billy hesitated for an instant too long. "Turns out it wasn't mono after all. Just some other virus."
"Oh. So… where is he?"
"He's giving some friends a ride up to Port Angeles—I think they were going to catch a double feature or
something. He's gone for the whole day."
"Well, that's a relief. I've been so worried. I'm glad he felt good enough to get out." My voice sounded
horribly phony as I babbled on.
Jacob was better, but not well enough to call me. He was out with friends. I was sitting home, missing
him more every hour. I was lonely, worried, bored… perforated—and now also desolate as I realized
that the week apart had not had the same effect on him.
"Is there anything in particular you wanted?" Billy asked politely.
"No, not really."
"Well, I'll tell him that you called," Billy promised. "Bye, Bella."
"Bye," I replied, but he'd already hung up.
I stood for a moment with the phone still in my hand.
Jacob must have changed his mind, just like I'd feared. He was going to take my advice and not waste
any more time on someone who couldn't return his feelings. I felt the blood run out of my face.
"Something wrong?" Charlie asked as he came down the stairs.
"No," I lied, hanging up the phone. "Billy says Jacob is feeling better. It wasn't mono. So that's good."
"Is he coming here, or are you going there?" Charlie asked absentmindedly as he started poking through
the fridge.
"Neither," I admitted. "He's going out with some other friends."
The tone of my voice finally caught Charlie's attention. He looked up at me with sudden alarm, his hands
frozen around a package of cheese slices.
"Isn't it a little early for lunch?" I asked as lightly as I could manage, trying to distract him.
"No, I'm just packing something to take out to the river…"
"Oh, fishing today?"
"Well, Harry called… and it's not raining." He was creating a stack of food on the counter as he spoke.
Suddenly he looked up again as if he'd just realized something. "Say, did you want me to stay with you,
since Jake's out?"
"That's okay, Dad," I said, working to sound indifferent. "The fish bite better when the weather's nice."
He stared at me, indecision clear on his face. I knew that he was worrying, afraid to leave me alone, in
case I got "mopey" again.
"Seriously, Dad. I think I'll call Jessica," I fibbed quickly. I'd rather be alone than have him watching me
all day. "We have a Calculus test to study for. I could use her help." That part was true. But I'd have to
make do without it.
"That's a good idea. You've been spending so much time with Jacob, your other friends are going to think
