作者：斯蒂芬妮·梅尔（美）
Afternoons were the hardest part of my day. Ever since my former best friend （and werewolf）， Jacob Black, had informed on me about the motorcycle I’d been riding on the sly — a betrayal he had devised in order to get me grounded so that I couldn’t spend time with my boyfriend （and vampire）， Edward Cullen — Edward had been allowed to see me only from seven till nine-thirty p.m., always inside the confines of my home and under the supervision of my dad’s unfailingly crabby glare.
This was an escalation from the previous, slightly less stringent grounding that I’d earned for an unexplained three-day disappearance and one episode of cliff diving.
Of course, I still saw Edward at school, because there wasn’t anything Charlie could do about that. And then, Edward spent almost every night in my room, too, but Charlie wasn’t precisely aware of that. Edward’s ability to climb easily and silently through my second-story window was almost as useful as his ability to read Charlie’s mind.
Though the afternoon was the only time I spent away from Edward, it was enough to make me restless, and the hours always dragged. Still, I endured my punishment without complaining because — for one thing — I knew I’d earned it, and — for another — because I couldn’t bear to hurt my dad by moving out now, when a much more permanent separation hovered, invisible to Charlie, so close on my horizon.
My dad sat down at the table with a grunt and unfolded the damp newspaper there; within seconds he was clucking his tongue in disapproval.
“I don’t know why you read the news, Dad. It only ticks you off.”
He ignored me, grumbling at the paper in his hands. “This is why everyone wants to live in a small town!
Ridiculous.”
“What have big cities done wrong now?”
“Seattle’s making a run for murder capital of the country. Five unsolved homicides in the last two weeks.
Can you imagine living like that?”
“I think Phoenix is actually higher up the homicide list, Dad. I have lived like that.” And I’d never come
close to being a murder victim until after I moved to his safe little town. In fact, I was still on several hit lists. . .
. The spoon shook in my hands, making the water tremble.
“Well, you couldn’t pay me enough,” Charlie said.
I gave up on saving dinner and settled for serving it; I had to use a steak knife to cut a portion of spaghetti for Charlie and then myself, while he watched with a sheepish expression. Charlie coated his helping with sauce and dug in. I disguised my own clump as well as I could and followed his example without much nthusiasm. We ate in silence for a moment. Charlie was still scanning the news, so I picked up my much- abused copy of Wuthering Heights from where I’d left it this morning at reakfast, and tried to lose myself in turn-of-the-century England while I waited for him to start talking.
I was just to the part where Heathcliff returns when Charlie cleared his throat and threw the paper to the floor.
“You’re right,” Charlie said. “I did have a reason for doing this.” He waved his fork at the gluey spread. “I wanted to talk to you.”
I laid the book aside; the binding was so destroyed that it slumped flat to the table. “You could have just asked.”
He nodded, his eyebrows pulling together. “Yeah. I’ll remember that next time. I thought taking dinner off your hands would soften you up.”
I laughed. “It worked — your cooking skills have me soft as a marshmallow. What do you need, Dad?”
“Well, it’s about Jacob.”
I felt my face harden. “What about him?” I asked through stiff lips.
“Easy, Bells. I know you’re still upset that he told on you, but it was the right thing. He was being
responsible.”
“Responsible,” I repeated scathingly, rolling my eyes. “Right. So, what about Jacob?”
The careless question repeated inside my head, anything but trivial. What about Jacob? What was I
going to do about him? My former best friend who was now . . . what? My enemy? I cringed.
Charlie’s face was suddenly wary. “Don’t get mad at me, okay?”
“Mad?”
“Well, it’s about Edward, too.”
My eyes narrowed.
This was an escalation from the previous, slightly less stringent grounding that I’d earned for an unexplained three-day disappearance and one episode of cliff diving.
Of course, I still saw Edward at school, because there wasn’t anything Charlie could do about that. And then, Edward spent almost every night in my room, too, but Charlie wasn’t precisely aware of that. Edward’s ability to climb easily and silently through my second-story window was almost as useful as his ability to read Charlie’s mind.
Though the afternoon was the only time I spent away from Edward, it was enough to make me restless, and the hours always dragged. Still, I endured my punishment without complaining because — for one thing — I knew I’d earned it, and — for another — because I couldn’t bear to hurt my dad by moving out now, when a much more permanent separation hovered, invisible to Charlie, so close on my horizon.
My dad sat down at the table with a grunt and unfolded the damp newspaper there; within seconds he was clucking his tongue in disapproval.
“I don’t know why you read the news, Dad. It only ticks you off.”
He ignored me, grumbling at the paper in his hands. “This is why everyone wants to live in a small town!
Ridiculous.”
“What have big cities done wrong now?”
“Seattle’s making a run for murder capital of the country. Five unsolved homicides in the last two weeks.
Can you imagine living like that?”
“I think Phoenix is actually higher up the homicide list, Dad. I have lived like that.” And I’d never come
close to being a murder victim until after I moved to his safe little town. In fact, I was still on several hit lists. . .
. The spoon shook in my hands, making the water tremble.
“Well, you couldn’t pay me enough,” Charlie said.
I gave up on saving dinner and settled for serving it; I had to use a steak knife to cut a portion of spaghetti for Charlie and then myself, while he watched with a sheepish expression. Charlie coated his helping with sauce and dug in. I disguised my own clump as well as I could and followed his example without much nthusiasm. We ate in silence for a moment. Charlie was still scanning the news, so I picked up my much- abused copy of Wuthering Heights from where I’d left it this morning at reakfast, and tried to lose myself in turn-of-the-century England while I waited for him to start talking.
I was just to the part where Heathcliff returns when Charlie cleared his throat and threw the paper to the floor.
“You’re right,” Charlie said. “I did have a reason for doing this.” He waved his fork at the gluey spread. “I wanted to talk to you.”
I laid the book aside; the binding was so destroyed that it slumped flat to the table. “You could have just asked.”
He nodded, his eyebrows pulling together. “Yeah. I’ll remember that next time. I thought taking dinner off your hands would soften you up.”
I laughed. “It worked — your cooking skills have me soft as a marshmallow. What do you need, Dad?”
“Well, it’s about Jacob.”
I felt my face harden. “What about him?” I asked through stiff lips.
“Easy, Bells. I know you’re still upset that he told on you, but it was the right thing. He was being
responsible.”
“Responsible,” I repeated scathingly, rolling my eyes. “Right. So, what about Jacob?”
The careless question repeated inside my head, anything but trivial. What about Jacob? What was I
going to do about him? My former best friend who was now . . . what? My enemy? I cringed.
Charlie’s face was suddenly wary. “Don’t get mad at me, okay?”
“Mad?”
“Well, it’s about Edward, too.”
My eyes narrowed.
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