Life and Death

by Stephenie Meyer

  “How did you know where … ?” I started, but then I just shook my head.

  “Stop them before I have to track them down, too. I won’t be able to restrain myself if I run into your other friends again.”

  It was strange how her silky voice could sound so … menacing.

  I jumped out of the car but kept my hand on the frame. Like before, holding her here.

  “Jer! Allen!” I shouted.

  They weren’t very far away. They both turned, and I waved my free arm over my head. They rushed back, the relief on both their faces turning to surprise when they took in the car I was standing next to. Allen stared into the recesses of the car, and then his eyes popped wide in recognition.

  “What happened to you?” Jeremy demanded. “We thought you took off.”

  “No, I just got lost. And then I ran into Edythe.”

  She leaned forward and smiled through the windshield. Now Jeremy’s eyes bugged out.

  “Oh, hi … Edythe,” Allen said.

  She waved at him with two fingers, and he swallowed loudly.

  “Uh, hey,” Jeremy said in her direction; then he stared at me—I must have looked odd, my one hand locked on the frame of the open door, but I wasn’t letting go. “So … the movie’s already started, I think.”

  “Sorry about that,” I said.

  He checked his watch. “It’s probably still just running previews. Did you …” He eyed my hand on the car. “… still want to come?”

  I hesitated, glancing at Edythe.

  “Would you like to come … Edythe?” Allen asked politely, though he had a little trouble getting her name out.

  Edythe opened her door and stepped out, shaking her long hair back from her face. She leaned on the frame and threw her dimples at them. Jeremy’s mouth fell open.

  “I’ve already seen this one, but thank you, Allen,” she said.

  Allen blinked and seemed to forget how to speak. It made me feel a little better for always being so stupid around her. Who could help it?

  Edythe glanced over at me. “On a scale of one to ten, how much do you want to see this movie now?” she murmured.

  Negative five thousand, I thought. “Er, not that much,” I whispered back.

  She smiled directly at Jeremy now. “Will it ruin your night if I make Beau take me to dinner?” she asked.

  Jeremy just shook his head. He hadn’t remembered how to close his mouth yet.

  “Thanks,” she told him, dimpling again. “I’ll give Beau a ride home.”

  She slid back inside.

  “Get in the car, Beau,” she said.

  Allen and Jeremy stared. I shrugged quickly and then ducked into the passenger seat.

  “The hell?” I heard Jeremy breathe as I slammed my door.

  I didn’t get another look at their reactions. She was already racing away.

  “Did you really want dinner?” I asked her.

  She looked at me questioningly. Was she thinking what I was thinking—that I’d never actually seen her eat anything?

  “I thought you might,” she finally said.

  “I’m good,” I told her.

  “If you’d rather go home …”

  “No, no,” I said too quickly. “I can do dinner. I just mean it doesn’t have to be that. Whatever you’d like.”

  She smiled and stopped the car. We were parked right in front of an Italian place.

  My palms started to sweat a little as I jumped out of the car, hurrying to hold the restaurant’s door for her. I’d never really been on a date like this—a real date date. I’d gotten roped into some group things back in Phoenix, but I could honestly say that I hadn’t cared one way or another if I ever saw any of those girls again. This was different. I nearly had a panic attack anytime I thought this girl might disappear.

  She smiled at me as she walked past, and my heart did this weird double-beat thing.

  The restaurant wasn’t crowded—this was the off-season in Port Angeles. The host was a meticulously groomed guy a few years older than me, about my height but thicker through the shoulders. His eyes did that same thing that Allen’s and Jeremy’s had, bugging out for a second before he got control of his expression. Then it was his smarmiest smile and a goofy deep bow, all for her. I was pretty sure he didn’t even know I was standing there next to her.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked as he straightened up, still looking only at her.

  “A table for two, please.”

  For the first time, he seemed to realize I was there. The look he gave me was quick and dismissive. His eyes shifted back to her immediately, not that I could blame him for that.

  “Of course, er, mademoiselle.” He grabbed two leather folders and gestured for Edythe to follow. I rolled my eyes. Signorina was probably what he’d been looking for.

  He led us to a four-top in the middle of the most crowded part of the dining room. I reached for a chair, but Edythe shook her head at me.

  “Perhaps something more private?” she said quietly to the host. It looked like she brushed the top of his hand with her fingers, which I already knew was unlike her—she didn’t touch people if she could help it—but then I saw him slide that hand to a pocket inside his suit coat, and I realized that she must have given him a tip. I’d never seen anyone refuse a table like that except in old movies.

  “Of course,” the host said, sounding as surprised as I was. He led us around a partition to a small ring of booths, all of them empty. “How is this?”

  “Perfect,” she said, and unleashed her smile on him.

  Like a deer in headlights, the host froze for a long second, and then he slowly turned and staggered back toward the main floor, our menus still in the crook of his arm.

  Edythe slid into one side of the closest booth, sitting close to the edge so that my only option was to sit facing her with the length of the table between us. After a second of hesitation, I sat, too.

  Something thudded a couple of times on the other side of the partition, like the sound of someone tripping over his own feet and then recovering. It was a sound I was familiar with.

  “That wasn’t very nice.”

  She stared at me, surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “Whatever that thing you do is—with the dimples and the hypnotizing or whatever. That guy could hurt himself trying to get back to the door.”

  She half-smiled. “I do a thing?”

  “Like you don’t know the effect you have on people.”

  “I suppose I can think of a few effects… .” Her expression went dark for a tiny second, but then it cleared and she smiled. “But no one’s ever accused me of hypnotism by dimples before.”

  “Do you think other people get their way so easily?”

  She tilted her head to the side, ignoring my question. “Does it work on you—this thing you think I do?”

  I sighed. “Every time.”

  And then our server arrived with an expectant expression, which quickly shifted to awe. Whatever the host had told him, it had been an understatement.

  “Hello,” he said, surprise making his voice monotone as he mechanically recited his lines. “My name is Sal, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. What can I get you to drink?”

  Like the host’s, his eyes never strayed from her face.

  “Beau?” she prompted.

  “Um, a Coke?”

  I might as well not have spoken at all. The waiter just kept staring at Edythe. She flashed a grin at me before turning to him.

  “Two Cokes,” she told him, and, almost like an experiment, she smiled a wide, dimpled smile right into his face.

  He actually wobbled, like he was going to keel over.

  She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. The waiter shook his head and blinked, trying to reorient. I watched sympathetically. I knew just how he felt.

  “And a menu?” she added when he didn’t move.

  “Yes, of course, I’ll be right back with that.” He was still shaking his
head as he walked out of sight.

  “You’ve seriously never noticed that before?” I asked her.

  “It’s been a while since I cared what anyone thought about me,” she said. “And I don’t usually smile so much.”

  “Probably safer that way—for everyone.”

  “Everyone but you. Shall we talk about what happened tonight?”

  “Huh?”

  “Your near-death experience? Or did you already forget?”

  “Oh.” Actually, I had.

  She frowned. “How do you feel?”

  “What do you mean?” I hoped she didn’t turn on the hypnotist eyes and make me tell the truth, because what I felt right now was … euphoria. She was right here, with me—on purpose—I’d gotten to touch her hand, and I probably had a few hours ahead to spend with her, too, since she’d promised to drive me home. I’d never felt so happy and so off-balance at the same time.

  “Are you cold, dizzy, sick … ?”

  The way she listed the words reminded me of a doctor’s exam. And I didn’t feel cold or sick … or dizzy in a medical way. “Should I?”

  She laughed. “I’m wondering if you’re going to go into shock,” she admitted. “I’ve seen it happen with less provocation.”

  “Oh. No, I think I’m fine, thanks.” Honestly, almost being murdered was not the most interesting thing that had happened to me tonight, and I hadn’t really thought much about it.

  “Just the same, I’ll feel better when you have some food in you.”

  On cue, the waiter appeared with our drinks and a basket of breadsticks. He stood with his back to me while he placed them on the table, then handed Edythe a menu. Done with her experiments, she didn’t so much as look at him this time. She just pushed the menu across the table to me.

  He cleared his throat nervously. “There are a few specials. Um, we have a mushroom ravioli and—”

  “Sounds great,” I interrupted; I didn’t care what I got—food was the last thing on my mind. “I’ll have that.” I spoke a little louder than necessary, but I wasn’t sure he really knew I was sitting here.

  He finally threw a surprised glance my way, and then his attention was back to her.

  “And for you … ?”

  “That’s all we need. Thank you.”

  Of course.

  He waited for a second, hoping for another smile, I thought. A glutton for punishment. When Edythe kept her eyes on me, he gave up and walked away.

  “Drink,” Edythe said. It sounded like an order.

  I took a sip obediently, then another bigger gulp, surprised to find that I was actually pretty thirsty. I’d sucked down the entire glass before I knew it, and she slid her glass toward me.

  “No, I’m fine,” I told her.

  “I’m not going to drink it,” she said, and her tone added the duh.

  “Right,” I said and, because I was still thirsty, I downed hers, too.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, while the word I didn’t want to think swirled around my head again. The cold from the soda was radiating through my chest, and I had to shake off a shiver.

  “You’re cold?” she asked, serious now. Like a doctor again.

  “It’s just the Coke,” I explained, fighting another shiver.

  “Don’t you have a jacket?”

  “Yeah.” Automatically, I patted the empty seat next to me. “Oh—I left it in Jeremy’s car,” I realized. I shrugged, and then shivered.

  Edythe started unwinding a bone-colored scarf from around her neck. I realized that I’d never once really noticed what she was wearing—not just tonight, but ever. The only thing I could remember was the black gown from my nightmare… . But though I hadn’t processed the particulars, I knew that in reality she always wore light colors. Like tonight—under the scarf she had on a pale gray leather jacket, cut short like motorcycle gear, and a thin white turtleneck sweater. I was pretty sure she usually kept her skin covered, which made me think of the deep V of the black dream gown again, and that was a mistake. A patch of warmth started to bloom on the side of my neck.

  “Here,” she said, tossing the scarf to me.

  I pushed it back. “Really, I’m fine.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “The hairs on the back of your neck are standing up, Beau,” she stated. “It’s not a lady’s scarf, if that’s what’s bothering you. I stole it from Archie.”

  “I don’t need it,” I insisted.

  “Fine, Royal has a jacket in the trunk, I’ll be right—”

  She started to move, and I reached out, trying to catch her hand, to keep her there. She evaded my grasp, folding her hands under the table, but didn’t get up.

  “Don’t go,” I said softly. I knew my voice sounded too intense—she was just going out to her car, not disappearing forever—but I couldn’t make it sound normal. “I’ll wear the scarf. See?”

  I grabbed the scarf from the table—it was very soft, and not at all warm, the way it should be after coming off someone’s body—and started to wrap it around my neck. I’d never worn a scarf that I could remember, so I just wound it in a circle until I ran out of fabric. At least it would cover the red on my neck. Maybe I should own a scarf.

  This one smelled amazing, and familiar. I realized this was a hint of the fragrance from the car. It must be her.

  “Did I do it right?” I asked her. The soft knit was already warming to my skin, and it did help.

  “It suits you,” she said, but then she laughed, so I guessed that meant the answer was no.

  “Do you steal a lot of things from, um, Archie?”

  She shrugged. “He has the best taste.”

  “You never told me about your family. We ran out of time the other day.” Was it only last Thursday? It seemed like a lot longer.

  She pushed the basket of breadsticks toward me.

  “I’m not going into shock,” I told her.

  “Humor me?” she said, and then she did the thing with the smile and the eyes that always won.

  “Ugh,” I grumbled as I grabbed a breadstick.

  “Good boy,” she laughed.

  I just gave her a dark look as I chewed.

  “I don’t know how you can be so blasé about this,” she said. “You don’t even look shaken. A normal person—” She shook her head. “But then you’re not so normal, are you?”

  I shook my head and swallowed. “I’m the most normal person I know.”

  “Everyone thinks that about themselves.”

  “Do you think that about yourself?” I challenged.

  She pursed her lips.

  “Right,” I said. “Do you ever consider answering any of my questions, or is that not even on the table?”

  “It depends on the question.”

  “So tell me one I’m allowed to ask.”

  She was still thinking about that when the waiter came around the partition with my food. I realized we’d been unconsciously leaning toward each other across the table, because we both straightened up as he approached. He set the dish in front of me—it looked pretty good—and turned quickly to Edythe.

  “Did you change your mind?” he asked. “Isn’t there anything I can get you?” I didn’t think I was imagining the double meaning in his offer.

  “Some more soda would be nice,” she said, gesturing to the empty glasses without looking away from me.

  The waiter stared at me now, and I could tell he was wondering why someone like Edythe would be looking at someone like me that way. Well, it was a mystery to me, too.

  He grabbed the glasses and stalked off.

  “I imagine you have a lot of questions for me,” Edythe murmured.

  “Just a couple thousand,” I said.

  “I’m sure… . Can I ask you one first? Is that unfair?”

  Did that mean she was going to answer mine? I nodded eagerly. “What do you want to know?”

  She stared down at the table now, her eyes hidden under her black lashes. Her hair fell forward, shielding more of her face
.

  The words weren’t much more than a whisper. “We spoke before, about how you were … trying to figure out what I am. I was just wondering if you’d made any more progress with that.”

  I didn’t answer, and finally she looked up. I was glad for the scarf again, though it couldn’t hide the red I could feel creeping up into my face now.

  What could I say? Had I made progress? Or just stumbled into another theory even more stupid than radioactive spiders? How could I say that word out loud, the one I’d been trying not to think all night?

  I don’t know what my face must have looked like, but her expression suddenly softened.

  “It’s that bad, then?” she asked.

  “Can I—can we not talk about it here?” I glanced at the thin partition that separated us from the rest of the restaurant.

  “Very bad,” she murmured, half to herself. There was something very sad and … almost old about her eyes. Tired, defeated. It hurt me in a strange way to see her unhappy.

  “Well,” I said, trying to make my voice lighter. “Actually, if I answer your question first, I know you won’t answer mine. You never do. So … you first.”

  Her face relaxed. “An exchange, then?”

  “Yes.”

  The waiter returned with the Cokes. He set them on the table without a word this time and disappeared. I wondered if he could feel the tension as strongly as I could.

  “I suppose we can try that,” Edythe murmured. “But no promises.”

  “Okay… .” I started with the easy one. “So what brings you to Port Angeles tonight?”

  She looked down, folding her hands carefully on the empty table in front of her. She glanced up at me from under the thick lashes, and there was a hint of a smile on her face.

  “Next,” she said.

  “But that’s the easiest one!”

  She shrugged. “Next?”

  I looked down, frustrated. I unrolled my silverware, picked up my fork, and carefully speared a ravioli. I put it in my mouth slowly, still looking down, chewing while I thought. The mushrooms were good. I swallowed and took a sip of Coke before I looked up.

  “Fine, then.” I glared at her, and continued slowly. “Let’s say, hypothetically, that … someone … could know what people are thinking, read minds, you know—with just a few exceptions.” It sounded so stupid. There was no way, if she wouldn’t comment on the first one …