*by Stephenie Meyer*



TWILIGHT - chapter 14 - MIND OVER MATTER


He reached for the door ahead of me and opened it for me. I paused halfway through the frame.
"The door was unlocked?"
"No, I used the key from under the eave."
I stepped inside, flicked on the porch light, and turned to look at him with my eyebrows raised. I was sure I'd never used that key in front of him.
"I was curious about you."
"You spied on me?" But somehow I couldn't infuse my voice with the proper outrage. I was flattered.
He was unrepentant. "What else is there to do at night?"
I let it go for the moment and went down the hall to the kitchen. He was there before me, needing no guide. He sat in the very chair I'd tried to picture him in. His beauty lit up the kitchen. It was a moment before I could look away.
I concentrated on getting my dinner, taking last night's lasagna from the fridge, placing a square on my plate, heating it in the microwave. It revolved, filling the cozinha with the smell of tomatoes and oregano. I didn't take my eyes from the plate of comida as I spoke.
"How often?" I asked casually.
"Hmmm?" He sounded as if I had pulled him from some other train of thought.
I still didn't turn around. "How often did you come here?"
"I come here almost every night."
I whirled, stunned. "Why?"
"You're interesting when you sleep." He spoke matter-of-factly. "You talk."
"No!" I gasped, heat flooding my face all the way to my hairline. I gripped the cozinha counter for support. I knew I talked in my sleep, of course; my mother teased me about it. I hadn't thought it was something I needed to worry about here, though.
His expression shifted instantly to chagrin. "Are you very angry with me?"
"That depends!" I felt and sounded like I'd had the breath knocked out of me.
He waited.
"On?" he urged.
"What you heard!" I wailed.
Instantly, silently, he was at my side, taking my hands carefully in his.
"Don't be upset!" he pleaded. He dropped his face to the level of my eyes, holding my gaze. I was embarrassed. I tried to look away.
"You miss your mother," he whispered. "You worry about her. And when it rains, the sound makes you restless. You used to talk about início a lot, but it's less often now. Once you said, 'It's too green.'" He laughed softly, hoping, I could see, not to offend me further.
"Anything else?" I demanded.
He knew what I was getting at. "You did say my name," he admitted.
I sighed in defeat. "A lot?"
"How much do you mean por 'a lot,' exactly?"
"Oh no!" I hung my head.
He pulled me against his chest, softly, naturally.
"Don't be self-conscious," he whispered in my ear. "If I could dream at all, it would be about you. And I'm not ashamed of it."
Then we both heard the sound of tires on the brick driveway, saw the headlights flash through the front windows, down the hall to us. I stiffened in his arms.
"Should your father know I'm here?" he asked.
"I'm not sure..." I tried to think it through quickly.
"Another time then..."
And I was alone.
"Edward!" I hissed.
I heard a ghostly chuckle, then nothing else.
My father's key turned in the door.
"Bella?" he called. It had bothered me before; who else would it be? Suddenly he didn't seem so far off base.
"In here." I hoped he couldn't hear the hysterical edge to my voice. I grabbed my jantar from the microwave and sat at the mesa, tabela as he walked in. His footsteps sounded so noisy after my dia with Edward.
"Can you get me some of that? I'm bushed." He stepped on the heels of his boots to take them off, holding the back of Edward's chair for support.
I took my comida with me, scarfing it down as I got his dinner. It burned my tongue. I filled two glasses with leite while his lasagna was heating, and gulped mine to put out the fire. As I set the glass down, I noticed the leite tembling and realized my hand was shaking. Charlie sat in his chair, and the contrast between him and its former occupant was comical.
"Thanks," he said as I placed his comida on the table.
"How was your day?" I asked. The words were rushed; I was dying to escape to my room.
"Good. The peixe were biting... how about you? Did you get everything done that you wanted to?"
"Not really - it was too nice out to stay indoors." I took another big bite.
"It was a nice day," he agreed. What an understatement, I thought to myself.
Finished with the last bite of lasagna, I lifted my glass and chugged the remains of my milk.
Charile suprised me por being observant. "In a hurry?"
"Yeah, I'm tired. I'm going to cama early."
"You look kinda keyed up," he noted. Why, oh why, did this have to be his night to pay attention?
"Do I?" was all I could manage in response. I quickly scrubbed my dishes clean in the sink, and placed them upside down on a dish towel to dry.
"It's Saturday," he mused.
I didn't respond.
"No plans tonight?" he asked suddenly.
"No, Dad, I just want to get some sleep."
"None of the boys in town your type, eh?" He was suspicious, but trying to play it cool.
"No, none of the boys have caught my eyes yet." I was careful not to over-emphasize the word boys in my quest to be truthful to Charlie.
"I though maybe that Mike Newton... you said he was friendly."
"He's just a friend, Dad."
"Well, you're too good for them all, anyway. Wait till you get to college to start looking." Every father's dream, that his daughter will be out of the house before the hormones kick in.
"Sounds like a good idea to me," I agreed as I headed up the stairs.
"'Night, honey," he called after me. No doubt he would be listening carefully all evening, waiting for me to try to sneak out.
"See you in the morning, Dad." See you creeping into my room tonight at midnight to check on me.