Chapter 17

Charlie tapped the doorframe with two fingers before stepping into Bella's room. Morning light sat pale on the quilt. Bella looked like she had tried to pretend she wasn't awake and then gave up halfway.

"You're not going to school today," he said. "Doctor said rest. That's what you're going to do."

Bella pushed herself up on her elbows. "I feel fine."

"Great," Charlie said. "You can feel fine in the house." He looked over his shoulder. "Aspen."

I leaned on the hall wall with a mug I wasn't drinking. "Sir."

"You too," he said. "Keep an eye on your sister."

I saluted with the mug. "Aye aye."

He stared just long enough to make sure I knew he was serious, then softened like he always did around the edges. "If you need anything, call me. I'm ten minutes away."

"We're good," I said.

He nodded, checked Bella's pupils like Carlisle had showed him, and backed toward the door. "Take it easy today."

"We will," Bella said.

Charlie left a note on the kitchen table anyway. He always did. The cruiser rumbled out a minute later. The house settled into the kind of quiet that smells like toast and laundry.

I slid into the chair across from Bella at the table while she stirred cereal she was not going to finish. Her eyes kept drifting to the back window and then snapping back to the bowl like she could make her brain behave by watching something boring.

"Out with it," I said.

She glanced up, cautious. "Did you see what Edward did."

I lifted a brow. "In the parking lot."

"Yes," she said. "He was next to his car. Then he was next to me."

I took a thoughtful sip of air like it was coffee. "You must've hit your head harder than we thought. You're starting to sound like you're in a comic book."

She gave me the flattest look she could manage. "I know what I saw."

"Do you," I said, and smiled like I was humoring her. "Because from where I was standing, things were sliding around a lot. Trucks. Vans. Brains."

"Very funny," she said.

"Thank you," I said.

"You're not going to tell me I'm crazy."

"I would never insult crazy that way," I said.

She rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched. The tension in her shoulders loosened by a notch. She pushed the bowl away, stood, and gathered the dishes. I reached for them, bumped her hip with mine, and took over the sink.

"You going to be okay if I scavenge in the garage for a while," I asked.

"I'm fine," she said, meaning it. Then, after a beat, "I might look some stuff up."

"On the internet," I said. "The place where only truth lives."

"Exactly," she said, and the sarcasm suited her.

She disappeared down the hall to her room with that determined set to her shoulders. I rinsed plates until the water went from warm to hot and back to warm again, thinking about nothing on purpose. When the kitchen was done I packed a small tote from the pantry. A paper bag of clementines. Two apples. A carton of blueberries. The muffins Bella and I had made last night because neither of us wanted to think too hard and baking is a good way to pretend you're just following instructions. Blueberry and lemon. Soft middles. Crisp tops. I wrapped them in a clean kitchen towel and tucked a note under the edge for Maya that read, "For the little troublemakers and their ring leaders."

I knocked on Bella's door with my knuckles. She had her laptop open with five tabs across the top and that squint she gets when she's digging.

"I'm heading out for an hour," I said. "Don't burn the house down."

"I'll try to resist," she said. "Where are you going."

"Made some new friends," I said. "Bringing them breakfast."

Bella peered at the tote and then back at me. "You're secretly nice."

"Allegedly," I said. "Drink water. If your head hurts, tell me."

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not five."

"Then prove it by hydrating," I said.

Her smile lifted a corner. "Go. I'm fine."

"Call if you need me," I said, and meant it.

I cut through the back door and let the cold step into my lungs. The morning had that washed look Forks wears after a light snow melts. The ground gave under my sneakers and kept my footsteps quiet. I didn't need to shift to find them. Their scent line was old and new at the same time. Smoke. Pine. Bread. A warm, animal note that reminded me of clean fur and wool blankets from a dryer. Dawa's sweetness ran bright through it like someone had peeled a tangerine two seconds ago.

I took the side paths, the ones that didn't make sense unless you knew where you were going. The cabin sat right where it always did, modest and square with a lean-to for wood and a line of footprints leading to the door. Smoke slipped from the chimney and vanished in ribbons.

I knocked once and heard Dorji's boots on wood. The door opened on Maya's smile.

"Aspen," she said. "You brought the sun."

"Just muffins," I said, holding up the tote.

"Better than sun," Dorji said from behind her. "Come in before the air steals the heat."

The living room was small and warm in the way of places that are used often and cleaned on purpose. Tenzin was a lump of blankets on the couch with his sling propped carefully, eyes half-lidded but tracking. Dawa popped up from behind the armchair like a rabbit out of a magician's hat.

"Big cat," she announced, and made her fast toddler dash straight for me.

I bent, braced my legs, and scooped her up without jostling the tote. She tucked under my chin and latched on like she had decided gravity was optional as long as I existed.

"Hi, trouble," I said.

She patted my jaw with one earnest hand. "You came."

"Brought bribes," I said.

Maya took the tote with thanks and set it on the table. The fruit went into a bowl. The towel came off the muffins and butter jumped out of a cupboard like it had been waiting for an excuse. Dorji split one and handed half to Tenzin with a look that said food is medicine in a language everyone understands. Tenzin tried to keep his expression neutral, took a bite, and failed to hide how much he liked it.

Dawa wiggled deeper against me and tucked her head under my chin. It happened before I could stop it, the reflex that came from somewhere past thought. A low sound started in my chest, steady and warm, nothing like a growl. A purr.

Maya's eyebrows climbed, amused. Dorji's grin showed up full. Tenzin's mouth actually twitched into something that wanted to be a smile.

I froze. "That wasn't anything."

"Of course not," Dorji said, biting into his half of a muffin. "The house hums like that all the time."

Dawa shifted like she was settling into a spot on a sun patch. The purr kept going, traitor that it was. I cleared my throat and tried to think of un-catlike things. Taxes. Sandpaper. Algebra. The sound softened but refused to die.

Maya set a plate in front of me anyway. "Sit," she said. "You can pretend you aren't doing that while we feed you."

I sank into the chair closest to the couch and let Dawa ride my hip without losing purchase. The room adjusted like it had made space for a missing piece to click in.

"How is he today," I asked, tipping my head toward Tenzin.

"Better," Maya said. "Fever down."

"Arm hurts," Tenzin said, guarded but honest.

"It will," Dorji said gently. "Then it won't."

Tenzin nodded like he'd expected both halves of that answer.

I balanced a muffin one-handed, tore off a piece, and ate it dry. Dawa pressed a crumb into my lips like she was feeding a baby bird and watched to make sure I swallowed. The purr outed me again. I rolled my eyes at myself. Maya laughed, the kind where it warms the room from the inside.

We let the conversation stay small. The weather. The woodpile. The way the path to the river had iced and thawed and iced again. Maya asked about the town and if the roads were better than yesterday. I told her which ones to avoid after dark. Dorji wanted to know if I'd found a better supplier for brake pads and I told him which shop never tried to upsell me and which one always did. He filed it away, exact.

After the second muffin disappeared without anyone admitting it, Dorji pulled a deck of cards from a drawer and set them on the coffee table. "He's bored," he said, nodding at Tenzin. "Cards keep the hands busy. The mind follows."

"Deal me in," I said.

Dawa slid off my lap only after I promised I wasn't going anywhere. She marched to the couch with a dignity that ignored her socked feet and climbed up beside her brother. Maya tucked a pillow under Tenzin's sling so he could sit more comfortably. Dorji shuffled, the sound thick and pleasant.

We played a simple game, the kind where the point is movement and eye contact and small victories. Tenzin won the first round without cheating, then pretended it was luck. I threw the second round to keep the pride-to-pain ratio in the right spot and did it well enough that he looked at me sideways and decided not to call me on it. Dawa insisted on being my partner for the third and declared us champions when I let her "help" by holding half my hand upside down.

When Maya took the plates to the sink, I carried the fruit bowl after her. "There's more coming later this week," I said. "I'll swing by. Probably Thursday."

"You don't have to," she said.

"I know," I said. "I want to."

She rinsed the bowl and set it in the rack. "Dawa sleeps better after you visit. Tenzin wakes up less at night."

"Then I'll visit," I said.

"You could leave the basket and save yourself a trip," Dorji called lightly from the other room.

I wiped my hands on a towel and leaned in the kitchen doorway. "But then who would Dawa use as a pillow."

"Valid," he said.

I went back to the chair and Dawa climbed the mountain of me again with the focus of someone who had found her true profession. She curled into my front like she belonged there and yawned so hard her eyes watered. Her hand found my hoodie and made a small fist. I kept my breathing even and my muscles loose. The purr came back, soft now. She fell asleep by degrees until the last of the wiggle left and her weight turned heavy with trust.

Maya watched without comment and then quietly set a light blanket over Dawa's legs. Tenzin's eyelids dipped and rose like he was refusing to be the next one to drift. Dorji dealt cards in slow motion and pretended nothing important was happening because men like him know that's how you keep a room safe.

We sat like that for a long time. The cabin creaked in the small sounds houses make when the heat works. Snowmelt ticked off the eaves. Somewhere under the floor a pipe thumped once and then forgot about it. Every few minutes Dawa made a tiny sleep noise against my collarbone. I did not move.

When she finally stirred and stretched in that starfish way kids do, she blinked up at me like she had forgotten where she was and then smiled like she remembered. I kissed her hair before I could stop myself. The purr rumbled traitor-soft. She giggled and pushed her face back under my chin.

"You can come back tomorrow," Tenzin said, not looking at me.

"I can," I said.

"Bring the blue ones," he added, eyes on the cards.

"Blueberries," Dorji translated, amused.

"I got it," I said.

Maya checked the clock and then the window. "You should head back before the light drops," she said. "The road does a thing at the bend near the big spruce."

"I know the thing," I said, and stood carefully with my cargo. Dawa made a protest noise and I bounced her once like I knew what I was doing. "I'll carry you to the door and then I have to go make sure my sister doesn't join a conspiracy forum."

"What's a con-spi-see," Dawa asked, immediately awake again.

"A place where people guess loudly," I said.

She considered that. "I like guessing."

"You would be queen of it," I said.

Maya opened the door and the cold touched our feet. Dawa reached for Dorji with a soft, sleepy whine. He took her and she settled without losing a hand on my sleeve. I extricated myself with the care of a thief defusing a wire and stepped back.

"Thank you for the food," Maya said.

"Thank you for letting me borrow your daughter," I said. "She improves my day."

Dorji's grin returned. "She believes the same about you."

Tenzin lifted his chin a fraction. "Bye."

"See you," I said.

The walk back cut through light that was turning thin. I kept my pace easy. In the yard, the Swans' house looked exactly like it always did when no one was trying to make it anything else. I went in through the back and toed off my sneakers.

Bella sat on the couch with her laptop balanced on her knees. Her hair was up in a clip that had given up. Her eyes were focused in a way that meant she had gone down a rabbit hole and found a shovel.

"Find anything good," I asked.

"Depends on your definition of good," she said. "There are a lot of theories about the Cullens."

"I bet there are," I said.

"Some of them are insane," she said.

"Most things are," I said.

She looked at me like she wanted me to stop being glib and then decided I wouldn't. "Where did you go."

"Visited friends," I said, dropping back into the chair by the window. "Brought muffins. Came back with crumbs."

She sniffed. "Traitor."

"There are two left in the tin on the counter," I said. "Don't tell Dad or he'll pretend he deserves one."

"He does deserve one," she said.

"Don't encourage him," I said.

She closed the laptop halfway and studied me. "You're in a good mood."

"Maybe I like being helpful," I said.

"That is a new hobby," she said.

"I contain multitudes," I said.

"Sure," she said, but she smiled, and the day felt like it had landed where it needed to.

We let the afternoon pass without bothering it. I fixed a loose cabinet hinge because Charlie had been meaning to. Bella read quietly, then dozed and pretended she hadn't when I checked on her. I threw a load of laundry in and pretended I hadn't when she caught me being domestic. The house did what houses do when people are gentle with them.

Charlie came home early, boots heavy on the mat, the smell of cold air and paper followed by a muttered comment about drivers who think four-wheel drive makes them invincible. He stopped in the doorway, took one look at Bella on the couch, and nodded like the universe had given him one thing he asked for.

"How's the head," he said.

"Fine," she said.

He looked at me.

"She didn't join a circus," I said. "I consider that a victory."

He grunted and checked the tea kettle because habits comfort him. When he spotted the two muffins under the towel he gave me a look that said he had decided fairness meant one for him. I sighed dramatically and slid the plate closer. He took one and tried not to make a big deal of it. Bella took the other and did.

We ate dinner without the TV. I did the dishes while Charlie dried. Bella wiped the counter like a person who wanted to contribute without being told she should sit. When the kitchen was done we all landed in the living room and pretended we were each doing separate things while enjoying being in the same room.

Later, when Charlie did the concussion check and Bella answered on reflex, he looked relieved and awkward in the same breath. He went to bed early, leaving the hall light on like he always did. I stood at the back door for a minute and watched nothing in particular.

"You really don't think I'm crazy," Bella said from the couch.

"No," I said.

"You're not going to tell me I imagined it," she said.

"I'm going to tell you I'm on your side," I said.

She held my gaze and then nodded once. "Okay."

"Okay," I said.

She closed the laptop. The house clicked into night mode. I made a last pass down the hall, checked doors out of habit, and paused in my doorway.

"Thanks for staying," she said softly.

"Where else am I going to be," I said.

She made a face that said lots of places and then smiled anyway. "Goodnight."

"Night," I said.

In my room I set my jacket over the chair, lined my shoes by the wall, and lay down. The day sat quiet in my chest. Dawa's weight had left a warm ghost on my ribs where she'd slept. Her small handprint felt like a vow I hadn't spoken out loud. Keep this simple. Keep them safe. Show up. Bring fruit. Pretend the purr didn't happen.

I closed my eyes. The heater kicked on. The house held. Outside, the sky kept its secrets. Inside, I kept mine.