Charlie was not happy with me, or speaking to Edward. But at least Edward was allowed–during my designated visiting hours–inside the house again. I just wasn't allowed out of it.
School and work were the only exceptions, and the dreary, dull yellow walls of my classrooms had become oddly inviting to me of late. That had a lot to do with the person who sat in the desk beside me.
Edward had resumed his schedule from the beginning of the year, which put him in most of my classes again. My behavior had been such last fall, after the Cullens' supposed move to L.A., that the seat beside me had never been filled. Even Mike, always eager to take any advantage, had kept a safe distance. With Edward back in place, it was almost as if the last eight months were just a disturbing nightmare.
Almost, but not quite. There was the house arrest situation, for one thing. And for another, before the fall, I hadn't been best friends with Jacob Black. So, of course, I hadn't missed him then.
I wasn't at liberty to go to La Push, and Jacob wasn't coming to see me. He wouldn't even answer my phone calls.
I made these calls mostly at night, after Edward had been kicked out–promptly at nine by a grimly gleeful Charlie–and before Edward snuck back through my window when Charlie was asleep. I chose that time to make my fruitless calls because I'd noticed that Edward made a certain face every time I mentioned Jacob's name. Sort of disapproving and wary… maybe even angry. I guessed that he had some reciprocal prejudice against the werewolves, though he wasn't as vocal as Jacob had been about the "bloodsuckers."
So, I didn't mention Jacob much.
With Edward near me, it was hard to think about unhappy things–even my former besi fnend, who was probably very unhappy right now, due to me. When I did think of Jake, I always felt guilty for not thinking of him more. The fairy tale was back on. Prince returned, bad spell broken. I wasn't sure exactly what to do about the leftover, unresolved character. Where was his happily ever after?
Weeks passed, and Jacob still wouldn't answer my calls. It started to become a constant worry. Like a dripping faucet in the back of my head that I couldn't shut off or ignore. Drip, drip, drip. Jacob, Jacob, Jacob.
So, though I didn't mention Jacob much, sometimes my frustration and anxiety boiled over. "It's just plain rude!" I vented one Saturday afternoon when Edward picked me up from work. Being angry about things was easier than feeling guilty. "Downright insulting!" I'd varied my pattern, in hopes of a different response. I'd called Jake from work this time, only to get an unhelpful Billy. Again.
"Billy said he didn't want to talk to me," I fumed, glaring at the rain oozing down the passenger window.
"That he was there, and wouldn't walk three steps to get to the phone! Usually Billy just says he's out or busy or sleeping or something. I mean, it's not like I didn't know he was lying to me, but at least it was a polite way to handle it. I guess Billy hates me now, too. It's not fair!"
"It's not you, Bella," Edward said quietly. "Nobody hates you."
"Feels that way," I muttered, folding my arms across my chest. It was no more than a stubborn gesture. There was no hole there now–I could barely remember the empty feeling anymore.
"Jacob knows we're back, and I'm sure that he's ascertained that I'm with you," Edward said. "He won't come anywhere near me. The enmity is rooted too deeply."
"That's stupid. He knows you're not… like other vampires." "There's still good reason to keep a safe distance." I glared blindly out the windshield, seeing only Jacob's face, set in the bitter mask I hated.
"Bella, we are what we are," Edward said quietly. "I can control myself, but I doubt he can. He's very young. It would most likely turn into a fight, and I don't know if I could stop it before I k–" he broke off, and then quickly continued. "Before I hurt him. You would be unhappy. I don't want that to happen."
I remembered what Jacob had said in the kitchen, hearing the words with perfect recall in his husky voice. I'm not sure that I'm even-tempered enough to handle that… You probably wouldn't like it so much if I killed your friend. But he'd been able to handle it, that time…
"Edward Cullen," I whispered. "Were you about to say 'killed him? Were you?" He looked away from me, staring into the rain. In front of us, the red light I hadn't noticed turned green and he started forward again, driving very slowly. Not his usual way of driving. "I would try… very hard… not to do that," Edward finally said. I stared at him with my mouth hanging open, but he continued to look straight ahead. We were paused at the corner stop sign.