Twilight 4 - Breaking Dawn | Page 3

that he could give so much more than he would receive. I’d

agreed that he could replace my truck when it needed replacing, not expecting
that moment to come quite so soon, of course. When I’d been forced to admit that
the truck had become no more than a still-life tribute to classic Chevys on my
curb, I knew his idea of a replacement was probably going to embarrass me. Make
me the focus of stares and whispers. I’d been right about that part. But even in
my darkest imaginings I had not foreseen that he would get me two cars.

The “before” car and the “after” car, he’d explained when I’d flipped out.

This was just the “before” car. He’d told me it was a loaner and promised that
he was returning it after the wedding. It all had made absolutely no sense to
me. Until now.

Ha ha. Because I was so fragilely human, so accident-prone, so much a victim to
my own dangerous bad luck, apparently I needed a tank-resistant car to keep me
safe. Hilarious. I was sure he and his brothers had enjoyed the joke quite a bit
behind my back.

Or maybe, just maybe, a small voice whispered in my head, it’s not a joke,
silly. Maybe he’s really that worried about you. This wouldn’t be the first time
he’s gone a little overboard trying to protect you.

I sighed.

I hadn’t seen the “after” car yet. It was hidden under a sheet in the deepest
corner of the Cullens’ garage. I knew most people would have peeked by now, but
I really didn’t want to know.

Probably no body armor on that car—because I wouldn’t need it after the
honeymoon. Virtual indestructibility was just one of the many perks I was
looking forward to. The best parts about being a Cullen were not expensive cars
and impressive credit cards.

“Hey,” the tall man called, cupping his hands to the glass in an effort to peer
in. “We’re done now. Thanks a lot!”

“You’re welcome,” I called back, and then tensed as I started the engine and
eased the pedal—ever so gently—down. . . .

No matter how many times I drove down the familiar road home, I still couldn’t
make the rain-faded flyers fade into the background. Each one of them, stapled
to telephone poles and taped to street signs, was like a fresh slap in the face.
A well-deserved slap in the face. My mind was sucked back into the thought I’d
interrupted so immediately before. I couldn’t avoid it on this road. Not with
pictures of my favorite mechanic flashing past me at regular intervals.

My best friend. My Jacob.

The HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY? posters were not Jacob’s father’s idea. It had been
my father, Charlie, who’d printed up the flyers and spread them all over town.
And not just Forks, but Port Angeles and Sequim and Hoquiam and Aberdeen and
every other town in the Olympic Peninsula. He’d made sure that all the police
stations in the state of Washington had the same flyer hanging on the wall, too.
His own station had a whole corkboard dedicated to finding Jacob. A corkboard
that was mostly empty, much to his disappointment and frustration.

My dad was disappointed with more than the lack of response. He was most
disappointed with Billy, Jacob’s father—and Charlie’s closest friend.

For Billy’s not being more involved with the search for his sixteen-year-old
“runaway.” For Billy’s refusing to put up the flyers in La Push, the reservation
on the coast that was Jacob’s home. For his seeming resigned to Jacob’s
disappearance, as if there was nothing he could do. For his saying, “Jacob’s
grown up now. He’ll come home if he wants to.”

And he was frustrated with me, for taking Billy’s side.

I wouldn’t put up posters, either. Because both Billy and I knew where Jacob
was, roughly speaking, and we also knew that no one had seen this boy.

The flyers put the usual big, fat lump in my throat, the usual stinging tears in
my eyes, and I was glad Edward was out hunting this Saturday. If Edward saw my
reaction, it would only make him feel terrible, too.

Of course, there were drawbacks to it being Saturday. As I turned slowly and
carefully onto my street, I could see my dad’s police cruiser in the driveway of
our home. He’d skipped fishing again today. Still sulking about the wedding.

So I wouldn’t be able to use the phone inside. But I had to call. . . .

I parked on the curb behind the Chevy sculpture