Midnight Sun (The Twilight Saga #5) - Stephenie Meyer Page 0,279

of the way corner, seeming unsure. Several orderlies and two nurses with places to be paused to see what she needed.

It was obviously Bella’s mother. I’d seen her in Charlie’s mind, and she bore a striking resemblance to her daughter. I’d thought Charlie’s memory was of Renée as a younger woman, but it could also have been more current. She hadn’t aged much. I guessed that she and Bella would often be mistaken for sisters.

“I’m looking for my daughter. She came in this afternoon. She was in an accident. She fell through a window.…”

Renée’s physical voice was perfectly normal, similar to but a little higher pitched than Bella’s own. Her mental voice, however, was piercing.

It was fascinating to watch how the other minds responded. No one seemed to notice the ringing mental broadcast, yet everyone was compelled to help her. Somehow, they were picking up on her need, and unable to ignore it. I listened, mesmerized by the interplay between her mind and theirs. An orderly and a nurse led her through the halls, towing her small bag for her, anxious to help.

I remembered my earlier speculations about Bella’s mother—my curiosity to understand what kind of mind had combined with Charlie’s to create someone as distinct and unusual as Bella.

Renée was the opposite of Charlie. I wondered whether that was somehow what had brought them together in the beginning.

With her redundant number of guides, it didn’t take Renée long to find Bella’s room. She picked up another escort on her way: Bella’s assigned RN, who was immediately drawn to Renée’s urgency.

For a moment, I imagined Renée as a vampire. Would her thoughts shout audibly at everyone, inescapable? I couldn’t imagine that she would be very popular. I was surprised to find myself smiling at the thought—well and truly distracted.

Renée hurried into the room, dropping her bag at the door, the RN close beside her. At first Renée didn’t notice me leaning against the window, her eyes only for her daughter. Bella lay unmoving, the bruises just starting to bloom across her face. Her head was wrapped in gauze—though Carlisle had managed to keep them from shaving her hair—and there were tubes and monitors hooked to her everywhere. Her broken leg was casted from toes to thigh, and elevated on a contoured foam support.

Bella, oh baby, look at you. Oh no.

Another similarity to Bella—Renée’s blood was sweet. Not in the same way as Bella’s. Renée’s was too sweet, almost cloying. It was an interesting, if not entirely appealing, fragrance. I’d never noticed anything unusual about Charlie’s scent, but combined with Renée’s it had made for something potent.

“She’s sedated,” the RN said quickly as Renée approached the bed, hands outstretched. “She’ll be out for a bit, but you’ll be able to talk to her in a few days.”

“Can I touch her?” It was a whisper and a shout.

“Sure, you can pat her arm right there if you like, just be gentle.”

Renée stood by her daughter and rested two fingers lightly against Bella’s forearm. Tears started to cascade down Renée’s cheeks, and the RN put a motherly arm around her. It was hard for me to hold my place. I wanted to comfort her, too.

I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry.

“There, there, honey. She’s gonna be fine, all right? That pretty doctor stitched her up as neat as I’ve ever seen. You don’t need to cry, hon. Why don’t you come sit over here and relax? It was a long flight, I bet. You came in from Georgia?”

Renée sniffed. “Florida.”

“You must be exhausted. Your daughter’s not going anywhere and she’s not doing any tricks, either. Why don’t you try to get some sleep, hon?”

Renée let herself be led toward the blue vinyl recliner in the corner of the room.

“Do you need anything? We’ve got some toiletries at the counter if you want to freshen up,” the nurse offered. She was a grandmotherly type, with long gray hair rolled into a bun on top of her head. Her nametag said “Gloria.” I’d met her earlier and not noticed her much, but I found myself feeling fondly toward her now. Was that for her kindness, or was I reacting to Renée’s appreciation? What a strange thing it was, being near someone who projected—apparently totally unconsciously—her thoughts this way. I supposed it was a little like Jasper, though rough and unsophisticated in comparison. And it wasn’t emotional projection, it was definitely her thoughts. Only I was aware I was hearing them.

This gave new dimension to