Midnight Sun (The Twilight Saga #5) - Stephenie Meyer Page 0,305

think that’s it. Besides, I have excellent eyesight.”

She stared at the twinkle lights spinning around us. Her heartbeat was slower than the tempo of the song playing, so I moved to that rhythm instead. A hundred voices, spoken and thought, swirled past us, but I didn’t really hear them. The sound of her heart was the only sound that mattered.

“So,” she said when the song shifted again. “Are you going to explain the reason for all of this?”

When I didn’t follow, she looked pointedly at the crepe paper garlands.

I thought about what I could tell her. Not the vision; she would have too many objections. And that was so far into the future, a future that I was trying very hard not to think about. But maybe I could tell her a little of the thought behind it. Though this wasn’t something we could discuss with an audience.

I changed the direction of our dance, spinning her toward the back exit. We circled past a few of her friends. Jessica waved, unhappily comparing Bella’s dress to her own, and Bella smiled back. None of her human classmates seemed totally happy with their night besides Angela and Ben, staring blissfully into each other’s eyes. That made me smile, too.

I pushed the door open with my back, still dancing. There was no one outside, though the night was very mild. The clouds to the west still held a fading bit of gold from the setting sun.

As no one could see us, I felt free to swing her up into my arms. I carried her away from the cafeteria, into the shadows of the madrone trees, where it was nearly midnight dark. I sat on the same bench where I’d watched her that sunny morning so many weeks ago, but kept her cradled close against my chest. In the east, a pale moon was shining through lace-thin clouds. It was an odd moment, the sky balanced perfectly between evening and full night.

She was still waiting for her explanation. “The point?” she asked quietly.

“Twilight again,” I mused. “Another ending. No matter how perfect the day is, it always has to end.”

These days mattered so much, and ended so quickly.

She tensed. “Some things don’t have to end.”

There was nothing I could say to that. She was right, but I knew she wasn’t thinking of the same permanent things I was. Things like pain. Pain didn’t have to end.

I sighed, and then answered her question. “I brought you to the prom because I don’t want you to miss anything. I don’t want my presence to take anything away from you, if I can help it. I want you to be human. I want your life to continue as it would have if I’d died in nineteen-eighteen like I should have.”

She shuddered and then shook her head violently twice, as though trying to dislodge my words. But when she spoke, her voice was teasing. “In what strange parallel dimension would I ever have gone to prom of my own free will? If you weren’t a thousand times stronger than me, I would never have let you get away with this.”

I smiled. “It wasn’t so bad, you said so yourself.”

Her eyes were clear and miles deep. “That’s because I was with you.”

I looked at the moon again. I could feel her gaze on my face. There was no time to worry about the future now. The present was much more pleasant. I thought of the very recent past, and her strange disorientation tonight. What had taken the place of the obvious answer in her mind?

I smiled down at her. “Will you tell me something?”

“Don’t I always?”

“Just promise you’ll tell me,” I insisted.

“Fine,” she agreed, unwilling.

“You seemed honestly surprised when you figured out that I was taking you here.”

“I was,” she interrupted.

“Exactly,” I said. “But you must have had some other theory.… I’m curious—what did you think I was dressing you up for?”

This seemed like an easy question, playful and in the moment. Nothing that could lead me into the future again.

But she hesitated, more serious than I expected. “I don’t want to tell you.”

“You promised.”

She frowned. “I know.”

I almost smiled when the old curiosity and impatience flared. Some things never changed. “What’s the problem?”

“I think it will make you mad,” she said solemnly. “Or sad.”

I couldn’t align her grave expression with my somewhat silly question. I was afraid of her answer now, afraid it would restart the pain I tried so hard to avoid, but I knew I could