1 Cope
"Edward! You home?"
Edward glanced at his phone, which was showing him an image of James standing outside of his apartment door, waving at the camera. He tapped the unlock button to allow him in. He didn't bother to hit the mic to let James know that he was at his desk. He figured the drone of CSPAN—a near-constant sound whenever he was at home and awake—would be enough of a clue.
A moment later, James appeared around the corner. "Hey. Are you going tonight?"
"Uh-huh."
"Then put your crayons down and let's go."
"Yeah." His eyes didn't stray from his sketchpad as he carefully traced the roughed-out figures with his digital pen.
"I'm borrowing that weird tie of yours," James called, already heading toward Edward's bedroom.
Edward glanced at his monitor to make sure the image he was transferring was rendering properly. He knew he needed to put it away—he wasn't even dressed yet, and being late wasn't a thing he did. Still, it could be hard to break away when he was in the zone, and he had been in it a lot lately. Just a little more . . .
"Judge. How do I look?"
James was back, standing in the doorway wearing a gray suit a size too small for him that somehow made his spare frame look skinnier. He wore a matching gray fedora and around his neck he had loosely slung the tie-dyed skinny tie that Edward had had hanging around in his closet since high school. James did a spin as soon as Edward looked up, holding his hands out in expectation of Edward's appraisal.
"You look like a douche."
"Get your ass in gear. We gotta go."
He let out a breath and set his pen down, giving himself a mental shake. Reality. Back to it.
"You planning on drinking much tonight?"
"Nah." He brushed past James, heading for his room. "I can drive if you want."
"Good, because tonight's the night and I'm going to need at least a bottle of liquid courage."
"Yeah, I'm sure that'll work out well." Edward closed his bedroom door behind him, turning to his closet. Falls Terrace . . . the restaurant wouldn't require him to wear a jacket, but Tori probably would. She'd moved to Olympia from New York and had never reconciled herself to the Western Casual take on dining. She wanted La Bernardin, but the best she could get was a clapboard steak-and-seafood place with a river view.
He dug through his closet, which didn't take long because there wasn't much in it. He'd had a good run in the cartoons department, but that usually meant he paid for it in other ways. It had been a while since he'd done any laundry, for example, or sent anything to the cleaners. Still, there was a clean blue sport coat that would dress up a properly-labeled pair of jeans, and while all his white shirts were dirty, he did find a dark blue one. Monochrome—that would work. He skipped the tie and ran a comb through his hair, and a few minutes later he was strolling out into the great room.
James had helped himself to the open bottle of pinot noir in the chiller and was sipping at it while he stared absently out the window.
"Do you really think I look like a douche?" he asked, glancing at Edward over his shoulder.
"You could buy a suit in your size."
"It's ironic."
"You're too old to wear ironic suits."
He gasped in horror, his eyes bulging. "How dare you!" he said in a harsh whisper. "I am not old!"
"Bottoms up. Let's go."
James drained his glass and followed Edward down to his car, a zippy little Nissan roadster that had just enough flash for Edward's taste without sporting an overly ostentatious brand name. The two-person capacity was intentional. Edward didn't mind shuttling James around every now and then, but with limited seating capacity he couldn't get stuck playing designated driver for a bunch of drunk fucks.
"You got any cash?" James asked, peering into his wallet.
"Some. Why?"
"Lend me a hundred?"
"Why are you always mooching off of me? You have more money than God."
"But I don't have any cash."
"There's an ATM in the building," Edward said, but he was already pulling out his wallet.
"I meant to stop there. I just forgot."
Edward fished out a handful of twenties and passed them over to James. He always gave him a hard time because the man had zero foresight when it came to personal matters. James always paid Edward back, though, and usually with interest in the form of really expensive wine. Edward always had an impressive vintage on hand, due almost solely to the fact that James was constantly borrowing money from him.
"Are my shoes stupid?" he asked accepting the money.
Edward glanced down at the gray and white saddle shoes. "They're exactly as stupid as your suit."
"Damn it." James scowled at his shoes. "What was I even thinking? I look like a complete asshole. Why did I wear this on her birthday, of all days? I should have gone with something classic."
Edward tried not to let James see his smirk.
"Tonight's not the night, is it? God damn it!"
"Just let it happen. The day you don't work yourself up into a fit over it is the day she goes home with you."
"What do you know about it?" he snapped.
Edward arched an eyebrow and James glowered. They both knew Edward had slept with Tori a handful of times, and they both knew that Edward and Tori were never going to be a Thing. That was the point. Tori didn't want a Thing. She wanted something easy, and James had a habit of working too hard for it. She'd have been a lot more interested in him if he were less interested in her.
"Do I really look like a douche?"
"Jesus. You look fine."
They arrived at the restaurant and headed inside to find Tori already at the reserved table with Jane and Alec, a pair of methamphetamine-thin twins who dressed so androgynously that it was often hard to tell which was which. Across the table was Laurent, already starting on a bottle of wine. There was an hors d'oeuvre plate in front of him, but he was ignoring it. Edward suspected he never put anything into his mouth but wine and cock. He nodded to Laurent and the twins and then pulled Tori from her seat, holding her hands in his as he scanned her tight leather dress with black lace insets placed in strategically tantalizing locations.
"Baby, you look like dirty sex."
She grinned at him. "You bet your ass I do. Hey, Jimmy."
James, who was staring at Tori's dress, couldn't seem to manage a greeting.
Edward took a seat next to Alec—it was probably Alec—giving him a smile and a nod. The twin nodded back, somehow managing to be utterly bored with vibrant intensity. So, yeah, Alec.
"Jane was just telling us about her visit to New York," Tori said, returning to her chair across the table from Edward.
"You know that Kate Kaprelian was my sorority sister, don't you, Edward?"
"Uh, yeah, I think I remember you mentioning that." He said it sincerely, despite the fact that she mentioned it as often as she possibly could. If Jane ever found a genie in a magic lamp, she would wish to have been born a Kaprelian.
"She invited Alec and me to come out to her beach house—oh! And she specifically said to tell you that she liked your cartoon in the New Yorker."
"Yeah? Kate Kaprelian reads the New Yorker, huh?"
She snorted scornfully. "Don't be common. You don't have to cast aspersions on her intelligence just because she's beautiful and famous."
"My apologies. Which one?"
"Which one what?"
"Which cartoon? I sell to the New Yorker six or seven times a year."
"Did you have one in this month's issue?"
"The New Yorker is weekly, honey," Tori said dryly.
Jane rolled her eyes. "I don't know why I bother with you two. Elitist sons of bitches."
"Excuse me. I'm a daughter of a bitch."
Jane made a face at her.
A waiter appeared and, while he was taking appetizer orders, Edward's phone buzzed. He pulled it out and glanced at it, but didn't recognize the number. He wasn't going to take a marketing call in the middle of Tori's dinner. He ignored it and tucked his phone away, trading it for the slim, silver-wrapped box from his inside pocket.
"Happy birthday," he said, dropping it on the table in front of her.
She lit up at the sight of it and beamed at him. "Edward, you darling! Is it jewelry? Tell me it's jewelry."
"Of course it's jewelry, you fucking gold-digger."
She squealed and clapped her hands, then tore into the paper. "Cartier!" she burst out when she saw the label on the box, then tugged off the top and gasped at the bracelet inside. "Ooh! It's so sparkly!" She leapt up and ran around the table to Edward, throwing herself into his lap and planting a kiss on his mouth.
He kissed her back and grinned when she pulled back and started wiping at the lipstick smudges she'd left on him. "Like it, do you?"
"You're a good boy, Edward Masen."
Edward patted her rear in dismissal, ignoring James's narrow-eyed glare as Tori reclaimed her seat.
"I got you something too," James said. He held out an envelope and Tori accepted it. She pulled out two tickets inside and peered at them curiously. "Aspen?"
"Yeah. I thought I could teach you to ski. Or . . . I mean," he suddenly looked sheepish. "You can go with whoever you want, of course . . . but if you wanted to . . . I know how to ski, so I could . . ."
Victoria smiled at him and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "That's very sweet. We'll have to figure out when our schedules match."
James looked triumphant, though Edward only half noticed. His phone was buzzing again, and he pulled it out. Same number.
"You're popular," Alec drawled.
"Yeah, I'm going to see what's up. Excuse me for a minute." He made his way to the front doors and slipped outside, bringing the phone to his ear. "Yeah?"
"Um, is this Edward Masen?" a woman's voice asked.
"Yes, and to whom am I speaking?"
"This is Shelly Cope, um, from Tiny Tots Daycare?"
He blinked. "O . . . kay?"
"I'm sorry to bother you, but Ted hasn't come to pick up Alice yet, and we haven't been able to get hold of him."
He frowned. "I think you must have the wrong number."
"Oh! I'm sorry! Is this . . ." she paused and then read off a telephone number.
"Yes, that's my number, but—"
"You're Edward Masen?"
"Yes."
"Ted put you down as the emergency contact."
"Ted . . . my father?" During his professional life, Edward Sr. had always used his full name, but Edward had a vague memory of someone calling his father Ted after he'd retired and moved to that black hole of a town up on the peninsula.
"Yes, that's right. He's usually here a little after six, but he hasn't arrived yet and we need to close."
"I'm sorry . . . where is 'here' again?"
"Tiny Tots Daycare. This is Shelly."
"And why are you expecting him?"
"He needs to pick up Alice."
"Who's Alice?"
There was a moment of silence on the other end. "His daughter?"
Edward let out a short laugh. "I'm sorry, you must have your records mixed up. My dad doesn't have a daughter."
"Um, Mr. Masen—"
"Doctor."
"I'm sorry?"
"It's Dr. Masen."
"Uh . . . Dr. Masen, Ted has been bringing his daughter here for several months."
"I assure you, he has not. I don't have a sister, and if I did she would be a little old for daycare."
The woman on the other end of the line was clearly flustered. "But—we have to close. Someone needs to pick her up."
"Then I suggest you find her parents."
"I tried, but I can't get Ted on the phone."
Edward sighed. The woman clearly wasn't a very good listener. "Look. I'll call my father and have him call you to straighten this out."
"He's not answering his phone."
"Or he's avoiding your call," he muttered. "I'll see what I can do." He disconnected before she could respond. He glanced through the window at Tori holding court with the others, and his annoyance over the disturbance heightened. He dialed his father's number, impatient to figure out what the hell was going on and get back inside.
After six rings, he was redirected to voicemail. He hung up, called again, and again was asked to leave a message. A vague sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. He gave up on his dad and dialed his mom instead, bracing himself to talk to her as the call connected.
"I can't talk, darling. The opera will be starting in a few minutes."
"Yeah, just a quick question. You haven't heard from Dad lately, have you?"
"Ha! If he tried to call I wouldn't answer. I have no interest in speaking with him."
"Hm. Okay, thanks."
"Why?"
"It's nothing. I just can't get him on the phone and . . ."
"What?"
He didn't want to talk to his mother about his father any more than she wanted him to. Edward's parents had parted ways years ago and the only thing left between them now was thick, hateful animosity. Edward Sr. wanted nothing to do with Elizabeth, and Elizabeth hated him with a passion.
"I don't know," he said, but then added, "Mom, do you know anything about . . . someone named Alice?"
"Alice McMurtry is the secretary of my horticultural society. Do you know her?"
"I guess not. Thanks anyway. See you Sunday for brunch?"
"Wouldn't miss it, darling. Kiss, kiss."
Edward was moving to disconnect when his phone chimed with an incoming call from a now-familiar 360 number. He answered with a snappish, "What?"
"I'm sorry, Dr. Masen," Shelly practically whimpered, "but I can't legally require the staff to work any longer. I know you're doing your best to resolve this, but could you please come and get Alice?"
"Get her from where?" he demanded, setting her up for a hard rebuff.
"Nine forty-five Forks Avenue."
"Forks Avenue? Would that happen to be in the city of Forks?"
"That's right."
"Then I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you, because I'm in Olympia. Maybe if you spent your time trying to track down that kid's real parents instead of pestering me, you wouldn't be worrying about illegal overtime right now."
"Oh." She sounded deflated, which didn't make Edward feel anywhere near as good as it should have. "No, I suppose you can't come all the way here from Olympia—I'm sorry, one sec."
Edward heard a muffled voice on the other end of the line, and a moment later Shelly spoke to him again. "Bella Swan is here, and she said she'd be willing to take Alice home with her until you can pick her up. I normally have to have the pick-up person pre-approved, but given the circumstances I suppose I could allow it if you gave permission . . ."
Edward let a beat pass in silence. "Are you kidding me right now?"
"Oh—uh—I just thought—"
"You're asking me to tell a woman I've never met that it's okay with me that a child I've never met goes home with some other person I've never met? You really expect me to have anything to do with that bullshit?"
"Really, Mr. Masen—"
"Dr. Masen."
"I'm sorry, Dr. Masen—" The muffled voice spoke again, and there was a rustle on the line before a sharp female voice that wasn't Shelly's came through.
"All right, first, you're going to stop being a dick."
"Excuse me?"
"Shelly didn't call you out of malice for the sole purpose of ruining your night. She has a kid without a parent here, and she's trying to solve the problem. So you, Dr. Masen, can lose the attitude and start acting like an adult. And second, you have a responsibility that you need to see to."
Edward clenched his jaw. "That kid is not my responsibility."
"As a matter of fact, she is. You're the emergency contact and this is an emergency, so get your ass in the car and get up here to sort it out."
"Sure. I'll just blow off everything I have going on here and drive three hours each way to prove to you that you two are too goddamn stupid to keep your paperwork straight."
"Good," she said, willfully ignoring his sarcasm. "I'll take Alice back to my place until then. Do you have a pen?"
"No."
"Get one," she said testily.
He sighed heavily and stalked to his car, fishing a pen and paper out of his glove compartment. "Fine."
"Twenty-one seventy Bogachile Way, 360-374-8283. I'll expect you in three hours."
"I'll be there to accept your apology in person."
She disconnected and he crumpled the sheet of paper with her address in his hand. He was already regretting that he'd allowed the harpy to goad him into driving all the way up to Forks. He should be spending his evening with Tori, and instead he'd be in the car all night. There was no way he'd be home before one or two in the morning. He should call her back and tell her to deal with the situation herself, but . . .
He was still feeling uneasy about his father. Edward Sr. wasn't exactly the sort who sat by the phone, but between the voicemail and the weird mix-up with that Alice kid's paternity, he was starting to get anxious. He tossed the paper and pen onto the passenger seat and strode into the restaurant, making his way back to the table.
"Hey," Tori said, catching sight of his face. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know," he said, brow furrowed. "There might be . . . an identity theft situation?"
"Someone stole your identity?"
"Not mine—probably. Maybe my dad's? I'm not sure what's going on, but I think I need to run up and sort things out."
"You're leaving?" She poked out her lip in a pout as she rose, stepping close to him. "But it's my birthday."
"I know. I completely suck, but I'll make it up to you."
"Fine." She peered up at him from beneath her lashes. "I'll accept any apology that comes in Tiffany blue."
He chuckled and wrapped her up in his arms, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. "Happy birthday, baby. And, hey, when James is too drunk to use his phone, pour him into an Uber, huh?"
Tori promised she would while James flipped him the bird.
Edward prepaid for their meal on the way out. His closest friend deserved at least that much from him.
Three hours later he was driving through Forks toward the northern reaches of the city. The harpy babysitter was probably watching the clock, but she was just going to have to wait. Edward was going to find his father and see if he could get to the bottom of this business. Why would someone pretend to be him and claim to have a daughter?
His GPS led him to an unassuming little bungalow on a quiet street—a significant departure from the four-story restored Victorian Edward's family had lived in when he was young. Elizabeth still preferred a large estate, but when she and Edward Sr. had parted ways, he'd moved first to a penthouse in Seattle and then, when he'd retired, to this snug little thing with the shaded porch and the neatly-kept lawn. The only thing that hinted at the healthy investment portfolio of the house's owner was its riverfront location. A fence enclosed the backyard of the house, and behind that a tree-studded stretch of land swept down to the rushing Calawah.
Actually, that fence was new. And so was the long, sloped ramp that stretched from the far side of the porch down to the gravel shoulder at the edge of the road. Edward frowned. His father's house was now . . . wheelchair accessible? And so, he noticed with a curious glance, was the house next door. A matching railed ramp swept down from the neighbor's two-story Cape Cod. Edward's unease grew, though he was sure his father would have told him had he been experiencing any mobility issues. Was the ramp actually new? Or had it always been there and he had just forgotten?
Edward had only been here once before, shortly after his father had moved in. He'd had a hard time understanding the appeal of a town with no symphony, no clubs, and no decent dining for miles around. Even the closest golf course was an hour away. But his father had found the place charming, and who was Edward to interfere? He'd allowed his father to pontificate to him about the rewards of small town life, and then he'd issued regular invitations for visits to Olympia to let him fill his quota of civilized living.
Edward parked in the driveway and trotted up the walk, giving the door a few quick taps before turning his attention to his keys. The house might have been small, but it was still highly secure—something he knew by training and by observation. Growing up in an affluent family meant he'd been drilled multiple times about safety and security. Time and again, he'd been warned that inattentiveness on his part could lead to a kidnapping-for-ransom, a situation his father had declared his worst nightmare. So it didn't surprise Edward to see that a keypad and security cameras had been added to the property since the last time he'd been here.
He located the key to his father's house on his ring and, having not received an answer to his knock, keyed in the family's default security code and unlocked the door.
"Dad?" he called. The house was dark but the central heat was running, which would usually indicate that his father was home and awake. Unless the soggy Washington weather was harder on him than it used to be, Edward thought to himself. Edward Sr. could be leaving the heat on all the time nowadays.
He slid his hand along the wall until he located a switch and flipped it. A small light above the door came on, and the living room flooded with light when Edward flipped the second switch on the panel. Empty. "Dad, are you here?" he called again.
He could see beyond the living room into a tiled dining room, where a kitchen jutted off to the right. Edward couldn't see directly into the kitchen, but it was clear there were no lights on. He turned to the left instead, making his way down a short hallway to the master bedroom at the end. He tapped on the bedroom door. "Dad?"
There was no answer, but his father had never been a light sleeper. He knocked again, and then twisted the knob and pushed the door open.
The room was illuminated enough by moonlight that he could tell the bed was neatly made and very much empty. It was only just after ten, so it wasn't particularly unusual that his father wasn't asleep. Not at home, though . . .
He headed back to the living room, fishing his phone out of his pocket again. He'd tried calling a couple of times on the drive down, but hadn't yet received a response to the messages he'd left. He dialed again now, speculating. Out in a noisy bar? The man hadn't ever really been the bar type, but what else was there to do here? Or could he have gone off on a quick trip somewhere? He was retired and separated from his wife, so there wasn't anything to prevent him from wandering wherever he liked.
The phone connected and started ringing, and Edward heard the faint sound of classical music drifting from the direction of the kitchen. Just his luck that his father wouldn't have his phone on him. He headed into the kitchen, flipping on the dining room light as he moved through it, and stopped short when he rounded the corner.
His father lay face down on the floor, his cell lit up and ringing a few inches from his fingers. He was still, unresponsive to either the phone call or Edward's presence.
Edward went cold, the chill rippling down his back in an icy wave. "Dad?" he whispered. He dropped down beside him, knowing what he was looking at, and yet somehow startled by the absence of heat beneath his father's shirt when he laid a hand on his back. "No." He felt his face crumple. "Fuck, no." He reached to check for a pulse but felt the rigidity in his father's neck and jerked his hand back. It was all wrong, all absolutely twisted up, and the phone was still playing Edvard Grieg.
He canceled his call, thinking how he should be calling someone else. Emergency . . . only there was no emergency. There was no warmth left in the man lying on the floor. The time for rescue breathing and chest compressions was long past.
His fingers were already dialing, though. The thought of making the call had given them direction, and though Edward's mind didn't seem to be engaged in the process, his body was. He raised the phone to his ear, and there was someone asking about his emergency. But it wasn't one. It was just that, "He's dead."
He hadn't meant to speak, any more than he had meant to dial, but the words had been said and the man on the line was asking who was dead.
"My . . . my father."
The man wanted to know his name, and then the address, and Edward realized he didn't know the address. It was saved in his maps app on his phone, but he couldn't remember where his phone was. It wasn't in his pocket.
"It's on . . . uh . . . Calawah Way."
The voice on the line was gentle and coaxing, and Edward wondered why. Wondered who he felt like he had to be gentle with. But the man was suggesting that Edward go outside and check the house number, and that was a good idea. The information he needed was right there, outside that . . . he was already out the door and reading off the number, and the man was asking him questions about his father. He wanted to know if he was hurt.
"He's dead," Edward said again.
Was Edward himself hurt? No. He didn't think he was hurt. Actually, he couldn't tell. He tried to feel his body and couldn't. He wanted to sit down, but then looked up and realized he was already sitting down, and how had that happened? How long had he been out here, staring at the numbers on the side of his house? The man on the phone was saying his name . . . or his father's name. Which one of them was he calling? Edward Sr. was dead, and Edward Jr. . . couldn't find his phone. He needed it, too. He should be calling someone. Emergency . . . only it wasn't an emergency. His father was dead, alone, and Edward should be with him, with his body, doing something . . .
He read the house number again. That's what he had come out here to do. He read it again. And then again, because he wasn't sure he'd spoken aloud the other two times. The voice on the line was still coaxing, but Edward couldn't make it out. Bad connection. He should call back but he didn't know where his phone was.
He shivered. Being unable to feel your body made a person cold.
There was a touch on his shoulder, and suddenly flashing lights were everywhere. Someone was putting something around his shoulders and it was nice. Warm. The same person was talking to him, and Edward blinked and focused on his face. Dark, dusky skin. White teeth. Questions.
"He's dead," Edward mumbled, and from the look he got in return he figured that must not have been the answer to the question he'd been asked. "What?"
"What's your name?"
"Edward. Masen."
The dusky face frowned at him. Of course he did. Edward Masen was inside . . . on the floor . . . dead.
"Junior," he mumbled, trying to force himself to stay present.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
Edward met his gaze, though it felt like there was a cloud of fog between them. "He's dead."
"How long have you been here?"
Edward stared at him. He had no idea. He didn't even know how long his interrogator had been here with the flashing lights.
"I called," he said, grasping for something stable to latch onto. "When I got here."
"You found him?"
He nodded.
"Mr. Masen, do you know where his daughter is?"
"Doctor."
The man hesitated. "His daughter's with the doctor?"
"I'm a doctor . . . not—I mean, I'm . . . Jesus." He gave up, his head drooping.
"Are you Ted's doctor?"
"Ted?" Something tickled in the back of Edward's brain. That name . . . he'd heard it recently. Where had he heard it? Was it relevant now? It seemed like it might be relevant. Something about identity theft?
"Your father?"
He was confused, and he was confusing the man in front of him. It was infectious.
"Are you your father's doctor?"
"No. No, I'm not—I have a doctorate in political science."
"Oh." The man was giving him an odd look. "That's great."
He nodded.
"Dr. Masen, do you know where Alice is?"
That name was significant, too. He was here because of Alice, because someone thought he should be responsible for her. It irritated him. Someone had dragged him up here, where he found his father dead, because of some ridiculous little girl. "Who the fuck is Alice?" he burst out, more vehemently than he'd intended.
"Okay, guy. Let's get you inside. Come on." The man was helping him to his feet, and for the first time Edward noticed something orange and manky lying over his shoulders. A blanket. He shook it off, frowning as he inspected his shirt for residual orange fuzz. Hadn't he had a jacket on? Where was that?
"Inside. Let's go." He called to another person as he steered Edward into the house and settled him on the couch. Edward twisted to look toward the activity in the kitchen, but the man crouched in front of him again, claiming his attention. He was holding, of all things, a juice box, and he was pushing it into Edward's hands.
"Take a sip for me. Just a small one."
It was a dumb request but it didn't seem worth fighting. He brought the straw to his lips and sucked, and as soon as he swallowed something seemed to snap back into place. He was in Forks, at his father's house, and his father was . . .
"Oh, god," he whispered.
"Dr. Masen?"
"Yeah." He nodded.
"That's your name?"
"Yes. That's my name."
"You're Ted Masen's son?"
"Edward's. Senior. Uh . . . I didn't think anyone called him Ted, but . . ."
The man was frowning at him. "Do you know where his daughter is?"
"He doesn't have a daughter."
"Alice. Do you know where she is?"
"Um. Jesus." He rubbed a hand over his forehead. "Daycare. Or—no. The harpy took her."
"The harpy?"
He searched his memory for the name. "Swan."
"Bella Swan?"
"Yeah."
"Bella Swan took her home?"
"I'm supposed to . . . go there. To get her. The daycare called."
The man pushed the juice box toward him again, and it really did help. He got more focused with every sip.
"They said Dad didn't pick her up and I was the emergency contact. It didn't make any sense, but Swan . . . she bitched at me until I said I'd come get her. I don't even know who she is."
"Bella? She's okay. You don't have to worry about her."
"No—Alice."
"You . . . don't know Alice?"
"No."
"Your sister?"
"I don't have a sister!"
"Look, I'm sorry, I know family relationships can get complicated. I just want to make sure she has someone to look after her."
"Then you should probably find her parents," Edward spat.
"Drink some more juice," the man encouraged, but it only irritated Edward. He set the juice box on an end table. "I'm fine."
"Okay. Well . . ." He glanced around. "Come with me."
Edward followed him down the hall to the room his father had set up as an office when he'd first moved in. He pushed the door open and Edward glanced in, expecting the neat arrangement of file cabinets and bookcases around his father's large oak desk. Instead, he was met with a riot of pastels. The room was painted a pale blue with yellow crown molding, and pushed against one wall was a low toddler bed covered in a pink comforter. The room also held a dresser, a low table with child-sized chairs, and a toy box, all painted in pastels.
"What the fuck?" Edward whispered.
"Does this look familiar?" the man asked. "This is Alice's room."
Edward turned to him, noticing for the first time the blue uniform and gold badge. Police. Young, though. A rookie, still relegated to the night shift.
"Does that help you remember?" he prompted again.
Edward shook his head. "There's nothing to remember. This . . . doesn't make any sense."
The police officer peered closely at him. "Listen, maybe we should have the paramedics give you a once-over. This kind of thing would send anybody into shock . . ."
"I'm not in shock," Edward snapped.
The police officer arched one dark eyebrow.
"Okay, look, I was a little overwhelmed. But I didn't just forget the existence of a . . ." he gestured at the room, "a kid. I swear to God, I've never seen her before."
"That's pretty weird. If you're Ted's son, that would make Alice your sister."
"I don't have a sister."
The corner of the officer's mouth pulled up. "Kinda seems like you do."
He didn't. Edward was feeling a little shaky, but he was present enough to know who his family was. This room, though, certainly indicated that Edward Sr. had taken on at least partial responsibility for a child. It would have been nice, he thought to himself, if his father had mentioned that before he'd made Edward an emergency contact.
But there was a child, and the responsibility for her had very suddenly fallen on his shoulders. He frowned, glancing around the room.
"I have to go get her," he mumbled.
"Tell you what? Why don't I give you a lift?"
"No, thanks."
The cop dropped a firm hand on his shoulder, halting his move toward the door. "Why don't you just take it easy? I'll drive you over to pick her up."
Edward rolled his eyes. "Look, I get your concern, but I'm fine. I can drive."
"Okay." He gave him a speculative look. "Walk a line for me."
"Excuse me?"
The cop nodded to the hardwood flooring in the hall. "Pick a line and walk it."
"Do you think I'm drunk?"
"Alcohol isn't the only thing that can impair a person. Humor me, Masen. We've had enough tragedy for one night."
"Fine." Edward placed himself on a seam in the wood and took several heel-to-toe steps until the cop gave in.
"All right, you're probably cool. But if you start to feel overwhelmed again, pull over and call me." He pulled a business card out of his pocket and handed it to Edward.
"Thanks." He tucked the paper in his shirt pocket. "This Swan woman . . ."
"She's cool, don't worry. I know how protective Ted is—uh . . . was."
"Yeah. Kidnapping. It's part of having money."
"Right, well, you don't have to worry about Bella. She's crazy about Alice. Plus, she lives with the chief, so, you know . . . theirs is a law-abiding household."
"The police chief?"
"Yep. Charlie. They're good people."
"Great." Just his luck. The harpy's husband—boyfriend?—was in law enforcement. This had the potential to be a pain in the ass. Well, he probably owed her an apology anyway. Hopefully that would placate both her and her man.
Edward headed out of the house, trying not to look at the ambulance that had reversed into the driveway. Everything was too heavy right now. His grief was too vast. He couldn't deal with it until he had taken care of things with the little girl.
He punched the address to Swan's house into his GPS and made his way through the little town to a rural road that was all forest on one side and a little collection of homes on the other. He located the correct address and pulled off of the road in front of a small, two-story house with a badly overgrown lawn and paint that he could see was peeling even in the dim porch light. He made his way up the obviously homemade wooden ramp that covered the front steps, dodging the children's toys scattered around the porch.
Was every house in Forks wheelchair accessible? Some kind of city ordinance?
His knock wasn't answered right away. There was silence for a few moments, and then he heard what he thought might be the soft padding of feet on the other side of the door before it was pulled open. In the doorway stood a scribble of a woman wearing a pair of sweatpants with fraying hems and a rumpled pink T-shirt with a bleach stain above one hip. A tangle of thick brown hair had been twisted up into a bun high on her head, but a good portion of it had fallen out and drifted in wisps around her head or stuck to the dewy sheen of sweat on her dull, make-up free face. Red veins colored the whites of her eyes, beneath which dark smudges tinted her skin. She looked at him, eyes sweeping over him, and the hard lines of her face softened into something that hinted at compassion. Her lips parted, pressed together again, and she stepped back, holding the door open for him.
He followed her inside. Let her close the door behind him.
"Did you talk to Ted?" she asked him, but the pucker between her brows told him that she was braced for bad news.
The hole inside him suddenly filled up with thick, dark grief. Waves of it threatened to suffocate him, so before they could cut off his words, he forced out, "He's dead."
The woman stumbled back against the door, then slid down hard onto the floor. A remote, analytical part of Edward watched her and recognized that she must have known his father and cared about him. That his announcement of Edward Sr.'s death might have been too harsh.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered. It looked like she wanted to say something else, but then her eyes welled up with tears and she shook her head. "I'm so sorry."
Edward sighed and sank down onto the bottom step of the staircase near the door. "Me too."
"What happened?" she asked after a long moment.
"I don't know. Heart attack? Something. The police are . . ." He waved his hand, unable to find his way to the end of the sentence.
They sat in silence for a moment, and then the Swan woman shook herself and stood up. "Can I make you some tea or something? Coffee?"
"Yeah, actually. Tea sounds nice."
She beckoned for him to follow and led him into a cramped kitchen. Edward moved toward the little table to sit down, but when he saw the single chair placed at it, he opted for the breakfast bar instead. As Swan began filling an electric kettle with water, he glanced around.
The place was clean—or as clean as it was possible to be for a kitchen as small as it was. The counters were clear of dishes, but a high chair had to be moved out of the way to allow access to one of the sets of yellow-painted cabinets. The lack of chairs at the table allowed for a little more space, but it seemed impractical to Edward. And behind him, a curtain of blankets had been tacked to the ceiling and walls to hide whatever room lay beyond the kitchen.
With the water heating and a box of tea bags retrieved from the cabinet, Swan turned back to Edward just long enough to say, "Excuse me for a minute," before ducking behind the blanket curtain. Edward heard her soft murmur, and then a grumbled answer from a man's deep voice. The police chief husband? Could he be sleeping behind the blanket? A few more words were exchanged, and then he heard her move to the other side of the room, speak again, and receive an answer from another male voice.
Edward frowned. Just how many husbands did she have back there?
The low voices were joined by soft grunts, metallic rattling, the occasional thump, and a moment later the curtain was pulled aside by an aging mustached man in a wheelchair. Edward jumped up to hold the blanket back for him, since it looked awkward for him to try to wheel the chair with the thing in his way.
The man looked up at Edward and started, staring at his face for several seconds. Edward thought he knew what the man was thinking. Acquaintances of his father often commented, upon first meeting Edward, that he was very much his father's son. The two of them were drawn from the same template, if perhaps tinted with a different palette.
"Damn. You must be Junior."
"Edward," he corrected. "To everyone but my dad."
"Charlie." The man's voice was gruff as he wheeled past Edward and into the kitchen. "It's nice to meet you, though I'm sorry for the circumstances."
"Me too." He wasn't sure whether to follow the man to the table or sit back down at the breakfast bar, so he remained standing.
"Bella tells me there was some confusion over whether you were supposed to pick up Alice."
Edward ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, uh . . . I'm still a little confused, to be honest."
"What's to be confused about? You two are family, aren't you?"
"Are we?"
"Dad, maybe now's not the time," Bella said. She was pulling aside the blanket again, and yet another man in a wheelchair rolled through. This one looked to be about the same age as Charlie, but his skin was a dark copper and he wore his black hair long and straight. He joined Charlie at the table while Bella made her way to a cabinet and started pulling out mismatched mugs.
"Edward, this is my dad and our friend Billy."
Edward and Billy nodded at each other.
"My condolences," Billy said. "Your father was a good man."
Edward couldn't force a response past the lump that was forming once again in his throat. Because his father had been a good man, and the fact that they had to use the past tense was so wrong as to be intolerable. He wanted to tell him so. He wanted to call his father and tell him that he didn't think he could handle this situation and ask him to please stop being dead because it wasn't working out. Instead, he stared at the mug that Swan pushed into his hands and waited for the lump to shrink so he could swallow.
He had to focus on the facts. The things that needed doing. There was a little girl, apparently, and he needed to know what the hell was going on with that. He managed a sip of tea and tried his voice again. "So what's the deal with this kid?"
"Alice," Bella said, and he thought he heard a note of impatience creeping back into her voice. "She's Ted's daughter."
"Since when?"
"About two years ago."
"Two years . . ." Fuck. Could his father really have kept this secret from him for so long? It wasn't like he was some kind of absentee son. He might not have been a regular visitor to Forks, but he'd had his father down to Olympia every couple of months, and it was rare for a week to pass without a call or text passing between them.
It had been a couple of years since they'd taken their annual New Year's trip, though . . .
"Who's her mother?"
Swan exchanged glances with the two men and shrugged. "We never met her."
Huh. Maybe they hadn't been such close friends of his father's after all. "Do you know who has? She's going to need to know about this."
"If anyone knows, it would be Carlisle," Charlie said.
Edward nodded. That was a familiar name. His father had mentioned Carlisle on multiple occasions. There might have been a Billy and a Charlie in there too, but they would have been mentioned less frequently—and frankly, they were more forgettable names. But Edward Sr. had spoken glowingly of a Carlisle, who had quickly become his closest friend and something of a protégé.
"Right. I've heard of him. I guess his number is probably in Dad's phone."
"If not," Billy said, "he lives next door to Ted."
The other house with the ramp, maybe. Edward eyed the wheelchairs and wondered if Billy and Charlie often visited Calawah Way.
"I'll see what I can find out. So, where is she?"
"Asleep," Swan said. "I'll go get her."
Edward wanted to stop her, to ask if maybe she'd be willing to keep the kid while he tracked down the missing mother, but he didn't actually know whether Swan was trustworthy. The daycare lady and the rookie cop had both vouched for her, but he couldn't speak to their credibility either. His defenses against outsiders were habitually high from an abundantly cautious childhood. A two-year-old kid was just too vulnerable to opportunists, and he couldn't be careless with the safety of his father's child. So he followed the woman back out to the stairs.
She didn't have to retrieve the kid, as it turned out. At the top of the stairs, rubbing her eyes fitfully, was a caramel-skinned little girl who looked to be almost entirely composed of circles. Her little round fist rubbed at a baby-soft face capped with an unruly mass of black curls. Her round belly poked out beneath the hem of her shirt, as did her little diapered bottom. Her limbs were soft with baby fat, and even her little wrists were ringed with creases.
"Daddy?" she said, her baby voice rough with sleep.
"Hey, sweetheart." Swan turned soft and coaxing as she ascended the stairs to intercept the kid. "Did you wake up?"
"Daddy home?" she asked again.
Bella scooped her up in her arms and turned to head back down the stairs.
"This is her?" Edward asked.
Alice pushed away from Bella, searching. "Daddy?" Her eyes found Edward and she stared at him, puzzled. He was clearly not what she'd been looking for, but, Edward thought, he was probably kind of close. He wondered how well children recognized faces and whether he would look as much like her father to her as he did to others.
"You sound so much like him," Bella murmured. "She must have heard your voice."
Edward nodded but he didn't speak. He didn't know what to say. Bella reached the bottom of the stairs and approached him, clearly meaning for him to take Alice, but he wasn't sure he wanted to. Wasn't there a way that you were supposed to hold babies? Supporting their heads or something? Alice's head didn't look like it needed supporting, and she didn't look particularly happy about seeing him. She turned away, burying her head in Bella's neck. "Wan Daddy," she whimpered.
"I know, honey. This is Edward. He's going to take you home."
Edward shook his head. Whose home, exactly, was he supposed to take her to? His place was three hours away and his father's place was swarming with emergency vehicles.
He sighed. "Is there a hotel or something around here?"
"There's half a dozen motels on Forks Way. That's the street you turned onto coming up from Calawah."
He vaguely remembered the generic street name from the GPS instructions. "Anything with a decent restaurant attached?" he asked, though he didn't hold out much hope for a positive answer.
"Hammye pendy puss?" Alice mumbled sleepily.
"Here." Bella snagged a notebook from a table near the door, and half-squatting while hanging onto Alice, she started to write out some directions. "There's a bed and breakfast that serves good food. The kitchen will be closed now, but they make a pretty good meal in the mornings. Emily will give you a deal."
"Why would she do that?" he asked, shooting a dubious look at the paper she handed him.
"There are reasons." She looked tired and a little irritable, and he didn't want the harpy resurfacing, so he just shoved the paper in his shirt pocket. Seriously, hadn't the woman ever heard of GPS? All he needed was the name of the place.
"Boa," Alice said, straightening up to demand attention. "Hammye pendy puss?"
Swan raised her eyebrows. "I don't know what that is, sweetie."
"Pease?" she asked, her petulant voice raising in pitch.
"Is it in your diaper bag?"
"No!" she insisted. "Pendy puss!"
Bella looked around helplessly. "Where is it?"
"A-home."
"I don't think we can get it tonight." Swan really did look tired. She tried to cuddle Alice against her chest, but Alice resisted.
"Yes!" Alice said, dissolving into tears. "Hammye pendy puss!"
Swan bounced Alice gently and patted her back, but the child refused to be appeased. She whined first, and then threw back her head and howled her protest at the ceiling. After a couple of good wails, an answering cry came from upstairs.
"Dammit," Swan muttered under her breath. "Here. Take her." She pushed the kid at Edward again, but he took a step back.
"I don't even know what to do with her."
"For heaven's sake, it's not rocket science." She shoved the kid into his arms and he had no choice but to accept her. It wasn't actually that easy, though. Alice flung herself back like she was trying to get herself dropped and she damn near succeeded. Edward had to wrap an arm around her and pull her against his chest while she screamed in protest.
"Hey, come on," he muttered, trying to bounce her the way Swan had. "I'm not that bad, am I?"
"Daddy?" she said hopefully, pausing her crying to pose her request. Her breath hitched as she waited for his answer.
So did Edward's. "Dad's dead, kid," he said quietly.
"Pease?" She sounded heartbroken, like he was committing a personal offense against her by denying access to her father. He felt the same way, actually, except he didn't have anyone to blame for it.
"I know. I'm sad, too."
She threw back her head and wailed again, declaring "Wan Daddy!" between her mournful cries.
Swan had disappeared upstairs, but now she reemerged holding a young boy as tan-skinned and dark-haired as Alice, though a little bit older. She caressed his hair as she carried him downstairs, cooing softly to him as she came. "Sh-sh-sh," she said absently. "Let's try not to wake Beebee."
"Boa!" Alice reached for her, stretching her body in Swan's direction.
Bella let the boy slide to the floor and took Alice from Edward. She shushed her and patted her back, heading for the kitchen. "Come on, Colin. Let's get you some water."
Edward went with her to the kitchen. Since her hands were full, she directed him with a nod to a cabinet where he found a glass. She shook her head and nodded to a lower shelf that was filled with colorful plastic cups. Edward replaced the glass and selected a red cup with a fading superman graphic instead. He took it to the tap, but he'd only filled it about a quarter of the way when Bella said, "That's enough."
Maybe the kid wasn't that thirsty. He handed over the cup and the little boy slurped noisily at the water.
Alice was settling down in Bella's arms, though she was still whimpering. Bella started to sing softly to her, but Alice pushed away again. "No," she complained. "Bet-tine sonn."
"What's that?"
"Bet-tine sonn," she insisted.
Bella shook her head and shrugged. "I don't know that song."
"Yite Daddy," she said. "Tine I fee-o . . ."
A thrum of familiarity vibrated in the back of Edward's skull. The girl hadn't sung the words with any skilled melody, or even with any respectable precision of pronunciation, but it had been close enough to remind Edward forcibly of a visit his father had made to Olympia . . . when was it? Two years ago? Three? Edward had been driving and the music from his father's phone was playing over the car's speakers. There had been an odd collection of classical music, show tunes, and a sprinkling of classic rock, and then all of a sudden a very different sort of song had come on.
Edward had smirked, shooting his father a side-eyed glance. "Since when are you a fan of funk rock?"
He hadn't been sure what reaction he was expecting. Maybe puzzlement over how in the world the song had gotten onto his playlist. But Senior had just smiled a small, introspective smile. "I like it," was all he'd said.
Edward was suddenly very certain that Edward Sr. had sung that song to Alice. Why in the world he would do that, Edward had no idea. It wasn't exactly a lullaby. But she seemed to want it so badly, so he tried it out.
"Sometimes I feel like I don't have a partner . . ."
Alice sucked in a shuddering breath and threw herself at Edward so unexpectedly that he barely managed to catch her. He swung her into his arms and cradled her against his chest. "Sometimes I feel like my only friend . . ."
Swan cocked her head to the side and shot him a quizzical look. He just shrugged and continued his song, and she turned back to the little boy, who was now perched on Billy's lap.
"Finish your water, bud. We need to get you back to bed." Bella brushed a hand over his straight dark hair.
"I don't want to," he said, but he was clearly fighting sleep. He was leaning back against Billy's chest, the hand holding the cup drooping far enough that Billy had to take it to keep it from spilling.
"I can keep him for a few minutes," Billy said.
Edward suddenly felt very much in the middle of someone else's family. He was running out of lyrics that he actually knew of the song that he'd only ever half-listened to on the radio, so he stopped singing.
"Thanks for keeping her," he said to Swan.
"No," Alice protested. "Bet-tine sonn."
Edward started singing again, heading for the door with Swan trailing behind.
She shot him a reproachful look as she handed him a bag that had been sitting near the door. "You owe Shelly an apology."
He frowned and stopped singing again. "Who?"
"Shelly Cope. From the daycare."
He sighed. "I guess I do. And you, too. I'm sorry I was rude. If it makes any difference, I really didn't know."
She crossed her arms over her chest, though it didn't look like an angry or defensive move. More like she was so tired that she was trying to hold herself together.
"Seen a sonn," Alice insisted. "Tine I fee-o . . ."
Edward gave Swan half a wave as he headed out the door, dutifully beginning the song again.
His jacket was in the passenger seat of the car, though he had no idea how it had ended up there. It was in the way when he went to put Alice in the car, so he stuffed it behind the headrest. He lowered her into the seat and then eyed the seatbelt dubiously. He was pretty sure that he wasn't supposed to strap a baby into the seatbelt. He was pretty sure that there were designated seats for kids this small. But he didn't know where he was going to get one in the middle of the night in this dead-zone town, so a seatbelt was going to have to do. Not that the kid made it easy. She made it very clear how she felt about the shoulder strap which, to be fair, was trying to cut right across her face. Edward tucked it behind her and promised himself that he would drive very carefully. Once Alice was settled and staring sleepily at the dashboard, he slid behind the wheel and punched the name of the bed and breakfast into his GPS.
That turned out to be a mistake. Fifteen minutes later he was staring at a dead end and trying not to curse out loud because Alice had slumped against the center console and fallen into a doze. Somehow Google Maps had gotten confused about the directions. Feeling like he had lost a battle, Edward pulled out the paper that Bella had given him and retraced his steps back to where he started. He tried again, following Bella's directions, and was parking in a lot next to an enormous weeping willow just a few minutes later.
He looked at the kid, wondering whether he could get away with leaving her in the car while he went inside and got a room. And obviously he couldn't. It was the dumbest idea he'd ever had. But he really didn't want to wake her up again.
He sighed and got out of the car. Alice woke when he closed his door and immediately began to cry. He rounded the car in a hurry and pulled her out, shushing and bouncing her.
"Wammye pendy puss," she complained.
There was nothing to do but start singing the damn song again, so Edward did, and Alice settled down. By the time he made it to the front door of the inn she had gone limp on his shoulder.
There was a light on inside, but the woman at the desk was wearing a flowered polyester robe over a hugely pregnant belly and she looked like she'd been in bed until very recently. "You must be Edward," she said with a sad smile when he came in. "Bella called and told me you were coming. I'm so sorry."
"Thanks," he said, feeling awkward. "Uh . . . you have anything available?"
"Sam's getting the honeymoon cabin made up for you," she said. "It's separate from the other rooms, so you'll have a little more privacy."
"Thanks. That sounds really good. It doesn't have separate bedrooms, does it?"
"There's one bedroom, and Sam's putting a cot in the sitting room."
"Great." Edward fished his wallet out of his pocket and started to slide out his credit card.
The woman waved him away. "Don't worry about it. The room is free."
Edward blinked. "No, it's fine. I'm happy to pay."
She just shook her head, smiling at him again. "Ted's kids don't pay here."
That was even more uncomfortable. He stuffed his wallet back in his pocket. "Um. Thanks."
"Go on back," she said, gesturing to a door at the back of the dining area behind her. "The path will take you right to the cabin."
The path was absurdly picturesque. Gray cobblestones guided him past grounds full of weeping willows and over a tiny little brook to a wood-sided hut almost hidden beneath another enormous willow tree. The door stood open and inside it was a man in pajamas tucking sheets around a thin cot mattress. Edward tapped at the door and raised a hand in greeting.
The man looked up and chuckled in surprise. "I guess I don't have to ask if you're Junior."
"Edward," he corrected.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Sam." The man straightened and moved to the door, holding out a hand for Edward to shake. Edward had to shift Alice to his other arm, which made her fuss sleepily, but she settled down again quickly.
"Thanks for making this up," Edward said. "I know it's late."
"Happy to help. You need anything?"
The steak and lobster he'd been planning on having for dinner crossed his mind, but at that moment he was more tired than hungry. "Uh. You wouldn't have a toothbrush stashed away somewhere? I didn't pack an overnight bag."
"No problem. I'll grab one for you." He placed a folded blanket and a pillow on the cot and headed out the door.
Edward tried to lay Alice on the cot, but the moment she touched it, her eyes scrunched up and she whined in protest. She reached for him, her little hands opening and closing, and he sighed and scooped her up again. He didn't know how he was going to survive the night if she wouldn't let him put her down.
"Kid, I can't hold you forever."
"Bet-tine sonn," She mumbled, but drifted off again before he actually had to start singing again.
He should probably learn the words to that song. There was no telling how long it was going to take to track down the kid's mother.
He wandered into the bedroom, inspecting the furnishings. It was like an early sketch of a room, still rough in places that would be smoothed in the finished product. There were exposed beams everywhere, furniture made of knotted pine and decorated with burlap and raffia. A large rag rug in shades of green accented the pale wood floor, and homespun eyelet table runners covered the night stands on either side of the king-sized bed. It was rustic but comfortable, and the big, cozy-looking bed made it all the more inviting to Edward.
He sat on the bed and toed off his shoes, feeling the fatigue of the evening deep in his bones. He almost regretted asking Sam for the toothbrush because now he had to stay awake long enough to get it. He just wanted to put the kid down and disappear into oblivion. It was stupid, the things he couldn't do for fear of waking the baby. He couldn't bend down and take off his socks. He couldn't take off his shirt. How long was he going to have to sit here waiting for her to really fall asleep?
At least Sam didn't take long. He was back in a moment with a little bag containing a toothbrush, a travel tube of toothpaste, a disposable safety razor, and a can of shaving cream. He wished Edward a good night and made himself scarce without wasting a lot of time on pleasantries.
Edward brushed his teeth while holding Alice, noting irritably that his arm was starting to ache. Maybe he should be putting in more time at the gym if he couldn't even hold a baby this long. Time to step up his game.
He wondered how long it would be before he'd get back to the gym.
He hadn't thought about bending over to rinse and spit when he'd started, and he found it to be an awkward experience trying to hold her against his chest while he leaned over the sink. Alice didn't even stir, thank all the gods, but the moment he put her down on the cot again, she let out an unholy screech that had him scooping her up again.
"Come on, kid," he grumbled. "It's the middle of the night. How bad can it possibly be to lie down in a bed?"
She was drifting off on his shoulder again and gave no answer.
So. Time to stop fucking around. Maybe if he just put her down, she would fall asleep again in a moment. He laid her down on the cot and spun on his heel, ignoring her squawk of protest as he headed for the bedroom.
She didn't go back to sleep. He glanced back to see her wriggling off of the cot, her little face scrunched up and tears beading on her lower lashes. She chased after him and threw herself at his legs with surprising force, wrapping her baby arms around his knees.
"Well," he muttered, "That didn't work. He picked her up and took her into the bedroom, setting her down on the bed so that he could get himself ready for bed. She started to fuss until he sat down next to her. Once she was confident that she wasn't being abandoned, she lay down on the bed and grabbed a fistful of the bedspread.
"Wammye pendy puss," she whimpered.
Edward was afraid that telling her that he didn't have her pendy puss would set her screaming again, so he didn't say anything. He stripped off his shirt, ruefully noting the soggy patch on one shoulder where the kid had wiped her face on him. The socks and shirt came off as well, and then with a quick glance at the kid, he took off his jeans. It wasn't like he could sleep in them, baby or no baby. She probably wasn't old enough for him to be concerned about wandering around in his boxer briefs in front of her, right?
The kid's head popped up for a minute when he walked away from the bed to turn off the light, but as soon as he returned to the bed and slid under the blanket, she was crawling over to him.
"Bet-tine sonn," she ordered again.
"Fine. Get under the covers." He wasn't entirely sure she would understand him, but he held the blankets up for her and she wriggled underneath, snuggling against his chest.
"Awesome. You're a cuddler."
"Tine I fee-o . . ." she prompted.
He sighed. "Sometimes I feel like I don't have a partner . . ."
He only managed to get through one cobbled-together verse before Alice was asleep again. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.
What the hell was he supposed to do now?