Breaking Dawn - Stephenie Meyer [1]
I managed to reach my goal, the gas station. If I hadnt been running on vapors, I wouldnt have come into town at all. I was going without a lot of things these days, like Pop-Tarts and shoelaces, to avoid spending time in public.
Moving as if I were in a race, I got the hatch open, the cap off, the card scanned, and the nozzle in the tank within seconds. Of course, there was nothing I could do to make the numbers on the gauge pick up the pace. They ticked by sluggishly, almost as if they were doing it just to annoy me.
It wasnt bright out-a typical drizzly day in Forks, Washington-but I still felt like a spotlight was trained on me, drawing attention to the delicate ring on my left hand. At times like this, sensing the eyes on my back, it felt as if the ring were pulsing like a neon sign: Look at me, look at me.
It was stupid to be so self-conscious, and I knew that. Besides my dad and mom, did it really matter what people were saying about my engagement? About my new car? About my mysterious acceptance into an Ivy League college? About the shiny black credit card that felt red-hot in my back pocket right now?
Yeah, who cares what they think, I muttered under my breath.
Um, miss? a mans voice called.
I turned, and then wished I hadnt.
Two men stood beside a fancy SUV with brand- new kayaks tied to the top. Neither of them was looking at me; they both were staring at the car.
Personally, I didnt get it. But then, I was just proud I could distinguish between the symbols for Toyota, Ford, and Chevy. This car was glossy black, sleek, and pretty, but it was still just a car to me.
Im sorry to bother you, but could you tell me what kind of car youre driving? the tall one asked.
Um, a Mercedes, right?
Yes, the man said politely while his shorter friend rolled his eyes at my answer. I know. But I was wondering, is that are you driving a Mercedes Guardian? The man said the name with reverence. I had a feeling this guy would get along well with Edward Cullen, my my fiancé (there really was no getting around that truth with the wedding just days away). They arent supposed to be available in Europe yet, the man went on, let alone here.
While his eyes traced the contours of my car- it didnt look much different from any other Mercedes sedan to me, but what did I know?-I briefly contemplated my issues with words like fiancé, wedding, husband, etc.
I just couldnt put it together in my head.
On the one hand, I had been raised to cringe at the very thought of poofy white dresses and bouquets. But more than that, I just couldnt reconcile a staid, respectable, dull concept like husband with my concept of Edward. It was like casting an archangel as an accountant; I couldnt visualize him in any commonplace role.
Like always, as soon as I started thinking about Edward I was caught up in a dizzy spin of fantasies. The stranger had to clear his throat to get my attention; he was still waiting for an answer about the cars make and model.
I dont know, I told him honestly.
Do you mind if I take a picture with it?
It took me a second to process that. Really? You want to take a picture with the car?
Sure-nobody is going to believe me if I dont get proof.
Um. Okay. Fine.
I swiftly put away the nozzle and crept into the front seat to hide while the enthusiast dug a huge professional- looking camera out of his backpack. He and his friend took turns posing by the hood, and then they went to take pictures at the back end.
I miss my truck, I whimpered to myself.
Very, very convenient-too convenient-that my truck would wheeze its last wheeze just weeks after Edward and I had agreed to our lopsided compromise, one detail of which was that he be allowed to replace my truck when it passed on. Edward swore it was only to be expected; my truck had lived a long, full life and then expired of natural causes. According to him. And, of course, I had no way to verify his story or to try to raise my truck from the dead on my own. My