"Stephenie Meyer - Twilight 03 - Eclipse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Meyer Stephanie)

“What did I do wrong?” Charlie demanded.

“You’re supposed to take the lid off first, Dad. Metal’s bad for microwaves.” I swiftly removed the lid
as I spoke, poured half the sauce into a bowl, and then put the bowl inside the microwave and the jar
back in the fridge; I fixed the time and pressed start.

Charlie watched my adjustments with pursed lips. “Did I get the noodles right?”

I looked in the pan on the stove — the source of the smell that had alerted me. “Stirring helps,” I said
mildly. I found a spoon and tried to de-clump the mushy hunk that was scalded to the bottom.

Charlie sighed.

“So what’s all this about?” I asked him.

He folded his arms across his chest and glared out the back windows into the sheeting rain. “Don’t
know what you’re talking about,” he grumbled.

I was mystified. Charlie cooking? And what was with the surly attitude? Edward wasn’t here yet; usually
my dad reserved this kind of behavior for my boyfriend’s benefit, doing his best to illustrate the theme of
“unwelcome” with every word and posture. Charlie’s efforts were unnecessary — Edward knew exactly
what my dad was thinking without the show.

The wordboyfriend had me chewing on the inside of my cheek with a familiar tension while I stirred. It
wasn’t the right word, not at all. I needed something more expressive of eternal commitment. . . . But
words likedestiny andfate sounded hokey when you used them in casual conversation.

Edward had another word in mind, and that word was the source of the tension I felt. It put my teeth on
edge just to think it to myself.

Fiancée. Ugh. I shuddered away from the thought.

“Did I miss something? Since when do you make dinner?” I asked Charlie. The pasta lump bobbed in
the boiling water as I poked it. “Ortry to make dinner, I should say.”

Charlie shrugged. “There’s no law that says I can’t cook in my own house.”

“You would know,” I replied, grinning as I eyed the badge pinned to his leather jacket.

“Ha. Good one.” He shrugged out of the jacket as if my glance had reminded him he still had it on, and
hung it on the peg reserved for his gear. His gun belt was already slung in place — he hadn’t felt the need
to wear that to the station for a few weeks. There had been no more disturbing disappearances to trouble
the small town of Forks, Washington, no more sightings of the giant, mysterious wolves in the ever-rainy
woods. . . .

I prodded the noodles in silence, guessing that Charlie would get around to talking about whatever was
bothering him in his own time. My dad was not a man of many words, and the effort he had put into
trying to orchestrate a sit-down dinner with me made it clear there were an uncharacteristic number of
words on his mind.
I glanced at the clock routinely — something I did every few minutes around this time. Less than a half