It's ridiculous

"It's nothing," he assured me. "Just some bonfires out on the cliffs."

"Bonfires?" I asked. My voice didn't sound curious. It sounded dead.

Charlie frowned. "Some of the kids from the reservation being rowdy," he explained.

"Why?" I wondered dully.

I could tell he didn't want to answer. He looked at the floor under his knees. "They're celebrating the
news." His tone was bitter.

There was only one piece of news I could think of, try as I might not to. And then the pieces snapped
together. "Because the Cullens left," I whispered. "They don't like the Cullens in La Push—I'd forgotten
about that."

The Quileutes had their superstitions about the "cold ones," the blood-drinkers that were enemies to their
tribe, just like they had their legends of the great flood and wolf-men ancestors. Just stories, folklore, to
most of them. Then there were the few that believed. Charlie's good friend Billy Black believed, though
even Jacob, his own son, thought he was full of stupid superstitions. Billy had warned me to stay away
from the Cullens…

The name stirred something inside me, something that began to claw its way toward the surface,
something I knew I didn't want to face.

"It's ridiculous," Charlie spluttered.

We sat in silence for a moment. The sky was no longer black outside the window. Somewhere behind
the rain, the sun was beginning to rise.

"Bella?" Charlie asked.

I looked at him uneasily.

"He left you alone in the woods?" Charlie guessed.

I deflected his question. "How did you know where to find me?" My mind shied away from the inevitable
awareness that was coming, coming quickly now.

"Your note," Charlie answered. surprised. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a
much-abused piece of paper. It was dirty and damp, with multiple creases from being opened and
refolded many times. He unfolded it again, and held it up as evidence. The messy handwriting was
remarkably close to my own.