Descending Star

MEDFLIGHT

Ben thought he would be sidelined in Phoenix for weeks, wrapped in fiberglass and suspended on wires, right along with Edythe, his parents, her parents, Zoey, and everyone else who got a look at him.

Edythe had other ideas.

In a way, he had set the wheels in motion himself, on Friday night, when he had awoken long enough to remind Edythe that his junior prom loomed in just three weeks. He had brought this fact to her attention innocently, in the context of an off-hand remark that he would assuredly miss it, given his obvious debilitation.

Edythe glowered at the wall and said to herself, 'Oh, no you won't.'

Later that night, she conferred with Carlisle, and together they laid the groundwork for his return to Forks. Ben slept through their plots.

Edythe told herself that she would let him know at an opportune time. Between the constant stream of visitors that weekend, and his dozing through most of them, that time never quite arrived. Besides, he had already slept through quite a bit, having been in a coma, and over the past several days they had all grown accustomed to his non-participation.

Ben got his first impression of how much he'd missed when he awoke on Saturday morning, a couple hours before the commencement of official visiting hours, to the sight of Renée and Charlie at opposing bedrails, bickering over his prone body.

Edythe alone knew that he had awoken. He was a terrible actor. How his parents didn't realize, she couldn't imagine.

They caught a vexed flutter of his eyes, paused hostilities for all of ten seconds to fuss over him, and then they resumed. They talked right over him, while he listened, as though he were still in a coma. "Thanks a bunch for finally dragging yourself down here," Renée said to Charlie. "Just in time to cover for me. I need to be back in New York by Monday morning."

Charlie protested, "Now hold on. Dragging myself? I've got responsibilities, too. Got a town to run. Well, a police station anyway. Had a court date on Thursday, you'll recall. Plus I'm only up for the weekend."

Renée glared at him and said, in her low, dangerous monotone, "Do you think that I don't know about the venison roast you threw for all your Quileute friends in your back yard on Tuesday night?"

Charlie nearly fell backward as he roared, "How do you even know about that, woman?"

"Women have a way of knowing. And don't call me woman. You're a class act, Charlie. You learn that your only son is in a coma, half-dead on a gurney, and do you get on a plane, like any normal parent? No. You decide there's no better time to throw a back yard barbecue for all your fishing pals."

As to how Renée knew about it, she'd go to the grave before telling Charlie, but Alice had taken joy in sharing that gossip. She in turn had heard about it from Emelia, who had been apprised by Rex, on the drive from Forks to Phoenix.

Rex had watched most of the tawdry pageant, from the woods behind Charlie's house, and to his credit, he was more disgusted by it than all the women, combined.

Charlie indignantly railed, "I can't help who comes and knocks on my door uninvited, can I."

"You could have told them your son was dying. On your way to the airport."

Renée scowled at him, and she abruptly snapped up to address Edythe, who sat meekly in the corner chair all the while and pretended not to listen.

"Take note young lady, and buyer beware. Sons take after their fathers."

"Now hold on. Don't drag her into this. Edythe's a good girl."

Renée shook her head wearily. "Edythe, honey, I have to go back. There's nothing for it."