Shifting Moon

Chapter 223 - 223: Too Manny Hands

(Thomas POV)We slept at home now.

Though 'Slept' was a generous word.

Leah slept in short, stubborn pieces between feedings, soreness, and the twins' united belief that being born did not obligate them to follow anyone else's schedule. Edythe did not sleep at all, which meant she spent the night pretending not to hover while hovering with the focused restraint of someone guarding state secrets.

I slept badly, when I slept.

Mostly, I drifted off with one baby tucked against Leah's side and the other against my chest, woke up terrified I had crushed someone, confirmed that I had not, then repeated the process until morning.

By the third day, I had learned two things.

One, newborns made more noise than seemed physically possible.

Two, having two newborns made the first point feel like an insultingly small warning.

"They're not that loud," Leah muttered from the bed.

Her eyes were closed. Her hair was a mess. One hand rested over our daughter's back while our son made a series of small, furious sounds against her shoulder.

"You say that because your body is still full of birth magic and spite," I said.

"I say that because they're babies."

"One of them just made a noise like a wounded elk."

"That was your son."

"He has your temper."

"He has your hair."

I looked down at the tiny white-haired boy tucked against my forearm. His face was scrunched in deep offense, as if existence had personally disappointed him.

"That is not a defense."

Edythe appeared beside the bed with two warm bottles in one hand and a cloth in the other.

"He is hungry," she said.

"He was hungry twelve minutes ago," I said.

"He is hungry again."

Leah opened one eye. "Do not sound smug about that."

"I am not smug." Edythe's mouth curved slightly. "I am observant."

"You're smug on the side."

"Only because I am correct."

Leah grumbled something that would have gotten her in trouble with Sue, but she did not argue. Her eyes moved from the twins to the bottles Edythe was holding, and the fight went out of her face by inches. Whatever pride wanted, her body was not going to produce enough milk for two hybrid baby appetites.

Edythe handed me a bottle, then leaned down to brush a kiss against Leah's temple. Leah pretended not to soften. She failed.

Our daughter made a quiet sound against Leah's chest, less angry than her brother but somehow more demanding. She did not cry often. She stared. She watched the room with dark, serious eyes and the unsettling patience of a creature deciding whether the world was worth tolerating.

That was not fair to put on a baby.

It was still true.

"She's doing it again," I said.

Leah did not open her eyes. "Doing what?"

"Judging me."

"She gets that from Edythe."

Edythe looked down at our daughter with open approval. "Good."

This was our mornings now.

Feedings. Diapers. Leah refusing to admit she needed help sitting up. Edythe helping anyway. Me counting breaths and heartbeats because, apparently, becoming a father has turned me into Carlisle with worse handwriting and more panic.

Then, once everyone was clean enough and fed enough and Leah had glared at us until we stopped asking if she could walk to the truck without help, we packed the twins into their carriers and drove to the Cullen house.

Every morning.

Like daycare.

If daycare had vampires, werewolves, growth charts, and Alice.

Bella and Edward had their own place now, too. The cottage was tucked away from the main house, close enough that Edward could cross the distance in seconds, far enough that Bella had something resembling privacy while she learned how to be a newborn, a wife, and a mother all at once.

They still came to the big house every day.

So did we.

Carlisle had turned part of the living room into a polite medical station. There were blankets on the floor, a scale on the side table, a notebook that was already too thick, and a tray of instruments that made Leah want to threaten him every time she saw it.

Renesmee had her own set of records.

So did the twins.

Carlisle called them developmental observations.

Leah called them proof that he had never met a boundary he did not want to label.

I called them the baby database.

Carlisle did not appreciate that.

Emmett did.

We arrived a little after ten, which meant we were two hours late by Carlisle's standards and early by Leah's.

The front door opened before I reached it. Esme stood there, bright-eyed and smiling so hard it almost hurt to look at.

"Oh," she said softly.

She said it every morning.

Every morning, like she had forgotten and remembered again.

Leah sighed. "Esme, you saw them yesterday."

"Yes," Esme said. "And now I'm seeing them today."

"That's how days work." Edythe snarked.

Esme ignored her completely and reached for the carrier in my left hand. "May I?"

I looked at Leah.

Leah looked at Edythe.

Edythe looked at Esme's hands, then at our daughter, then at Esme again.

It was the look of a person making a reasonable decision against every instinct she possessed.

"For five minutes," Edythe said.

Esme's smile widened.

"Ten," Leah said.

Edythe's eyes flicked toward her.

Leah raised one eyebrow. "She's their grandmother."

Esme froze.

The word landed in the doorway like something heavier than sound.

Grandmother.

Esme looked at Leah first, then at me, then down at the carrier in my hand. Her face changed slowly. Not dramatically. Not with tears, because vampires did not get that mercy. But something in her went still and bright, like Leah had handed her a piece of herself she had never expected to hold.

"Their grandmother?" Esme asked quietly.

Leah shifted her weight, suddenly less comfortable with the tenderness she had caused. "Unless you want some weird formal title."

"No," Esme said at once.

Behind her, Emmett leaned around the corner. "Can I be Grand-Emmett?"

"No," Rosalie, Edward, Alice, Jasper, Carlisle, Bella, Leah, Edythe, and I said together.

Renesmee laughed from somewhere inside the house.

Emmett looked wounded. "That felt rehearsed."

"It was instinctive," Jasper said.

Esme took the carrier from me with the care of someone handling glass. Our daughter blinked up at her.

"Nancy," Esme whispered.

Hearing the name still did something strange to my chest.

Nancy Kwaiya Raizel.

Leah had said it the evening after their birth, half-reclined against pillows while Sue checked her pulse, and pretending not to watch us naming her grandchildren.

"Nancy," Leah had said, glancing at me.

I had stopped breathing for a second.

Not because I needed to.

Because the name had reached into a place I had not realized was still so easy to touch.

"For your mother," Leah said.

Edythe's hand had found mine. She said nothing. She did not need to.

My mother's name in Leah's voice felt different than my memory. Less like loss. More like being trusted with something.

Then Leah had looked at Sue.

"Kwaiya."

Sue's expression shifted.

Leah's mouth twitched, but her eyes had been softer than her tone. "Quileute for Water. For Clearwater."

Sue blinked once. Hard, then she turned away like the bedside table had suddenly become very important.

The boy had taken longer.

Not because we did not have the name.

Because saying it felt like opening two graves at once.

"Hadrian Devan Raizel," I had said.

Leah stared at me. "Hadrian?"

"Harry," I added quickly. "For everyday use."

Sue went very still.

Leah looked down at our son, his white hair sticking up in soft, ridiculous points. His little fist was tucked beside his cheek. He looked peaceful for the first time all evening, which felt like a trick.

"Harry," Leah said.

The name changed her voice.

Just for a moment.

"Dad would've hated Hadrian," she said.

"Probably."

"He would have said it sounded like a rich kid with a sword collection."

"He would not have been completely wrong."

Leah snorted, then looked down at our son again.

"But he would've liked Harry," I said.

Sue had to leave the room after that.

She claimed she needed coffee.

No one believed her.

Now, in the Cullen doorway, Esme lifted Nancy from the carrier and held her against her chest.

Nancy stared at her.

Esme stared back with complete devotion.

"Grandmother," she said again, so quietly I doubted anyone human would have heard.

Unfortunately, no one in the room was human enough to miss it.

Emmett made a soft choking sound.

Rosalie elbowed him in the ribs hard enough to crack stone.

Harry chose that moment to wake up and announce his hatred of being ignored.

Leah looked at me. "Your son."

"He was your son yesterday when he spit up on Carlisle."

"He had my aim."

"His aim was excellent." I smile at the memory.

Carlisle appeared beside Esme, notebook already in hand. "Good morning."

Leah narrowed her eyes. "No."

"I haven't said anything yet."

"You brought the notebook."

"It is useful."

"It is incriminating."

Carlisle smiled with the calm of a man who had survived wars, pandemics, vampire politics, and now Leah Raizel after childbirth. "I only need their weights, temperatures, feeding totals, and a few observations about motor response."

"Finally, Renesmee gets a break," Edward said from the stairs.

Carlisle glanced up at him.

Edward's expression was amused.

Bella stood beside him, one hand resting lightly on the railing. She was unnaturally still. Beautiful in a way that made the room feel slightly rearranged around her, her newborn-red eyes bright against her pale face, unmistakably vampire and still startling every time I looked at her.

Renesmee was on her hip.

Or, more accurately, balanced there with the confidence of a child who should not have had that much control over her own spine yet.

She looked larger than she had the day before.

Again.

Every morning, Ren grew enough to make my stomach tighten.

Every morning, Bella noticed too.

She hid it better each time.

Not well enough.

Ren reached toward Nancy.

Esme moved closer at once, delighted.

Jacob, standing near the back windows as if pretending he had not spent the entire night close enough to hear Ren breathe, straightened.

"Careful," he said.

The room went silent.

Rosalie's head turned slowly.

Bella's eyebrows lifted.

Edward closed his eyes.

Jacob realized, a beat too late, that telling Esme Cullen to be careful with a baby was a spectacularly stupid survival strategy.

Leah smiled. "Good luck."

Esme only looked amused. "I have held children before, Jacob."

"Yeah, but Nessie…"

Bella's head snapped toward him.

Jacob shut his mouth.

"Nessie?" Bella said.

Ren smiled.

Bella did not.

"We talked about this," Bella said.

"You talked," Jacob muttered. "She likes it."

Ren patted Bella's arm.

Bella's expression changed with whatever image Ren gave her. The anger did not disappear, exactly, but it became tangled with something helpless and warm.

"That is not fair," Bella told her daughter.

Ren smiled wider.

Edward's mouth twitched.

Rosalie crossed the room and took Harry's carrier from my hand without asking.

"Excuse you," I said.

"I'm excused," Rosalie replied.

Leah pointed at her. "Do not dress him up."

Rosalie stopped.

Alice appeared behind her with a camera already raised. "Define dress up."

"No," Leah said.

"That was not a definition."

"It was a verdict."

Alice sighed like she was bearing oppression with grace. "You people are very hostile toward art."

"You put a bowtie on my son yesterday," I said.

"He looked distinguished."

"He looked like he was about to audit me."

Jasper, leaning against the far wall, laughed under his breath.

I glanced at him. He had been spending more time in the room every day. Not because anyone asked him to manage us. Not because we needed him to smooth the edges off our fear.

For once, the emotions in the Cullen house were not grief, panic, thirst, guilt, or dread.

They were exhaustion. Irritation. Wonder. Possessiveness. Worry. Joy.

So much joy it seemed to press against the walls.

Jasper looked almost dazed with it.

Seth sat cross-legged on the floor near him, a faint bruise lingering along one side of his jaw from a training session with Jasper that had apparently gotten a little too enthusiastic.

"You okay?" Seth asked him.

Jasper blinked slowly. "This house is aggressively happy."

Seth grinned. "Yeah. It's awful."

"It is," Jasper agreed with a smile rarely seen.

Carlisle cleared his throat gently. "Before Alice or Rosalie removes anyone from the room, I do need to examine them."

Alice lowered the camera an inch.

Rosalie's face went innocent.

Too innocent.

Edythe's hand moved. Not fast enough for anyone human to notice, but fast enough that Alice sighed before taking a step back.

"I was only going to change his socks," Alice said.

"He is three days old," Edythe said. "His socks are not a statement."

Alice looked personally offended. "Everything is a statement."

Leah rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I am too tired for rich vampire philosophy."

"Fashion philosophy," Alice corrected.

"That made it worse."

Carlisle took Harry from Rosalie before the argument could develop any further. Harry complained immediately.

"There he goes," Emmett said. "Tiny rage machine."

"He is not a rage machine," Leah said.

Harry screamed directly into Carlisle's face.

Leah paused.

"Okay," she said. "He is a little dramatic."

"He gets that from Thomas," Edythe said.

I looked at her. "Betrayal looks strange on you."

"It looks excellent on me. I make everything look good."

"She does," Leah said.

I pointed at her. "You are supposed to be recovering."

"I can recover and be honest."

Carlisle set Harry gently on the scale. Harry kicked once, then stopped, as if offended by the indignity of being measured.

Carlisle's expression sharpened.

Interest.

I hated that expression.

"How much?" I asked.

"More than yesterday," Carlisle said.

"That was not an answer."

"It was a gentle opening."

"Carlisle."

He looked at me, then at Leah. "He has gained more than a human newborn would in the same period."

Leah's mouth tightened.

Edythe went perfectly still beside her.

"And?" Leah asked.

"And he is warm, alert, responsive, and showing no signs of distress."

"Healthy," Sue said from the hallway.

We all turned.

Sue came in carrying a bag over one shoulder and the expression of a woman who had already decided we were all doing something wrong.

Charlie Swan stood behind her.

The room froze.

Not completely.

Renesmee turned at the sound of his heartbeat.

Bella stopped breathing.

Edward's hand settled against her back, light enough not to restrain her, present enough to remind her he was there.

Charlie looked exactly like a man who had been told only enough truth to regret agreeing to hear more.

His eyes moved over the room.

Carlisle with a white-haired baby on a scale.

Esme holding Nancy.

Rosalie standing too close to both.

Alice with a camera.

Jasper and Seth on the floor.

Jacob near the window, suddenly pretending to be furniture.

Bella at the stairs, too beautiful, too still, holding a child who had grown past newborn in days.

Charlie swallowed.

"Bells," he said.

Bella's face broke open.

Not literally. Not anymore.

But something in her softened so painfully that I looked away.

"Dad."

Charlie took one step toward her, then stopped. Sue's hand touched his arm.

Not holding him back.

Steadying him.

"Slow," Sue said quietly.

Charlie nodded once.

His eyes shifted to Ren.

Ren looked back at him.

And Charlie Swan, police chief, father, professional avoider of emotional conversations, went completely still.

Because Ren had Bella's eyes.

Not close.

Not almost.

Bella's exact brown eyes, solemn and soft in a face that was too knowing for the age her body was pretending to be.

And because they were Bella's eyes, they were Charlie's too.

Whatever question had been forming on his face died before it reached his mouth.

He stared at Ren like the world had handed him a puzzle with one piece already locked into place.

"That's your kid," he said roughly.

Bella nodded. "Yes."

Ren reached one hand toward him.

Charlie looked at Sue.

Sue gave him a small nod. "Go slow."

Charlie crossed the room like he expected the floor to change underneath him. Bella did not move. Edward did not move. Jacob looked like someone had nailed him in place.

Ren touched Charlie's hand.

His eyes widened.

No one spoke.

I did not know what she showed him. Bella, probably. Warmth. Recognition. Maybe the memory of Bella holding her for the first time, brief and bloody and real.

Charlie stared down at his hand after Ren let go.

"I'm not asking," he said.

Sue patted his arm. "Good choice."

Emmett made another choking sound.

This time, Rosalie did not elbow him.

Charlie looked at Ren again. His face had gone pale, but his eyes were steadier.

"Hi," he said awkwardly.

Ren smiled.

Charlie's mouth twitched despite everything.

Then his gaze drifted toward the blanket, the scale, Harry, Nancy, Carlisle's notebook, and Leah sitting very carefully in the armchair Edythe had insisted on dragging into the best patch of light.

"Those Leah's?" he asked.

"Mine too," I said.

Charlie looked at me.

Then at the twins.

Then at Sue.

"Of course they are," he said.

Sue's mouth twitched.

Leah raised one tired hand. "Hi, Charlie."

"Leah." Charlie looked at her for a long second, then at the babies again. "Twins?"

"Surprise," Leah said flatly.

Charlie nodded as if this was the least impossible fact he had received all morning. "Congratulations."

"Thanks."

Nancy made a soft sound in Esme's arms. Charlie's attention shifted to her.

Esme's hold tightened by a fraction.

Not protectively.

Proudly.

"This is Nancy Kwaiya Raizel," Esme said, and there was something almost ceremonial in her voice.

Charlie blinked. "Nancy."

"For Thomas's mother," Sue said.

Charlie looked at Sue.

Sue lifted her chin slightly. "Kwaiya is for Clearwater."

His face softened by a degree.

Then Carlisle, apparently deciding enough emotional devastation had occurred to allow science back into the room, cleared his throat.

"Nancy also needs to be weighed."

Esme's face changed.

Carlisle paused for a moment.

Leah leaned toward me. "Did Carlisle just almost lose a fight to a grandmother?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Esme reluctantly handed Nancy over. Reluctantly meant she moved with perfect grace while looking like someone had asked her to surrender a national treasure.

Carlisle set Nancy on the scale.

Nancy did not scream.

She stared at him.

Carlisle stared back.

"She's judging him too," I said.

"She's smart," Leah murmured.

Carlisle ignored both of us and noted the weight.

Then Ren shifted in Bella's arms, turning toward a tray on the side table.

The bottle of warmed blood sat there.

Nancy turned her head at the same time.

So did Edward.

So did Edythe.

The room went quiet again, but this quiet was different.

Nancy's eyes fixed on the bottle.

She made a small sound.

Not hungry in the usual way.

Interested.

Carlisle's pen stopped.

Leah saw it. "Carlisle."

He looked at her carefully. "She may be responding to scent."

"She is three days old."

Nancy made the sound again and reached a hand toward the cup.

Edythe moved closer to the scale. Her expression had gone calm in the way that meant every dangerous part of her was awake.

"She wants it?" I asked.

Carlisle did not answer quickly enough.

That was answer enough.

Sue exhaled through her nose. "Healthy first. Unpredictable second."

Carlisle looked at her.

She pointed at him. "That was not advice. That was an order."

His mouth softened. "Yes, Sue."

Charlie looked from Sue to Carlisle, then to the blood bottle, then very deliberately looked away.

"I'm not asking about that either," he said.

"Excellent progress," Sue told him.

The corner of Bella's mouth twitched.

Alice chose that moment to take a picture.

The click sounded impossibly loud.

Leah turned slowly. "Alice."

"What?" Alice lowered the camera. "This is history."

"This is my daughter, possibly developing a taste for blood."

"And she looks beautiful doing it."

"Alice…"

"I'm not wrong."

Edythe's eyes flicked toward Alice. "No wardrobe changes for at least an hour now."

Alice gasped. "I was not thinking about wardrobe changes."

Edward looked at her.

Alice held up one finger. "Not exclusively."

Rosalie drifted towards Harry.

Leah caught her. "No."

"I only wanted to hold him."

"You only ever want to hold him until Alice appears with suspenders."

"They were tasteful," Alice said.

"They were tiny suspenders," I said. "Taste had not entered the building."

Charlie stared at all of us.

Then he leaned slightly toward Sue. "Is it always like this?"

Sue watched Alice attempt to circle behind Carlisle while Rosalie distracted Leah by adjusting Harry's blanket.

"No," Sue said. "Sometimes it's worse."

Charlie nodded slowly. "Good to know."

Carlisle finally finished weighing Nancy and lifted her back into his arms.

"She has gained as well," he said. "Less than Renesmee's rate, more than human expectation. Both twins remain stable."

"Stable," Leah repeated.

"Yes."

"Not normal."

Carlisle gave her a gentle look. "No."

Edythe snorted. "I wasn't expecting normal. Normal left town a while ago."

"Healthy is not the same as predictable," Carlisle said.

Sue folded her arms. "Then we deal with healthy first and unpredictable second."

"Still an order?" Emmett asked.

Sue looked at him.

He held up both hands. "Healthy first. Got it."

Carlisle glanced toward the blanket spread across the living room floor. "Which brings me to something else."

The room tensed.

He noticed.

"I would like them to spend more time on the floor."

Silence.

Six different people looked at him like he had suggested putting the babies outside.

Carlisle sighed. "Supervised floor time."

"No," Rosalie said.

"Yes," Sue said.

Leah looked betrayed. "Mom."

"Don't Mom me. Babies need to move. They need to stretch. They need to learn their bodies. These babies have been in someone's arms since birth."

"They are three days old."

"And already growing like they're trying to catch a school bus." Sue pointed at the blanket. "Floor."

Edythe's expression did not change.

Her hand found Leah's shoulder.

Leah looked up at her. "You know they're safe, right?"

"Yes."

"That was not convincing."

"I know they are safe," Edythe said. "Knowing is not the problem."

Leah softened.

Just slightly.

Then Harry screamed again, and the softness fled for cover.

"Floor," Leah said. "Before I change my mind."

Getting the babies onto the blanket took longer than it should have.

Not because the blanket was far away.

Because everyone wanted to help.

Esme wanted to carry Nancy.

Rosalie wanted to carry Harry.

Alice wanted to photograph the process.

Carlisle wanted to observe their positioning.

Bella wanted Ren close enough to watch but not close enough to accidentally hurt anyone.

Jacob wanted Ren nowhere near anyone who might upset her.

Edward wanted everyone to stop thinking so loudly.

Jasper looked like he had made peace with drowning in our collective feelings.

Seth was delighted.

Emmett was forbidden from helping.

"I didn't even do anything," Emmett protested.

"That was preventive," Rosalie said.

Eventually, Harry and Nancy lay side by side on the blanket.

Harry kicked once and glared at the ceiling.

Nancy turned her head toward the blood bottle again.

Carlisle noticed.

So did I.

So did Leah.

Edythe's fingers tightened once on my shoulder, then relaxed.

Ren squirmed in Bella's arms.

Bella looked at Edward.

Edward listened for a second, then said, "She wants to see them."

Jacob was already shaking his head. "She can see them from there."

Bella looked at him.

Jacob shut his mouth again.

"Carefully," Edward said, looking directly at Ren. His voice stayed gentle, but there was a note of seriousness underneath it. "You can see them, sweetheart, but remember…they're much smaller than you are. Much stronger than human babies, maybe, but not as strong as you. Gentle hands."

No one besides Charlie seemed to find it strange that he was speaking to her in full sentences. Renesmee had already proven herself unnervingly advanced when it came to understanding intent, emotion, and meaning. Most of the room treated conversations with her less like talking to a baby and more like talking to someone who simply lacked the words to answer back. Charlie was still adjusting to that.

Bella lowered Ren to the blanket with such careful control that the entire room went quiet watching it.

Ren moved on her hands and knees with impossible coordination. She crossed the blanket slowly, solemnly, then lowered herself beside the twins.

Alice had started carrying a second camera. Judging by the way she'd quietly produced it from nowhere after burning through the first roll of film, she had to be nearing the end of the current film. She hated reloading in the middle of a moment; according to Alice, the perfect shot always happened during the few seconds you were changing film, and she refused to give fate that opportunity.

Charlie made a small sound.

Bella turned toward him at once.

He was staring at Ren again.

At the way she moved.

At the way she looked too old and too young at the same time.

Charlie swallowed and said nothing.

Ren reached toward Harry first.

Harry stopped kicking.

She patted his shoulder with grave care, like she understood he was smaller and breakable.

Then she turned to Nancy.

Nancy stared back at her.

For a moment, the two girls simply looked at each other.

Ren touched Nancy's hand.

Nancy's tiny fingers closed around one of Ren's fingers.

Edythe's face shifted.

"What?" Jacob asked immediately.

Edward answered, voice quiet. "Ren is showing her warmth."

"Can Nancy understand that?" I asked.

Carlisle's pen hovered over the page.

Nancy made a soft sound and did not let go.

"No idea," Edward said. "I can't hear Nancy any more than I can hear Thomas."

"That is not comforting."

"No," Carlisle said, already writing. "But it is fascinating."

Leah pointed at him without looking away from the blanket. "Do not database my daughter's first cousin bonding moment."

"I am documenting developmental interaction."

"That made it worse."

Alice took another picture.

No one stopped her.

Maybe because, for one second, everyone was too busy watching the impossible children on the floor.

Ren with Bella's eyes.

Harry with my hair and Leah's temper.

Nancy with my mother's name, Sue's water, and apparently a newborn hunger for blood that did not belong to any ordinary baby.

Three miracles on a blanket.

Three problems no one knew how to solve.

Charlie stared at them for a long time.

Then his eyes narrowed.

I watched the exact moment he remembered Renee existed.

"No," he said.

Bella blinked. "Dad?"

Charlie pointed at her. "No."

"What?"

"You are responsible for telling Renee. I am not touching that."

For half a second, no one spoke.

Then Leah made a sound that might have been a laugh if she had not been too tired to commit.

Bella stared at him. "What am I supposed to tell her?"

Charlie looked at Ren.

Then at Harry and Nancy.

Then at Jacob, who was still standing too close to Bella's daughter.

Then at Sue.

"Something less insane than the truth," he said. "You're creative."

Sue covered her mouth with one hand.

Emmett lost the fight completely and laughed.

The sound broke something loose in the room. Alice laughed next. Then Seth. Then Esme, soft and bright. Even Rosalie smiled.

Bella looked helplessly at Edward.

Edward's smile was small but real. "He has a point."

Charlie nodded once. "Thank you."

Ren laughed because everyone else was laughing.

Harry startled and began to cry.

Nancy squeezed Ren's finger harder.

Edythe bent down immediately, but Leah caught her wrist.

"Wait," Leah said.

Edythe looked at her.

Leah's eyes stayed on Harry. "He's okay."

Harry cried for three more seconds, offended and loud.

Then he stopped on his own.

The room held its breath.

He kicked.

Nancy kept holding Ren's finger.

Ren smiled.

Leah let go of Edythe's wrist.

"See?" she said, softer now. "He is okay."

Edythe did not answer.

But she sat down beside me on the floor instead of picking either baby up.

That was answer enough.

Charlie watched all of it with the pale, stubborn expression of a man choosing, moment by moment, not to run.

Sue handed him a cup of coffee.

I had no idea where she had gotten it.

"Need-to-know basis," she reminded him.

Charlie took the cup and looked at the three children on the blanket.

"Right," he said. "And what do I need to know?"

Sue sat beside him on the arm of the couch. "Bella is alive. Different, but alive. Ren is her daughter. Leah's twins are healthy. Some of my tribe turn into wolves. Don't ask about ages unless you want a headache."

Charlie stared at her.

"That's the short version?"

"That's the kind version."

Charlie looked back at the blanket.

Ren turned toward him and smiled with Bella's eyes.

His grip tightened around the coffee cup.

"Okay," he said after a moment. "Grandpa I can do."

Bella's face changed.

Charlie pointed at her before she could speak.

"But Renee is still your problem."

For the first time in days, the whole room laughed without fear underneath it.

And on the blanket, surrounded by too many hands and too many eyes and too much love, the children kept growing.