"It's harder than it should be ---- keeping track of you. Usually I can find someone very easily, once I've heard their mind before." He looked at me anxiously, and I realized I had frozen. I made myself swallow, then stabbed another ravioli and tossed it in.
     "I was keeping tabs on Jessica, not carefully ----- like I said, only you could find trouble in Port Angele ---- and at first I didn't notice when you took off on your own. Then, when I realized that you weren't with her anymore, I went looking for you at the bookstore I saw in her head. I could tell that you hadn't gone in, and that you'd gone south. . . and i knew you would have to turn around soon. So i was just waiting for you, randomly searching though the thoughts of people on the street ---- to see if anyone had noticed you so I would know where you were. I had no reason to be worried. . . but I was strangely anxious. . ." He was lost in thought, staring past me, seeing things I couldn't imagine.
     "I started to drive in circles, still. . . listening. The sun was finally setting, and I was about to get out and follow you on foot. And then----" He stopped, clenching his teeth together in sudden fury. He made an effort to calm himself.
     "Then what?" I whispered. He continued to stare over my head.
     "I heard what they were thinking," he growled, his upper lip curling slightly back over his teeth. "I saw your face in his mind." He suddenly leaned forward, one elbow appearing on the table, his hand covering his eyes. The movement was so swift it startled me.
     "It was very. . . hard ---- you can't imagine how hard ---- for me to simply take you away, and leave them. . . alive." His voice was muffled by his arm. "I could have let you go with Jessica and Angela, but I was afraid if you left me alone, I would go looking for them," he admitted in a whisper.
     I sat quietly, dazed, my thoughts incoherent. My hands were folded in my lap, and I was leaning weakly against the back of the seat. He still had his face in his hand, and he was still as if he'd been carved from the stone his skin resembled.
     Finally he looked up, his eyes seeking mine, full of his own questions.
     "Are you ready to go home?" he asked.
     "I'm ready to leave," I qualified, overly grateful that we had the hour-long ride home together. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to him.