AN: First I want to thank everyone who has patiently waited for me to update this story. This summer was a lot more hectic than I ever bargained for. Rest assured I am not abandoning this story; I love Carlisle and Esme too much to do that.
Secondly, sometimes the characters just take over. I think I started and restarted this chapter about three times. I even lost an early draft entirely (only two pages) in a major computer crash at work. Regardless, I think it's a good thing because the final result, in my opinion, is much better than where I originally intended to go.
Last, I have to once again thank my wonderful betas Alphie and Mila.
Now on to chapter three with a bit of a homage paid to Stephenie Meyer's writing as well.
"She had been forced into prudence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older - the natural sequence of an unnatural beginning."
Jane Austen
I walked out of Genesee General and looked up at the orange sky. Twilight at last, I could finally go home. I had to go in during daytime hours every so often, and these last two weeks had been spent covering the shifts of a vacationing doctor. I had perfected the fine art of staying away from windows and direct light. Fortunately, in early 1900's when the hospital was built, the bright and airy look was not a popular one. The frigid Adirondack winters kept institutions from installing too many windows. The last thing they needed was the heat to leak out, and their money for the coal bill to leak right out with the heat. Now that it was 4:00, I could manage the trip to the parking area safely. I could avoid the sun while indoors, but the cars were in direct light for most of the day.
As I crossed to my car, I smiled to myself. Working days had an unexpected advantage. It gave me free nights to spend with Esme. We had really grown to know each other much deeper each evening over the last two weeks. Hours of uninterrupted conversations on the recently built porch swing had become our routine after Edward went off to work.
Once Edward would leave for work, we would eventually find ourselves on the swing having a nightly catching-up party. There was so much about her life that I wanted to understand. Slowly she opened up to me about what had happened to her in the ten years since I had last known her. She didn't like to think about much of her past. Her parents had systematically destroyed her self-confidence and what little she retained was literally beaten out of her by the brute she had been coerced into marrying. I found myself remembering events long ago from my youth in England. Things weren't that different in my own house. My own father was just as pigheaded as her parents, zealots not being known for their tolerance. He had ruled my life with an iron hand and leather strop.
It wasn't all unpleasant memories, though. We'd sit and swing, and talk about classic art and architecture, which we discovered was a mutually shared passion. Esme wanted to hear all about Florence and Rome and the art I'd seen first hand of DaVinci and Michelangelo. We'd talk about music, we both loved an eclectic mix, but favored the melodies of Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, and Straus. Unlike her, however, I hadn't been subjected to a decade and a half of unwanted piano lessons. She'd actually tried to interest me in modern music, but I was hopeless there. Jazz didn't appeal.
No matter what we were discussing somehow Esme would always work the conversation around to what I was feeling. How was my work was going? Did I like what I was doing? Did I feel like I was making a difference? Could anything be done to make it better? Conversations with Edward, weren't really conversations. They were more like quips on a telegram. It was hard to have any discussion with someone who answered, "I know" to everything you said. It was different and really nice to have someone take an interest I my life again, and not know what my answers were ahead of time. I'd forgotten what that was like.
Esme was reawakening a keenness in me to spend some extra effort at work so I'd have something interesting to tell her about that night. Wistfully, I realized I had been shutting myself off from much of the world, and living a half-life. The last person to take such an interest in what I did was my fiancée, Elizabeth, and when she died I had stopped caring. I had thrown myself blindly into my father's work. With her subtle but probing questions, Esme made me see that after I was transformed the pattern continued. Blindly I threw myself into the role of the doctor, the role of saving others from death. In reality, I was the one who was dead to much of what went on around me. Only in the recent past had I let others like Edward and Esme into my life, and I was starting to see that I had barely let them in at all.
I realized that I hadn't to do more for Edward. I knew I loved him as a son, but I had trouble showing it. I wanted a deeper relationship with him. Plus, I wanted him and Esme to get along so badly and to make the connection that she and I were now sharing. Unfortunately, I was somewhat clueless on how to balance the role of authority figure, spiritual guide, and caring father given that my own father had been seriously lacking in those skills himself. The result was that I had a moody son who could be generous one moment and completely self-absorbed the next.
Edward could go from caring and sympathetic to sarcastic and snide at the drop of a hat. There were times when I thought he and Esme were finally managing to get along. I'd find them talking about the latest in music: Gershwin and Cole Potter, Cole Peter…somebody. They seemed to have found a mutual appreciation there. One of them was always humming some tune or another. However, it never lasted. The next moment, Edward would be grumbling at the gramophone about how there was no decent music in the house. And for some inexplicable reason this seemed to be my fault, even though he was perfectly capable of purchasing the music of his choice with his salary.
Additionally, puzzling things happened over literature. Esme and Edward were both great readers with similar tastes. Esme had hooked Edward on a new author, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and his debut novel This Side of Paradise. Edward seemed to really relate to Fitzgerald. Esme told me they had similar childhood backgrounds. This shared interest was lovely, until I found them arguing over who lost Fitzgerald's follow-up novel, entitled The Beautiful and the Damned. Oh, the irony! Neither would admit to the soggy, ink smeared copy I found outside by the porch steps.
Yesterday, I was thrilled when I'd come home to find them actually having a civil debate about Shakespeare's heroines. Edward was partial to Juliet and Ophelia. Esme just laughed and said they were a bit too high-strung for her. She preferred Viola from Twelfth Night or Isabella from Measure for Measure. I even joined in on the conversation siding with Edward, and laughing that Esme considered those two not high-strung. Edward went off to work with a polite, "Let's agree to disagree." Esme and I spent the rest of that night on the porch swing in lively discussion. Esme finally won me over, proving to me that they weren't high-strung at all, rather "human, and capable of more than they believed when challenged". I hated to leave her and go into work, but I had to end the conversation to get in before sunup.
As I pretended to be too irritated to eat, I discussed my perplexing situation of dealing with "my brother" and "my wife" with one of my colleges, Dr. Jack Norton. He had six children of his own; surely he could offer some insight. Sadly, all he managed to tell me was that, "young men don't come with predicable behavior patterns, if they did, half of literature as we know it wouldn't exist."
As I headed to my car, I found myself stopped by Dr. Norton, who was also leaving for the day.
"Carlisle, I've been giving some thought to your family situation."
"Well, if you have a suggestion, Jack, I'm all ears, believe me."
"I know that you and Edward each want to make a good impression at work, and that you've both been working long hours. Now, don't get me wrong, it's commendable that two young men like yourselves understand that being new to a community means you have to make a good impression. I'm sure you've done your best to be a father figure to your brother since your parents passed on; however, all work and no play is, to use a cliché, making Carlisle and Edward dull and cranky boys. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I bet this has forced your wife into the position of referee."
I nodded my head. Jack certainly did seem to have valid points, even if our family connections weren't what he said. I wasn't trying to be just a father figure to Edward, but an actual father. Esme and I were…well, we were…getting along...regardless, the question was how to solve this.
"Additionally, Carlisle, after thirty years of marriage, my wife is accustomed to putting up with my long and unpredictable hours. She's found all sorts of things to do to busy herself during the days when I'm not around. Your wife is different, Carlisle. I know you told me she likes music and to read, but even if she has mastered Braille as well as you say she has, there has to be a fair amount of boredom she faces being alone at home all day. You need to get her and Edward out of the house so they aren't getting on each other's last raw nerve. The Pittsford Orchestral Society gives free concerts by the lake each Friday evening. Why don't you pack a picnic and attend the one tonight?"
I thanked Jack for his advice, and then winced as I got in my car. Jack had referenced one of the many lies I had been forced to tell to cover our existence. When we had first come to Pittsford, I had insisted that Esme wear a pair of dark glasses and pose as blind. It was the easiest way to conceal her newborn, blood-red eyes. I realized I had given everyone the impression that I left my disabled wife at home with little to do as my brother and I worked to support the family. I didn't like lying, but it was a necessary part of survival.
As I drove home, I thought about what Jack had said. Even though he didn't have all the facts, there was some truth to what he said. Esme busied herself during the days in a number of ways: washed and mended our clothes, cleaned the house, organized the furnishings, and suggested new ones, like the porch swing. While she did entertain herself with reading, music, and sketching, she certainly was cooped up on our property by herself. Edward and I, on the other hand, were at least were able to get into town for a little variety every day.
So far, Esme had shown no signs of being the wildly thirsty, young vampire that Edward had been. She was always, even when involved in a row with Edward, in seemingly perfect control. Perhaps an outing was in order. I was still debating the idea in my head when I pulled up the long drive to our remote house. I gritted my teeth, got out of the car, and gingerly the door. Yet another disagreement was in full force.
Nothing prepared me for what I saw. Before Esme had come to stay with us, I admit Edward and I had been a bit careless with our belongings. Clutter tended to amass at alarming rates. Esme uncomplainingly tended to pick up after us. There were no longer dirty socks, test tubes, opera records, and the ilk strewn about. Everything now was reasonably in place, or at least the clutter was limited to the dining room table and beds because we didn't use those for anything. Today was a different matter. The house currently looked like it had been hit by the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, and with all the stomping around going on it felt like it too.
"Things just don't disappear, Esme!" roared Edward, his voice emanating from the dining room.
"It has-s-s to, be here," Esme stuttered. The rest of her reply was drowned out as Edward swore.
A pile of linens came flying in to the hallway and landed at my feet.
"I…I never claimed they did," Esme sounded frantic.
I entered the dining room to witness Edward yanking drawer after drawer out of a hutch, tossing their contents aside. He dropped to his knees among the newly flung debris. He was searching for God knows what like a man possessed.
Both Esme and Edward were oblivious to the fact that I was standing in the archway slack jawed. Before I could say anything Esme had sunk to her knees beside Edward.
"Here, slow…slow down," she tried in vein to stop the made whirlwind of destruction. As soon as she picked something up Edward ripped it out of her hands, "Edward, let me help you-"
"I don't want your help! You've done more than enough!" a fistful of unused spoons that came with the house flew across the room imbedding themselves in the opposite wall like shrapnel.
The only reason I hadn't stepped in was that I was as shocked as Esme. In all my time with Edward I had never seen a tantrum of this proportion. Perhaps, now, in retrospect, it wasn't shock, but was divine plan. Sometimes our best teachers are ourselves and our own actions. We have to let those actions transpire, or better said, God stops others from interfering so those actions can transpire.
Edward grabbed for Esme's sketchpad and box of pencils. Esme struggled to hold onto them as Edward ripped them from her hands tearing the papers. Pencils clattered to the floor as they and the book landed out of Esme's reach. The wounded cry that leapt from Esme's lips at the loss of her art was nothing compared to what happened next.
"What on earth is going on here?" I inquired, incredulously looking at Edward since Esme's back was to me, "Edward, pick-".
"Carlisle, she lost-"
I never got a chance to reply. Edward knew exactly what was racing through my mind regarding his completely unacceptable behavior. In his frustration, Edward picked up the pencils by gathering them up in a clenched fist. From my angle, the motion was swift, but his intention was obvious; Edward only meant to hand the items back to Esme, albeit in a less than gentlemanly fashion.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Esme's scream was primal, deafening.
Her perspective was different. I didn't need Edward's gift to know what Esme thought. She was huddled into a tight ball, trembling. Her left hand protected her eyes and face, while her right was tentatively extended to ward off an incoming blow.
Chaos halted. All action froze. Silence. Complete horrified silence. Never mind being able to hear a pin drop, you could hear the grass growing outside.
They say that your children grow up in the blink of an eye. In that instant, I watched my son become a man. It was all there on his face to see: regret, shame, self-disgust, and how much thoughtlessness and insensitivity he had to make up for. More importantly, as I would soon find in the coming days, was the realization that he was capable of empathy, selflessness, and love.
It was Edward who spoke first, unfreezing that dreadfully perfect moment in time.
"Esme," he said softly, "I'm so sorry. I'd never, ever strike you. I know I have no right to ask this, but please, believe me." He turned to me, desperation in his eyes, "Carlisle, you know I would never-"
"It's all right, Edward," I bent down, put my arm around him and brought him to his feet, "I know you're not capable of anything as sinister as that. She knows it too; just give me a moment with her. Why don't you wait outside, I think we could all use a drive in a minute to clear our heads. Can you wait there for us?"
Edward nodded. Before he left the room I saw a look of blessed relief flood his face. He turned toward Esme who was still on the floor, but no longer hunched over in a defensive ball. Their eyes locked. Hesitantly he reached out his hands to her. She gently took them one at a time, and Edward lifted her to her feet. They stood there like that for a moment holding hands and gazing at each other, no words passing between them before Esme drew Edward to her for a forgiving hug.
"I think we both regret a lot of things, Edward," Esme began, "Neither of us has the power to undo the past, but let's just start over from here and have a fresh beginning, okay?" She pulled back from him and lovingly brushed his hair out of his downcast eyes. "Wait outside, I'll be out there in a minute and we'll talk some more later."
Edward smiled feebly and left the room pausing once to look over his shoulder at us before continuing out the door. Esme grasped my hand as we both looked after him. Somehow it was as if we both knew he'd be okay. We didn't need to say anything there was just a wordless communication between us.
"Are you truly all right?" I inquired. I exhaled slowly; I had forgotten to breathe. Strange sensations I hadn't experienced in years were happening. There was a knot in my stomach, and if my heart could beat I knew it would be pounding in my chest. Now that the crisis was over, I wanted to pull her into my arms and reassure her. I wanted to protect her, and never have her think for a minute I'd ever treat her with anything other than kindness, and respect.
She smiled warmly at me, "I'll be okay. I know Edward would never hurt me. It's just that sometimes things remind me and old habits die hard."
"Esme, I'm sorry-" Before I could continue, I was stopped by the most wonderful sensation in the world. Esme put her arms around me and buried her head against my chest. The entire world stopped. I could have stood there holding her forever.
"Carlisle, you have nothing to be sorry about," replied her gentle voice that was muffled against my chest. She pulled back and looked up at me. It was as if she could see right through me. "Not your fault. You can't be there to save everyone all the time. Anyway, Edward needs you. Go talk to him and I'll straighten up."
There was no way I was going to part from her then, and she certainly wasn't going to clean up the house by herself. "Well, I have a better idea. The house can wait. I think we could all use a bit of fresh air. Why don't we go to the lake? Jack Norton told me that there's a free concert up there every Friday. I have no idea if they are any good, but I think it would be worth the chance. What do you say? Would you like a trip out?"
"I don't know," Esme hesitated, "Do you think I'm really ready?"
"I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think so," I replied brightly.
"Give me five minutes to straighten my clothes and to find those dark glasses and I'll meet you and Edward at the car."
As Esme gracefully maneuvered around the debris, and I headed outside to talk to Edward, I realized several things:
First, I was undeservedly blessed to have such an angel in my life. Second, I was utterly, amazingly, and hopelessly in love with her. And third, I was terrified beyond belief that she didn't feel the same about me.
