Disclaimer: Everything Twilight belongs to Madame Meyer. But this plot? All mine!
You guys are the absolute best! I was so thrilled to hear from so many of you after such a long absence. I promise we'll see the end of this story by this Christmas, likely sooner, but I just wanted to thank you again for sticking with our Carlsme.
And the beat goes on…
Chapter 9: It's Go Time
Carlisle's POV
"Wow." Edward sighs when I finish my story. "I did not expect that."
I smile sheepishly. "Believe me, brother. No one is more surprised than I."
"And now I understand."
"You do?"
"I do." He folds his hands, tapping his index fingers together. "I understand why you tread so lightly. The nature of her marriage is a worthy complication, but her husband's audacity and involvement with your friends' business…" He tsks sadly. "Yes, I believe I do understand."
"I am glad to hear you say that." And I am. But the relief of confession soon recedes, and
I rise from the bench in agitation.
"What is it?" he asks.
"Nothing." I laugh mirthlessly. "Nothing at all."
"I don't understand."
"It's quite clear, actually. Confiding in you, though a balm for my soul, has had no effect on the situation."
I stare out of the window, noting how the flurries have yielded to a serious storm. Though I wore loafers earlier, I would surely need my boots if I ventured out again.
Not that I could see the point in that.
"You are brooding again," Edward chides from the chair. "And we cannot have that."
I correct an errant fold in the drapery. "Esme has my heart, but she has another's last name."
"A man who does not deserve her. Morally he has forfeited the right to claim her."
"His morals are obviously lacking," I reply. "But hers are the ones in question."
"What do you mean?"
"For as unhappy and justified as Esme must be, she would never stoop to infidelity. How could I claim to love her while encouraging her to betray her husband?"
Edward's eyes soften, and I raise a brow in question.
"You'll have to forgive me," he says. "I get so happy hearing you admit you love her."
"For all the good it does us."
"You're brooding again."
"I can't help it! I cannot endure this, Edward, not for much longer. I try to be neutral and remain verbally chaste. I deny my feelings, suppress my urges, but the more I see her, the more I ache. And I know she…"
"What?" he asks when I fall silent. "What do you know?"
"Nothing, I…"
"No." Edward joins me at the window. "You will not get anywhere with Esme if you cannot at least admit to me that she loves you too."
"I don't want to put words in her mouth."
"Then don't focus on her words—look to her actions." He gives me a playful elbow in the side. "You're a doctor. You specialize in observing physical signs and behavior in order to arrive at a logical conclusion. Do the same with her."
"She is not a patient."
"But you are lovesick. And it is high time you start looking for a cure." He holds my gaze a moment then claps me on the shoulder. "I'm going to raid your pantry and cookbook collection and see what I can come up with."
"I thought we were going out tonight."
"We never were." He smiles from the doorway. "But you may do so still."
He whistles his way down the hall, leaving me with more questions than answers.
I do get paid to use external details to understand internal matters. And if my colleagues and reputation are to be believed, I am quite good at what I do.
But this is Esme. How could I apply such methods to her?
I shake my head and drag a hand down my face, believing my brother to be a romantic quack who has allowed marital bliss to cloud his normally impeccable judgment. I will not subject my memories of Esme to such scrutiny, even in the name of discerning her feelings.
But an idea once planted is not so easily dismissed. Without my express permission, my mind reviews my favorite Esme moments with a cataloging eye and notices some curious things.
Heartfelt smiles with fluttering lashes.
Lingering glances and longing sighs.
An arm brushing against mine when she sets my plate on the table.
Adding licorice tea to their daily rotation after I mentioned it was my favorite.
The more I think on it, the more I realize Edward is right.
Esme does care for me.
Despite her obligations and the very real obstacles between us, Esme cares for me.
The realization floods my soul with a tide of liquid warmth, and I close my eyes to savor it. But as a harsh wind rattles against the window, I am once again stymied by the greater truth.
Esme is still a wife.
Nothing anyone says or does can change that.
Closing the curtains, I stalk away from the window and land at my dresser where the wrapped package Kate gave me earlier sits. I'd intended to stick it under the Christmas tree along with the presents Bella shipped to Edward and me, but somehow it wound up in here.
Christmas is two days away, but I open the box, blaming my curiosity on Edward's influence. Inside is a silver skeleton pocket watch on a matching Figaro chain. Touched by her thoughtfulness, I take it out of the box to read the personalized inscription.
"Give yourself the life you would want for someone else."
I mull over the words, intrigued but not fully understanding, when my gaze lands on a folded piece of paper in the bottom of the box. Kate's handwriting is nearly illegible, but what I decipher nearly brings me to tears.
"I know you love her, and I know you're afraid. But if I were you and you were me, you would tell me to go for it. So here's me being you telling you to go for it. You deserve love, Carlisle. Allow yourself to have it."
I cover my mouth with a shaky hand as her words seep into my heart. I should have known she knows, for my so-called stealth is no match for her intuition. But never did I think she would do something like this.
To put so bluntly what I have so carefully tried not to say.
I fold the note and return it to the box with the watch and gratitude. Between Kate's admonition and the finer points of my conversation with Edward, I realize what I must do.
What I want to do.
I grab my wallet and keys from the dresser and head out of my room. Edward has an assortment of vegetables on my kitchen counter and looks up mid-chop. "Where are you going?"
I shrug on my coat. "To see about a cure."
A celebratory whoop follows me into the hall, and I smile all the way to my car.
—W.Y.F.—
The streets are nearly deserted as I venture out again, traffic moving at a crawl on account of the weather. According to the report, the snow will change over to ice before morning, and travelers are advised to head home and stay there.
And I will. Afterwards.
I pull into the diner's parking lot again, the precipitation preventing me from seeing inside. Shaking off the snow, I step inside, the tinkling bell announcing my arrival. A few patrons are scattered throughout the place, and I wait to be seated as the sign indicates.
"I'll be right there," she calls from below the counter. "I just need to…"
She looks up, our eyes meet, and for a split second, everything is right in the world.
Yes, Esme cares for me.
She blinks herself back to life, an adorable smile gracing her lips. "I just need to clean up this spill. Sit anywhere."
I bow, thoroughly charmed. "Thank you."
She runs her hands down her apron, and I take no small pleasure in how flustered she is. Noticing my stare, she looks away. "Is there anything else, Dr. Cullen?"
"Not that we can help him with." Rosalie emerges from the back of the restaurant, coat and gloves in hand. "But I hear they're making great strides in psychotropic drugs."
I choose the nearest empty booth and remove my overcoat. "You'd know."
Rosalie's mouth drops open. "Good one, Doc! I'll have to remember that." She turns to Esme. "And you need to close up."
"What?" Esme looks down at her hands. "But I haven't finished serving everyone yet."
"That may be so." Rosalie glances at me. "But with the storm getting worse, we're not taking any chances. Finish your last customer and send everyone else home. We're shutting down now. I'll help."
Rosalie walks around to each of the remaining customers, apprising them of the situation. Sweetening the deal with a free piece of pie to go, she sees to it that everyone leaves happy. She does not come to my table, however, and as the last of the kitchen staff files out, I realize something.
She knows I'm not here to eat.
"Dr. Cullen, your special order is in the fridge," Rosalie says. "You can grab it after you and Esme sort the rest of the details."
"Thank you." I meet her eyes. "Very much."
Her smile is wide and artless. "You are most welcome."
Emmett holds open the door for his staff. "Good night, guys. Be safe going home." Stomping on the indoor mat, he says, "Let's go, Mrs. McCarty. Time waits for no woman."
"But you aren't time." She puts on her gloves. "And you better wait for me."
"See what I put up with, Doc?" He shakes his head. "I might need treatment."
"You will need treatment if you don't stop talking crap." Rosalie hugs Esme, whispering in her ear. For once I can't hear what the meddling woman says, but Esme's eyes are shining when Rosalie releases her.
"Dr. Cullen, you'll make sure all is well when Esme leaves?" Emmett asks from the door.
I sense the hidden import in the question and answer with equal solemnity. "I will."
He nods once. "Good. Come on, woman."
"I'm coming, you Neanderthal." Rosalie jabs me in the shoulder as she passes. "Good night."
"Mrs. McCarty."
"And hey." She turns at the door. "Merry Christmas."
"And to you."
The door shuts with a muted jingle, and silence settles around me like a warm blanket.
At last, we are alone.
My gaze darts to Esme, and she is as immobile as I, her hands clasped in front of her. The moment I have prayed for, dreamed about for the past several months is here, and I'm too afraid to speak.
The absurdity amuses me such that I chuckle aloud. Esme looks at me, a small smile forming on her lips. She shakes her head and blows out a breath. "I need to balance the till."
"Is there…" My pitch is too high, and I clear my throat. "Is there anything I can do?"
Her cheeks flush as her gaze briefly surveys the floor. "How good are you with a broom?"
"I've been known to sweep a crumb or two on occasion."
She looks up with eyes alight. "Only on occasion."
"I seldom dine at home, and my office building has a staff for cleaning my messes." The admission makes me self-conscious, so I search for a distraction. "Is, uh…is the broom in that closet over there?"
"Yes." She smothers a smile as I cross the room. "Now be careful. It might be dirty. And we wouldn't want to sully your proverbial white coat."
"Pardon me, Ms. Know-It-All, but I paid my way through undergrad by working in a coal mine."
"That explains a lot." She walks behind the counter. "Would you mind if I turned on some music? It helps me concentrate while I count."
"By all means." I grab the broom. "You'll forgive me if I whistle along."
"Just make sure it's off-key."
She cuts on the radio, and the opening chords to "Baby, It's Cold Outside" cause our eyes to meet. I look away first, afraid of what truths I might reveal, and refuse to look at her again until the DJ heads toward safer ground.
Unfortunately, he follows up that song with Boyz II Men's "Let It Snow" then Eartha Kitt's rendition of "Santa, Baby." By the time Mariah starts telling us what she wants for Christmas, I am barely holding it together.
Esme must be feeling the same, for she clicks off Ms. Carey mid-lyric. "That's enough music," she says with a forced smile. "Are you almost done the floor?"
"And wiping the tables." I hold up my rag proudly. "Did I tell you I also worked at a car wash?"
"I'd assumed as much." She takes the till in the back, raising her voice to be heard. "Rodeo clown, coal miner, doctor. The only thing missing was car wash attendant."
"I also worked the fragrance counter at Strawbridge's."
"Naturally."
"And for a whole summer, I lifeguarded at the country club pool."
She reemerges from the back. "Now that I don't believe."
I hold up two fingers. "Scout's honor."
"You're desecrating our sacred symbol." She walks over to me, taking my fingers and making a minor adjustment. "There. Now it's perfect."
It does not escape my attention that this is the first time she has touched me without a food-induced excuse. Nor does the sensation of her soft hands on mine go unnoticed by my body as a subtle shudder ripples through me.
She gasps as we feel the tremor together, her eyes locking with mine. A million things occur to me at once, but my fear of ruining the moment inspires silence. With all excuses brought to nothing, I lay myself bare, opening my soul and giving her tacit license to explore it. The tick of the wall clock is the only sound in the room, save the frantic beating of my heart.
I know not what she sees, but when she blinks, her gaze drops to my lips. I lick them on instinct, and the motion snaps her out of her trance. She releases my hands with fear-widened eyes and clasps hers behind her back. "I need to punch out," she mumbles, fleeing from the dining room.
The door swings shut behind her, and I release the breath I don't realize I've been holding. Before tonight, I would have dismissed her reaction and slipped out the front door, citing some hospital emergency. Or I would have followed her in the back ten minutes from now, made a joke, and pretended the whole thing never happened.
But not tonight.
Tonight I take a deep breath and proceed toward the swinging door. My steps are purposed, my intentions sure, and as I beeline for the lounge, a beguiling sense of calm floods my heart. Whatever the outcome, whatever she says, I know I am doing the right thing.
The only thing.
I find Esme roaming the room, muttering to herself. When she hears me enter, she shakes her head. "Carlisle, please forgive me. I had no right…"
"Esme…"
"No, Carlisle. I…"
"Esme." I meet here in the middle of the room, closing my hands over her trembling ones. "Stop."
She looks down, fighting tears. "I'm sorry, Carlisle."
"You are many things, dear one. But sorry should never be one of them."
She looks up, eyes clearing as she tries to smile. "You always know what to say."
I sigh heavily. "I hope you still feel that way in a moment."
"What do you mean?"
Her gaze is gentle and open, and I find myself flailing. "This is…I mean, I want to…Okay. Esme, there's something I want to say, something I need to say that can no longer…"
"Don't."
Everything within me shuts down. "What?"
"I know what you're going to say." She looks away, and I force myself to remain upright. "But you can't say it now. Because if you say it now, then I'll want to say it back, and I promised myself I wouldn't do that until I could belong to you."
My eyes widen. "You want to belong to me?"
"Carlisle, I long to belong to you."
I close my eyes, feeling unsteady and grounded at all once as my grip on her hands tightens. "Oh, my darling."
"That I am." Her cheeks flush, and I see the glory of God. "And I plan to be so officially, very soon."
At my curious expression, she says, "That's why I wanted you to come tonight. I needed to get you alone so I could tell you in person."
"Tell me what?"
She swallows hard, a spark of determination in her eyes. "I'm leaving Charles tonight. For good."
Sooooo…what do you think?
