Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise, I just use their creations to have my wicked way with them. No copyright infringement is intended.
Many thanks to Jadsmama and Ladysharkey1, my amazing beta team for this story. You ladies rock!
I updated the blog with some stuff for this chapter. You can find the link on my profile page.
9.
The brunch.
"Wake up, you lazy ass!" Esme grinned, enjoying her task a little too much as she yanked the curtains open, the watery sunlit morning light flooding her little brother's bedroom. "It's time to get up."
"Noooo." Edward groaned, trying to shield his eyes with the pillow as he rolled over in the bed, desperate to keep the light out for as long as he could.
"Yes." Esme, showing no mercy, snatched the pillow away, eliciting another groan from her brother - much to her delight, by the way.
That'll teach him for all those mornings when he woke me up after I'd just gotten home from a clandestine nightly escape, she thought, smiling smugly to herself. "Mass starts in little over an hour and if we want to make you look remotely presentable…well, you'll need a lot of work."
"Thanks," he grumbled, trying to pull his duvet over his head in absence of a pillow. "Wait…mass? Like in church?"
"Exactly like church," Esme snickered as she slowly watched understanding dawn on her brother's sleepy face.
What the fuck? "But I don't even go to church!" Edward sat up, noticing formal dress Esme was in. He didn't think he'd seen her like that since she'd left their parents' home years ago, the slate grey dress and simple, but elegant, updo making her look so much younger than her real age.
It was good to see her looking like that again, even though she was particularly cruel for waking him up at such an early time. Especially with a demand he didn't really feel like fulfilling. "Seriously, Esme!" he grumbled, trying to swat her hands away as she tried to rob him of his last hiding place. "I haven't been to church in years, nor have I ever felt like going."
"Then you'll probably have a lot of sins to confess," she quipped, meeting her brother's glare with a brow arched in quiet challenge. "Now, will you get up by yourself or do you want me to help?"
It was in that moment Edward realized he was fighting a losing battle, a deep sigh gushing from his mouth as he sat up and rubbed the back of his head. He knew that the more he resisted, the more she'd nag him until he would eventually give up. "I'll get up."
"Dress nicely," Esme ordered him as she started to make her retreat. "And no going back to sleep. I want you downstairs and looking neat in less than half an hour."
"Yes, ma'am," Edward grumbled, his eyes shooting daggers at the door even after Esme had pulled it shut behind her.
"Church," he groaned, resisting the strong call of his warm bed as he pushed himself up, wincing as his feet made contact with the cold floor. "What the hell am I going to do in church?"
His family, though Episcopalian in name, had never been very religious, only attending mass for weddings, funerals and other festive occasions. No, to his father money was the only God and one he religiously worshipped even at the sacrifice of his own family. Going to church was something he only did if it came with the prospect of upholding the image of the family as old American 'royalty' or if he knew 'the right kind of people' were there for him to schmooze with.
As for Edward, he had never been a very religious man either, choosing nature and science as his faith and attending church only when he had to; either because his father ordered it or because an occasion required it.
Still, whether it was Carmen's influence who, devout catholic as she was, had always tried to instill her charge with the biblical values of fairness and kindness, or his mother's Mayflower puritan heritage, he had never truly turned away from the church. Even though he didn't believe as the institute and its representatives might have wanted him to, he'd always found something very comforting in the thought that there was something or someone out there who looked out for him and his loved ones.
That was, until the day he lost Claire.
The day his little girl died in his arms, was the day Edward definitively and, as he had believed at the time, irrevocably turned his back on God and his church. For how could a god who claimed to be merciful and loving sacrifice a little girl who was nothing but love, purity and light. No, Edward concluded on the day they lowered his precious little girl into the cold, hard earth, a God worthy of His people's worship would not have let it come to that and he would be damned if he was ever going to waste his time worshipping someone who was either negligent, cruel or non-existent.
He hissed, the cold stone of the marble floor causing a sharp pain to shoot through his knee as he put his weight on his legs, his still half-sleeping body fumbling limply towards the bathroom for a much needed shower. Damn Esme and her religious guerilla!
Reluctant though he was, Edward still managed to present himself, clean shaven and sharply dressed, well within the timeframe Esme had stipulated, earning him a satisfied grin, a cup of freshly-brewed strong, black coffee and a tasty Danish to chew on as the rest of the family finished getting ready. The faces of the younger Cullens showing that they were about as eager to attend Sunday worship as he was. For once, he was exactly on the same page as they were.
"I still don't see why I have to go," Jasper grumbled, chewing on his pastry as if it were his last meal. "It's not like I'm shoving my opinions down your throats."
"Oh really?" Carlisle arched his brow as he peeked at him from behind his newspaper. "Because I remember having to sit through a very passionate monologue about 'class healthcare' not so long ago and did you hear me grumbling like a petulant toddler over that? Besides, it's only an hour of your life and one very well spent if you'd ask me."
Jasper grimaced, sensing his defeat as he slumped down in his chair. "All I'm saying is that if they want more people to come to mass on Sunday, they might consider pushing it back a few hours or so. Most people like to sleep late on Sunday morning."
"And it's not like you're so very religious, Dad!" Rosalie chimed in, her attention shifting between working a glass nail file over her fingernails - the sound of which almost driving Edward to violence - and pointedly ignoring her stepmother. "You're only going to appease the old biddies."
"I go because in my – our – family, attending Sunday mass has been a tradition for as long as anyone can remember," Carlisle answered, his voice stern as he hoped to cut short the discussion once and for all. "You might not see it the way I do right now, but when you're older you'll thank me for insisting on your attendance."
"But mom-" Rosalie persevered.
"You don't live under Caroline's roof any longer," Carlisle cut in, "and as long as you'll live under mine, you will abide by my rules."
"This is so not fair," Rosalie huffed, glaring over her tea.
"Oh, shut up," Jasper growled. "Five minutes in, you'll get lost in ogling Royce and forget all about the fact that you have to attend the weekly brainwashing scheme of an institution that hasn't done nothing but kill creativity and originality in all its forms and abuse the innocent."
"Like you're so fucking holy, Jazz!" Rosalie was quick to bite back, pointing her vile in his direction.
"ENOUGH!" They both startled as Carlisle's fist connected with the table top, the dull thud making the cups and plates shake on its surface. "Every week it's the same damn tune all over again and just like every week, the outcome will not change no matter how much you two whine and mope. You will attend mass and that's final."
All opposition was cut short with that and, though tense, the rest of the time before they all piled into Carlisle's Mercedes was passed in blissful silence; the adults eating their breakfast as the kids quietly moped above theirs.
The drive to St. Anne's Catholic Church was brief and virtually the same as the one Edward took to work, since Forks' catholic place of worship was located only two blocks away from Forks General Hospital.
"I know it doesn't look like much if you compare it to Grace Church back in Chicago," Esme whispered, stealing a minute of hushed conversation with her brother as they walked up to the rather small, wooden building, "but our priest knows what he's doing and his sermons always have something that makes me think about something I never stopped to wonder about. Don't resist it merely for the sake of resistance."
Edward chuckled, squeezing the arm that was linked through his. "You mean like the kids?"
"They're just being normal teenagers, I guess." Esme rolled her eyes, grinning as they followed the rest of the family. "Carlisle told me he wasn't so very different from them when he was their age."
"Then why not let them choose?" It struck him as odd that Carlisle would push something down his kids' throat when he himself had been in their position once.
"Carlisle values tradition above everything else." Esme shrugged, sighing as her eyes followed her husband. "The Cullens are Irish Catholics and over the years they have suffered oppression, persecution and even banishment to earn their freedom. He told me once that his family came to America fleeing the noose after his great-great grandfather and his son were caught aiding and abetting the resistance. I think…" She sighed again, taking a few moments to organize her thoughts. "Whenever Carlisle attends mass he sees their sacrifice and all the lives lost because of what they stood for."
"So he's honoring them by honoring God?" Edward mused, the idea not as strange to him as perhaps it should be. If fact, it sounded rather noble.
Esme nodded. "That's what I'm thinking. He says one day Jasper and Rosalie will understand his way of seeing it and will be grateful that he tried to connect them to their heritage. Just like his dad did with him."
"At least he managed to turn you into a believer," Edward joked, nudging his sister as they lingered outside the church.
"I don't think I'll ever be a true believer," Esme answered seriously, "but I have found that there's something very refreshing about having an hour each week to contemplate your own life and that of others. And I guess having a keen interest in art doesn't hurt either."
He nodded, knowing what she meant. As his sister traveled the globe she'd always send him postcards of the magnificent buildings and works of art she'd encountered on her way. More often than not those things had been connected in one way to another to the Christian faith. History and art were so closely connected to religion that there was almost no escaping it when you took an interest in them. "Let's just go in."
"That's the spirit!" Esme grinned, tugging him along after her as they finally made their way into the church, the neat rows of benches already filling up with people, some of which he knew, most of them completely unfamiliar.
They took their seats next to Carlisle and the kids in a pew midway down the aisle, Edward picking up a psalm book to get some idea of what was in store for him. In theory he knew that he was worshipping the same God as he had been back in Chicago; the differences between the Episcopal and Catholic churches being significant, but not as big as they could have been. In real terms, though, he was feeling like a fish out of water. And it wasn't just because of the differences in the religion he was brought up in and the one he found himself in the middle of at that moment.
No. As a small trickle of panicked sweat started to travel down his spine, he knew that the turmoil that welled inside of him had nothing to do with the religion itself as with the fact that he hadn't seen the inside of a church since that day they buried his daughter. And being back brought up all sorts of memories he'd much rather suppress. The tiny white coffin, covered in flowers as it rested close to the alter - the faces of their closest friends as they carried it outside. Tanya's heartbroken cries as they lowered her into the earth and the feeling of having to walk away, of leaving his behind forever…
It was a parents' worst nightmare, but for him, it had become a nightmare he'd had to live with every day of his life - the reality that she was dead because of him.
The constant opening and closing of the door to let people in was heard less and less as the start of service drew closer but, right before the choir broke into its first hymn and the priest could make his entrance, the door opened open more time to let in the last of the worshippers. Edward turned, his eyes widening as he turned around to spot the Harrisons. James leaning heavily on Isabella's arm as they strode in and took their seat in the nearest empty pew, their eyes firmly fixed to the front of the church as the rest of the congregation gawped at them.
"Great! The freaks have arrived," Rosalie mumbled, her eyes narrowing as they followed Edward's. "Just look at what she's wearing. It's so disrespectful, like, she's trying to mock us all."
Try as he might, Edward could find nothing disrespectful about the way Isabella was dressed. Her dress might have been one of the types that clung to every curve but unfortunately - though Edward cursed himself for even thinking about it - the cardigan she was wearing over it hid anything that might have been sensual or enticing from view.
There was something very erotic, though, about the way she was dressed. The simple modesty of her dress and cardigan, the otherworldly feel of the whole look and the demureness of the wrist length white gloves and crisp white hat that obscured her eyes and hair sending his thoughts into directions that were completely inappropriate for church, even though they were a form of worship.
As soon as service started, though, Edward's mind was drawn to the front of the church where the catholic ritual had commenced. It was strange but the minute the choir broke into its first hymn, a sense of peace washed over him that he hadn't known in a long time. He had expected panic and the onslaught of many more memories he'd tried so hard to suppress but instead, it was like the rest of the world – his troubles, guilt and all those little things that kept on swimming through his mind – just fell away, leaving his mind quiet and fixed on contemplations. The priest spoke of ancient tales he might have heard before but barely remembered and the lessons that could be learned from them for those who lived in the present world.
Slowly, the tension and anxiety at having to be in a church again with his memories of the last time he sat there still so fresh in his mind, started to slide away, his shoulders dropping and his brows relaxing back into their natural calm state as he let the serenity of the catholic mass wash over him.
It was pleasant, cleansing in what may not have been a traditional way but a way in which Edward could suddenly see the appeal of religion, where he had otherwise seen only the negatives. In fact, as service ended, he had to admit that he wasn't at all reluctant to go back the next week.
That was, until the opening notes of the final hymn send a chill to his bone, his whole body going rigid as he recognized the song they'd played, that black day, when his daughter's casket was carried out of the church on its way to its final resting place, burying his heart with it.
Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee…
Esme, recognizing her brother's stiff posture immediately, sought his hand with hers, the warmth and slight squeeze slowly distracting him from the disastrous path his mind had wandered onto.
….Darkness be over me, my rest a stone….
"Are you okay?" she whispered, the pressure on her hand increasing when, instead of a reply all she got was a labored intake of breath as Edward tried to swallow around the big lump which had formed in his throat, a small trickle of cold sweat dripping from his temple. "Edward, look at me. Are you okay?"
…..There let the way appear steps unto heav'n….
The wild look in his eyes when finally his head moved slowly to the side, didn't do anything to alleviate her worries but at least she got a reaction out of him. "Do you need to leave?"
…. So by my woes to be nearer, my God, to Thee….
Again, Edward forced his throat to swallow, his tongue wetting his dried lips before he finally spoke. "N-no, I'll…I'll be alright, I think."
Esme nodded, not at all reassured but more than eager to believe her brother's statement. "I'm here for you, you know that right?"
"I know." Edward nodded, trying to block out the song, as best as he could, as he attempted to regain command over himself. It was fortunate, for him, the song didn't last very long, the ringing of the bells drowning out the final stanza as the congregation broke up again, on their way to enjoy the rest of their day.
Carlisle's brows furrowed as he got up but apart from a nod and a slight smile, he didn't say or do anything, giving Edward the space the younger man needed to get his mind back to operating normally.
Edward nodded back, his hands clasped in his lap as he sat there, taking deep breaths as he tried to fight off the anxiety attack that still bubbled underneath the surface.
"Oh, great!" Rosalie muttered as she watched her father cross the distance to the Harrisons. "Just what I need!" She huffed theatrically, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she tried to stalk out of the pew, though the magnitude of her dramatic gesture was severely encumbered by the fact that the old-fashioned seats didn't exactly allow for much stalking to be done. "Well, if dad expects me to talk to that little freak he has another thing coming. It's one thing he drags me off to church but another if he expects me to mingle with the village idiots."
Even in his state of turmoil, Edward felt a spark of outrage hearing her talk about Isabella like that but, seeing as he had trouble even breathing in enough oxygen to keep himself going, strangling his disgusting step-niece wasn't an option at the moment.
"Aren't you already?" Jasper merely shook his head, his smirk hidden behind his long, greasy locks, though his voice was dripping with sarcasm as he followed his sister into the aisle. "I think even your average monkey has a higher IQ than Royce."
"Fuck you, Jasper!" she seethed, her brother narrowly escaping the elbow meant for his ribcage.
"No, thanks, that would be illegal, not to mention, completely gross," Jasper deadpanned, ducking out of range as his sister launched another attack on his body. "And violence in church, Rose? I'm so disappointed in you. What would God say if he saw you like this?"
"Probably that I'm the only sane person in this whole town full of nutcases," Rosalie growled, pushing her brother out of the way. "Now step aside… I see Royce."
"Yeah," Jasper muttered under his breath, scowling as he watched his sister walk towards her boyfriend with a little more sway to her hips than would have been appropriate in church. "God forbid you should lose a single moment mooning over that useless prick!"
Jasper!" Esme hissed, catching her stepson's final statement as she walked back from the conversation she'd been having with a few other women. "Mind your language! We're in church for heaven's sake!"
"Sorry, Esme," Jasper muttered, smiling as he linked his arm through hers as they walked away, finally leaving Edward with the peace and quiet he needed to get up and go back to normal. Or something like it.
At least if Jasper and Rosalie's little spat had done something, it was distract him long enough to somewhat calm his body; the urge to run or throw up - or throw up while running - already a little less than it was before as he kept taking deep breaths to stave off the attack, just like his shrink had taught him.
God, I need a fix right now. There was no stopping the sound of his subconscious as it made a demand he at one time in his life, wouldn't have even thought twice about meeting; the urge to just pop a pill and have the pain and everything else slowly fade to the background so overwhelmingly strong it made his body tremble like it had done during rehab.
But that was just it. Edward cringed, remembering how, in reality, he still was in detox, even though the physical signs had long disappeared. His mind still wanted what had once been a very viable option. Numbness.
However, with the shock of his subconscious' demand, also came a strong determination to never again fall into the trap of dependency and addiction. He'd gone there not so long ago and almost lost the one thing that made his life worth living: his career. He wasn't going to ruin it now, after all the hard work he'd put into making things right again.
And so he pushed the past back into the hidden corner of his mind, determined to keep it locked away for as long as he possibly could while he went back to what he should have been doing all along: living.
"Edward." Carlisle looked relieved when Edward finally joined him, a small pat on the shoulder communicating his compassion for the younger man's struggles. "Mr. Harrison was just telling me how pleased he was to see you in church this morning."
"It is not often, these days, that we get to welcome a new face in our midst," James nodded, his pleasure apparent in the look he gave Edward as he shook his hand, the skin and bone of the old man so frail against his own that Edward was almost frightened he was going to break or just dissolve upon impact. "It's always good to see the young upholding the values that made this country great." He smiled, benevolently patting the gloved hand that lay over his arm. "It is why I insist that Isabella accompanies me to church."
The forced smile the woman in question made Edward suspect that, had it not been for her uncle's insistence, she would probably still be in bed. Just like him.
"It's always my pleasure to join you, uncle," Isabella smiled back. "As I never stop telling you."
The tone of her voice, however, spoke volumes, contradicting her sweet words in a way that had Edward laboring to keep his smirk off his face as he played along. "So you see, Mr. Harrison, not all of us youngsters are godless rakes."
"True. But I fear the two of you are a dying breed!" James' laughter made some of the other people hovering near the door look up in surprise, his frail frame leaning so heavily on Isabella's arm that Edward sprang forward to assist, knowing a petite girl like Isabella couldn't hold the weight of a grown man, even an illness stricken one like James, for very long without toppling over.
Isabella's reaction was imminent, her eyes glaring as if he'd kicked the old man instead of helping him to remain on his feet. "I can manage," she hissed, barely keeping her voice civil as she maneuvered the old man out of the reach of Edward's helping hands.
"My sweet Isabella is very protective of me," James chuckled, obviously pleased with his niece's possessive reaction as he smiled at her. "Though I fear it sometimes makes her a bit more catty than is suitable for a lady." For a moment the old man's eyes chilled as he continued to look at his young companion, Isabella visibly balking under his displeasure as her mentor's silent threat hit home.
"I never meant to step on anyone's toes," she spoke, her voice faltering slightly and her eyes shifting nervously from James to Edward. "I'm very sorry if I caused offense."
For a moment Edward was sorely tempted to let her squirm a little longer but then all of Carmen's painstaking lessons at gentlemanly behavior kicked in. "It's nothing," he spoke, shaking it all off like a minor issue. "I'm not the least bit offended." His glare, however, told her otherwise.
Carlisle cringed, knowing an uncomfortable and possibly volatile situation when he saw one and deciding to step in before things could spiral out of control. "Well, I think youngsters today could make an example out of the two of you for knowing the right way to spend your Sunday morning," he spoke, trying to move the conversation back into safer waters.
"Aye!" James smiled, eager to prick through whatever tension might be at play between the young doctor and his ward. "What is a little time lost when your eternal soul is at stake?"
"My sentiments exactly!" Carlisle beamed back. "It's such a shame my kids don't seem to share that opinion, though. And speaking of kids…" He let his voice trail off as he stared into the distance, noting the rest of the family standing by the car, looking more impatient by the second. "I fear we must leave you. My daughter is not one for waiting, I'm afraid, and I think we've tested her patience for long enough."
"Fair Rosalie," James hummed, his eyes all approval as he let them linger on Carlisle's daughter a little too long for comfort. "Yes, you cannot keep her waiting, not for all the pleasant conversation in the world but perhaps young Edward can be spared to join us for brunch?"
Edward felt conflicted as all eyes were suddenly on him; two pairs looking expectantly, one defiantly hostile. Part of him cringed at the prospect of having to spend another minute in Isabella Harrison's company, let alone for the duration of Sunday brunch. The other part, however, knew taking this invitation would put him a shoe in for winning his patients' trust.
"I..er…I'd love to but I don't know about getting back home," he stammered, desperately thinking of a way out which would leave both parts and all people involved, satisfied.
"Isabella will take you back in the car, won't you my dear?" James immediately answered.
"Of course." Isabella looked like she'd just swallowed a lemon, though she tried to hide her displeasure with a sweet and utterly fake smile.
"There." Carlisle looked as if Christmas had come early that year. "I'm sure Edward will be thrilled to come, won't you, Edward?" His words weren't so much a question as a challenge, something Edward was well aware of.
"Y-yes." Edward swallowed, feeling both the weights of expectation, opportunity and hostility press him down. "I'd be honored."
"There!" Carlisle smiled like the Cheshire Cat as he took a step backwards, towards his family. "All is arranged then."
"Follow us, my dear boy," James grinned as he took off, his pace easy to keep up with as he shuffled towards the beautifully maintained old-timer Edward had seen parked in the Harrison's driveway. "I know it's a bit unusual," the old man went on as they slowly got closer and closer to the car, "but with my legs not being as cooperative as they used to be, there's only one person I trust behind the wheel of my pride and joy."
Isabella smiled sweetly as she jiggled the car keys, making sure Edward knew who that person was. "Shall we go?"
"Of course," her uncle beamed back, his body stiff and awkward as he scrambled into the passenger seat with Isabella standing by, her body poised to take over the minute the old man's strength would falter.
They were a well-oiled machine together, Edward thought, watching how Isabella made sure to keep her distance while she watched him like a hawk. All in the business of making the old man believe he still had the power to do everything himself.
"Are you coming?" He looked up to see Isabella glaring at him with renewed distaste, the passenger door firmly shut as the man responsible for all the tension in the air sat and waited for them to join him. "We don't have all day."
At her demand he closed the distance remaining between him and the rear door but before he opened it, he looked up one more time, catching her gaze and holding it as he spoke determinedly. "What is it about me that pisses you off so much?"
She shrugged, her eyes flittering as they looked anywhere but at him. "I don't know."
"Carlisle wants me to step in as your uncle's primary physician," he went on, trying not to feel too pissed off about her meaningless reply, "which means that you and I will be spending some time together whether we want to or not."
She snorted sarcastically, that glint of evil that had been so persistently present in all their dealings together making its reappearance again as she muttered, "I guess you're right about that."
"So would it kill you to at least try and be civil?" Edward finally asked. It wasn't like he held much hope for improvement of her behavior but at least he could try. "It would make this whole thing easier on both of us, I imagine."
He did manage to conjure a small but very genuine smile from her lips, her gloved hand curling around the door handle as she grinned at him. "I guess it wouldn't kill me," she answered lightly, "but that doesn't mean I particularly like it either."
It wasn't until he had slid onto the smooth, tan leather of the backseat and the rumble of the car pulled him out of his baffled state of mind, that he realized how different her voice had sounded on those last few words. Gone had been the almost regal, New England refinery she usually employed, leaving instead a distinctly blue collar choice of words he was sure her uncle would disapprove of and even a small hint of southern lilt to it.
It brought to mind Rosalie's words about Isabella not being who she claimed to be, though he guessed that with her being a cousin, she could have just been brought up somewhere far away from her uncle and all his uppity ways. It made him want to ask her - get to know her better - even though he knew she'd probably shoot him down as soon as his questions were out in the open.
It was only then that the pristine interior of the car brought back its classic, slightly familiar exterior. "Is this a-"
"Nineteen fifty-six Rolls Royce Silver Cloud? Yes, it is," James interrupted him, his voice proud as he ran his bony hand over the smooth and spotless upholstery. "My parents used to have one just like this when I was young. It took me years to track this one down and have it brought back to its former glory."
Edward nodded, adding the precious bit of information to what he already knew about the man. "I can see why you're so reluctant to allow anyone behind the wheel now."
"Indeed!" James nodded vehemently. "I believe only Isabella knows how to operate this car properly." He patted her hand over the gearshift like she was a child as Isabella deftly steered the car through the crowded parking lot. "But then again, she has had lots of practice with it."
James seemed to fall into his own thoughts from that moment, the roar of the engine and the movement of the tires beneath them lulling him into that state between sleeping and waking which was the only sort of rest his disease allowed him to have.
Isabella, always the first to think bad of him, shot him a stern look through the rearview mirror, silently warning Edward not to do anything to disturb the old man in his slumber.
Knowing the patient couldn't see his reaction, Edward merely rolled his eyes at her. As if he would ever do anything to harm his patient! He's a doctor and damned good at his job, too. No amount of drugs or suspension had made a change in that. If there's anyone who knows what a man like James Harrison needs, it's him, not that scrawny little hellcat sitting next to him.
The drive over to the Harrison's house in the woods passed in uncomfortable silence, the old man continuing to doze off as Isabella drove and Edward started to regret his decision more and more the closer they got to the mansion.
It wasn't until the engine was cut that James shocked back out of his almost trance-like state, his usual smile and complaisance immediately returning full force as he got out of the car and shuffled into the house, Isabella and Edward following at a respectable distance as he took his seat at the dining table while Isabella laid out an opulent brunch.
James chuckled as he watched Edward's eyes grow with every intricate dish the young woman placed on the table. "I know it seems a little much but I do appreciate upholding my family's tradition of a festive Sunday brunch, even though it's just the two of us nowadays." He waited for Edward to nod before he went on, his long fingers shaking slightly as they brushed a fold out of the tablecloth. "Besides, with a chef as skilled as my Isabella, it would be a shame to let her talents go to waste."
Isabella smiled, seemingly uncomfortable under her uncle's praise, as she folded her hands in prayer, waiting for her uncle to say grace before serving out a few of the dishes. A move that, once again, was meant to prevent her uncle's defects from becoming too apparent.
As they ate, most conversation came to a halt, other than the usual praise for the food; praise which Edward couldn't deny, was very well deserved. God, it's been a long time since he's tasted food like this. If ever at all.
"Tell me about life in Chicago." James' eyes became glassy as they stared past Edward into the forest, his shaky hands placing his cutlery down as he chewed on his final bite of vegetable terrine. "It seems like ages since I've been there."
"I don't think much has changed," Edward shrugged, not quite sure what the old man expected of him.
"No, I imagine it didn't," his patient replied with a small smile. "Still, sometimes I wish…"
"It wouldn't be good for you," Isabella spoke, her voice almost shockingly soft and tender.
"You are right, my dear, as you always are." James' smile turned slightly bitter as he continued to stare wistfully out of the window. "Besides, the people I know are better off remembering me as I was, not as I have become."
Edward could only sympathize. Over the days he'd done as much research on FFI as his job allowed him and one of the things he'd found during his quest for information about the disease was that patients stricken by it aged rapidly; their skin and body becoming gaunt, sallow and wrinkled as all of its resources were quickly used up. With no REM-sleep to restore what had been used during the day, the patient continued to overuse himself every single day until finally the body gave up. It was not a pretty sight for those who went through it, let alone those who stood by the sideline knowing there was nothing they could do about it.
"I imagine that with you being one of the illustrious Masen-clan, you will have experienced the ins and outs of all the cultural seasons I've missed," James spoke longingly. "Pray tell me, what is new at the Lyric these days?"
"I believe they are staging Die Zauberflöte at the moment." Edward frowned, trying to remember it right.
"Ah, yes." Lights danced in James' eyes as they got that faraway look again. "The Magic Flute. Splendid work, though I guess when you've seen La Damrau perform it live on stage, any other coloratura soprano pales in comparison."
Edward nodded, remembering the name of one of the most acclaimed performers of the role from his mother's passionate stories. "Though every generation has its own diva's, I suppose."
"You know of that performance?" His patient seemed surprised, his eyes finally drawn from the window to scrutinize the young man sitting across from him.
"I have heard of it," Edward answered truthfully. "My mother, who is an ardent opera-lover, caught her performance at the Met-"
"In 2007," James nodded enthusiastically. "One of the most profound moments I've ever experienced in theatre. I saw her twice that year. Once as Pamina, and the other as the Queen of the Night."
"My mother would probably share that opinion." Edward smiled, remembering the hours he and his mother used to spend discussing art and – most notably – music. "I believe I never disappointed her as much as the day I proclaimed my preference for other types of music."
"Blasphemy!" James gasped, his easy amusement earning Edward a strange look from Isabella. "Though I would have to admit that she did better than I could ever achieve since you at least share some of her good tastes. My children could never be bothered to even listen to a classical performance for long enough to let it sink in, let alone muster the patience to master an instrument." He smiled wryly, his eyes once again fixed on the tree line. "Do you play?"
"I used to, but I'm afraid that a career in medicine doesn't mesh well with musical proficiency." Edward sighed. "It has been a long time since I've played." He conveniently left out that it hadn't been so much his schedule as the fact that neither rehab nor his addiction to Vicodin had been very conductive to his musical abilities.
"Could you be persuaded upon to play a few tunes for us? It has been too long since I've been as fortunate as to listen to live music and I'm afraid that, even though some of the performances I have on record are sublime, no recorded music can ever come close to the real thing."
"Perhaps." Even though Edward didn't really feel like playing, there was no denying the glint of hope on the old man's face. "I am afraid poor Isabella might be very bored with our musical talk, though."
"Nonsense!" James waved Edward's objections away even before his niece could say something. From his almost annoyed gesture, Edward got the notion that the old man wasn't used to much opposition around the house. "I am sure Isabella would like it as well as I do and, even if she doesn't, she knows better than to complain."
Isabella blushed deeply under her uncle's pre-emptive rebuke, her fingers clasped so tightly even Edward could see her skin go white. "Of course I look forward to hearing Dr. Masen play, even though I do not share your knowledge of music."
"Well then," James already started to shift impatiently in the seat, "how about you start clearing the table so that we can get ready."
"I will help you." Edward was on his feet before anyone could say a word to dissuade him, his hands already grabbing the heaviest of the dishes as Isabella started to assemble the plates and cutlery to bring it into the kitchen.
"I'm sorry if I overstepped my boundaries," he apologized as the kitchen door closed behind them, "but I think your uncle might need a few minutes to himself to rest."
Isabella nodded as she turned on the tap and waited for the water to warm up. "I thank you," she muttered, her eyes trained to the sink as she rinsed the dirty plates. Her voice was so low, especially with the water running, that for a moment, Edward wasn't quite sure if he heard her correctly.
Edward's brows furrowed, shock and confusion battling for dominance in his mind as he stared at her. "What for?"
"It's been too long since I've seen him like this…so happy and relaxed." Her eyes flashed to his for a hint of a second, a small smile on her lips as she conveyed her thanks. In that moment he could see the woman behind the harsh exterior; a woman who cared deeply but with a fear and almost frenetic persistence it made him wonder what else was at play to have made her like that.
But then the moment was gone again, her eyes brusquely moving back to her task at hand, her shoulders squaring as he could almost tangibly feel the shutters come back up.
Her renewed distance made him feel an urgent sense of disappointment, though he wasn't sure why or even where it came from. "Do you need me for anything else?" he asked, determined not to dwell on his confusion any more than he'd done during his grief for the past few years.
"Could you bring the tray into the living room?" Isabella asked, her eyes still carefully averted. "I'll follow with the tea."
Edward did as he was told, taking a few sips of the tea Isabella served out before taking his spot at the grand piano, James' impatience becoming almost too much to bear.
"I cannot tell you how good it is to finally see someone use that fine instrument again," James sighed as Isabella sat him on the sofa close to the piano before taking a seat next to him. "It has sat idle for far too long."
"Perhaps Dr. Masen could teach me how to play?" Isabella offered, smiling quite nervously as she shifted on the sofa. Edward looked up in surprise, wondering if she wanted to learn how to play just because she couldn't stand the thought of him being able to do something for her uncle that she could not, as he feared, or because she wanted to spend more time with him, as he hoped. "I fear it might hurt your ears at first but, perhaps in time…"
"Yes, maybe," James nodded dismissively as she let her voice trail off. "But for now I am very impatient to hear what our young guest is capable of."
Isabella blushed but remained silent, probably knowing that no more input from her was appreciated.
"I hope I will live up to your expectations," Edward smiled, feeling rather nervous all of a sudden. "I must warn you once more that it has been months since I last sat down to play, even longer since I've played a classical composition."
He caught James' impatient nod, two pairs of eyes fixed on the piano as they waited for him to start playing; one with eager anticipation the other with a curious fascination. Edward wasn't quite sure which of the two unnerved him most.
Still, there was something very homey about the scene he had become a part of, something he wasn't even sure he had ever had in his own family; that ease of a lazy Sunday afternoon, spent with family.
He knew in terms of progress he had probably come leaps and bounds that day, his discussions with the patient letting him deeper and deeper into the old man's trust as even Isabella's hostility started to slowly thaw under his continued presence in her life. As good as that felt, though, it also meant that a whole lot of strange feelings he had vowed to suppress and forget, were now bubbling to the surface again, threatening to take over.
Carlisle would be proud if he could see him now. Edward knew that but, even though he realized he needed Carlisle's pride to win him more freedom and responsibility at the hospital, in that moment he couldn't care less about it.
As he sat down at the piano, cracking his fingers for extra dexterity, the thing that struck him as most odd about the situation he found himself in wasn't the fact that he was playing the piano during Sunday brunch with an advance case of FFI; a sentence so implausible that he knew his colleagues back at home would have trouble believing it.
No, it was how normal it all felt.
Thoughts?