Chapter 29
"…none of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself. For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's…"
The pastor speaks in a strong but comforting voice, his breath making puffs of white in the chilly air. There's not a cloud in the sky, and distant tree branches sparkle with their thick coats of ice. A few brave birds perch on top of polished headstones and chirp a defiant song.
It's a beautiful morning, but I'm not sure if the peaceful setting is more a comforting tribute or a twisted mockery of our pain.
Sniffling quietly, Rosalie bounces a sleeping Mary Alice on her shoulder. Emmett stands in unspoken support close behind them. Cynthia dabs her eyes with worn tissues balled up in one hand while the other clutches the sleeve of Carlisle's coat. The blond-haired man stares ahead with a blank expression. I don't think he's heard a single word of the service.
And Edward…
He pulls me closer as I squeeze his gloved hand. The arm of his wheelchair digs into my side, but I ignore the slight pain. It's nothing compared to what he's going through.
Tears fall freely down his cold-pinkened cheeks from eyes that are focused on a cream-white casket. His chin quivers every so often, and I know he's fighting back sobs of grief. The deep shadows under his eyes make him look like an adult instead of a young teenager.
A chorus of murmured Amens marks the end of the pastor's remarks. Everyone begins to file past the casket, saying goodbye for the last time. I push Edward's chair over the packed snow to the very end of the line. We move slowly forward until only Carlisle stands in front of us.
He runs a hand over the closed lid for just a moment and then takes a rigid step back. Thinking he's about to leave, I grip the wheelchair handles and get ready to push. But then Carlisle's legs buckle underneath him like they just can't hold his weight any more. It's a strange sight: his fingers curl into a tight ball as he falls to his knees, yet his face is still slack and expressionless.
Though it's always been obvious he cared a lot about Esme, I had no idea just how deep his feelings apparently ran. The two knew each other for only a few short months, and even then, her marriage to Mr. Masen stood in the way. So how can he possibly look as if his world has been destroyed—as if his life has been altered forever—when she barely played a part in it?
I didn't understand his thoughts and motivations when he first began helping us, and I'm no closer to figuring it out now.
Rosalie has seen her brother's distress and hands Mary Alice to Emmett. After she kneels and speaks in his ear, Carlisle struggles to his feet. Arm firmly around his waist in support, Rosalie leads him away from the burial site.
Edward's eyes are now closed, and they stay that way as I push him close enough to the casket to touch it if he wants.
"I'll give you few minutes alone," I say quietly, turning to leave.
"Could you stay?"
I almost miss the whispered words and look at him closely to make sure I didn't misunderstand. Though his head remains bowed, he lays his hand, palm up, on the armrest. When I place mine on top of his, he laces our fingers together.
I close my own eyes and drop my chin. Other than sounds of chirping birds and slowly melting ice falling from the trees, it is very quiet. Peaceful, almost. I feel as if Esme would be able to hear my thoughts if only I tried hard enough. There's so much I want to tell her.
Hi, Esme. It's me, Bella. I've come to say goodbye. I don't know what happens when a person dies, but if there really is a Heaven, I'm sure that's where you are. I wish I'd spent more time with you when I had the chance, but I saw enough to know you were a good person. You really cared about your kids and did your best for them.
They miss you so much, especially Edward. He's taking this hard, and with everything else going on, I'm worried about how he's going to make it through. For some reason, you've always trusted me when it comes to him, but I just don't know have any idea how to help.
I'll try my best, though—for him and for you. It's the least I can do after you gave so much for us…after you gave everything for us. I can't say thank you enough times, but I want you to know I'll never forget how you saved my life. I want to make as much of it as I can; I want to show the world how much your sacrifice means to me.
Rest in peace, Esme. We love you.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
I can't believe they're still here.
I can't believe they're hugging Edward.
I can't believe he's letting them.
Even if he hadn't volunteered information about the twenty-odd people, I'd have guessed they were from his family's church based on the women's style of clothing. They all wear simple, mid-calf dresses and wool coats without any makeup or jewelry. Their hair is either wrapped in a tidy bun or hangs down to their waists.
There are streaks of wetness on all the women's faces and a good number of the men's.
Rose keeps sending suspicious glances their way, but Cynthia is talking to a small group. She'd headed straight over to them with welcoming arms when they approached the burial site. After the short service, she invited them inside the funeral home to warm up from the cold with tea and coffee.
Cynthia seemed to have known they were coming, but I was surprised when I first saw them. Surprised and a little bit angry. Maybe it's not their fault specifically, but I can't help feeling resentment against the church. I keep thinking that if the Masens hadn't been involved with it, Carlisle wouldn't be a shell of a person right now, Edward wouldn't be a physical and emotional mess, and Esme wouldn't be dead.
I keep a little space between us as they fuss over Edward in his wheelchair. I won't go too far away from him, but there's no way I can stand next to them. I just can't.
Edward, for his part, doesn't seem bothered by their presence. I suppose some of them have known him all his life, and he's mentioned before that most of the people in the church have more reasonable beliefs than his father did. Of course, that wouldn't be a hard thing to accomplish.
At least we'll be safe from that man for a very long time. He's being held without bail in a prison medical ward somewhere; apparently, Carlisle beat the crap out of him. He'd had a bad feeling about Jasper's "accident" and decided to check on us even though Rosalie and Emmett hadn't gotten to the hospital yet. When he saw an SUV idling in front of the house with a bashed-in left front end, he acted on instinct as he gunned the truck's engine to slam into the Jeep. The vehicle's driver took off running, but Carlisle's only concern was getting to us. He arrived just in time to see Esme fall.
The police had already been on their way due to my traced 9-1-1 call. They showed up soon after Carlisle had "neutralized" Mr. Masen. I'm not sure what the exact injuries were, but I get the feeling it'll be a while before he'll be able to stand up on his own again.
Good.
He deserves every bit of what he got, and so much more. I'm split fifty-fifty between wishing he'd died and being glad that he'll be stuck in jail for the rest of his life, as he is certain to be. It might be wrong of me, but I smile every time I think about him being locked up by the "evil" government he hates so much.
The main problem with him going to prison is that he'll need to be convicted first. It'll probably be a long and painful process, as I've been learning firsthand through my experience with Greg. There's such a backlog of cases in the system that Mama's been told not to expect a trial date for several more months. Based on the large number of charges against Mr. Masen, it will probably take much longer than that before we can get some closure and truly start moving past the trauma of a week ago.
I think surviving today's funeral marks the first step of that difficult journey.
"How's he holding up?"
I'd been so lost in my head that I didn't notice Rosalie coming up to me.
"I think he's hanging in there," I murmur, glancing at Edward's profile. "The pain's probably gonna catch up with him soon, though. I'll make sure he takes some Percocet when we get home."
"Good. I'm going to wrap this up in a few minutes, anyway. Carlisle's about to lose it, and I'm sure he'd rather not have an audience." Her eyes scan over the small groupings of people from the Masens' church. "Besides, I haven't seen Jas today. I want to have some time with him before dinner."
"Cee told me that his graft looked good enough for him to be discharged tomorrow."
Rosalie gives me a smile, one that's both relieved and weary. "Yeah, that's what I hear. It'll be good to have everyone home again…"
Her voice trails away as she glances out the window to the burial site. I blink to fight back yet another stinging rush of wetness to my eyes. I know what she's thinking.
Not everyone is coming home.
After squeezing my hand in support, Rosalie walks away to start nudging visitors toward the exit. I return to Edward's side and wait for two women to finish up their conversation with him.
"…church van will come pick you up if you ever need a ride," one of them is saying. "Call the office anytime. We would love to see you and little Mary again."
"Hannah has been asking about you, too," the other lady remarks. "She misses singing with you in junior choir. Our services haven't been the same without your beautiful duets."
My brow furrows when the corners of Edward's lips turn up in a faint smile. Who is this Hannah person? And how come I never knew he'd been a choir, apparently singing "beautiful duets" with someone?
The women give him careful hugs around the shoulders as they say goodbye. I guess someone told them about the 22 sutures keeping his chest wound closed. The second woman says something in Edward's ear before she lets him go. He nods and then looks away from her like he's embarrassed. My frown morphs into a scowl.
"What was that about?" I ask when they finally leave.
"Huh?" Edward jumps a little in his wheelchair, like he'd forgotten I was there or something.
"Can we do a duet sometime, or do you only sing with Hannah?"
He stares at me in confusion for a few moments. "You sing?"
"Well…not really…I mean, I do in the shower sometimes, but that's not the—" I huff out an aggravated breath. "Never mind. It's time to go."
He looks like he's going to say something until I mention that we're leaving the funeral home. Indescribable pain flashes across his face as his shoulders sag. I want to kick myself for getting jealous at a time like this.
I wish I could jump onto his lap and squeeze him with all my strength, but all I can do is take one of his hands and hug it close to my cheek.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper, my throat thick with emotion. "If you want more time, I can ask if—"
"No. Let's just go." His fingers brush along my jaw as he slips his hand out of my grasp.
Emmett is checking out with the funeral staff, and Rosalie's making sure Carlisle puts on his coat before going outside. I grab the heavy blanket in the wheelchair's tote and settle it over Edward's hunched frame so that he stays warm on the trip to the parking lot. His injured leg, held horizontal by the chair's elevated leg lift, is already covered, but I check to make sure the blanket is secure.
Edward doesn't say anything on the ride back to the McCarty's, where we've both been staying. Cynthia is taking care of Mary Alice at her house, but neither Edward nor I have been back there yet. I'm sure there will come a point when I'll need to face my fears and return to the place where Esme died beside me, my clothes soaked in her blood, but I don't see it happening any time soon.
Since the attack, I haven't been able to sleep unless Edward's with me. Mama came to stay at the McCarty's for the first two nights until Edward got out of the hospital, but even then, I didn't rest well with all the nightmares I had. Now I'm sleeping on a cot next to him, in the McCarty's study that was converted into a makeshift bedroom, until he's able to climb stairs again on his own. One of his quadriceps muscles—the vastus medialis—was sliced almost all the way through by his dad's sword thing. Apparently, the wound wasn't too complicated to repair as far as those things go, but he'll need a few months to fully recover.
Rosalie isn't completely onboard with me and him being together at night, but I think she understands there's nothing romantic about this particular situation. Whether it's a good or bad thing, Edward's been the most consistent person in my entire life. After all we've been through in the past few months, I don't just want him near me…I need him.
And with the loss of his mama, I think he needs me, too.
I expected him to go numb and escape from reality, but the emptiness hasn't taken over his expression—at least not yet. True, he's been on a pretty decent dose of painkillers, but I haven't seen signs of him pulling away. In fact, there are times he seems overwhelmed with emotion. I worry he's going to have some sort of mental breakdown.
Carlisle's the one with the dead eyes now. I can tell his family's worried about him. He's staying with Cynthia and Jasper because no one trusts him to take care of himself without prompting. And even with four adults breathing down his neck to eat and sleep, he still looks like a wasted shadow of his former self.
Emmett and Rose are going over to the apartment next weekend to pack up everything and bring it back to his house. Although Brother Andrew—real name, Nathan Murray—hasn't been found yet, Carlisle needs the support of his family. He's so bad off that Cynthia and Jasper didn't bother discussing with him their appeal for legal guardianship of Edward and Mary Alice; they just informed him after it had been granted. They knew that no judge would appoint him in his current state.
It wasn't as easy a process as they'd told him, either. The judge was hesitant to approve the Cullens since Edward and Mary Alice had three relatives living in the States: Mr. Masen's father, his sister, and Esme's sister. However, William Masen was elderly and disabled, and Deborah Masen had been convicted of several misdemeanors. Esme's sister, Elizabeth, was a better prospect but had never met her nephew and niece.
Leah Clearwater, my DHS caseworker, turned out to be the hero of the day. She requested to take on Edward and Mary Alice's case herself and made a strong recommendation to the judge for approval of the appeal. Though she can be prickly at times, I've always appreciated how concerned she seemed to be about my welfare. It was amazing of her to go the extra mile and help us during this difficult time. Heck, she even gave Cynthia a care package of homemade cookies for the family.
Edward hasn't taken the news about the guardianship well, but I don't think his reaction is because of whom his guardians are. He's more upset about the fact that he needs them at all. The appointment is another unwanted reminder that his mother isn't with us anymore and his father is the one who took her away.
When we get back from the funeral home, the family breaks up into small groups. Cynthia goes to her house with Carlisle and Mary Alice. Rosalie heads upstairs to change clothes and prepare for a visit to the hospital. Before joining her, Emmett helps Edward from the car and into his bed.
Edward's exhausted, both physically and mentally. He's developed a high pain tolerance over the years, but I can tell he's hurting now. I give him his pills and then sit down on the bed beside him.
"Do you want anything else?" I ask, worried about his tense expression. "Some food, maybe? I could see what's on TV or put on a movie…or some music…?"
"No, I'm fine. I'll probably pass out soon, anyway." He squeezes his eyes shut and throws an arm over his face.
Frowning, I put a hand on his uninjured leg. I wish there was something I could do for him, that there was some way I could make this easier, even by a little.
"Do you want me to go? I get it if you want some alone time right now…"
"You can stay…if you want…" He moves his head under his arm. His voice is muffled. "I always want you to stay."
My heart jumps a little in my chest as I climb onto my cot beside his bed and stretch out over the air mattress. Though the lights are off and the shades are drawn, the sun reflecting off the icy snow outside still manages to brighten the room. I close my eyes and listen to Edward's unsteady breathing. It sounds like he trying hard not to cry.
After several long, torturous minutes, I can't keep quiet anymore.
"Are you okay? I mean, crap, I know you're not okay, but do you wanna maybe talk about it?"
He doesn't answer, and I wonder if I should've kept my mouth shut. He's got enough going on without me asking him to spill his guts right after his mama's funeral. If I can barely make sense of my own feelings, how can he be expected to?
But then he surprises me.
"I don't get it," he says, his words not much louder than a whisper. "Why did all this happen? Am I being punished? Was this my fault?"
"No!" I exclaim, flipping onto my side and gaping at him. "There's no way…it can't be your fault." My mind races through the little I know about his religion. "Um...didn't you tell me how bad stuff happened sometimes to good people in the Bible? Like when Joseph was sold into slavery, and, uh…what about Jesus? Look what he went through!"
"But I'm not good! Not even close." Edward presses the heels of both palms against his eyes. "I sinned so much—stole from my dad, lied, talked back…I even beat him. His face, Bella…did you see what I did to him, how messed up he was? I did that to him. Me. That day at my house, I was so angry—completely out of my mind. And even before that…I imagined killing him so many times. I knew it was wrong to have those wicked thoughts, but I didn't care. I just didn't care!"
He's breathing hard now, his whole body shaking. He sounds so tortured and broken. Desperate to do something, anything, I sit up and touch his leg again.
"That man was a horrible person who did terrible things to you and your family! Who wouldn't have those kinds of thoughts about him? You were just trying to survive. The things you did were out of self-defense or to protect others. Don't you remember how you stopped him from hurting me that day? If anything, it's his fault for forcing you act. All of this...everything is his fault. It's definitely not yours, Edward. Never yours."
Edward tries to wipes his tears away before they fall, but there are just too many of them. Eventually, he gives up and sobs into his arm.
"I miss her," he cries softly, sorrowfully. "I miss my mom."
My own eyes are wet as I slide my upper body onto his bed and lay my head on his pillow. I grab his hand and squeeze it tight.
"I know."
