A Rough Start

Chapter 38 – Love is a Battlefield

Edward stood over a slumbering Bella as he prepared to leave for work the next morning and, knowing his action would wake her up, he leaned down and whispered in her ear.

"Bye, Babe. I'll see you later tonight, okay?"

"Hmm," Bella mumbled.

Edward held still a moment before kissing her on the forehead and then speaking again. "Remember, I'll be home late."

"Mmmhmm," returned Bella.

He waited another few seconds and then watched as Bella's eyes fluttered open and she sat up to face him.

"You'll be home late?"

"Right. I told you last night that I'm going to my mom's for a little bit."

Bella squinted up at him. "You did?"

"Yeah…you might have been asleep, but I called her last night and we talked for a bit. We're going to get together when I get off work and…talk."

"Talk talk?"

"Yeah."

Edward kept his eyes on Bella, searching for an expression for how she felt about the decision he'd come to on his own.

"Wow," she merely said in a low tone.

"Yeah," Edward repeated. He glanced over at the clock and saw that he needed to get going or he was going to be late for work. He moved toward the door and then stopped; his back still to Bella.

"Uh…afterward…maybe you and I could talk?"

"Talk talk?"

"Talk, talk," Edward affirmed. He knew it was what Bella had been wanting, and up until that moment he didn't feel ready to hear his own thoughts and feelings reverberate in his ears as he spoke the truth. But after speaking with Esme the night before, he realized that she'd made an unfathomable peace with the past and he was beyond curious to know how she had done it. More importantly, he was intrigued to know how she'd managed to remain whole while he and his father still wore the scars of their damage.

"I still have scars. Trust me," Esme said later that evening when Edward told her of his analogy. "I just use very potent medication." Then, when she saw the misunderstanding on Edward's face, she quickly added, "Oh, not like that. I meant counseling. Therapy."

Edward looked down at the table between them, embarrassed that the commitment he'd made to getting help for himself had fallen low on his priority list.

"How long?" he asked as he studied his fingers.

"How long are my sessions?"

"How long have you been going to therapy?" Edward clarified.

"Oh," Esme paused to calculate the time. "Well, gosh. I guess it's been over ten years now. Wow…it doesn't seem like it's been that long."

"Ten years?" Edward was mortified at the idea of Anthony continuing counseling well past his next birthday.

Esme nodded. "I know what you're thinking, and it's different for me. Without therapy, I'd be alone in my circumstances, with no remedy or explanation for the issues I face. Therapy gives me the strength to keep going. And it doesn't even feel like therapy anymore. It's more like having tea with a good friend."

Edward nodded in comprehension, even though his thoughts had moved beyond his mother's words and were turned introspectively toward his own needs. Intuitively, as only a mother would, Esme reached across the table, nervously touched Edward's hand and then told him his thoughts as if they had originated in her own mind.

"Therapy is uncomfortable for you." She didn't need to pose her statement as a question, for Edward's unease was written clearly all over his face.

"It's not uncomfortable. It's just…" There was no way to complete his sentence without being offensive to his family history.

"Our situation is so fucked up it's embarrassing, right?"

Edward couldn't hide his astonishment at his mother's language and when he looked up to confirm that such a crass word had fallen from the lips of the prim and poised woman before him, he couldn't contain his laughter. Esme laughed as well and the air of tension between them dissipated a little more.

"We were so close once, Edward. You told me all your secrets and I remember hoping that would never change, even though I knew it had to if I wanted you to grow into the man I hoped you'd become. You used to laugh at all my jokes and even when we had a disagreement, you'd kiss me and hug me and tell me you loved me. Even though I never thought about losing that at the time, I'm so glad I never took those moments for granted.

"In a life filled with so many regrets, it is my greatest joy that every minute I spent with you was the richest of my existence. But I thought I'd see you through every day… I missed you so much," Esme whispered earnestly. It wasn't the first time that she'd told him this, but it was the first time she'd spoken it without finality. It was an intro, and she was inviting him to fill in the gaps of his life in her memories.

And in a matter of minutes, they were both taken from laughter to tears as Edward put a voice to the hardest year of his life.

"I thought she was okay. I thought she was going to go to the hospital and dad would fix her up and then she'd tell everyone what really happened that day. She'd say that she heard Jimmy complaining about how big my gun was and how he'd gotten his dad's from the top of his parents' closet and how I couldn't work it and so Jimmy had to…" Edward closed his eyes as the vision of horror became too real. "I thought that any minute you would come get me out of that holding cell, because that's what you told me you would do and I didn't have any reason not to believe you."

A sob escaped Esme as she watched her son struggle with the way she'd disappointed him so many years ago.

"I thought," she began the same way he had, "that I would be coming to get you. All my life I'd been taught that as long as I was a good person, told the truth and lived honestly, life would treat me the same way. So that's what I expected. I expected that you'd tell your story, I'd tell mine, your dad would tell his story and then we'd all go home together and pick up the pieces of our life together.

"I didn't expect that Jimmy's parents would hire that hot-shot attorney out of L.A., who turned the tables on your father and me. Suddenly we were the criminals and were staring down the barrel of a murder charge." Esme shook her head and waved away the memory. "Not that I blame them. If the tables had been turned, I would have done everything I could have to absolve my son…my baby boy."

The back of Edward's neck warmed slightly at his mother's sentiment. He cleared his throat and began down the course of a conversation he'd been too embarrassed to have with another living soul.

He told her about being moved to Oregon. About living with a young couple who'd made a business of taking in foster youth and how he'd had to share a room with a fourteen-year-old who'd constantly kicked him where it counts when no one was looking in addition to having successfully convinced him that their guardians were trying to keep his parents from finding him. He was told the husband and wife team were jealous because they couldn't have children of their own. Stupidly Edward had believed the lie and took the advice of the young con and ran away from the otherwise nice home.

Edward recalled how he continued to believe the falsehood with each placement, and therefore continued to run away. Each time he was moved to a new foster facility, he found the accommodations were less and less like homes and more like prisons.

"I'm sorry it was so horrible for you," Esme said, openly crying and making no show of hiding it. "You don't have to say anything about it today, but one day, before I die, I'm going to ask for your forgiveness and I hope, by then, that you'll be able to grant me that."

It wasn't an apology that Edward wanted. To accept Esme's words meant that he held her responsible for the horrors that had befallen him. Even though he'd spent years being angry with her for leaving him, for so-called blaming him for his sister's death, he now knew that he had no rational reason to disparage his mother. And even though his fury and contempt for Esme had become a source of security for him in his early adulthood, Edward realized that the hatred he'd held for his mother had quietly dissipated.

"I know it's not your fault," Edward said quietly.

"I'm still sorry, Edward. I was supposed to be your rock, your protector, and I let you down. I am deeply sorry for that."

Esme sensed that her son didn't know what to do with her apology so after allowing it to sink in for a few seconds, she began to ask him a series of questions that she'd been waiting months to ask him.

"You said you didn't go to college, but you graduated from high school, right?"

"Yeah."

"Ever play any sports?"

"Nope."

"Did you go to your prom?"

Edward scoffed at the question and then nodded. He decided against telling his mother about being so drunk that the parking lot was as far as he'd made it.

"Did you have lots of girlfriends?"

Edward shook his head. "It was hard to get to know people. I moved a lot. Anthony's mother was pretty much the longest relationship I had…before Bella."

"I like Bella," Esme smiled and Edward was elated that she hadn't asked more information about Jessica. She was the last person he wanted to spend time talking about.

"I can tell she really loves you."

Edward nodded in agreement. He could tell that Bella loved him as well, though what he'd done to deserve her he'd never know.

"She's great."

"Well I should hope so, seeing as how you're going to marry her," Esme swatted at his arm playfully and he could tell she was trying to lighten the heavy mood surrounding them.

He wanted to alleviate the tension in the air as well, but there was still a topic that had gone untouched and Edward teetered around the edge of it, hoping his mother would take the bait and answer his questions in a round-about manner.

"So…after everything had happened…like, right after…do you remember what everyone was saying to you?" He asked.

Esme was perplexed for a moment. "Well…our attorney was telling us to keep quiet and not to talk to anyone. That ended up being pretty good advice because all of a sudden our phone was ringing off the hook. The doctors at the hospital were calling…your school…your friends around the neighborhood and their parents. It was a nightmare."

Edward bobbed his head as if he'd gotten the answer he was looking for. "But so…like, when it was late at night and it was just you and…you know…just you at home…"

"It wasn't just me at home for a long time, Edward. Your father and I were detained…then released to our attorney, only to be picked up shortly thereafter. The timeline of everything is still a little foggy, but we weren't sitting at home waiting for the court to make up its mind. We got taken into custody quite quickly."

"Oh," Edward looked down at his hands. With his head down, he couldn't see his mother studying him, but when she reached across the table and touched his arm softly, he looked up into eyes that held a small bit of understanding.

"There were a few minutes, in the hospital, when we'd first learned of Claire's death, that your father and I spoke of your innocence and how we would get you exonerated."

"He said that?" Edward asked quickly. "He said that he knew I was innocent?"

Esme had always been a terrible liar and Edward could see it in her eyes almost immediately as she averted her gaze and looked over his head.

"W-Well…I…"

"I knew it," Edward spat out bitterly.

"Now hang on," Esme said. "Your father knew you were innocent, just like I did."

"Then why did you ask me if I'd done it. That day you came to see me in that detention center, you asked me if I'd shot Claire. You didn't just ask me if I'd shot her, you asked me if I'd shot her on purpose. That means that you thought I'd done it." Edward raised his voice as the vivid memory that had haunted him for years came to the forefront of his mind.

"Everything surrounding you – the lawyers, the state services, the case workers, it was all so convoluted because you were a minor. You could only be asked certain questions by certain people and only when certain officials were present. It was prolonging the process and I just wanted to take you home, Edward." Esme tightened her grip on his wrist. "Every word we spoke was recorded, Edward. Nobody told me that, but I knew it. I knew they were listening in and I just wanted them to hear you answer me, because I knew you would tell me the truth, and I wanted them to hear you tell your side of the story when you thought nobody was listening but me."

"A lot of good it did."

"It did do a lot of good, Edward. The records of our conversation were turned over in discovery and the prosecution was able to ask you pointed questions. You never wavered in your story and the judge not only had the court view you as a minor, but you were also found innocent. I don't know if our conversation that day was the sole reason for that, but it certainly didn't hurt."

Edward's stomach grumbled during the stillness and he hoped that his mother didn't hear it. However, her next sentence indicated that she had.

"I'm sorry. I didn't even think about the fact that you were coming from work and that you'd probably be hungry. I haven't gone grocery shopping yet and I—"

Edward looked up to see what had suddenly halted his mother's speech. Her eyes were concentrated behind him and Edward didn't even need to turn around to know who was behind him.

"Well, I'd better get going," Edward made a move to leave.

"Wait, Edward," Esme urged, though she was still looking over his shoulder. "You don't have to be afraid."

"I'm not afraid," Edward said indignantly, even though just knowing who was behind him caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. He was poised for an altercation, yet thoroughly unprepared for it.

"It's all right," Esme insisted as she stood up. She then addressed her husband. "Are you still hungry? Did you need something more?"

The way she questioned him, as if she expected him to answer her in the next instant, made Edward expectant as well and he found his eyes sliding over to the man he'd called 'Dad' in his distant, fading memories.

Esme got up quickly and started rummaging around the cabinets and drawers. Edward noticed that her movements were choppy and calculated, like she was hiding something, and he wondered at what that could be until she opened the refrigerator. Even though she'd only opened the door a sliver, he got a peek at just what the lone bulb was illuminating: a nearly empty half-gallon container of milk, a small six-pack of eggs and two bottles of water.

Not finding what she wanted there, Esme quickly closed the appliance door and moved over to a cabinet that Edward assumed was just as bare. He saw a few colorful boxes before she snatched down an already-opened sleeve of crackers and held them out to her quiet husband.

When there ceased to be movement, Edward cautiously allowed himself to look behind him, and just as Edward knew they would be, Carlisle's eyes were fixed upon him. However, his gaze wasn't one of a man who bore a hint of recognition, nor was it the glare of a threatened man. Instead, his father regarded him as one would look upon an incongruous artifact or ill placed piece of furniture.

"What's he doing?" Edward whispered to Esme.

"He's trying to see if he knows you," Esme answered.

"How do you know?"

"Because it's what he always does when someone besides him and I are present. Then, when he realizes that he's seen you before, he'll move on."

"And if he doesn't remember me?"

Instead of answer the question, Esme turned to her son as if it was completely normal to have a mute interloper among them.

"So, Edward, you never did tell me how work was going. Is it alright?"

Her voice had taken on a higher pitch and Edward quirked his eyebrow at the change. "It's good," he answered nonetheless.

"And how is Anthony, Edward?"

"Fine."

"Last time I was over to your house, Bella was showing me some of the decorations you'd picked out for your wedding. Is Anthony excited that you and Bella are getting married, Edward?"

The overuse of his name tipped Edward off as to what Esme was trying to accomplish, but he feared that it would have the opposite effect.

"Quit doing that. You're gonna make him flip out on me," Edward whispered harshly.

Esme acted as if he didn't say a word.

"Are you and Bella planning to have more children, Edward?"

His irritation was apparent as he cast an icy glower in his mother's direction. What was she trying to do? Carlisle had made it plenty clear that he knew of the name 'Edward' and from his past actions, he didn't usually have a positive reaction to it.

"Uh…" he hesitated as he glanced over at Carlisle who was watching him curiously. "M-Maybe…yeah. I think so. Not right away, though," he answered.

"You and Bella will make beautiful babies."

Edward balked at the idea of his mother speaking about him and Bella "making babies". He turned the conversation to a more neutral territory and began asking her a few questions of his own.

"Do you work?" he asked.

Esme shook her head. "I tried once, but it's too difficult to work around your father's care. Plus, it was just too hard – having so many people depend on me that it was kind of more stress than it was worth. I do try to volunteer at the community center during their senior art program, though. Hey, you should sign Anthony up an art class. He told me he loves to draw."

"Maybe," Edward shrugged.

"But you all will be kind of busy with the wedding and everything this summer."

"Yeah."

Edward silently cursed at how difficult it was to have this conversation with his mother. He knew what she'd wanted and what he'd expected when he walked through the door a few hours ago, but he wasn't sure that that's what he'd accomplished.

So much time; so many years he'd wasted being angry and hateful toward this woman before him, that now, when he was presented with such a different story, he didn't know what to do with his emotions.

A sharp crackling interrupted his thoughts as Carlisle fished a cracker out of the stiff, waxy wrapper and held the wafer between his lips as he took a bite of it. He did all of this without taking his eyes off Edward and Edward, too mesmerized by the stoic movements, couldn't look away.

Suddenly Edward was pummeled by memories of his father.

A young, blonde-haired man, laughing as he stood by the barbeque on the deck in the backyard;

A father frustrated by his six-year-old son who had climbed onto the diving board yet refused to jump off;

A sophisticated doctor decked out in a tuxedo with his beautiful wife in a shimmery gold gown standing beside him in the foyer as they welcomed friends to their New Year's Eve party;

A humor-riddled man teaching his ten-year-old how to tie a necktie.

Edward remembered how conscientious his father used to be about the way he dressed. His tie always matched his shirt and his shoes…

Green eyes gazed down and focused on the off-white tennis shoes that laced tightly on Carlisle's feet. Baggy chinos, wrinkled from wear and visually one size too big, swallowed up his father's form and when Edward spied a small hole at the base of Carlisle's polo shirt, his eyes began to water and his throat clenched with emotion.

Even though the most obvious consequences of the trauma Edward and his parents had suffered surrounded him on a near daily basis, it was this little show of how far the family had fallen that tripped Edward over the edge.

He hid his face in his hands and wept as only a son who was unrecognizable to his father could.

"Honey…Sweetheart, it's alright," Esme said soothingly as she softly rubbed Edward's back. Her words brought him no comfort, but he could tell it fed in her the need to do what she'd wished she could have done thirteen years ago.

"I have to go," Edward stood abruptly.

"No. Please. Edward, wait," Esme pleaded.

"I need to get going," Edward said truthfully. Then he took in the sorrowful expression on his mother's face and he could tell that she thought he was walking out for good. "You're still coming over on Saturday, right?"

Hope flickered behind her eyes. "Y-Yes. I'd hoped to."

"Okay. I think Bella had some things with the wedding that she wanted your help with. She wanted you to pick where you wanted to sit or something on the seating chart." He had completely made that up, but it was the only way he could think of to justifiably offer such a late invitation to an event she should have been among the first to be invited to.

"Oh, I can sit wherever," Esme beamed. "I'm just one seat so you can stick me anywhere there's room – as long as I have a good view of the bride and the most handsome groom ever, I'll be happy."

Edward nodded and moved toward the door. As his hand came in contact with the doorknob, he stopped and glanced back at his parents, first his father and then his mother.

"Two seats," he whispered as he stared at his father. "He's invited, too."

Esme didn't bother to hold back her gratitude as she rushed toward her son and nearly tackled him with a hug.

"I love you," she cried into his chest as she held him tightly. "I love you so much."

In a slow, choppy motion, Edward lifted his hand and rested it on his mother's back, between her shoulder blades. He wanted to tell her that he loved her too, but the words wouldn't work and all that he knew for certain was that he was in love with the memory of his perfect mother. Whether or not he could reconcile that person to the one who lay weeping against his chest had yet to be determined.

Instead, he just stood there awkwardly, quietly patting the cottony folds of her sweater until his eyes rose and locked with his father's cautiously curious gawking.

"I have to go," he stated quietly once more, and this time, Esme was less opposed to letting him have his way.

The drive home seemed longer than it actually was, and when Edward pulled into his driveway, he sat quietly for a moment as he tried to rein in his emotions. Once he had successfully pulled himself together, he got out of his car and made the trek inside of his house, where he found Anthony curled up in Bella's lap and the two of them were fast asleep.

He let out a shuddery sigh of relief in knowing that he might not have to recount the last few hours on an empty stomach. However, before dashing into the kitchen for a bite to eat, he carefully maneuvered his son off of Bella before carrying his sleeping son to bed.

Edward managed to get Anthony halfway into bed before the five-year-old opened his eyes and peered at his father.

"Were you at Mis-mey's?" Anthony asked, his words coated with a sleepy overtone.

"Yep," Edward answered.

"Your eyes are red."

Edward preoccupied himself with straightening the blanket over Anthony's torso and smoothing his hair away from his forehead.

"Are you sad?" Anthony pressed.

"I'm tired," Edward avoided the truth.

"I think Mom's sad," Anthony sighed.

Edward stilled at his son's words. Did 'Mom' mean Jessica or Bella?

"Bella's sad?" when Anthony nodded, Edward had more questions. "Why do you think she's sad? Was she crying?"

"She talked to someone on the phone and then her eyes were watering, but she told me she was fine."

"Well then I'm sure she is," Edward reassured Anthony. "Get some sleep. You have school in the morning."

Anthony settled into his pillow, more from exhaustion than an obedient spirit, and reminded Edward not to turn off the light. Edward obliged, but he did close the door because although he'd told his son otherwise, he had a sinking suspicion that Bella wasn't alright and he didn't want Anthony to overhear anything that would distress his little heart.

When Edward made it back into the living room he found the room to be empty and heard the sounds of someone moving about the kitchen. He followed the noise and found Bella transferring a plate of food from the microwave to the table.

"Is that for me?" he asked.

She nodded.

"How did you know I'd be hungry?"

Bella glanced down at the food as if it had only just registered that she'd had anything to do with it.

"I don't know," she said quietly.

Edward walked over to her and, assuming that she was feeling a little put out because he'd stayed away from home so long that evening, he simply put his arms around her waist and kissed the top of her head.

"I love you," he told her.

Unexpectedly, Bella wrapped her arms around him in return and held onto him tightly.

And then she started to cry.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Edward asked in alarm.

It took a handful of long seconds for Bella to pull herself together, but when she finally did, her soulful brown eyes looked into Edward's and said the two words that he was completely unprepared to hear:

"David died."

As the weight of the information sank in, Edward felt his knees slightly buckle underneath it. Just two weeks from that day, he and Anthony were supposed to board an airplane to spend David's birthday with him. And now…

"I didn't tell Anthony," Bella sniffed. "I thought that should come from you."

Edward nodded dutifully but he was horrified at the idea of telling his son, a little boy who had lost far too much in his short five-year life, that yet another person he dearly loved was gone. And as he considered the effect the news would have on Anthony, Edward recollected the evening he'd shared with his mother and all of the loss they'd shared as a family. Suddenly he felt an overwhelming sense of despair at the unlucky streak that was once again clouding the life of a Cullen. How early Edward had learned of the frailty of life and how quickly the presence of a loved one could be snuffed out. Now it seemed as if that same lesson was perpetuating its truth in Anthony's life for the third time.

What would be next? In the race against life's clock, how much time did anyone truly have to love? Be loved? To forgive and forget?

"Bella," Edward held her hands firmly. "I don't want to waste another minute."

She looked confused as she listened to what he was saying. "You want to wake Anthony up now and tell him? I don't think he'd be able to sleep after-"

"Bella," he interrupted, "marry me. Right now. Tomorrow."

"Edward…what's this about?"

"I don't want to wait until June to be your husband. We can still have the wedding," he added when he saw the protest in her eyes, "but let's do this now. Let's just…before it's too late."

He saw the exact minute when the argument left her; when the realization of her inability to assure him that they had time registered in her mind – when she realized that he was serious and that he needed this from her for his personal peace.

"Okay," she nodded quietly as she rested her forehead against his. "Tomorrow."