This one-shot is a nice, happy one from Esme. It's really about Edward's senior recital, which wraps up a degree in Music Performance, but it's also full of sweet Cullen Family fluff :) It goes without saying that you'll enjoy the recital much more if you head over to YouTube and listen along with the program (included in full, further down in the text). For "Clair de Lune" I recommend any performance by Victor Borge, and for the Chopin, Arthur Rubenstein. I couldn't find a good video for the Liszt etudes, but my favorite fast-and-furious recordings are the ones by Ashkenazy and Ovchinnikov. For "Just You, Just Me", use the search terms "King Cole Trio Just You instrumental".

And for the full effect of the Rachmaninoff, I think the best video is the performance by Denis Matsuev—particularly the angsty middle and furious conclusion, which ends Edward's program so you have to watch that part. (on that video, it's 17:15–end. Watch this, if you watch nothing else!)

Spoiler Alert: this takes place after the 1950 story and contains a couple of major spoilers for it.

This one's for you, Silque, my fellow Chopin-and-Rachmaninoff fangirl! :)

Esme POV

"Emmett," I called down the stairs on the way to get dressed. "We're leaving in fifteen minutes!"

Emmett grunted in acknowledgment from three floors below. He was down in the basement as he had been for the past week, still tinkering with his design for a tennis racquet that would hold up to vampire use.

I hummed as I flipped through my dresses at human speed, finally settling on the blue gown and wrap that Alice had gotten me for Mother's Day this year. It was a beautiful piece, perfectly fitted and just the length I liked, and also surprisingly understated considering who picked it out. Maybe I had finally gotten it through to my youngest daughter that I really didn't prefer wearing jewels on my clothing. It was perfect for tonight; stately and lovely, yet it wouldn't draw away from Edward's splendor in his tuxedo. Tonight was for him.

I knelt down to fish the proper shoes out of the bottom of the closet and stood up to find myself caught in a pair of strong arms and wrapped in my favorite scent in the world. Carlisle. I closed my eyes and leaned back, turning my face to receive his kiss.

"I had a feeling you'd choose that one," he said softly. I turned further in his arms, smiling to see that he was already dressed in his dark grey suit, complete with the blue tie that matched my dress exactly.

"Alice?" I guessed. He nodded.

"She also insisted I get dressed early, though I can't imagine—"

His head turned to the sound of our mailbox being opened out on the main road, a quarter-mile away. "That's why," I laughed, seeing his eyes glaze over with that familiar scientific hunger. No less than three medical journals arrived on the seventeenth of every month. I shoved him toward the doorway. "Shoo! I have to get dressed anyway." He gave me one more distracted kiss and disappeared.

I was dressed in a flash but had some trouble with my hair. I wanted it up, which was usually not a problem, and yet for all our physical perfection, vampires did indeed have bad hair days. This was one of them. There must be a storm coming. After fussing over the wayward curls for another couple of minutes, I went to the upstairs bathroom in search of more bobby pins.

I had scarcely laid my hand on the knob when the door tore open. Alice darted past me wearing nothing but a towel, and before I could take another step Rosalie streaked past me into the bathroom, slamming the door closed and yelling "Mine!"

"Oh, come on," a voice growled behind me, and I turned to see Edward stalking back into his room, still wearing yesterday's clothes. Why was it that no matter how many bathrooms we had, they always picked a favorite shower and ended up fighting over it?

"Because it's the only bathroom with an exhaust fan," Edward called from his room. "And some people," he continued in a louder voice, "like to see how much humidity they can produce when there's a perfectly good window they could be opening!"

"And if some people," came the shrill reply from the bathroom, "would get a decent haircut, they could just wash their hair in the kitchen sink and stay out of my way!" Edward growled again, but he made no further argument.

I sighed and added exhaust fan to my growing mental list for this week's errands. I rapped on the door. "Rosalie? I just need to get some bobby pins. Rosalie!"

I heard a long-suffering sigh and the water turned off, only for the two seconds it took for the door to be unlocked. I gathered the bobby pins and made my escape gladly. Rosalie and Edward were at it again; this time it was because she and Emmett had already gotten concert tickets for tonight when Edward announced that this was the evening of his recital. One thing led to another, as usual, and they probably wouldn't cool off until next week. I was glad Alice had convinced Rosalie to come- which, of course, meant that Emmett was coming too- but I sincerely hoped that Rosalie would behave herself tonight.

I finally got my hair to behave and went down to the basement to remind Emmett to get ready again. I found my mad scientist hunched over his workbench doing something mysterious with a blowtorch and a tennis racquet. Jasper, who had been roped into playing assistant, was winding up for another test-hit. After a few episodes of falling plaster, I had insisted that Emmett suspend the tennis ball from the ceiling by a length of fishing line, hanging from a suspended bar. This way, the ball and its string circled harmlessly around the bar instead of devastating the underside of my kitchen floor.

I stood out of the way while Jasper swung the racquet. With a THWACK the tennis ball was sent flying in circles around the bar, while the hurricane-force wind of Jasper's swing mussed my hair.

"Oh!" I huffed, tugging out more bobby pins.

"Sorry," Jasper offered sheepishly, then inspected the racquet in his hand. "Strings held up fine, but the grip still needs work," he reported to Emmett. He held up the racquet so Emmett could see how his fingers had warped the handle. Emmett muttered something about tensile strength and Jasper tossed the ruined racquet onto a pile of other warped racquets, most of which had a tennis-ball-sized hole torn right through the sweet spot.

"I see you've made some progress," I said to Emmett's back. He spun around in his chair and grinned as he stood to reset the tennis ball on its string.

"We'll be playing tennis in no time," he promised.

"We could just hold back, you know," I laughed. "I'm sure we could adjust to hit the ball with human force."

"Where's the fun in that?!"

"Ten minutes, Emmett."

"I said I'll be ready in time!" he whined, sitting back down and picking up the blowtorch again. "It only takes me fifteen seconds to get my tux on."

"You're not wearing your tuxedo," I reminded him. "Only Edward is. You're wearing a suit and necktie."

"Good! Seven seconds, then. Why do women take so long to get ready, anyway?"

"Because we spent most of that time wrangling family members to get ready on time!"

"Hmph." He flicked the blowtorch back on.

"You're sure you're not coming?" I asked Jasper hopefully.

Jasper shrugged, flicking at a few specks of sawdust on the workbench. "Don't think I'm ready for that."

"Next time," I promised him. He nodded, giving me a little smile that brightened his golden eyes and warmed my heart. Jasper had come so far during our time here in Oregon, despite his accident two years ago. We would be moving on soon, and for the very first time he would try attending school with the others in our new home. But tonight—nearly three hundred humans packed in a dark auditorium, all flipping through razor-sharp paper bulletins—was asking a bit much. Alice hadn't seen anything happening, but Jasper still didn't feel comfortable.

I went back upstairs and re-did my hair, more loosely this time. I chose one of the necklaces Edward had given me and the diamond earrings that matched it best. And just a touch of make-up; it would probably fall off by the end of the recital, but at least I'd look more human for the beginning. By the time I made it back down to the living room, Edward was seated at his piano playing through the first half of his program. He was breathtaking in his tuxedo. It hadn't taken much to convince him to get a second one—a real white-tie tailcoat—for tonight.

Afraid you'll mess up? I teased him.

He smirked down at the keys, playing on. I laid my hand on the piano, watching happily as he drifted away into that magical world that his music took him to. I always loved to see him so carefree like this. Sometimes my son seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, or at least the burden of living inside all our minds. But when he played, especially these lighter, more ethereal songs that were his favorites, all that drifted away. I could see him grow young again as he forgot himself and just lived in the music he was making. Sometimes his expression, whether it was of tranquility or pain or longing, made me wonder what was going through that head of his.

I also loved the way our home would transform when he played. Everyone grew quieter, calmer… more human, that should please you, I thought with a fond smile. He made no sign of having heard me; he was miles away. I suppose each of us were swept away, if not fully into that secret world with him, closer to it. Even Rosalie softened when Edward's music filled the house; even Alice would slow down and quiet her chatter to listen. Jasper was a unique audience, sometimes coming into the living room just to feel the emotions that Edward, or the rest of us, would feel as he played certain styles. And my Carlisle, who also carried burdens no man should have to bear, though he carried them more hopefully than our son did, needed this rest that Edward's music brought him. And perhaps it was just a mother's pride, but I thought the whole world should get to experience Edward's music. I would settle for tonight, though. He deserved this.

We had settled here five years ago under the name London, hesitating at first to take our places in human society. Carlisle had been deeply shaken by the episode with Maria which had driven us from Calgary to here, and Jasper had struggled to achieve the level of middling control he had now. But Edward, for once, had enjoyed happier times. His new understanding with Carlisle, thanks to Jasper, had eased the burden of guilt he carried and given him a new sense of freedom. So when Carlisle asked him what he would like to study in this location, he had paused, listening to something from Carlisle's thoughts, and said he would like to study music. The sudden look of pride and love on Carlisle's face had been reward enough, I was sure. But Edward also felt free to enjoy his studies for himself, and enjoy them he had. His major was music with a concentration in piano performance.

I had thought that Edward's instructors wouldn't be able to teach him anything, but he assured me this was not the case. He threw himself into his studies with gusto, equally fascinated to listen to the minds of the professors and other students in the music department. Day after day he had come home, excited from his classes and eager to compose, or practice, or whatever was on his mind at the time.

There had been a few challenges—the clarinet, for one. Edward and Rosalie had both been avid fans of Benny Goodman back in the early thirties, and Edward had always wanted to try the clarinet for himself. But now that he had finally gotten around to it, he was sorely disappointed to discover that reed instruments and vampire mouths did not mix well. And he had also been a bit disappointed to find that his new favorite, rock and roll, was frowned upon by nearly every member of the department. But he had had a grand four years, overall. Tonight was the culmination of his studies: his senior recital. This was the first time, at least in his second life, that Edward would play for such a large human audience and have his talent recognized with an auditorium full of applause. It was about time, too.

Edward's eyes finally opened as his song drew to a close. He smiled up at me with that adorable smirk of his, lightly trilling the first few notes of my song an octave too high. "If you had your way, it would be televised," he teased.

I raised my eyebrows. "Could we do that? Maybe a last-minute donation—"

"Esme," he moaned.

"I'm kidding!" I slapped him lightly on the sleeve of his jacket and moved closer behind him, sighing as I fiddled with his rebellious hair. I don't suppose I could convince you to put in some pomade…

Edward began playing again, but not before shooting me another mischievous look. "I threw it out."

"You didn't!"

"It smelled like rotten eggs!" he protested, batting my hand away from his hair. "You can't keep that stuff forever. And besides, the thirties are ancient history. I don't see you wearing your long gloves anymore."

"So what you're saying is, if I were to get out my gloves…"

"No deal," he said firmly.

"Oh, very well," I sighed, raking my fingers through his hair to try and convince it to part one more time, as if it would make a difference. "I suppose it does give you sort of a wild, romantic, artistic look—"

Edward stood up, dodging my hands again. "Ready?"

"I'm ready. Girls?" I called up the stairs. Alice and Rosalie came down at their usual speeds: Alice almost a blur, stopping on a dime to check her hair once more in the hall mirror, Rosalie more slowly as she adjusted her jewelry. I passed Rosalie on my way up to retrieve Carlisle. I found him parked in his study, happily reading his new medical journals.

"Time to go," I said as I passed his doorway, heading to our bedroom to get my purse. I took the miniature rose I had gotten for Edward this morning out of its vase and nestled it into its little box. I walked by again to find my husband unmoved. "Time to go," I repeated more loudly.

"Hmm." He turned a page, his eyes wide with concentration.

"We're leaving."

"Hmm."

"Carlisle."

"I'm having an affair with the milkman."

"Hmm."

"Carlisle!"

"Right!" He jumped to his feet, blinking at the clock. "Oh, it's nearly six… aren't you ready yet, darling?"

I shook my head indulgently as I made my way back down the stairs. Carlisle could get so involved in his work that I had to call him at the hospital sometimes, just to remind him to come home and "sleep". I wouldn't want it any other way.

Edward stood waiting by the door, gesturing for me to go out first. Always the gentleman, I thought lovingly, earning an eye-roll as Carlisle joined us downstairs. I turned toward the door to the basement as I put on my wrap. "Emmett! Now!"

"Oh-KAY!"

A huge crash brought Carlisle and I running down the basement steps. Edward muttered to himself as he went on out the front door alone.

"What happened?" I demanded as I surveyed the scene. Emmett was sprawled upside down atop his workbench, which was broken to bits. A steady rain of drywall and plaster was falling on his head, coating him with its white powder. I looked forlornly up at the new jagged holed in the ceiling; at least the kitchen floor seemed to have been spared this time.

"You're a dead man," Emmett snarled, scrambling over the mangled bench to get at Jasper, who was wearing an expression of studied innocence. One of the larger pieces came along with him, thanks to his shoelaces, which were securely knotted around one of the table legs—the latest installment, it seemed, in his and Jasper's ongoing prank war. He stumbled over the mobile bench piece and fell again, settling for chucking the blowtorch, which was still on, right at Jasper's head. Jasper caught it neatly and extinguished the flame.

"I can explain," he began, holding up his hands in surrender. "Now, this all started when Emmett—"

"Later," I sighed, backing away and swiping at the drywall dust that had found my dress. "We'll deal with it later. Come on, Emmett!"

Emmett growled threateningly at Jasper one last time, who raised an eyebrow in challenge. Emmett began to fumble with the knotted shoelace, then simply ripped it away to free himself. "Seven seconds," he yelled on his way up the stairs. "Time me!"

Carlisle was still staring at the gaping hole above, shaking his head. "How did the ceiling end up a casualty in all this?"

"And you," I said sharply, turning back to Jasper, "can work on cleaning this up while we're out." His expression of innocence morphed into a wounded "Who, me?" look. I felt myself begin to relax, but I narrowed my eyes. "Nice try. You're still cleaning it up."

"Yes ma'am," he drawled, grinning and tracing a lazy, cheerful salute across his brow before reaching for the nearest chunk of ceiling. I couldn't help but smile back on my way out; his antics with Emmett were adorable, even more so because I knew how happy it made him. Even as a human, he had never had much of a childhood, and then all those years of misery in the Southern wars… he needed this. Even my good-natured scolding never failed to put a smile on his face. As long as the house didn't fully collapse or go up in flames, they could have their fun. The blare of the horn on Edward's car greeted us when we finally made our way back out the front door.

"We're coming!" I shouted, holding my hands over my ears. Emmett blew past us on the front porch, zipping over to Rosalie's car and leaning casually against it, looking for all the world like he had been waiting there for hours. He looked like he should be a model on the cover of Apparel Arts, all polished and handsome, his huge arms folded with studied carelessness, one ankle crossed over the other. He looked over his shoulder to wink at Rosalie, who was openly admiring him from the driver's seat. Only his damp hair hinted at his rush.

"Seven seconds," he announced in triumph.

.

.

.

Edward drove like a maniac as usual, despite my insistence that he didn't really need a half hour to "warm up."

"I have to tune the piano before the recital. They never get it right," he protested, taking the next curve so wildly I was sure I could feel two wheels lifting off the ground. I shrieked and grabbed the dashboard with the one hand that wasn't holding the flower box. Carlisle, who was in the back with Alice, didn't even notice; he had brought his new medical journals along for the ride.

"Cop!" Alice announced abruptly. Edward slammed on the brakes, making my fingers leave a slight indentation in the dashboard. He clucked his tongue as we rolled by the police car, reaching across me to try and smooth the metal out.

"That's what you get for breaking the sound barrier!" I scolded him, only to gasp again as he gunned the accelerator the second the policeman was out of sight behind us. He and Alice broke into simultaneous laughter a few seconds later. I gave him a questioning look.

"Rosalie and Emmett are getting pulled over," he reported gleefully.

"Hmm," was all Carlisle had to say, turning another page.

.

.

.

"You could've warned us about the speeding ticket," Rosalie grumbled to Alice as she and Emmett slipped into their seats behind us. We were sitting near the back; it might have been tradition for the pianist's family to sit up front, but it was wiser not to attract attention.

"Why are you sitting back there?" Carlisle asked, looking over his shoulder.

"No reason," Emmett yawned, snaking an arm behind Rosalie's back.

"This isn't a movie theater," I warned them. "I don't want to hear any necking going on back there during Edward's performance."

Emmett gave me a look of innocence that matched the one Jasper had worn earlier. I turned back around, snatching the program out of Carlisle's hands before he had a chance to open it.

"I'll take that," I said, trying the look of innocence for myself. I peeked inside the program, smiling to see the line I wanted to hide from Carlisle until it was time.

Edward London, piano

Senior Recital on May 17, 1955

Southern Oregon College

.

Suite bergamasque…..….Claude Debussy

No. 3, Clair de Lune

Transcendental Etudes…..… Franz Liszt

Nos. 1, 2, 7, 8, 10-12

"Heroic" Polonaise Opus 53 in A flat major…Frédéric Chopin

Just You, Just Me…..…..arr. Nat King Cole

Original score by Jesse Greer

Leroy Watson on guitar

Matthew Lance on double bass

Boogie in the Dark….….. original arrangement

Original score by Jimmy Reed

.

INTERMISSION

.

Eternal Hope….…..…original composition

for my father, Dr. Carl London

with deepest admiration and gratitude

Piano Sonata No.2, Opus 36…Sergei Rachmaninoff

.

This recital is presented in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the Major in Music, Bachelor of Arts, Performance concentration

Please join us for refreshments immediately following the performance

.

Carlisle checked his watch. "Nearly time," he said, indicating the flower box still in my hands.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" I stole backstage and found Edward enduring a pep talk from his adviser, Dr. Wells. He looked relieved to see me.

"You'll do wonderfully," I assured him for the sake of Dr. Wells, who also seemed glad to be interrupted. He excused himself with a little bow; it never ceased to amuse me how humans' manners always improved with their dress.

"He thinks I'm so nervous that I don't appear nervous," Edward reported under his breath, fidgeting as I straightened his tie.

"Are you?"

"What?"

He did look a bit uneasy. "Nervous?"

"Of course not. But I still don't think this was the best idea. It's bad enough having my name in print all over the place"—He fluttered a copy of the program in my face as evidence—"but there's a man sitting in the front row from the San Francisco Conservatory of Music. Apparently he's heard of me."

I frowned. "How?"

Edward gestured impatiently toward the curtain, behind which his adviser had disappeared moments ago. "Wells, I imagine. I told him I was thinking about enlisting after graduation."

"Well, you can't blame him for wanting to show off the best pianist he's ever had the privilege of teaching."

"I'll have to muck it up somehow, to throw him off the trail."

"You most certainly will not!" I scolded. "There's nothing to worry about, especially as it's not your real last name. We'll be moving soon, anyway."

"The whole thing is unnecessary," he complained for what had to be the twentieth time. "It's not like I'll be hanging up the diploma anywhere!"

I reached up and laid my finger on his lips. "Edward. You are going to go out there and play as splendidly as you always do. It's high time you had an evening like this, where everyone can appreciate your music the way we always get to." I fixed the rose to his lapel and tugged on his jacket, which he had already wrinkled by putting his hands in his pockets. Then I reached up and gave his hair a final comb-through, just to cheer him up. It worked; he grinned and dodged away as he always did.

"How is he?" Carlisle asked as I sat down again.

"A bit worried," I whispered, leaning closer. "About the publicity."

"We'll be leaving soon," Carlisle said with a shrug. "And it's not like it's his real name."

"That's what I said." After that awful business in Calgary, it was hard to get worked up over these things anymore.

The lights finally dimmed and the spotlight gleamed on the piano. We all applauded politely as Edward strolled out and bowed to the audience before taking his seat, flicking his tails out behind him on the bench. I let out a little sigh of relief; I had been sure he'd sit on them.

Edward held his hands over the keys, waiting as the lights dimmed further, and then began. The delicate first notes of Debussy's "Clair de Lune" filled the room, soon accompanied by occasional sighs from a few young ladies in the audience. It really was unfair of him to be so handsome; I was sure they were quite distracted from the music. Many of them had dates but I was sure most of them were dreamily thinking of the dashing young pianist up on the stage. Poor Edward!

I was glad he had convinced Dr. Wells to let him begin with this piece. It was tradition, apparently, for the pianist to begin with the most complex piece in order to impress and astonish the audience. Not that this wasn't a difficult piece—far from it—but the first measures were so simple and unassuming. Edward was more concerned about setting the right mood. And the magic had already begun. The restless fidgeting and paper-shuffling and throat-clearing and whispering of such a large group of humans suddenly quieted. All eyes were on Edward now, and I felt furiously proud to see it. The beauty of the piece drifted and flowed, the perfect setting for the sensitivity and gentleness Edward could play with.

He drew the song to a whispering close, his touch so delicate the audience were leaning forward in their seats, savoring the last notes. Then a mischievous glint sparked in Edward's eye. Instead of standing to receive applause, as he was supposed to, he pounded so suddenly into the first of Liszt's Transcendental Etudes with such ferocity that nearly everyone gasped and fell backwards into their seats. His fingers were soon flying so fast I worried the humans might see something amiss. But Dr. Wells looked content, if a bit shocked by Edward's little trick. Edward had his audience under a different spell now, one not unlike the dread and fascination that humans felt when we looked straight into their eyes.

"Now he's just showing off," Rosalie murmured to Emmett behind me. Her reluctant admiration was obvious.

The etudes ebbed and flowed in complexity, quieting only to grow dangerously fast again in number eight. Edward's fingers were a blur now to the human eyes around us, but they could only stare in wonder. The final movements were much gentler. Edward finally stood and bowed serenely to his first round of applause, disappearing behind the curtain only briefly before coming out again.

The Chopin was next. This was Carlisle's favorite composer, and this was one of my favorite pieces Edward had ever played. I thought it sounded like a dance, light and positive. Edward had snorted at me when he first heard me thinking this, and informed me that he supposed it could be a dance if the dancers were warhorses on parade. But dance or not, I loved to watch him play this one. He was now fully enjoying himself up on stage, his expression shifting with the song's energy. His posture majestic and his hands danced across the keys with the lilting rhythm. Our applause matched his enthusiasm.

When Edward came out again, he was accompanied by two of the other music majors. The next two songs would be played by the jazz trio that he and the two others had formed for a class project last spring. They had played together a few other times since then. Part of me had hoped that Edward had found some friends here in our new home. But he had been careful to keep Leroy and Matt at more than arm's length, only practicing with them at the school and shying away from social invitations until they stopped coming. He didn't need to explain why; Nick's death was still fresh in all our minds. It was for the best, I knew that… but still, I wished that it could have been otherwise. Edward would so have enjoyed spending more time with these young men, especially with their shared love of music. In any case, he seemed to have enjoyed the time they had spent together.

I closed my eyes and relaxed, leaning my head on Carlisle's shoulder as I listened. The first was light and lyrical, a love song, and of course I failed miserably at trying not to imagine Edward being in love someday. Another daughter, perched atop the piano and watching Edward with adoring golden eyes. Or maybe sitting beside him on the bench, leaning her head on his shoulder like I was now with Carlisle. All the applause in the world couldn't equal the feeling that would bring him, and I ached for him to have it someday. Someday soon. Up on stage Edward sighed his usual tolerant sigh, and I thought a new note of melancholy wove its way into the otherwise cheerful song. Don't mind me, I thought apologetically. You know I can't help it sometimes. He smiled vaguely in response, moving on and recapturing his previous mood. His fingers barely seemed to touch the keys.

The next song would close the first half, and was truly Edward's crowning achievement of his time here in the Music Program. Instead of following the meandering evolution of mainstream jazz over the past few years, he had become enamored with rhythm and blues. He had taken one of his favorite boogies and arranged it for the trio, just for this concert. Poor Dr. Wells had been scandalized by this selection, but he had grudgingly allowed it, as the arrangement was at least free of drums and anything electric. And he could hardly refuse it when Edward had been working on the arrangement for nearly six months in preparation for tonight. I thought it was quite tastefully done. The younger crowd was certainly enjoying it, now twitching in their seats and tapping their feet. Emmett was drumming his fingers to the beat on the back of Rosalie's chair; Rosalie herself was leaning forward in her seat, watching Edward's fingers intently. And best of all, the trio on stage were now having the time of their lives. Matt was dancing in place with his double bass and Edward's eyes were squeezed shut as he rocked and swayed over the keys, grinning widely and nodding his directions to the others. It made his formal dress look absurd, but I couldn't be happier to see him have his fun.

This time the applause was long and energetic. Edward gestured to Leroy and Matt, who took their own bows, and as they all disappeared behind the curtain the lights came up. The humans were happy for the chance to stretch and chatter and visit the restroom.

"Oh!" Alice said suddenly, straightening in her seat. "Blood in a second!" All of us except Carlisle drew a quick breath and held it. An older lady, sitting up near the stage, had been checking her program again and turned the page too quickly. My throat twinged as the new scent bloomed on the air and called to me. I distracted myself by focusing on a conversation a few rows ahead of us; a group of college girls were gushing over Edward. I was slightly annoyed that they were more impressed by his appearance than by his music, but I supposed they couldn't help it. He was devastating in a tuxedo, tails or no.

"Good thing Jasper didn't come," Emmett said cheerfully once we were free to breathe again. His eyes were just a little darker than before. "What happened?"

"Paper cut," Carlisle murmured, casually watching the injured human across the auditorium to ensure his help wasn't needed.

"Edward's doing wonderfully, isn't he?" I said to no one in particular.

"Indeed he is," Carlisle agreed, reaching for the program in my hands. "What?" he asked as I snatched it away again, giving him a sultry smile instead. I knew how to distract him.

"Oh, nothing… so, anything interesting in the new journals today?"

He brightened instantly. For the rest of the intermission I was the lucky recipient of a super-speed whispered summary of the latest innovations involving streptomycin, ultrasonic diagnostics and therapies, hydrocortisone, and half a dozen other long words. I nodded and smiled brightly when I thought it appropriate, too distracted with my excitement over the surprise Edward had for Carlisle, and over the surprise I had waiting for Carlisle at home. He wasn't the only one who had been eagerly watching the mail this week.

The lights dimmed and our applause welcomed Edward back on stage, this time to the podium to use the microphone. He tapped it twice and leaned in to speak.

"I want to thank you all for coming tonight," he began, and was promptly interrupted by another round of applause and feminine sighs. A look of frustration briefly flashed across his face, but it was gone before another second passed. One of his many admirers, no doubt, accosting him with her thoughts. "For those who particularly enjoyed the earlier performance by our jazz trio, we'll be performing again for the senior recitals of Leroy Watson and Matthew Lance next Friday and Saturday, respectively. Before I conclude my own recital, I'd like to thank the professors and staff who have inspired and helped me along during the past four years, and none more than my adviser, Dr. George Wells." Another round of applause as Edward waved his hand toward Dr. Wells, who stood and gave a gracious bow. "But my sincerest thanks are reserved for my family. They are the ones who have loved me, supported me, and tolerated my more discordant notes over the past years." The audience tittered in amusement. I merely took Carlisle's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I thank you from the bottom of my heart," Edward continued, running his eyes over the five of us. Then his eyes rested on Carlisle.

"In particular, my father Carl London. As some of you know, I was adopted at age fifteen by the Londons when I lost my parents. It was a difficult time for me, healing and adjusting to my new home. All my new family are dear to me, but Carl has been my inspiration from day one. He has helped me through my darkest times, believing in me when I couldn't believe in myself. His example has been my guide, and I am only here today because of his hopeful spirit. This composition, begun so long ago, is in his honor." His eyes dropped briefly, but then he looked again at Carlisle with a small smile and a grateful nod before returning to the piano. I finally let Carlisle see the program. But he could not look down to read it; he was staring at Edward, frozen in place as the first few notes began. I had heard Edward practice this song a thousand times, but it had nearly always been when Carlisle wasn't home. Edward said he had begun this composition back in 1920, in gratitude for Carlisle's help throughout his newborn difficulties. But his disappointment in himself, and his bitter guilt over his years away, had left the song unfinished and unattended for many years.

He had only finished it recently, turning a simple, half-conceived melody into a beautiful three-movement sonata. This was the first time that Carlisle had heard most of it, and I didn't think he had known until tonight that it had been for him all along. And it meant more than it had back in 1920; now Edward was pouring out his gratitude not only for Carlisle's assistance in the beginning, but also for his uncomplicated love and forgiveness that had stood every test Edward had put it through. Edward hadn't fully believed in that love and forgiveness, not until Jasper had come and made him believe in it. I was so grateful to my newest son for that; his humble intervention had helped Carlisle and Edward see each other so much more clearly. Carlisle finally had the peace of knowing that Edward truly did not blame him for anything, and Edward finally had the peace of knowing that Carlisle's admiration and forgiveness were as genuine as his love. I knew that Edward was still not ready to truly be grateful for the life that Carlisle had given him, itself. But at least now he could live that life without bearing those extra burdens he had invented. He could feel truly at home in the home that had welcomed him back so many years ago.

The song was, as its title proclaimed, a story of hope. Not the sturdy, solid, human kind, but an ethereal lightness that might not look real at first, but was in fact strong enough to stand the test of eternity, of inhuman challenge. The melody was delicate at first, simple chord progressions in triplets that rose and fell in succession, gaining strength with each ascent. The music swelled in richness and complexity as it went on, but never deviated much from its simple theme. Finally, at its climax, the song was triumphant and almost forceful: the strength of hope against all odds. There wasn't a dry eye left in the human audience, and I ached to shed tears of my own. Edward's own eyes were gently closed. Somewhere in the middle of the second movement, Carlisle began to breathe again and finally picked up the program I had laid on his lap. He smiled warmly as he read it, his golden eyes drifting up again to watch his son. When the song came to a close, the last measures were just as hopeful, but in a surprising, expectant way; perhaps Edward hoped to add more someday? The audience seemed to be waiting for more, too, unsure if it was really over. When Edward finally stood, the applause began uncertainly at first, but as soon as Carlisle stood, others began to follow suit. When Edward straightened from his bow, I adored the look of humble surprise on his face as he realized he was receiving a standing ovation before his last piece. As if he didn't deserve at least two!

I wished that the recital could end right there. But his final piece, the Rachmaninoff, was his own favorite, and the real meat of the program. It was about twenty minutes long, the way that Edward played it. I hated it. It wasn't the length, and it wasn't that there weren't some heartbreakingly beautiful segments. Admittedly, it was a wonderful showcase for Edward's versatility. It was just that I hated seeing him play it. He had first discovered Rachmaninoff in the late twenties, and this song had blared through our house far too often in those months before his departure in '27. He had played it often upon his return as well, as he worked through whatever was going through his head in those days. I hated the exquisite look of pain he wore during those horrible, angsty sections, and I feared the dark anger that practically boiled over out of the piano with the violence of the final movement. It brought back too many memories, and made me wary of what memories might be going through his head as he played. He had just expressed, through his own beautiful style, the newness and security he so treasured now; why did he have to keep returning to this piece?

Edward started the Rachmaninoff with a grand crash, snapping his audience back to attention as he had done with the etudes in the first half. This piece at least had somewhat of a melody, I begrudged him. A dark, fiercely elegant one. It wasn't until it quieted down that I felt myself breathing again. Soon Edward's eyes were closed, his face twisted into that tortured look. This part would be beautiful, but for that look.

"Marvelous," Carlisle sighed beside me. I shrugged, crossing my legs the opposite way. "Still not your favorite?" he teased under his breath. I hummed in disapproval. "He needs this, you know," he went on. "Sometimes to feel the sun you have to stand in the storm for a while."

"Or drown in it," I sighed. Carlisle smiled, closing his eyes and obviously savoring every painful note that our son was squeezing out of the piano up there. Carlisle would appreciate it; he always insisted on hanging those horrid paintings in his study right next to the normal ones. When I had asked him about it once, he had replied that he thought it important to remember the road he could have gone down, as an inspiration for the road he sought to travel. That was all well and good for a man like Carlisle; I just worried that Edward sometimes confused inspiration with meditation. But for both their sakes I lifted my chin and forced myself to watch Edward every second for the rest of the piece. I could literally see the tension rise and fall in the way he held himself as he played, despite what was going on in his face. I supposed his pain could be due to the unbearable beauty of this part of the song… but I didn't think so.

If nothing else, it was good he had the piano, even if it sometimes precipitated his moods, as well as released them. I hated to think what form of expression he would have chosen otherwise. I felt myself tense as he entered the stormiest portion of the final movement, but I was determined to see it through. His fingers were once again flying, this time with such fury I was afraid he would tear the piano to bits right in front of everyone. The humans were tense, too, sitting forward in their seats again but with dread in their eyes and accelerated pulses. Edward seemed to be trying to outpace himself. The phrases grew more and more frantic as he approached the end, and for once I let the music lift me off the ground and carry me along with it. I remembered having this feeling once when I was a newborn. I was racing Edward home from a hunt—a hopeless effort, even with my newborn speed. But I was determined to see how fast I could go. The world blurred past until it was nothing but color, and still I ran faster, equally exhilarated and horrified at how inhuman I had become.

Edward's wide eyes reflected both those feelings now, and I began to wonder if this song did, in fact, speak to him of a different kind of hope. Carlisle's song reflected his gentle determination; this one poured out of a more furious, frightened resolve. I caught my breath as he entered the final sprint. The end came suddenly, the horror twisting into majesty at the last possible second. There was no uncertainty this time; we were all on our feet, roaring our applause. Edward was standing too, the last burst having thrown him right off the bench. His bow was as calm as could be, but his eyes were still wide with surprised exhilaration; I didn't think he had ever played that piece with such abandon before. The applause grew even louder and he bowed a second time before disappearing behind the curtain for good.

The humans recovered quickly, gathering their programs and purses and things. It took our family a little longer to thaw, finally turning to each other. Rosalie was still staring at the piano.

"Refreshments!" Emmett guffawed, pointing to the last line of his program and bringing us all back to reality. "Maybe some of the audience would volunteer?" Rosalie gave him a shove and Carlisle pressed his lips together in disapproval, gesturing toward the humans that were within earshot. "Seriously, do we have to?" Emmett moaned.

"For a little while," I answered. "And then maybe you two could catch the end of that other concert." I turned to Carlisle as we waited for our row to clear. "Did you like your surprise?" I asked him with a smile.

"Very much," he replied, his eyes shining. "I've always wondered where he was headed with that composition."

He found Edward first at the reception, which was held out in the entrance hall. They stood silently for a moment, Edward staring intently at Carlisle and then murmuring something in response. He was even handsomer than before, his hair wilder from the end of the performance and his eyes bright with energy.

"Wonderful," I told him as he finally let me drag him into a hug. Really wonderful.

"Have I redeemed the Rachmaninoff for you, then?" he asked, grinning. But we were separated by the press of the crowd; he was soon fending off human admirers. Carlisle and I left him to it and went to accept glasses of champagne.

"Mrs. London!"

I sighed and turned around, choosing a slightly dangerous smile for Dr. Wells as he scrambled up to me. He stopped in his tracks and sweat beaded on his forehead, but he persisted. "A magnificent performance!" he wheezed, reaching for my hand and then thinking better of it. "My congratulations! And you too, Doctor!" He was brave enough to shake Carlisle's hand vigorously.

"And our thanks to you as well," Carlisle said kindly, wringing his hand free. "Edward has always spoken highly of your instruction."

"Then take my advice," Dr. Wells insisted. "Talk him out of this nonsense about enlisting. Conservatories were made for talents such as Edward's, and I have a friend here tonight from San Francisco who was most impressed. I'd like you to meet him." He waved to a tall, thin man in spectacles, who began making his way over to us. "Their graduate program—"

"Edward is most eager to serve his country," Carlisle interrupted. "It has always been a dream of his to play for the armed forces."

"They'll waste him!"

"Edward will do as he sees best," I said with finality. "And we will support him fully."

"Which branch?" Dr. Wells wondered.

"Oh... he's undecided," I said vaguely, fearing another arranged meeting.

"A young man with this level of talent needs direction," the tall man offered, finally entering the conversation. Edward began to approach us, but grimaced and turned on his heel when he saw the ambush waiting for him.

Run while you can! I thought, sending him a teasing smile. He grabbed Alice's shoulder and pulled her over toward the dessert table.

We eventually extricated ourselves from the fawning attention of Edward's professors and admirers, to find that he had indeed made his escape. "He went with Rosalie and Emmett to the concert," Alice reported, holding up and jangling the keys to the Mercedes. "After they stop at home to change, of course."

"I'll drive," Carlisle announced, snatching them from her hand. I sighed in relief; it wasn't that Alice wasn't a good driver… most of the time. But she had a disturbing tendency to get lost in visions while driving at ungodly speeds. She pouted, but let the keys go.

We had a much calmer drive home. I was pleasantly surprised to find the basement in nearly perfect condition when we arrived; Jasper was just rolling on a second coat of ceiling paint. Alice ran up behind him and pounced, locking her arms around his neck.

"Let's go up to our lookout point," she whispered in his ear. "There's going to be a meteor shower."

"All right," he agreed. He grabbed a quick shower while Alice changed into her next outfit, and they were off.

I found Carlisle in the living room, trailing his fingers along the keys of Edward's piano. "Do you think he'd like a concert grand at home?" he asked me.

"Maybe someday." I moved closer, touching his arm. "I wish you could serenade me on the piano."

Carlisle laughed. "I can play, you know."

I blinked, dropping my hand. "What?"

Carlisle looked equally surprised. "You know I studied music, back when I was first in France."

"But you distinctly said that you and the piano had never gotten along."

"I did," he agreed. "But that doesn't mean I never learned."

"Carlisle, are you trying to tell me that we've been married for thirty-four years and all this time, you could play the piano, and you never told me?!"

"I wouldn't call it playing, not really," he protested, looking suddenly very awkward. "It's not something you'd want to hear."

"Which means, of course, that I must hear it, immediately!"

Carlisle sighed in defeat, digging through Edward's piano bench. "I assure you, you'll regret asking."

"I'll be the judge of that. This one," I decided, pointing to a book of Schumann. Carlisle closed the bench and sat, turning the pages until he found something he liked. He moved aside and invited me to join him, which I did. Carlisle held his hands above the keys, rather stiffly I thought, and began to play.

It wasn't incorrect, exactly. It was just… bland. There was absolutely no life at all in the music. Carlisle took one look at my face and began making mistakes, fumbling at notes which weren't even on the page.

I bit my lip. "Good heavens."

"I warned you," he said uncomfortably, and his playing grew even worse.

"What are you doing to that poor music? I've never learned to read it, but I'm sure those notes don't belong in there."

"I just don't have it, whatever makes people good at this. I can't bring it to life."

"But surely you can read the music?"

"I can, but then I hear how dull it sounds and I try to make it better, and it never turns out right." I wrinkled my nose, staring at his fingers as they tangled and stumbled along. I laughed suddenly, leaning harder into his shoulder.

He stopped playing, looking slightly hurt. "What?"

"You're actually not good at something! I think it's marvelous!" I kissed his cheek, trying to erase the hurt. "It's a gift, darling, don't you see? Most things are so easy for us, it's exciting to encounter a skill that confounds us. You can't imagine how nervous I get whenever I try a new recipe. I truly have no way of knowing if it'll come out right, since it all smells and tastes so terrible."

"But your cooking does come out right," he protested.

"That's what the humans say, but maybe they're just being polite. I'll never really know. It's incredible, to be able to feel so uncertain."

Carlisle pulled me even closer. "I think you are incredible," he said softly. "The way you see things sometimes. And... do you know what else is incredible?"

"Hmm?"

"We actually have this entire house to ourselves."

"Hmm… It's the perfect time for you to finish reading your journals, isn't it? And I could wrap up that design for—" I shrieked as Carlisle grabbed my shoulders and spun me around and up onto the closed lid of the piano. A new chaotic song rang out as he trampled the keys, climbing up to kiss my throat. "Don't you dare!" I gasped, "Edward's Steinway!"

"We'll be careful," he breathed, burying his hands in my hair and silencing my protest with a kiss. I lost myself for just a moment, barely hearing the bobby pins as they clattered down to the floor. But I squirmed away just enough to breathe again, giggling.

"No, not yet! I have a surprise for you." That stopped him long enough for me to slip out of his hands scrambling away over the end of the piano.

"Don't tell me you've written a song too." He waited curiously, though his eyes were dark with longing. Maybe after the surprise, we would watch the meteor shower, too. We hadn't made love on the roof in at least a year, after all…

"Come on, I'll show you," I began. "No, wait! You stay here. I'll call you up when I'm ready." I dashed upstairs, throwing aside the pile of mending I had arranged over the package that had arrived yesterday. I paused, smiling and wincing all at once as Carlisle's awful piano practice carried through the house. I hefted the box up on my shoulder and was soon ready in his study. "You can come up now!" I called. The music stopped.

"I didn't expect to find you hiding in this room," Carlisle began, but his foot paused on the threshold. No doubt he also hadn't expected to find me wearing a hospital gown and perched on top of an enormous cardboard box. "I'm... confused," he admitted, finally coming in.

"Open it!" I ordered, unable to stand to wait any longer. He sliced through the twine and tape with a fingernail and began to unearth the cushioned contents of the package. His eyes suddenly blazed with excitement and he let out a little cry as he saw his brand-new ultrasound machine.

"How did you… this is… Esme!" he kissed me soundly and then shredded the rest of the box away from his new treasure.

"I have my sources," I said coyly.

"This is too much!"

I laughed, dizzy with happiness over the rapture on his face. "Says the man who bought me an island! Well, aren't you going to try it? Your patient is ready!" I held one arm out with a flourish, using my other hand to smooth the hideous gown as though it were the blue satin I had worn earlier.

"I've been wondering how vampire tissue would appear in ultrasonography!" he exclaimed, tearing at the packaging to set it up.

Of course he had. He read through the manual at lightning speed and we soon made the discovery that vampire skin was completely impervious to diagnostic ultrasound waves, no matter how shallow an area he tried. Carlisle pronounced this to be an astonishing disappointment.

"I've never seen anyone so excited to see nothing," I teased him later as we lay on the roof, watching the meteor shower. I liked to pretend they were falling stars, tumbling down in a dance that only they understood. It was a ballet, a heavenly show put on for us, the only two people in the world.

"I thought I would at least see something more than with x-ray," he murmured, lost in thought. "It's still such a mystery, what we're made of. I don't suppose we'll ever know."

"Does it matter?" I asked the sky. "I think what truly matters is what we make with this life, don't you?"

"I do," he murmured, gazing into my eyes with love and wonder. He was still so amazed, after all these years, that I did enjoy listening to him chatter endlessly about medical particulars… still so grateful that I did understand what he was trying to do with this strange world we found ourselves in. I tenderly touched his face, in turn still amazed, after all these years, that my dream had come true. That I was here with him. He turned his face up to the stars again, an odd smile forming.

"What is it?"

"I was just trying to imagine what my reaction would have been, fifty years ago, had someone told me how full my life would soon be."

I snuggled closer. "I wonder where we'll be fifty years from now."

"Here," Carlisle mused. "Somewhere under the stars."

"Don't forget your promise to take me to the moon someday," I reminded him solemnly.

"Someday," he vowed, running his fingers slowly through my hair as we watched the sky. The heavenly ballet went on above us, bright and full of promise of things to come.