Spirit to Flesh: A Twific by LittleWing, betad by the unbelievably generous and kind Jessica1971
A/N: I want to take a minute to thank Shawna (aka Cullen312) of the amazing Embodiment and Jessica1971 for making this story sparkle. Over the weekend, they put their heads and talents together to make me the most beautiful banner and blinky. Go check it out on the Spirit to Flesh forum (Thanks Jessica for posting the links and coaching me through the 21st century). The kindness of these women humbles me daily. Thank you for blessing me with your talents.
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or The Love Letter. I'm just playin around and havin a ball. No infringement intended. No money made. Viva Le Fan Fiction!
Chapter 11: Irony
Edward had tried to plan every hour of the two weeks that Bella had warned him she would be away, but it still felt like an eternity.
Since he'd broken up with Victoria a month ago, he had a lot more time and energy to dedicate to Bella. He wrote to her several times a day, sharing his life for what felt like the first time. The irony of this sentiment did not escape him. He'd simply stopped questioning whatever it was that brought them together, choosing instead to just be grateful. Sometimes his letters were long and thoughtful, other times he would send her post-its from throughout the day – random notes about whatever he was thinking or doing. She was fascinated by the little pieces of adhesive paper. "You haven't seen anything yet," he told her excitedly. "Just wait. I don't want to ruin it for you." Since 'the woods', as he liked to call it, Edward kept pen and paper with him at all times.
In her absence, his classes had been the only anchor to his sanity. Edward was astonished at how Bella's presence in his life made everything new to him. His students could sense his renewed enthusiasm and responded with greater effort, more questions, and more experimentation. He loved it. He was planning to add an independent study course next year for students ready to write and produce their own symphonies. It was the first offering of its kind in the country.
He was right in the middle of his Composition and Theory class when Sylvia caught his attention. He called for a 15 minute break as he approached her.
"What's up?"
"Esme called. Your 9th grade teacher, Ms. McCarthy, has taken a turn for the worse. Her cancer has metastasized. Esme thought you would want to know. She's in the ICU at Brigham."
"Thank you for telling me." Edward gently squeezed Sylvia's shoulder as she eyed him with concern.
"Are you taping the class? I can stay here if you want to go now?" As a retired musician and opera singer, Sylvia knew enough about music to get through the last 20 minutes of class performance.
"No, no," Edward muttered to himself before refocusing. "The kids have been working really hard on this piece. I'll stay 'til the end, but cancel everything else for me. I don't have anymore classes for the day."
Sylvia nodded as Edward gave her a small smile and returned his attention to his class.
He left the practice room immediately after class, walking straight to his car. As Edward closed his car door behind him, he brought out his notebook and pen from inside his jacket pocket. He would write Bella more thoroughly later. Right now, he just wanted her to know where he was going and why.
Unexpected development today – will be home late. My old English Lit teacher, Ms. McCarthy, has been sick for awhile and today it looks like it's finally got the best of her. I'm on my way to see her now.
Who is she to me? They say everyone has that one teacher who finally breaks through – she was that for me. She is the reason I love to read. She taught me to love poetry, respect history, and see art in all the little things people do every day. She helped me understand that being smart wasn't enough, didn't mean that I could coast along. She taught me that it meant the opposite, that I had to work harder to challenge myself – to be the best – because I had it in me. Needless to say, my parents love her to this day – as do I. We've kept in touch, on and off, for 25 years now.
Anyway, she doesn't have much family, so I want to try to do everything I can for her now. I know you understand.
If you were here, I'd call you on the phone and tell you I love you and not to wait up.
The ride to the hospital was short, which gave him time to stop by the gift shop and buy flowers before visiting hours were over. As he entered her room, he could smell the acrid odor of death. Even though he'd never thought of becoming a doctor, he'd visited his father thousands of times at the hospital. He knew the smell.
Ms. McCarthy was sleeping heavily while a petite older nurse fluttered around her, checking gauges and saline solutions. "Oh!" she said, startled to see Edward standing at the door, watching her silently. "I didn't know Ginger was expecting any visitors."
"She wasn't, I guess. I just came over when I heard about her condition. I'm Edward Cullen, one of her old students."
The nurse smiled at him warmly. "That's nice. I'm sure she would really appreciate that. She's been in a lot of pain today. I just gave her a pretty strong sedative so I'm sure she won't be up until morning." The nurse took in his disappointed expression and added, "I'm sorry. Look, I know your father will be coming in early to check on her. Why don't I have him give you a call as soon as she wakes up?"
"Ah...thanks. That would be good…thank you. Excuse me, but how do you know who I am?" Carlisle worked primarily at Mass General. To Edward's knowledge, he had never worked at Brigham full-time.
"Honey, as long as your father's been running these halls looking after his patients, everyone knows who you are, plus you look just like him. I've been looking at pictures of you, Emmett, and Alice since you were babies."
Edward smiled sheepishly. "I see. Well…thanks again. I'll just leave these here." Edward placed the pink roses on Ms. McCarthy's night stand before picking off a single bud and handing it to the nurse.
"For you, Nurse Jemma. I'll see you both in the morning."
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Edward met his father at the hospital at 5:30am the next morning. Having had the chance to go home, Edward came equipped with two large cups of coffee and several volumes of poetry.
Carlisle watched his son as he stepped out of the elevator. He had always been proud of Edward, but this past month the changes he had seen in his son took his breath away. When Edward came to Carlisle to tell him about his break up with Victoria, Edward had seemed almost hesitant, as if expecting reproach. He was genuinely surprised by Carlisle's relief.
3 Weeks Ago…
"Son, I understood your reasoning behind the marriage, but that…life with someone you don't feel passionately about, it's just not what I want for you." Carlisle had watched Edward carefully before continuing. "The kids tell me you've found someone else, that you're in love. Is it true?" Carlisle had tried to make his voice sound encouraging.
Edward had chuckled quietly at his father's nickname for Emmett, Jasper, and Alice. They had all grown up together, with his parents long since adopting Jasper in spirit if not in name. "Dad, we haven't been 'the kids' in a long time," Edward paused. "And yes, it is true. I have found someone, but…it's…we can't be together. I can't really talk about it yet and I don't know when I'll be able to, but she is the most important thing to me now. I love her."
Carlisle fell back in his chair as the air rushed from his lungs. He had feared he would go his whole life without ever hearing the tone he now heard in his son's voice, without ever seeing the expression of complete devotion that overshadowed every other feature on his face. How had he missed this and what did Edward mean by "we can't be together"?
Esme is right, Carlisle thought. It's time to retire. If he could miss his son transform from an overgrown boy to a man right in front of his eyes, he needed to rethink his priorities.
Carlisle knew that Esme knew something. He had always been effortlessly attuned to his wife. He had noticed Esme's knowing smiles towards Edward over the last several months and this gave him comfort. The situation couldn't be all that bad if Esme so obviously approved.
Knowing better than to press his overly private son, Carlisle offered Edward what he knew Edward would value most.
"Son, I can't deny that I'm surprised, but more than that, I am happy for you." Carlisle said as he moved to embrace his son with a broad smile on his face, "Congratulations, Edward. I'm so proud of you."
-------
Edward handed the extra cup of coffee to Carlisle as soon as he was in reach. "I know you probably don't need this," Edward muttered into his own cup.
"Thanks," Carlisle smiled. "Coffee at 5:30 in the morning is never a bad idea."
"How is she?" Edward asked before taking another long drag from his cup.
"She is comfortable, but I fear this is probably her last day with us. She's anxious to see you. As soon as she saw the flowers, she knew you'd been by."
The last remnants of sleep left Edward as he took in his father's words. He nodded his understanding while noticing the new grey hairs hovering around his father's temples. Edward walked towards Ms. McCarthy's room with renewed purpose and urgency.
"Thanks, Dad," he said before giving his father a prolonged hug.
"Of course. I have a few patients here, so I should be around until 11. Page me if you need anything."
Edward had been prepared for her emaciated figure; he'd taken that in last night. Cancer would do that to you, he knew, but he wasn't prepared for the brightness of her smile. The outline of her once full lips strained against her teeth as she unleashed the widest smile he had ever seen. He couldn't stop himself from laughing.
"Well, how are you, gorgeous?" he said, relaxing into the knowledge that there would be no sad goodbyes. Today would be all about making her last few moments as joyful as possible.
Ms. McCarthy let out a laugh that sounded more like a cough. "I'm never taking back that C- you got on your Iliad essay, so stop trying to sweet talk me."
"It was worth a try," he grinned before kissing her lightly on her boney cheek and taking her hand.
"Thank you for the flowers," she said softly. Her voice suddenly sounded exhausted, and Edward realized that she'd probably used up all her energy to prop herself up on her pillow and put on her last brave face.
"You know you deserve them. Here, why don't we get you a little more comfortable so I can show you all the goodies I brought for you today?"
Edward lowered her bed to an almost fully reclined position and pretended not to notice when she pushed the pain medicine dispenser button.
"What have you brought me, my boy?"
"Poetry," he declared, wiggling his eyebrows. Ms. McCarthy managed to chuckle silently before drawing her blankets closer to her.
"All your favorites – Byron, Marrell, Owen, Smith, and, last but not least, Anonymous!" Edward willed his voice to remain light and amusing.
"Sounds thrilling," she sighed, then opened her eyes to look at Edward briefly before adding, "But I think perhaps we have time for only my favorite." Snaking a hand from under her blanket, she pointed to a thin book on her nightstand. Edward put his books down and leaned to within inches of her face. "Of course," he said with a warm smile, "As you wish."
Edward took the book and began reading immediately. He didn't remember much about this poet, though he remembered from class that this was Ms. McCarthy's favorite author. Vaguely, he was aware that Ms. McCarthy must have introduced him to this author in the "pre-getting-his-butt-in-gear" phase of his high school career, when he was more interested in Michael Jordan than paying attention in class. Reading the author's work now, he could appreciate it. The tone of each poem was completely different. Some were strong, passionate, and quick, while others were wistful and hauntingly vulnerable. He guessed that this was done to steer the reader away from conventional assumptions about whether the author was a man or a woman. Clever, he thought.
Ms. McCarthy's expression did not change as he read; she simply closed her eyes with a peaceful smile across her face. At one point, when she had stopped fluttering her fingers periodically, Edward feared that she had slipped away while he read.
"Ms. McCarthy?"
"I'm not dead yet, Edward. Keep reading."
Her smile widened as she opened one eye and peered at him, "Though I couldn't think of a more wonderful way for someone like me to go. Your voice is so…lovely," she finished and closed her eyes again with a smile.
"Well, that's all well and good, but give a guy some warning before you go traipsing off to the next plane," he joked.
"I'll do my best."
Edward laughed nervously as he tried to think of something that would keep her talking, keep her with him a little longer.
"Ms. McCarthy, why is this author your favorite, out of all the other writers you know?"
"Maybe it was the mystery," she sighed. "I just always thought her writing was so truthful. There is no pretense. She lays her thoughts, her mind, her soul right there on the page. It was very brave for a woman of her time."
"How did you find out that it was a woman?" he asked, just trying to keep her talking.
"You don't remember?" Ms. McCarthy asked, finally opening her eyes and turning to him slightly. She continued when she met Edward's blank expression. He was only a boy after all, just 13 at the time, but even then she had seen the potential in him.
"You met her. She came to our class your freshman year at Winchester."
"Really?" Edward closed the book over his index finger to keep his place while leaning forward. "I don't remember that at all."
"I guess not," she chuckled. "That was your first semester. It took me until your second to knock some sense into you.
"I'd been writing her publisher for over a year once I discovered her work, just to see if she was still alive. When they told me she was, I asked if she would mind coming to the school to do a reading. She only agreed to come to my class, my freshman class, which I thought was a little strange at the time, but you know how writers are. Plus, I really didn't care. I just felt so…honored that she was coming at all," she said reverently.
"The day she came, I couldn't believe it. Up until then, I didn't know she was a woman. I didn't know that she was so old." Ms. McCarthy laughed at the irony of her old eyes now looking back on the perspective of her younger self. Ms. McCarthy's laughed died down as she paused.
"Go on," Edward encouraged, trying to be with her and remember what she remembered.
"I just recall being so excited," she continued. "She read from that very book. Her publisher had just printed a collection of her favorite poems and a selection of new ones she had never released, and she gave it to me. It wasn't even out yet.
"That book has my favorite poem in it. It's the only love poem she ever released, though I'm told she had hundreds stored away." Edward noticed that her voice, though weak, took on a dream like quality as she told the story. He was glad that he had asked her about it. Telling the story seemed to make her so happy.
"Read it to me now, Edward...please. It's at the end, page 54."
Edward smiled as he opened the book in his hands, happy that he could do this one last thing for her.
As he found the page, his eyes glanced over the first line and stopped.
He knew the poem. He knew it by heart.
Edward dropped the book on the floor, but Ms. McCarthy didn't seem to notice.
He could not organize his thoughts as his mind went silent.
She had been in his class when he was 13. She had known who he was. He had known nothing. He couldn't even remember it, couldn't remember her.
"Oh, God," he whispered. Feeling sick to his stomach, he cast his wide eyes to the floor to steady himself and saw the inscription that was written in exquisite handwriting on the inside of the front cover.
To the holder of this book,
you have given me my most precious possession.
I am yours as
you are mine
- Bella
Edward blinked several times before his eyes began darting around the room, looking for a woman who no longer existed. It was as if she had reached out from the grave and touched him, spoke to him directly.
Crushing grief overwhelmed him as he realized the opportunity she had taken, the one he had unwittingly squandered. The words of her poem, their poem, haunting him in its full meaning.
"Edward, please now. Read it to me now."
Somehow the whisper of her ragged voice broke through the chaos in his mind. He closed his eyes and spoke through the tears welling and breaking through.
It is for you that I endure
It is for you I linger on
With hope I clutch
With feeble hands
To chance, to fate
to love
It is for you my tears flow ceaseless
It is for you this heart still beats
It is for you my feet more forward
Though my mind stays forever behind
It is for you that I tempt fate and time
Determined to find the way
It is for you that I seek mercy
from the devil or the gods
It is for you that life renews
Bringing life to light
Like ours
Ms. McCarthy's smile grew wider, oblivious to his shaking as she sighed in appreciation.
"Yes. Yes. That is exactly how she read it. You know, she shook your hand as you left the classroom. She even introduced herself. That's how I found out her name. For one moment, you actually looked up from your sports magazine and she looked straight at you and said 'Hello, Edward. I'm Bella. Bella Swan. It is so good to meet you.' It was the oddest thing."
The room began to swim as Edward felt himself losing his grip on the room, this place, his sanity. He needed to leave so that he could go somewhere and scream and find her and tell her that he was stupid and 13 and didn't know that the most important moment of his life was behind him and he couldn't even remember it.
He heard something scrape across the floor and realized it was his chair, and somehow he was standing. He wasn't sure how long he'd been upright or how long it had been from the time he finished reciting the poem, to the time when Ms. McCarthy had spoken again, to now as her eyes suddenly opened.
"Warning…warning," she whispered as her eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling.
Edward jumped back in shock as understanding came to him immediately. Recovering quickly, Edward dropped to his knees and grabbed her hand selfishly, desperately stealing her last breath.
"Tell her I love her, that I'm sorry that I didn't know. Please tell her that I love her," he begged into Ms. McCarthy's ear, hoping that his words would translate wherever she was going.
"I will," she said as pure wonder stretched across her face.
"I will," she breathed once more, and was gone.
As his tears began to fall uncontrollably, he knew he was lost. He rose from the floor only because his body remembered the physiological connections that made the act possible. As Edward's mind shut down, his body took over, doing what it needed to do to take care of itself. He could feel the air moving across his face as he ran. He took the stairs, his instincts telling him he could not be trusted in a confined space with others.
The nurses all assumed his screams were related to the woman that lay dead in Room 502.
A/N: Peeks out from behind couch…Did you know that reviewing reduces angst? It's true… really, I just made it up. Okay, who needs a hug? Who wants to gouge my eyes out? All are welcome on the Spirit to Flesh forum (link on my profile) or you could let it all out by pressing the little button just below this message.