Spirit to Flesh: A Twific by LittleWing, betad by the visionary Jessica1971
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 14: Return
Edward took a month off – from work, from life, from everything. He had hoped to pull himself together after a week or so, but he couldn't manage it. He couldn't manage much of anything at first.
It took him three days to shower after Esme left the morning after he had come back from the hospital. He did not take the pain killers for his shoulder, but not to be masochistic. Edward truly believed that he had and would suffer enough pain. Rather, he found the pain a welcome distraction from the hollow numbness that was growing inside him.
He stayed away from his piano, at first because he didn't want to hear the sound that would come out if he played. Later, as his despair grew, he didn't want to break the instrument if it was incapable of expressing the pain he felt. I don't think there is a series of notes low enough for this, he'd thought when his mother suggested that he play in lieu of talking. He had simply sighed into the phone in response. Esme knew he wasn't really listening.
The only consistent thing Edward did for 2 weeks was read Bella's letters. It was the only thing that marked the passing of time, the changing shadows on the bed or couch as he read her every word over and over again. By the end of the second week, he had ordered everything she had ever written and had it delivered to his house the next day. He was proud to find that her poetry was well respected and prized highly by a few rare book collectors.
It was in reading her work that he found the strength he needed to return to the life he had left. Ms. McCarthy had been right in her description of Bella's work. She delved bravely into every subject she took on – feminism, religion, war, poverty, fashion, elitism, travel, politics, racism, science, philosophy. She brought a careful and nuanced viewpoint to each subject, sharing her own thoughts and doubts freely. She even published a study on the function of indifference in evolution, using her cat Agnes as a primary reference.
She was funny. She was razor sharp. She was bare and raw. She was fearless.
The only subject she never wrote about was love. When asked about this once in an interview, she simply said, "The one who matters knows why." And he did. He was as sacred to her as she was to him. For that type of worship, absolute privacy was necessary. She never published a single love poem until her last book, a small selection of her favorite works. On the last page, she had conceded to publish the only love poem she ever released with one stipulation – that the book be released after her death – which was one week after her appearance at Winchester School, one week after the day she met Edward.
She held on for me, he thought in amazement. Just as she promised.
Looking over all she had accomplished, he marveled at how she had been able to turn what had happened to them into a force to live by, something to propel her forward.
At least she had the future to look forward to, he thought, our last chance. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he was wrong. She had not merely passed the time waiting. She had lived. She had emptied herself out and opened herself up to whatever was there for her to experience. He resolved to do the same.
He spent his last week at home rescheduling appointments, catching up on paperwork, and composing. He wrote a new symphony in two days, staying up half the night, improvising, and experimenting until he had finally written an ending that was worthy of her.
Edward could hear the difference in his playing. He was a different man. His relationship to the keys on his piano became more primal, even more instinctual. He played now with a depth and passion that he didn't have before.
When he stepped back into his office, 4 weeks and 1 day after he had left to visit Ms. McCarthy in the hospital, Sylvia was waiting for him with a big smile and an even bigger stack of appointments and messages. "Welcome back, Edward," she grinned, reaching behind his neck to pull his head down for a kiss on his forehead.
Edward smiled at the comfort of the familiar gesture. "Thanks, Sylvia. Come on, I've got chocolate croissants and coffee. Let's get this show on the road."
A/N: Just keep swimming.....just keep swimming...It'll be alright....especially if you review. Thanks again to everyone who is reading, reviewing, asking questions and rec'ing this story. I can't express the gift that each of you are to me. I hope you have a wonderful and safe weekend.
The Spirit to Flesh forecast for next week is looking pretty good. I think you might even be able to put your tissue away. :-)