Chapter 8: Mementos

.

Edward

.

I thought I would be more reluctant to start over in Rochester. Ashland was the first place I lived with Carlisle for any amount of time. It was where Esme came into my life (back into Carlisle's). We all had good memories in that house but unlike my memories of Chicago immortal memories don't fade. Still I'd watched the house as Esme fixed and fussed. When we finally sold it to a happy couple expecting their first child I wouldn't have recognized it as the same structure. Esme was ecstatic even if she could hardly stand to be near the family for more than a few minutes. She could see the hopeful looks passed between the husband and wife. It was a dream home, not just for them but also for Esme, an impossible dream in her mind. She felt a pang of jealousy when the couple shared loving looks or touches. I saw her trying not to imagine herself and Carlisle in the same actions. But more than that she envied the couple their child.

Esme hadn't wanted children before she became pregnant and being with child had not been easy or convenient for her. She didn't have any of the supports a new mother should: husband, family, friends, home, and income. She had a rented room and a rural schoolteacher's wages. Now she had Carlisle and I, she had a beautiful home and never worried about money. Finally in a place where she might have thought to have children she couldn't and never would be able to.

I heard her thinking about this as the couple drove off from their second visit to see the house, wondering myself how I could possibly comfort her. Then her thoughts turned to me unbidden and she swelled with happiness and pride. Maybe she couldn't have children of her own flesh and blood but she had me. He has lost his mother and I have lost my son, She thought, we can take care of each other even if those wounds won't heal completely. I hugged her as soon as she walked in the door because as much as I meant to her, she meant the same to me. It felt right to hug her that way. It made me realize how devoid of living contact my life had become. Carlisle was not a physically affectionate father (nor was his) and the touch of humans was closer to agony than comfort. I decided then, conventional expectations of men aside; I was going to hug my mother more often.

(Of course when you were perpetually 17, you could lift cars with ease, accumulate money without even breathing and charm any woman just by smiling at them you could afford to loose a few man-points.)

Within two weeks of that day Ashland disappeared between the trees out the back window of Carlisle's car. Esme's sewing machine was in the trunk. The ancient cross Carlisle's father had carved was wrapped up in his clothing in his trunk. The suitcase from Esme's human life was repacked and laid beside her in the backseat. My own bag was mostly books though I did have more clothing leaving than coming. It wasn't very much that we took with us. But I realized that it was everything important.

Rochester was different and yet similar. It was also just off one of the Great Lakes. We arrived in the worst of winter to the little house nestled on a sizeable plot of land between two larger houses on a long winding street. Still much closer to town than our last house, it offered access to the forest and some tree cover from the street. It was a small craftsman style bungalow, only one story, with an offset porch, deep enough to shade the front windows, and wide inviting front windows.

Esme loved it at first sight and immediately set about furnishing it. She craftily converted the filled the dinning room with more shelves than table space, while it still remained passably functional should human guests come inside. My piano dominated one half of the living room and the remainder of our library decorated the walls around it. Carlisle's cross took pride of place over the mantle and Esme's sewing machine went into the otherwise unused kitchen. For the first months in the her room was a riot of wood, catalogs, fabric and various paints and varnishes while she set up the house.

She was getting better and better with her control, practicing with Carlisle and I by shopping for furniture and accessories. She knew I often bored of such trips so she was determined not to mess up again. Carlisle was hopeful about her progress but the memory of her first slip made him cautious. As board as I was, that memory haunted me too.

Carlisle was around in the day more often now that he was in night school, working on yet another medical degree. I was taking two classes in music and history and struggled to sit through either of them without grinding my teeth. I think I hunted as much as Esme those first months. I was happy to hug her as soon as I came home each evening if only to let her scent clean out the wonderfully agonizing smell of human blood in my nose. I had to listen to Carlisle's pang of jealousy every time I did though. Sometimes I gave him meaningful looks but he staunchly ignored me.

Our cover story was trickier to decide on, partly because being in school and so close to town put us under more scrutiny. It also had to explain our lack of involvement in the War. I looked too young but Carlisle was of the right age. In Ashland he had simply told the truth, he had been a doctor in the Chicago Influenza Ward and never drafted. Now, posing as a 21 year-old med student, he was of an age with the young draftees who had returned. So he adopted my story, the last surviving member of his family wiped out by the flu. I was posing as the orphaned son of a soldier and God-son of Carlisle's parents. He was now my guardian having inherited me along with a sizable sum of money. The exact number was a source of speculation in the small town. Esme was explained to be my second cousin from my mothers, poorer side of the family, who was employed as our housekeeper. It irked me the way people thought of her as our charity case. They speculated that Esme was divorced or her family hadn't wanted her for other reasons. Someone started a vicious rumor that she had been pregnant out of wedlock and had an abortion. That one bothered me more than the rumor she was trying to marry Carlisle for his money, perhaps because of how close to right it was and yet how wrong. Others thought there must be some reason she wasn't married, being as beautiful as she was. It didn't help that many of them were jealous of Esme and she was never in public long enough to be well known. If they had met her I knew they couldn't help but see the kind-hearted woman she was. But Esme still struggled with being around humans for any period of time and kept to the house out of necessity.

What I hated most about Rochester has absolutely nothing to do with Rochester itself and everything to do with my father. Esme was of course involved but I could never find it in myself to blame her for her silence even when her near constant thoughts of my father annoyed me. I think it was a combination of getting her thirst under control so it no longer dominated a large portion of her mind and Carlisle being around more in the day, not just on our long nighttime hunting trips and wilderness hikes. The reason Carlisle bothered with night school at all, though he would never admit it, was to have more time with Esme. He would happily explain to me the medical advances that had happened since he was last in school and the benefits of posing as younger in a new community or even Esme's youth in immortal years. I should have been around more in Ashland to help her through this, he thought to me and it was a genuine thought but underneath it I could feel his real purpose.

Carlisle and Esme were like ships passing in the night, each convinced they were the only thing in the sea for miles. Only they were sitting in the same room, sneaking glances at each other like teenagers. It seemed every third paragraph Carlisle read he found something to consider sharing with Esme. For a moment he would debate it then throw it away and move on. I could hardly play my piano without having to listen to Carlisle stifling questions for Esme. I listened to their mutual eager restlessness in the hours before their walks around the park or by the river. I broke down and asked them to leave more than once rather than listen to the two repressing their rush. I was more tempted to break my promises in those months than I have ever been. How can such smart people be so stupid? I asked myself over and over. But the days wore on and so did their silence.

.

Carlisle

.

I hardly looked at the date of the paper when I brought it in.

"Ridiculous," I muttered and sat down on the couch to read the article that hadn't even made the front page.

"What is it?" Edward asked as he and Esme came in the back door from their early morning hunt. I paused in my reading to watch her breeze through the living room, tidying absentmindedly and leaving the smell of dew, oak, and ferns in her wake. She moved gracefully, her blue and white patterned dress swaying with every step. It was nice to see her in brighter colors. Most of the clothes she'd brought to Ashland were neutral and sedated. They did suit the happy demeanor she had now.

Edward tapped my shoulder and I pulled my thoughts away from Esme to hand over the paper, recounting what I'd read to him mentally. He snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Something amusing?" Esme asked where she was rearranging the books on the shelf back into alphabetical order. I wondered if it would be petty to rearrange the top shelf so I could watch her fix it. Yes, I told myself forcefully, it most certainly would. Edward chuckled.

"Not really, Esme," he said. "The War Reparations Commission has decided Germany owes the allied 132 billion gold marks."

"132 billion?" She turned to him with a confused look. "Can any country afford that?"

"The US might," I said with a sigh, "but Germany won't be able to. I hate to think of what's happening there. It was such a different place last time I saw it."

"After what's happened in the past four years maybe it's better this way. No one wants to see this again," Edward said.

Esme crossed the room to read over his shoulder and he passed her the paper. I was still lost in memories of my last visit to Germany when I heard Edward groan. The paper dropped to floor and less than a second later Esme's door slammed on the other side of the house. I jumped up and looked quickly to my son.

What? Is she alright? Did we say something? Did I say something? But Edward was shaking his head. Silently he bent to pick up the paper and flipped to the front page. He mutely handed it to me and pointed at the date: 28th of April 1922.

For a moment the date meant nothing to me. It was two days shy of the day I changed Esme a year ago. Then I realized the important days had come and gone. Lyle's birthday and death had passed unnoticed. How did we not notice? What is she thinking right now? What do we do? I was half panicked with helplessness.

Edward motioned for me to follow him and numbly I did. He lead me almost to the road where were stood in the shadow of the largest tree in the long front yard.

"She can't hear us here if we're quiet," Edward said softly.

How did we let his happen?

"I don't know. I've barely thought about the date. I've been so focused on school and monitoring gossip," he said. There was a lot of weight on his shoulders now to look out for any suspicions that would reveal or threaten us.

This isn't your fault, I thought firmly. I should have known this was coming. But like you, I've been figuring out this new life and…

Edward groaned. "You're driving me crazy! Tell her how you feel."

Now is definitely not the time. I threw him an exasperated look. He did look satisfactorily chagrined.

I sighed heavily. What can we do? I asked him silently.

"Nothing really," he shook his head. "She just needs time I think. She feels guilty right now. She's been so happy the past few weeks working on the house and feeling more in control around humans. She hardly looks at the date anymore, what's the need? I think she's happy to let a lot of her human memories fade, much more than you or I am."

All the tragedies she's lived through, I can't blame her. There are parts of my memory I wish I could blur out.

"They bother her less. When was the last time a loud noise made her jump? You remember how scared she was in the beginning. That's all gone now."

Sometimes I think she remembers Charles though, I thought, recalling her moments of silence when her smile slipped despite her efforts.

"Yes she still thinks of him but she doesn't linger on those thoughts like she used to. She is healing. Even she can see that. I think that's why this hurts so much now. She doesn't feel like she should be healing."

I considered Edwards words and I understood. It had taken me a long time not to feel guilty about my happiness just to have Edward and Esme for company. I might always hate myself for damning them to this life but I could allow myself to enjoy life with them at the same time. Still the anniversary of her son's short life would be a hard reminder to overcome. We can't let this happen again, I thought to Edward.

"She won't let it." He assured me.

Silently we headed back for the house. There was nothing we could do there but perhaps our presence would help.

{Note: I wrote this scene thinking Esme was changed in 1920, making it set in 1921 but she was changed in 1921 making this scene in 1922. So the event in the paper actually happened in 21 but I'm too lazy to rewrite the whole thing. History fiction… meh.}

.

Esme

.

Carlisle was surprised to see me when I emerged from my room in the late afternoon wearing a sensible dress and coat appropriate for the cold snap of weather that was blowing through town. He hid it well though. Edward gave me a weak smile.

"Have fun on your walk," He said like always but this time to spur his shocked father into action. I sent him a silent thank you while I waited for Carlisle to get read. Edward put aside his book and came over to embrace me quickly.

"He's been worried about you," Edward whispered in my ear.

I'm sorry, I replied. I know I worried you both. He just nodded and sat down at his neglected piano and began to play.

"Shall we?" Carlisle asked and held out his arm to me. That was the last thing we said for most of our walk. The park was nearly empty so I could even enjoy the fresh air as we ambled between the first flowers and the hopefully budding trees.

It was comforting just to hold onto his arm even if I wanted to do more. I was desperate for some physical connection or I might have just stayed in my room for weeks staring at my little picture. I had it with me in my pocket, not quite ready to part with it.

"I wish there was a grave," I said suddenly, surprising even myself. Sometimes I forgot that there was no delay between wanting to move my lips and their action. "I mean I wish I had a place that I could go to be… near to him."

"I know what you mean," Carlisle said softly. "I… there isn't much left of the London that I grew up in. The graves of the people I knew—even my father—are gone now."

"Do you still miss him?" I asked. Will I still mourn for my little boy in two centuries? Carlisle never mentions anyone from his past. What kind of a man could raise someone so kind and compassionate as Carlisle, I wondered. Wouldn't he have to be the same? Someone worth remembering at least?

"No," he shook his head as if he heard my thoughts. "My father was… not a loving man. It would be more accurate to say he had one love and that was God. I spent many years trying to appease my father with my devotion and faith but I never had the relationship I wanted with him. Still, I keep his cross. It reminds me of him and how far I have come."

"His cross? On the mantle?" Esme asked. "I—I had no idea it was so old."

"He carved it himself before I was born." Carlisle was looking pointedly ahead of us with a look of concentration as if he were trying hard to remember something or not to remember something.

I wondered vaguely what I would have left of my human life in two and a half centuries. The little photo in my pocket might not be more than dust by then. What was left of Edward's life? His parents?

"I suppose we'll all lose touch with where we came from eventually," I said frowning. "I should be thankful I have what I do." Carlisle stopped suddenly and turned to me. His expression was tortured.

"Esme, please, don't say that as if you deserve this…" his mouth moved but he had no words for what he meant. I felt my eyebrows knitting together. "You never deserved to have your son or your human life stolen away from you. To watch the world changing around you and remain unaffected, frozen this way, it's not something anyone deserves." His words stunned me. Didn't deserve? I didn't deserve this life; it was too perfect. I didn't deserve life at all.

"I threw myself off a cliff," I said breathlessly, my mind hung on the last terrifying moment of mortifying regret. An answer flashed across Carlisle's mind, I saw it in his eyes but the emotion that went with it confused me. Why should he feel guilt at my suicide? He saved me. That should be cause for pride. He swallowed and looked down, away from my face.

"It can seem like the right answer when you are alone in the world," he said softly, when he looked up to meet my eyes I saw understanding there, not the pity that I expected. I felt myself trapped in his gaze and I was happy to stay there. I felt like he could see past my grief to the terrible loneliness that had dragged me to that cliff. Maybe I jumped because of the grief but that wasn't what brought me to the edge.

"I tried it," Carlisle explained to me without looking away, "not long after I entered this life. I tried every way I could think of to die… to not be the monster that I had become. I hated myself and I knew I could never return to my father. He had spent years hunting down humans on the suspicion that they were daemons or witches. He killed many people more innocent than me. I found out we are a lot harder to kill than human's though or I wouldn't be here today."

I never would have met you! I thought and it made the breath catch in my throat trying to imagine a world without Carlisle.

"I'm glad you are," I said softly and squeezed his arm, drawing myself a little closer to him. He smiled a little.

"So am I," he said. "There are a lot of people I never would have met, a lot of people I never could have helped, and my life has only gotten better since then. I have hope it will get better still and that…" He hesitated. "That yours will be the same." His beautiful eyes smiled down at me and I couldn't help but feel warmer and lighter. I took a deep breath and bit my lip to keep from crying. Even without tears I could still sob and I didn't want him to see that.

We began walking again while the sun set behind the tall city buildings lighting up the clouds in warm colors. A group of women smiling and laughing passed us on the path and their smell swirled around us. I breathed in the smallest breath as they passed and felt the burn in my throat aching to be satiated. I recognized the part of my mind that wanted to give in to instinct and hunt but recognizing it I could resist and keep my composure.

I knew Carlisle was watching and after the group had passed I felt him relax. He trusted me and my control. I felt like jumping for joy. I had come a long way already from the little house in Columbus. Carlisle was right that my life had only gotten better since the moment I jumped starting with my instant regret. It would get even better. I would be able to go out into the world again, meet people—human people—and have an almost normal life. Better than normal if Carlisle was in it. I knew as hard as it had been to get to get here, walking comfortably with Carlisle in public knowing Edward was waiting for us at home, there were still hard times ahead of me. But all the darkness God had ever laid in my path seemed thin if I could just face it with Carlisle.

.

Edward

.

I was waiting for Carlisle to return when Esme's mind, calling my name, caught my attention.

Edward, she asked tentatively. She was even hesitant to think of asking me for help. I don't think she would have if I couldn't hear her thoughts; actually speaking the words would give her time to rethink them. Would you come in here and tell me what you think?

I put aside the book I wasn't reading and ventured into her room at the back of the house. She was in front of the tall mirror examining her outfit. It was conservative in color and style, made specially for the occasion and accented by a colorful pin made of artful cloth and bead flowers she had made. Her hair was pinned up properly under a little navy blue hat and her hands were covered with sensible white gloves.

Do I look alright? She asked me worriedly.

"You look wonderful, Esme. Better than any school teacher I ever had!"

Oh no, maybe something less flattering, she thought frantically. As if anything could be unflattering on Esme. After seeing Carlisle's mind I didn't think she would ever look anything other than beautiful to me.

"No, no, Esme. I meant you look… composed. I went to a boys school. All the teachers looked harassed because they were."

I can't believe that. What did they all do to deserve being harassed?

"We were 13 year old boys!"

Alright, she relented and went back to considering her dress. I still think it might be too attractive. I don't want them to think I'm showing off.

"You look great, Esme. They'd be foolish not to hire you. I think they might just out of curiosity."

"What?" She asked, turning to me. "What do they have to be curious about?"

"Well you're the beautiful cousin come to live with her unmarried wealthy relative and his very unmarried and wealthy guardian."

That's a terrible reason to hire a school teacher! She scowled. Maybe I shouldn't go to the interview if they're not going to hire the right person.

"What if you are the right person?"

What if I'm not? I could be dangerous to them Edward!

"I don't think you will be and it's only a part-time job just for the summer, a few hours a day helping the teacher. It will probably be paperwork, grading and stuff like that, not even near the children. It's also summer school, there won't be as many children as during the school year."

What if I'm not ready? She fretted, straightening her dress and frowning at the mirror. She was trying not to remember her "slip." Still his face was clear in her memory. I don't think I could live with myself if I hurt a child.

"Which is why you wont. If you don't think you're ready now then you never will! What you need now is confidence in yourself. That means taking a few risks."

Alright, Esme said, biting her lip but more sure in her decision. I couldn't smooth out all her anxieties but I think I helped a little.

The front door opened and I heard Carlisle's almost equally anxious mind enter the house.

"Come on, he'll want to see you all dressed up."

"Is it too dressy?" She asked.

"No," I assured her chuckling. We went out to meet Carlisle in the living room, Esme trailing behind me. He was standing by the door with a small jewelry box in his hand.

"I've been trying to assure Esme she looks the part but she doesn't quite believe me," I told my father and ushered her into the room in front of me. Carlisle's reaction was more than I expected it to be. He lingered on the nervous excitement in her face, the way she looked with her hair pinned up and the personal touches to her outfit. He was speechless as he often was when he looked at her but usually I had the sense not to ask him questions in those moments.

"He agrees with me," I told Esme.

"Y-Yes I do."

"You don't even know what he said," Esme criticized and bustled over to the little mirror beside the door to check her hair needlessly.

"I'm sure it was kind and… and you look very nice, Esme."

She straightened up and turned to look at him.

"Thank you." She said just as stunned by his words as he was to have said them. I held back a groan at my ridiculous parents. I wanted very much to put a hand on the back of each of their stone hard skulls and crack them together. Or maybe just give them my gift (read curse) for a moment so they could understand he absurdity of the moment.

"Edward and I have a gift for you," Carlisle said suddenly breaking the moment. "We—well I—Edward really was the one who—"

"Just give it to her," I said with a roll of my eyes and sat down at my piano. It was the best thing to do when I needed to distract myself from how much I wanted to break my promises.

"Right," Carlisle muttered and held out the square jewelry box. Esme took it cautiously.

I hope it's not something expensive. I haven't even started making money yet and they've already given me so much. I don't think I've contributed nearly enough.

"I didn't spend a penny on it and Carlisle only paid for the engraving," I told her and started softly playing one of her favorite tunes. She opened the box with slightly shaking hands and gasped, both mentally and physically. For a moment she was speechless.

It's beautiful! Is it real gold? I bet it is. This is too much! She lifted the gold bangle from the box slowly with the gentlest touch, scared to damage the inlays of art nouveau flower patterns. Then her eyes caught the inscription on the inside.

Carlisle Ethan Robinson April 23 – 25, 1921

She quickly covered her mouth before Carlisle could see her lip quivering.

"We thought you might like something to carry around to remind you, something that will last," Carlisle said softly.

"But… it's so…" She fumbled for words.

"It belonged to my mother," I told her, not pausing in my playing. "Turn it around."

Esme twisted the bracelet to see on the opposite side a similar but older inscription.

Edward Anthony Masen June 20, 1901

"She would have wanted you to have it," I told her. This way Esme could carry both of her sons around with her.

"I—I don't know what to say," she whispered. Knowing what it was made her want to accept it all the more but it also made her feel less worthy.

"Say you'll accept it," I told her.

"Please," Carlisle added. I tried to concentrate just on my playing when she met his eyes. For a moment they were each in their own little worlds longing for the other. I wished there was some physical wall between the two of them I could forcefully smash. There was a mental one but I had been shackled in regards to that one.

"Yes," She said breathless and I stopped playing, jumping up to hug her happily. She laughed at my childish reaction but I didn't care. Any amount of foolery seemed worth it to make her laugh. Carlisle loved the sound too even if he wanted desperately to take my place at that moment. "Edward you'll mess up my dress."

"Sorry, mom," I said and immediately put her down. A torn dress was not a great first impression. "I'm glad you like it. It was Carlisle's idea, I just supplied the gold."

"It's perfect," She said looking from me back to my father at the door.

"You'd better get going though," I told her.

"Oh yes," She quickly dashed back to the mirror to check herself again. She fumbled with the clasp of the bracelet.

"Let me," Carlisle offered. I silently applauded him as I sat back down at my piano. He actually took the initiative to touch her! Good for him. I wanted to roll my eyes but I resisted.

"Good luck," I called and Esme gave me her best attempt at a smile before leaving. Carlisle leaned inside to close the door behind him and I mouthed 'tell her.' He glared.

Not the right time, he thought to me for the hundredth time. I groaned and played the first few bars of Flamin Mainni just to annoy him.

Mature, was his sarcastic comeback. I wished I could throw it right back at him. I didn't know how much more of this I could stand. As annoying as their little dance was it wasn't what really got me. No, what got me was that they would be so happy when they finally got the courage to open up to each other.

Author's Note: Ok, I love this a little too much. It's like watching those movies with the two totally oblivious lovers except I get to write all of my annoyance at them. Thank you Edward, medium for my fourth wall breaking escapades! -Ember