Centenarian

Marianne Billings

I hung up the phone and dropped my head into my hands with a sigh, kneading my temples with my fingers.

"Need an aspirin?"

I looked up at the sound of the half-teasing voice; Dr Cullen stood there with a patient chart in his hand. And though he had spoken half in jest, there was true concern in his eyes.

I managed a slight smile. "No, thanks; it's nothing. Did you have something I needed to see?"

He was completely professional at once, explaining changes in the care of one of the patients. I tried to focus on what he was saying, but found myself nodding without any real comprehension.

When he had finished, I rubbed my hand over my forehead. "On second thought, maybe I will take that aspirin."

"Sure." He left, returning moments later with a pill and a glass of water. "Mind if I ask what's giving you a headache?" he questioned, sitting on the counter that ran in front of my desk.

I swallowed the aspirin and leaned my head back against the chair. "It's Victoria Benson's birthday party." Normally we had a party at the beginning of the month for all residents whose birthdays were in that month, but Victoria Benson was our oldest resident and this was her hundredth birthday. "I think I finally got the cake order straight — if I can be sure of anything talking to those Italians down at the bakery. Honestly, if they were German I think I'd ask you to stop in and double check!"

He chuckled. "My Italian is actually better than my German; tell me what you wanted and I'll take care of it."

I found myself shaking my head. "You're a wonder, Dr Cullen. Any chance of finding me another pianist on such short notice? The woman I was going to get had a family emergency."

"My son, Edward," he replied instantly.

I blinked; I had met the doctor's adopted son when he came to visit the patients and unofficially help his father, but… "Edward's what; sixteen?"

"Yes, but he can play."

"Oh, I've no doubt, but I'd wanted someone who could play music from when Vicki was a girl…1930s or thereabouts."

"Edward can play anything ever written," he promised; there was a serious tone to his voice that kept it from sounding like boasting. "I'll talk to him this evening. Were there any other problems?"

"No…" I said half dazedly. "That was all."

"Then let's go over Ruby Addison's chart again; you didn't hear a word I said the first time."

oOo

Carlisle

"What kind of piano is it?" Edward questioned.

"An upright," I admitted.

Edward frowned. "I wish you'd talked to me before offering my services, Carlisle."

I blinked in some surprise. "Don't be a snob, Edward. Just because it's not a baby grand like yours…"

He sighed. "All right. But can you tell me the last time they had it tuned?"

I was silent. Money was tight at the nursing home (or had been, before I started essentially volunteering my services, anonymously donating the amount of my salary and then some); I was sure a piano tuner hadn't been high on the list of priorities. "Probably not since they got it," I admitted. "I'm sorry, Edward; I wasn't thinking of that."

He shrugged, giving me a lopsided grin. "Get it tuned before the party, and I'll play."

I raised an eyebrow. "You trust the ear of a human piano tuner?" He had always tuned his baby grand himself.

"No, not really. But it will be better than nothing, and a sixteen-year-old who tunes his own piano would probably set Mrs Billings wondering. You have a good ear; don't let him leave if anything sounds too far off."

"Temperamental musician," I grumbled teasingly.

He grinned unashamedly. "You volunteer me, you have to pay the price. Any idea what kind of music she wants; dance tunes or concert music or what?"

I chuckled. "She's in her forties, Edward; I have my doubts she even knows what 1930s music sounds like. Just use your own judgment; I'm sure it will be fine."

oOo

By a curious coincidence, Victoria Benson's birthday was the same date I had chosen for mine. I didn't know the actual day of my birth; only that it was sometime in February. But when I had to put my birth date on job applications and other forms, I always used February 23, a date I had chosen on a whim simply because I was twenty-three when I was changed.

It would have passed without recognition this year; three hundred sixty-eight wasn't a milestone birthday. Esme would remember it with some little gift, and that was all the celebration I needed.

But at some point in the work of getting ready for the party, Marianne had noticed in the staff files that it was my birthday as well. I had absolutely refused any share in the party, not wanting to take away from Victoria Benson's special day for a birthday as insignificant as three hundred sixty-eight (twenty-nine, in Marianne's records), but had agreed to let Marianne seat me beside the guest of honor. I was a favorite with Victoria Benson, anyway, as I was with most of the residents.

Esme sat on my other side; Bella and Nessie had been invited as well but had chosen not to come. The only one of us who could actually digest human food, Nessie made the most fuss about eating it. I thought maybe she was afraid we would try to make her live on it if she showed the least sign of not actually detesting it.

And while Bella was willing to eat human food if necessary, her aversion to food now as strong as old aversion to blood; trying to swallow it could make her actually gag. The most she could usually manage was soup; anything liquid.

Most of us didn't have that problem; it was disgusting of course, but we simply ate and tried not to think about what we were doing. And there were tricks I had learned over the years; ways of handling my utensils that made humans think I was eating more than I actually was; tricks any seven-year-old human knew for pushing food around on a plate and making it seem less was there than there really was. Of course, if I had a receptacle of some sort in my lap, I could resort to sleight-of-hand; no human eye could follow my movement if I moved at vampire speed.

But tonight I was eating; chewing slowly to avoid finishing fast enough to be offered a second serving of anything. Eating was a necessary evil to live among humans, but right now I couldn't help envying Edward at the piano; no one expected him to eat, of course.

He had played softly all through the meal, but as we finished eating he started on the old dance tunes. Victoria Benson's eyes sparkled; likely Edward was playing any song she happened to think of as being one of her favorites. I smiled, noting her foot tapping. Edward, slow the beat down a little.

As he responded to my request, I stood and offered Mrs Benson my hand. "Want to dance, Birthday Girl?"

She smiled, accepting my aid to the front of the room. Edward slowed the music just a little more, and I led Victoria Benson through the dance steps of her youth. She favored one leg a little, where she had broken it ten years ago, but I treated her as gently as a piece of china, and she was really amazingly spry for a hundred-year-old human.

"Where did you learn to dance that song?" she demanded, laughing a little breathlessly as we finished.

I grinned at her, dropping the sober calmness of three centuries' experience for the playfulness of a twenty-three-year-old. "Now, that would be telling, Missy!"

"Missy!" she laughed. She patted my arm in a grandmotherly gesture as I helped her sit back down. "Why don't you go on and dance with your wife before she gets jealous of having you pay attention to a young thing like me?"

My eyes twinkled as I swept Esme into the dance. "Should we tell her how many years you have on her?"

Esme deliberately stepped on my foot. "It's only sixteen…and you shouldn't cast a woman's age up to her — Mr Triple-Centenarian."

"It's going on four hundred, love; I think I'm due a little more respect."

"No, Carlisle; when you act twenty-three I get to claim the three years I have on you."

What am I going to do with this woman, Edward? I thought, glancing toward the piano.

He shook his head, obviously fighting back laughter. And then I decided that there was something I wanted for my birthday. Edward. Play our wedding song.

He gave no sign at first of having heard, but then improvised a transition into the song he had written for Esme and me.

My son was a genius; the way he could capture feelings with music went beyond mere talent, even for a vampire. The piece started out in a low key, the music reflecting perfectly the loneliness of my years without Esme. Then came the higher notes, the untold despair of Esme's last days as a human. We weren't dancing now; I stood with my arms around her as she lay her head against my shoulder.

Now, softly at first, then louder, the low notes began to join the high as I found Esme. The two melodies wove together, sometimes separating, sometimes echoing each other, always in perfect harmony and accord.

The steps of our dance matched the music so perfectly that I was sure no one watching could doubt the song was about us…but I had nearly forgotten the humans. As the music came to its perfect conclusion, I stood with my hands on Esme's waist. She stood on tiptoe to press her lips to mine. "Happy birthday, Carlisle."

That's the last story I have in this series for now, but there's a remote possibility I may add more at some future date. Barbie

A/N: Carlisle's not knowing the exact date of his birth was my compromise between the two contradicting statements (only a couple pages apart in Twilight…) that he knows his exact age, but not the year he was born. Barbie

I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know!

Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Twilight alternate history, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie