Carlisle has whittled the tree down to a thin, stripped plank by the time Edward finds him. It's the nineteenth he's destroyed, wringing the life out of the poor plant instead of throwing things around his office as was his initial desire. There's things in there he would probably regret breaking; out here, that's less of a possibility.

At least he managed to channel his anger into something somewhat constructive, he thinks. They needed more wood for the hearth at any rate.

"You know this does no good," Edward says, appearing at the edge of the woods. "There aren't enough trees on your land to appease your feelings. And if you destroy all the good hunting land the neighbours will come to visit. And we certainly don't want that. Not while Esme is so young."

He hears the tone of caution in Edward's words. This isn't about the trees. In fact, Edward could care less about them. "I've frightened her, haven't I?" Carlisle crushes the last bit of wood in his hand to dust.

"She's merely . . . concerned," Edward says diplomatically. "Though it would probably be best if you stopped. You are scaring away the birds."

"I'm sorry. I'll go apologize to her, of course. It's just . . . to think some—" he growls, "I'm loathe to even call him a man, but that he so much as laid a finger on her . . . and as her husband, no less."

Edward kicks at the bits of bark that cover the ground. "I've never seen you like this," he says. "You're like a completely different person."

Carlisle sighs and his thoughts turn wretched. "I've never wanted to kill a human so much in my life. It's a strange feeling—rage. More potent than thirst even."

"And here I thought your control was legendary," Edward teases.

Carlisle sits on the nearest tree stump. The edges hold the shape of his fist. "I do not intend to kill the man, regardless of my desires, though I do pray that some terrible accident befalls him. It's the least he deserves."

"Maybe he'll fall of a cliff," Edward suggests.

Even knowing he shouldn't, Carlisle grins. "How fitting."

"I knew you weren't perfect," Edward jokes. "You've just been playing me this whole time."

"You more than anyone should know how truly imperfect I am, son." Carlisle tips his head towards Edward. "And like all of us, I have to work at these feelings, though I do admit that I have not felt this strongly about something in many, many years."

"When was the last?" Edward wonders.

"Shortly after I awoke to this life. When my hatred for myself as a newborn overpowered even my desire to feed."

Edward nods slowly. "Esme is a good person. One of the best minds I've ever been privy, too. Just now, even as what she remembered terrified her, she was concerned for you. For what you might think of her in light of what I told you those first nights she laid on the sofa in pain."

Carlisle sighs. "I feel somewhat like we have broken her trust, though that was not our intention at the start. Still, I have no business knowing what I do. You, because of your gift, cannot help yourself. But now that I do know . . . now that I suspect what befell her prior to her fall from the cliff, I cannot act as if it has not happened. I cannot be ignorant to it."

Edward studies him intently for a moment, his eyes distant. "What would you have done?" he wonders suddenly. "If you knew all those years ago where her life would lead. What would you have done about it?"

Carlisle hesitates. Hiding his wishes from Edward is useless; the boy has already read them, stolen them from his tongue. But to admit them out loud, well, he's never been so bold in his life.

"Would you really have stolen her away?" Edward asks.

"Yes." Carlisle doesn't hesitate in his answer, for he knows it's true. He would have taken Esme from her home, from her family, if only to protect her. To save her from the pain she's suffered in the last ten years without him.

Edward tilts his head, processing all the unsaid things. "Would you have changed her?"

"That," Carlisle begins, "I do not know. I'm not sure I could have taken her human life from her, not at sixteen. Maybe not ever."

"Then what would you have done?"

He considers the predicament. Back then, when he walked away from young Esme Platt it was to secure her future, to allow her to build the life that she so eagerly dreamed of. Now though, looking back, knowing what he knows, he supposes he might have risked it. Reveled himself. And saved her. "I may not have changed her, but I would have done whatever would have made her happy, I suppose." He looks fondly towards the house. "She favoured nature as a girl. And animals. Her grandparents had a farm that she adored. She also painted. And danced. She dreamed of many things."

"She wanted to teach?" Edward says, picking at his thoughts.

"She did. Perhaps we would have settled far from anyone who knew her, in a small town where she could have taught the children. I think it would have made her happy."

"But if you had refused to change her, she would have grown older. Time does not wait for humans as it does us."

Carlisle nods. "Yes."

"She might have fallen in love with a man," Edward reasons.

"Yes."

"She might have wanted a family."

"Yes."

The boy furrows his brows. "None of those things are compatible with vampirism."

"You don't believe vampires can love?"

Edward rolls his eyes. "Not a human. How could you possibly love someone when one misplaced move of your hand could severe their bones? When the scent of the blood pulsing under their skin would tempt you into insanity? It could never be, Carlisle. A human and a vampire cannot be in love. It would only end in disaster."

"Perhaps," Carlisle says. "But perhaps not. Anyway, I would have stepped aside. Let her live her life as she chose."

"And when she died of old age or sickness? When some freak accident stole her from you? What would you have done then?"

"I—" Carlisle pauses. She had been on her death bed when he found her at the base of the cliff, hadn't she? She had faced the brink of death and he had pulled her back. He reasoned now that it was because the circumstances were so very unfair. Because she deserved more than what her first life gave her. She deserved to try for some of that happiness. But was that all? If Carlisle had stayed when she was younger, watched her grow into the woman she was now, would he have been able to let her go?

Edward smiles to himself. "Your thoughts are quite tangled up at the moment."

No thanks to you, Carlisle thinks and Edward laughs loudly, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets.

"Come inside, old man. I think you've deliberated and philosophized long enough. Besides, you don't have to work until Sunday. Let's take advantage of that and see how Esme fairs in chess today?"

Carlisle chuckles. "You just want to make us both feel inept."

"Perhaps if you team up you can beat me," Edward grins. "It would be twice the thoughts I'd have to keep track of. Twice the strategy." He stops before they reach the porch of the house and looks to Carlisle. "I think it could be fun. At the very least, even if you lose spectacularly, we can give Esme new memories to think about."

"You do make the most interesting face after you've won when you're trying very hard not to gloat," Carlisle says. "That's always entertaining."

Edward rolls his eyes and nudges Carlisle with his shoulder. "Alright, old man. Let's go put your money where your mouth is."