Happy 4th of July!

Sorry that this is so late in coming, but as I've said, real life is getting in the way of my fun!

In addition to this chapter being late, the next installment will, in all likelihood, not be for a couple of weeks. I'm on vacation from now until the 12th, and then it's back to work...which will be accumulating on my desk for a week. Once I get real life sorted out, I should be able to concentrate on the next update.

This chapter is something of a departure for me. I generally switch focus back and forth between scenes in every chapter. This chapter, however, focuses on only one scene. I hope you like it.

Disclaimer time: Twilight, it's characters, situations and bazillion dollars, belong to the goddess Meyer. Goddess got to go to the Eclipse premiere and saw Rob Burgundy upclose and personal. Lowly me watched the live stream stuttering and starting on her Mac while hoping there was something wrong with the color on her screen. Lowly me had no such luck. It really WAS a burgundy suit. Sadly, Gucci claimed it *sigh*

Thanks to everyone who's stuck with my story! I know I say this every time, but I really do appreciate you reading and reviewing! Please enjoy this chapter, and if you do, tell your friends! Then click the little review button and let me know too!

Enjoy...

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Chapter 23: Somebody Put Something In My Drink

Edward awoke to dim light in a bed that was strangely memorable in its comfort, in a room that was oddly familiar and warm to him.

Like home.

Only, this wasn't home.

He tossed the thick, fluffy down comforter back and swung his legs out of the bed, sitting himself up. The room was warm, so much warmer than he had been the night before. He rubbed his hands through his hair, then over his face, trying to wake up. He had no idea how long he had slept, or even how he had gotten here, wherever here was. He was undressed, clad only in his tshirt and boxer briefs. And his socks. Carlisle. Only his father would leave his socks on, knowing Edward's disdain for the slippers that Carlisle so loved to shuffle around the house in. He felt along the bedside table until he found a lamp. Sliding his hand over it, he found the switch and flipped it on.

His eyes widened.

He was in his old bedroom…in his grandfather's house.

What the…

Was he still asleep?

Was he…gulp…dead?

He stood up, scratching the back of his head as he looked around the room. Nope, he definitely wasn't dead. Then what the hell?

The room was exactly as he remembered seeing it last. Chicago Cubs wallpaper above the pristine white wainscoting that lined the bottom half of the walls. The same white wainscoting he remembered stupidly writing box scores on in red crayon once. He thought his grandfather would be angry, just like old Jenks had made him think, but the gentle old man had just laughed, calling in the painters the next day to cover over the mess.

Yep. Everything was still here. Exactly how it was the last time he'd been in this room. The autographed baseballs and bats still lined the shelves, the pennants still hung on the walls, baseball caps hung from small evenly spaced pegs above the mantle of the small fireplace directly across from the bed. He could see the remnants of what had been a recent warming fire in it, possibly from the night before? Even the Cubs sheets and comforter were still as they had been on the bed. He had spent many warm and cozy nights in this very bed, snuggled under the warmth of his beloved Cubbies.

He picked up the old fashioned alarm clock that sat on the nightstand. It was a genuine antique, he had always felt, having belonged to his grandfather when he was a small boy. Someone had made sure to wind it up and set the correct time. At least he thought it was the correct time. The clock read 12:37. He hoped that was am.

He looked around the room for his suitcase, and, not seeing it, instinctively walked over to the oversized white door with the funky glass knob. He fingered it gently before turning it. Back, when he used to live here, he had liked to pretend that the old knob was a huge diamond and that he was Indiana Jones, trying to get the diamond away from the evil war lord before said evil war lord could stick his hand into Edward's small chest and steal his heart. He'd had quite the imagination back then, and, after a few nights of waking up and screaming for his missing heart, his Indiana Jones videos had mysteriously disappeared.

He sighed and opened the door to the virtually empty walk in closet, feeling around for the light switch. He flipped it on, brightness filling the space. There, in the corner, sat what Edward knew was his now empty suitcase, with his backpack right along side of it. His leather jacket hung neatly on a hangar with his scarf conveniently tucked under the collar. He knew for certain that his gloves would be stuffed into the pockets if he checked. He looked around at the racks and shelves, once filled with his child sized clothing, stuffed animals and toys. The only other thing hanging in the closet now, besides his jacket, was a small garment bag. Edward slid his feet along the hard wood flooring, as he used to do when he lived there, and fingered the bag lovingly. He knew what was in it. He knew the one thing he was missing when they left Chicago. He had never mentioned it, opting instead to pretend he had forgotten most everything about his life in the Windy City, his life with his grandfather.

Gently, almost reverently, he unzipped the bag. He swallowed hard as he reached in, feeling the fabric, and all of the emotions that came flooding back with it. In that instant, it was Edward's seventh birthday again, and he and his grandfather were at Wrigley field, watching their beloved Cubbies win. Unbeknownst to him, his grandfather had been gravely ill. He knew that now, but back then, he had not a clue. It had been a joyous day for both of them. Box seats right behind home plate. A Cubs win. Then his grandfather was wrapping the actual shirt Sammy Sosa had worn in that days' game around him. Sammy freakin' Sosa. The happiest day of his young life, that had been, and Edward found himself lost in that memory.

How many minutes passed before he pulled himself from his reverie, he could not say, but, eventually, he yanked himself back from his happiest of times. Back to the present, where his life was so much more complicated than he had ever imagined it could be on that joyful day a decade ago. He sighed, zipping the garment bag back up before flipping the light in the closet off and closing the door. No more of that for now. No more memories. He'd made a mess and his mission in Chicago was clear. He had to clean his mess up, and do whatever was necessary to make things right. It was what Carlisle would expect of him. It was what he expected of himself, because he knew, it would be what his grandfather would have expected of him.

He went to his dresser. His fingers twitched as he reached toward the drawer pull.

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he was being foolish. This was the drawer his

little boy briefs and tshirts used to be kept in. He pulled the drawer open. There, neatly folded and stacked, were the boxerbriefs and tshirts he had packed in his suitcase.

He pulled open the second drawer to find his jeans, which looked to have been pressed and folded neatly. The third drawer revealed his shirts, which he knew instantly had been pressed and folded.

He shook his head. He must have been even more exhausted than he had thought, unless Carlisle had slipped him a mickey~a sedative mickey~on the plane. He laughed at his own absurdity and went to sit back down on the bed. He had to be dreaming, didn't he?

But as he turned to walk back to the bed, something caught his eye. In the corner, where the low book shelves still lined with children's literature were, was an overstuffed chair, upholstered in Cubbie's blue. It was where his grandfather would often sit him on his lap, reading the silly stories that lived on the shelves to him. He had loved when his grandfather read to him, whether it was up in his room, or downstairs, in the giant leather chair in front of the grand fireplace, where his grandfather would read to him from the Chicago Tribune or the Wall Street Journal.

It was not the chair or the books that had attracted his attention. Rather, it was the soft Cub's blue fleece robe that had been gently laid across the chair.

He had to hand it to Carlisle. He thought of everything.

Edward threw the robe on, and shuffled over to the small, private bath that was attached to his room. He flicked on the light and smiled. Nothing had changed. The Cubs theme carried into this room as well, with the same wallpaper as in the bedroom complimenting the sparkling blue and white tiles on the walls. Even the shower curtain matched. Edward smiled to himself as he went about his business, recalling how everything in here had seemed so huge at one time in his life. Now, he felt so much bigger than the room itself. He flushed and washed his hands. On a whim, he crouched down and opened the door to the vanity, peering in. Sure enough, the small Cub's step stool he used to stand on to brush his teeth was still under the sink. He sighed, allowing a soft smile and the warm feeling to fill him. This was home. Perhaps, it had only been home in another life, but it was his other life.

He tied his robe tightly around himself and opened the bedroom door, stepping out into the hallway. As always, it was well lit and he took in every small detail as he passed.

Memories were soon flooding his head as he ambled slowly down the hallway to the main staircase. Nothing on the second story landing had changed. The artwork displayed on the heavy wood paneled walls was all the same. The oriental carpets that lined the hallway were still the same one's his grandmother had chosen when she had decorated the massive house. He passed by the open door to his grandfather's office, opting not to look in. At least, not yet. The memories were already beginning to overwhelm him. He had forgotten how happy he had been in this house.

Down the hall, beyond the grand staircase, was his grandfather's suite. He stopped at the top of the stairs, staring down at the closed door. He knew that, behind that door, everything was as his grandfather had left it when he died. The house, he realized, had been impeccably preserved as it had been. It was as though he'd only been on a short vacation and returned. There wasn't even a speck of dust that he'd noticed to prove that it had been uninhabited for over five years.

He moved down the staircase slowly, remembering how he would bound up and down it while Jenks would yell for "Master Edward" to stop running on the stairs. He smiled. Good old Jenks. His grandfather had always referred to him as the Majordomo, whatever that meant. The man had absolutely no sense of humor whatsoever. And it had been pretty obvious he had little patience for children. Edward smiled to himself, making a mental note to Google 'majordomo' to make sure it didn't really mean 'one with no sense of humor whatsoever'.

He walked the familiar path to the kitchen, where he half expected to find his grandfather, sitting in the bright breakfast nook, sucking on his pipe while reading the Wall Street Journal, cup of black coffee steaming in front of him.

Instead, he found Carlisle sitting in the sunny nook, laptop open, empty cup of coffee to the side.

Carlisle looked up. "Edward, I didn't hear you come in," he smiled. "I trust you had a good sleep."

"I did," Edward nodded as he took his seat at the table~the same seat he had taken every morning he'd shared breakfast with his grandfather.

"You look much better," Carlisle studied his son's face.

"Thanks," Edward nodded, but he didn't smile. "I feel a little better. You didn't…," his voice trailed off. "You didn't…you know…"

"I didn't…what?"

"You didn't…give me something to sleep, did you?" He said it in a most embarrassed manner.

Carlisle stared at him. "I can assure you, Edward, that Mother Nature herself was the only one responsible for your comatose slumber."

Edward nodded at his father. He folded his hands together on the table in front of him, and took a deep breath. "Dad-"

He was immediately cut off by another voice.

"Good morning, Master Edward. What will we be eating today?"

The hair on the back of Edward's neck stood up on end as a chill ran the length of his spine.

He looked up, shock, fear and disbelief all registering on his face.

"Jenks," his mouth went suddenly dry.

"It's good to have you back with us again, sir."

"I…uh…it's…ah…yeah," his mouth hung open as he stared at the tall, slender man with thinning gray hair as he stood in front of him. He wore a well tailored black suit, white shirt and a gray and black striped tie. He could have been any businessman on his way out of the house to a busy day at the office, but Edward knew better. This was Jenks, the Majordomo. His grandfather's butler. And he hadn't aged a day since the last time Edward had laid eyes on him at his grandfather's funeral.

"Edward, don't be rude to Jenks," Carlisle tapped on the keys of his laptop.

"I...I…I'm…," he stammered, then leaned over and whispered to his father in a quick, low voice. "How is he still here? I mean, he was a hundred when I lived here!"

"Edward, Mr. Jenks has been in your grandfather's employ for decades. Let's try not to insult him into quitting our first day back, shall we?" Carlisle leveled a glance at his son over the top of the eyeglasses that sat perched on the tip of his nose.

Jenks stood in front of the table, hands clasped behind his back, waiting.

"Uh…it's…uh…good to be back?"

Jenks nodded. "Very good, sir. And I see that you found the bathrobe I left out for you," he nodded, satisfied.

"Uh…." So it had been Jenks, and not Carlisle, who provided the robe. That explained the color. "Thank you?"

"You are quite welcome. As for breakfast…the…usual, sir?"

The usual? Edward wracked his brain, trying to remember what the hell his usual breakfast at his grandfather's had been. Eggs? Fruit Loops? Chocolate cake?

"Just…uh…coffee for now?"

"Very good, sir," Jenks nodded his head quickly at Edward and moved into the cooking area of the kitchen with amazing grace, Edward still gaping at him. He returned a moment later, carrying a large mug with steam billowing from it.

"For Master Edward," Jenks smiled as he placed the mug in front of Edward. "Cream and sugar are right here," he motioned to the creamer and sugar bowl that sat in front of Carlisle. "Please let me know when you have decided what you would like to eat, sir."

"I…uh…sure. Um…thanks…uh…Jenks?" He said it more as a question than a statement. Truth was, Jenks magical appearance had left Edward at a complete loss. How was it, after all these years? And he still looked exactly the same!

Jenks nodded stiffly to Edward, and disappeared behind the door to the butler's pantry. When he lived here, Edward used to think that Jenks actually lived in that little pantry, that he stood in there at the ready, for whenever his grandfather needed him.

"Dad?"

"He never left your employ, Edward. Why do you think the house is in the amazing condition it's in?" Carlisle continued to type on his laptop, trying to avoid looking at his son.

"My employ?"

Carlisle sighed, pulling his glasses off slowly. He rubbed his eyes carefully before putting the glasses back on and looked at his son.

"Your mother and I didn't want to tell you any of this until…until we absolutely had to, Edward. But I guess we absolutely have to tell you now."

"Another secret," Edward felt the ire slice through him like a knife.

"Yes, but with good reason."

"So you keep telling me," sarcasm dripped from his words.

"Edward," Carlisle sighed. "Your grandfather was an extremely wealthy man."

"I know that. That's why he always gave us such extravagant gifts," he snapped at his father.

"Yes, he did give some pretty wild gifts," Carlisle smiled warmly. "Remember that designer handbag he gave Alice?"

Edward felt his anger slip at the mention of Alice's designer handbag and smiled despite himself. "Remember the way Alice screamed when she unwrapped it?" The two men shared a chuckle.

"I thought my ear drum was busted," Carlisle laughed. "She screamed right in my ear. One of those crazy, high pitched screams only pre-teen girls can make."

"But they usually only make those sounds at boy band concerts," Edward snorted. "I should know. I had to sit next to her at that stupid N'Sync concert. You know, the one Grandfather gave us the tickets for? Right in the front row?"

"Your mother was so puzzled when he called asking what her favorite group was," Carlisle smiled as he thought back. "She called me at work to tell me Old Ed was up to no good again," he laughed. "But you got rewarded for going to that show with her, you know."

A sad smile crept over Edwards face. "My piano."

"Yes."

"Is it…where is it? Is it here?" His eyes flickered toward the kitchen door.

"Yes, it's here," Carlisle put his hand on his son's arm. "In the library. For what it's worth, I'm sorry we lied to you about the piano too. But, I'm sure you can understand why."

"Rosalie," he breathed.

"Yes. Your mother caught her leaning inside of it shortly after it arrived. She was touching something. So, before she could do something to destroy it, we had it moved here, and just told you it was too big for our house."

"I guess I should thank you for saving it, then," Edward smiled sadly. "It was always my favorite thing."

"I know how much you loved that piano, Edward. And I know that the one you have now is a poor substitute, but, at least you still have the Steinway."

Edward nodded. "I do. Thank you."

"We can discuss having it shipped to Forks later, if you like."

Edward smiled at his father. "I'd like that, Dad."

Carlisle nodded before taking a deep breath and continuing. "Anyway, back to the issue at hand. At the time of his death, you were your grandfather's sole heir, Edward."

"So…I inherited the house? I thought…," he ran his hand through his hair roughly. "I thought you had said that this house was sold?"

"Yes, we said that, but, no it was never sold, son," Carlisle shook his head. "Your mother and I decided that it was best to let all of you think that it had been, in part, again, because of Rosalie."

"Why?"

"Rosalie seemed to want to destroy everything you had," he sighed. "We didn't want her knowing that you had all of this," he waved his arm around the room.

"Well, in retrospect, I think I'd rather she destroyed a house than my fucking life," Edward closed his eyes, shaking his head. "But I guess I wouldn't have the Steinway either if she did something to the house, would I?"

"No, you wouldn't," Carlisle put a comforting hand back on his son's arm. "We kept all of this from you so that there could be no possible way she would find out and try to figure out some way to destroy it or have it taken from you. And she didn't find out. But now it's time for everything to come out into the open. No more secrets. No more lies. Edward, you should know that the house and the trust are yours when you turn twenty one."

"The trust," he looked up, surprised. "What trust?"

"The trust," Carlisle confirmed, nodding. "Your trust. Edward, when you turn twenty one, you are going to be a very wealthy young man."

Edward looked at his father, bewildered. "I…I don't understand."

"Well, as we've already established, your grandfather was extremely wealthy," he pushed his chair back, stretching his arms. Edward hadn't noticed until now that his Carlisle was already dressed for the day. "People with the kind of wealth your grandfather had often establish trust funds for their heirs. You were no exception, particularly when you consider how young you were when your grandfather passed."

"I…I always knew he had money. I mean, he had a big house and Jenks. And the gifts," Edward shook his head. "None of the other kids had what I had."

"He had money, and lots of it. And he left it all to you."

Edward stared at his father in disbelief. "He…he left it to…to me," his throat was suddenly so dry he felt as though he were choking. He took a quick sip of coffee, swallowing hard.

"Every penny, well, aside from a small trust he set up for Alice as well," Carlisle spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be discussing massive amounts of money. "He was quite fond of Alice."

"A small trust for Alice," Edward repeated softly, not believing the words he uttered.

"Well, small by your grandfather's standards," Carlisle chuckled. "Alice will be quite comfortable, to say the least. He saw to that when he set her trust up."

Edward stared at his father as though seeing him for the first time.

"Is that why you and mom always…treat me differently?" His voice was soft as he spoke.

"Treat you differently?" Carlisle looked at him as he pulled his glasses from their perch on the tip of his nose. He laid them on the table gently and looked at Edward. "Edward, your mother and I treat you the way we do because you are our son. Whether you realize it or not, we love you and want only the best for you."

"But…you…you give me things. Things the others don't get. The car. The piano."

"We gave you those things to make you happy. Because we love you and want you to be happy."

"Did you use the money Grandfather left to buy them?"

"Did we...NO!" Carlisle was incredulous. "How could you even think something like that? That's your money! We would never touch a penny of it."

"I'm sorry. I don't know," Edward threw his hands up. "You said there was a lot of money. I just guessed that's what we used to live on!"

"Edward, since the day your grandfather passed away, that money has sat in trust for you, working for you. Earning interest on top of interest for you. And only for you. Your grandfather was a very shrewd investor. I will always be grateful to him for teaching me his strategies and techniques. We've been quite comfortable all these years because of what I learned from him."

"I'm sorry, Dad. I…it's just…this is a lot to process," he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, still amazed by what his father had just told him. He was rich. He wouldn't be working at the Thriftway for the rest of his life like he always thought he would be.

"I know it is, son. And, Rosalie aside, that's part of the reason we never wanted to tell you. That and the fact that your mother was always so worried that if you knew you stood to inherit a small fortune, you wouldn't want to go to college. It would break her heart if you didn't go to college Edward, so I need your word that you will do so," Carlisle was earnest.

"Of course I'll go to college," Edward sipped his coffee. "I promise. I promise I'll do it for Mom."

"Thank you," Carlisle breathed a little easier.

"So, is that why you brought me here last night, instead of going to a hotel?"

"Yes. We felt it was time you knew everything. Like I said, no more secrets," Carlisle got up and walked over to the counter where the carafe of coffee sat on a hot plate.

Edward's eyes followed his father, and then glanced around the room. Even the kitchen was exactly as he remembered it. His mother had always referred to the style in this room as Country French. Beautiful honey toned wood cabinets lined the walls, with stone countertops speckled in beige and black. A large island sat in the middle of the room, with a cooktop on one side of it and butcherblock top on the other. He had always thought that the heavy, black grill in the middle of the cooktop was an indoor barbecue and would bother Jenks by asking where the charcoals went. A giant statue of a rooster painted in muted tones of red, gold and black stood watch over the room as it sat in the center of the butcherblock side. Over head, in between the exposed wood beams that matched the cabinets and ran the length of the room, hung a large black wrought iron pot rack with pristine copper pots dangling from it. Beautiful lush fabrics in the same reds and golds as the huge rooster upholstered the cushioned chairs and hung from the many windows in the sunny kitchen. The floor, which had always fascinated Edward, was brick. Actual bricks. Like you would find paving a driveway or a walk or the side of a building…outside. Real bricks inside the house. It was still fascinating to him.

Carlisle poured more coffee into Edward's mug.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Anytime."

"So, has Jenks lived here all this time?"

Carlisle nodded. "Yes. He's been employed by the trust as the caretaker. He's kept the house running." He walked back over to the counter, placing the hot coffee pot back on its hotplate.

Edward shook his head. It was all too much. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. One day, he was losing everything. The next, he was gaining everything. Would his world never stop spinning out of control?

"Just so you know, Jenks hates me," he smirked as he lifted his coffee mug to his lips.

"He doesn't hate you Edward. He's actually thrilled to have you back here," Carlisle sat back down at the table and was once again typing on his laptop. "Why must you always think the worst?"

"Because nothing but the worst ever happens to me, Dad. This has been," he paused, swallowing hard. "This has been the worst few days of my life. I found out I might have a kid, I lost my girlfriend and even Alice won't talk to me! Now I find out I stand to inherit…I don't know? Millions? What good's going to come of that? It won't change a damn thing!"

"Edward, calm down," Carlisle's voice was soft and understanding. "I know that you are going through a great deal right now. I know that these new revelations are difficult for you to get your head around."

"Damn straight."

"But, the reason we are even here is to begin straightening things out. To get to the bottom of everything. And to start fresh."

Jenks reappeared as if by magic, and stood in front of the table the two men sat at in the cheerful breakfast nook.

"Master Edward, have we decided what we would like for breakfast?"

Edward looked over at his father. What should he say?

"How about eggs and toast, Edward?" Carlisle didn't look up from his laptop as he spoke.

"Are you going to have some too," Edward asked nervously. It felt weird having someone serving him after all these years.

"I ate breakfast three hours ago."

"You…ate…already."

"Yes, Edward."

He leaned closer to his father and whispered. "What did you ask for?"

Carlisle looked at him over his glasses once more. "I had what I have every morning. Toast with orange marmalade."

"I'll have that."

Before Jenks had a chance to respond, Carlisle spoke up. "You don't like orange marmalade, Edward."

"I…" he sighed. "I'll have scrambled eggs and toast," he shrugged his shoulders.

"With orange juice?" The butler cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Am…I…supposed to have that," Edward asked, a little taken aback.

"Vitamin C is very important in helping one fight off colds and the flu, sir. This is particularly important when one is in Chicago in winter, Master Edward."

"Uh…then, well, uh," Edward stammered, oddly uneasy with Jenks seeming worry about his health. "I guess I can't argue with that," he sighed. "Um, so yeah, ok. Orange juice too."

"Very good, sir," Jenks nodded and headed over to the counter and began to prepare Edward's breakfast as Carlisle snickered.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just funny, that's all."

"Why's it funny?"

"Because your mother does that to you all the time," Carlisle smiled.

Edward smacked his forehead. No wonder he felt weird.

Edward had forgotten just how good Jenk's cooking was. The eggs were delicious. And they came with crisp bacon. He took the last bite of his toast and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

"Would you like some more eggs, Master Edward?"

"No thank you, Jenks. This was really good though, thank you for cooking it for me."

"You are quite welcome, sir." The old butler cleared the plates from in front of Edward. "May I get you more coffee?"

"I'm good, Jenks, thanks."

"Very good, Master Edward." And he was off, cleaning up after Edward.

He felt awkward, and perhaps a little guilty, sitting there while the silver haired man moved about the kitchen, putting his breakfast dishes in the dish washer and scrubbing the cast iron skillet he'd made the eggs and bacon in. Somehow, he hadn't felt this way back when he had lived here, but he'd been a child then, with little to no responsibilities. Someone had always done those things for him. Even his biological mother, who spent a good deal of her time strung out on drugs. She'd always made sure that he was clean and fed. No, the responsibilities hadn't come until they left Chicago. Then, things with Rose and the others made it necessary for Edward to look after himself, and his mother.

His mother.

He sighed.

"Dad, my phone died on the plane last night. Can I borrow yours to call Mom?"

"Edward, you can use any phone in this house to call Mom."

"But, it's a long distance call. I don't know how much it will cost. It would be free if I used the cell."

Carlisle looked at him. "Edward, how do I get this across to you? Stop worrying about money."

"I'm sorry. I mean, I never really worry about money, you know. But, I mean, this isn't like, our money. We shouldn't be wasting it on something we can do for free you know what I mean?"

Carlisle watched his son stammer, an amused smile on his lips.

"What?"

"Go call Mom and then go take a shower," he closed the laptop and pushed it away, laying his glasses on top of it. "I have some calls to make."

"On the house phone?"

"No, Edward. In person," he stood up and Edward stood with him.

"You're going to Victoria's," he looked his father in the eye, his tone serious. "I'm coming with you."

"Edward, it would be best if I handled this alone," Carlisle tried to be understanding.

"No, I'm coming with you," he demanded.

"Edward," Carlisle sighed. "Don't be difficult. You will stay here while I call on Garrett and Kate."

"But this concerns me," Edward insisted. Wasn't this the very reason they were here now?

"I am well aware of that, Edward. And you are my primary concern. That's why it's essential that I make this first call alone."

"But why?"

Carlisle sat back down in his chair, motioning for his son to do the same. "OK, tell me how you would approach them?"

Edward stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"You knock on their door. Victoria's father answers. What do you say?"

"I demand to see my child," he said firmly.

Carlisle shook his head.

"Why is that wrong? If we have a child, it's my right to see it."

"Edward, I understand that this is very difficult for you. Believe me, I do. But you showing up on their doorstep demanding access to a child that may or may not exist, isn't going to do much of anything except to put those people on the defensive."

"And you showing up won't," Edward wasn't buying into Carlisle's plan.

"Not as much as you."

"Why not," he demanded to know.

"Because I knew, Edward. Garrett phoned me."

Edward stared at his father for a long moment. Deep down inside, he knew that he was right. Edward showing up at their door unexpectedly, making demands when the last time he saw them, he was being dragged across the floor naked, would most certainly put their guard up and perhaps not yield the answers he so desperately wanted.

He let out a sigh of resignation and with his head bowed, nodded.

Carlisle put a comforting hand on his son's shoulder. "I will call you the second I can, Edward," he said in a soft voice.

"I know you will."

"Go call your mother," Carlisle got up and walked toward the hallway.

"Dad?"

He turned, facing his pale, scared son. He looked so young. So vulnerable. So…terrified. "Yes, Edward?"

"Thanks," he looked at his father with haunted green eyes.

Carlisle nodded. He could not have loved Edward more if he had been his biological son. There was nothing he would not do for him. He'd admittedly made a mistake when he'd believed Rosalie about the things she said he'd done, and he had paid for that by missing his son from his life for two very long and lonely years. He would never make that same mistake again. He didn't care if he had to traipse to the ends of the earth and back again for him. He would do whatever it took to make his son's life right.

Edward sighed as he watched his father leave. He waited a few minutes, waited until he was sure his father was out of the house and gone on his way to find out his fate. He slowly wandered over to where the kitchen telephone sat mounted on a wall in between several beautiful framed prints, nervously touching things as he passed them, each item bringing with it a small memory of his former life. Nothing had changed. Nothing except for him. He was taller, more solid. He shaved now. He drove. He was almost a man and was perhaps headed towards the greatest challenge he had ever faced. He would never again be the wide eyed and care free boy who had wandered these rooms all those years ago. His long, slender fingers trailed along the slick granite counter tops and yanked at the drawer pulls as he walked past them. He flicked at big tassels that hung from the curtain ties just like he did as a child. He could feel the uneven edges of the hard bricks under his feet. It was uncomfortable and familiar, and he relished it.

He grabbed a small red glass rooster from the counter as he passed, flipping it from one hand to the other as he picked up the phone, absently dialing automatically from memory. He knew that talking to his mother, with her gentle voice and loving words, would calm him down and loosen up the knot that was in his stomach. He played with a tiny statue as he leaned against the wall listening as the phone rang, waiting for his mother to answer. Waiting to hear her soothing words of encouragement and love.

"Hello?"

He felt the icy cold sweat break out over his forehead instantly and he swallowed hard, his body shaking violently.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

His voice was frozen in his throat. He was still capable of opening his mouth, but no sound came out.

"Jacob, if this is you trying to be funny again, well, you're not."

He tried to speak, but the only sound to come from his trembling body was a garbled noise.

He heard her breath catch.

"Edward," she whispered.

The red glass rooster slipped from his icy cold fingers, smashing to a million bits on the hard brick floor.

XXXXXXXXXX

Oops...Jenk's won't be too happy about that!

So, what did you think? Poor Edward or Poor RICHward?

Thanks again for reading! Please let me know what you thought! Click that little review button and tell me! And if you liked what you read, please share it with your fanfic friends :D

Again, my next update won't be for a couple of weeks. I'm going to be off in NYC patting WaxPattz and causing general mayhem with Katy. If you see that two women were arrested at a wax museum for molesting WaxPattz...then you'll understand that the next chapter will be a little late ;) Oh, and I guess I'll have to sneak in some time to see Eclipse, won't I?

Oh, and I have a twitter...but I have no idea how to share that name thingy...do I just put the whatever my name is or do I have to put a link in? I'm so challenged when it comes to technology :/

To everyone in the USA, have a safe and fun filled Independence Day! Let Freedom Ring! :)