Hi there. Once again, this is a derivative work of fiction... sorta... so I don't claim any ownership of Ms. Stephenie Meyer's lovely writing. I just hope you enjoy my un-beta'd manipulation of her characters. :)

Chapter 54:

Caught . . .

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"You haven't changed at all," he says.

She smiles sadly, like she's being indulgent with him. "Oh, but I have. I don't wish Bella Swan any ill will, but I don't want her near you. And you shouldn't either. She was the reason all this began. You can tell me it was my fault until the stars fall from the sky, son, but I know it was more than that. I know what she—"

"Esme. Enough."

The sharp voice startles both mother and son alike. Edward sucks in a breath, feeling the weight of the world fall off his shoulders while the unflappable Esme Cullen tries to hide her alarmed expression with a pasted-on smile.

"Carlisle. What are you doing here, honey?"

"You didn't tell me you were leaving the house. I was worried."

Esme shakes her head, still smiling. "I didn't? I'm so sorry . . . I don't what I was thinking."

"Oh, I do. May I please speak with you in the office?"

Edward feels half vindicated and half cut off at the knees. This is his stand to make, not his father's.

Even as his mother answers Carlisle with a soft, unsettled, "Of course. Just give me a moment to clear things up with Edward," he wants to object to being rescued.

"I don't think that's a good idea right now. I imagine you've said enough."

Her jaw drops the slightest bit, her eyes widening. Edward takes a step out of the way. He knows that expression well. Just as well as he knows his father's tone. She's pissed. And he's livid.

Edward stares at the floor a few uncomfortable moments before she gives in, saying nothing to him as she walks past. She doesn't stomp out or slam any doors, but that's not really her style.

"Son, I'm sorry," his father says when they're alone.

"You don't have to apologize. You shouldn't have interfered anyway," Edward says, exhaling at last. He turns to face the older man, and is shocked to see that beneath his long, wool coat he's wearing an old pair of sweat pants and his favorite, but very well-worn, T-shirt.

Carlisle shrugs when he correctly interprets Edward's face. "I was in a hurry."

"I . . ."

"It's fine. I'll get her out of here. Your siblings will probably have to take over your apartment or come here so we can talk, but I'll handle it."

"You shouldn't have to, Dad. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can. But, I turned a blind eye to a lot things, for a lot of years, son. This is the least I can do now."

"But—"

"No. Listen, moving our family to this little Podunk town was the best decision I ever made. I doubted that for a long while, but I know it for certain now. You are my proof. And dealing with that in there"—he points to the women's room, his voice very low—"is a small price to pay for your happiness."

Edward frowns, but the look in his father's eye tells him there's no budging him on this. "Thank you?"

Carlisle chuckles. "You're welcome. And . . ." His voice drops to a whisper. "I hope you had a nice night."

Surprise, as much as embarrassment, colors Edward's cheeks. He looks down and shrugs.

"Maybe you can catch me up later," he father says as his wife reappears in the doorway behind him.

"Yeah, sure." Edward lifts his eyebrows toward his mom.

His dad smiles and says, "See you at home later, right?"

"Yep."

"All right."

And just like that the smile disappears. Edward watches his parents as they stare at each other, words passing between them that he doesn't care to interpret. They'll either work it out, or they won't. Either way, he and his mother are going to have to have their own "Come to Jesus" before it's all said and done.

He only hopes he can keep it together as well as his father does when that time comes.

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