Esme’s Diary (Chapter 25: Edward)

January 20, 2012

Dear Diary,

As I sat there trying to understand the words Edward had just spoken, my eyes looked from his, down to the paper in my hands, then back to his face again. My face must have shown the confusion I felt, because when I looked up at him again his eyes were full of compassion and sorrow. I had so many questions I wanted to ask him, but when I tried to speak there was no sound.

“Esme, please let me explain,” he said in the most soothing, smooth voice. I nodded for him to continue, so he carried on. “I was visiting my father at work on the day your son died. I often walk through the halls of the hospital helping Carlisle on his rounds. I heard your cries and then I heard your thoughts. I understood your pain and I wanted to help you.”

I lifted my eyes to his and asked simply, “How could you understand my pain? You haven’t lost a child.”

He reached out and gently took my hands, his eyes never leaving mine, and when he spoke his voice was drenched in pain. “I understand what it is like to lose someone you love, to feel helpless and to feel guilty for being alive. To never have the chance to say goodbye and to never be able to share your hopes and dreams. Please don’t misunderstand me Esme, I love Carlisle, but I never had the chance to ease my mother’s pain or my own pain, but I had the chance to help you.”

I looked at this young, beautiful man sitting beside me and all I could see were the eyes of a frightened child, and in that moment I knew I would be to him what he needed, a mother figure. And even though he could never replace Robert, he would be the young man who could help mend my broken heart.

In that moment my heart felt like it was melting.

Finally, I was able to understand the words, and the reason why he had given me the poem that had helped me find my way out of a dark place.

My love was my gift. I smiled at him, my whole face glowing with love, and then I gently lifted his trembling hands to my cheek. We just sat there with our own thoughts, alone and yet together. I wanted him to do something special for me, so I gently took his hands from my cheek, placed them in his lap and looked into his eyes…

“Edward, would you read the poem to me. I understand now what you were trying to say, but I would like to hear the words spoken out loud.”

He took a moment to think about my request and then he very simply nodded yes. I was about to offer him my poem, but he just waved his hand and with his beautiful chiming voice he began to recite the words that had been burned into my memory.

As he read each word, I could feel the barriers I had built around me crack just a little bit more. It felt like a school boy reading a prize winning poem to his proud parent, every inflection, every pause, helping me to understand more clearly than ever before my past, my present and my future.

In that moment my heart felt like it was melting.

Finally, I was able to understand the words and the reason why he had given me the poem that had helped me find my way out of a dark place.

“Thank you,” I choked out, “Edward… I…,” I didn’t know what to say, or even how to say it. I wanted to tell him how much the words he had written on a piece of paper had helped me cope with the death of my son. That he had given me hope to believe that I had the potential to be happy again. That I could finally have my dream – to be a part of a family that was mine – come true.

He had given me hope for the future, to believe that a man who had been a part of my fantasies for ten years could now be in my life forever. With a strange tug at my heart I hoped that maybe, just maybe, I could love this remarkable young man Edward as if he were my own son, the way I am sure his mother had loved him.

Remembering that Edward could hear everything I was thinking I silently cursed myself. How could I be so insensitive? This hearing thoughts thing Edward had was going to take a lot of getting used to.

“Edward, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to… I… I didn’t think. I forgot.” Sighing deeply I looked down at my hands, resting on the table.

“Esme, please don’t fret. It is fine.” He smiled, taking my hand in his. “I do have one question though, if that is okay?”

“Of course it is Edward,” I replied.

“Esme? Who is Jonathon?”

Love Esme x

Be My Friend
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