Twilight Advent Calendar, Day 10
Dec. 10 - Pick one of the witnesses in Breaking Dawn. What was it like for them to stay at the Cullens' home for those two weeks? Who did they spend time with?
There was no question about it.
Carlisle’s family was weird.
He’d met them before, but in passing. Now, surrounded, Garrett understood that the meetings had been in the woods, on street corners, at night, not because that was normal for Carlisle’s coven, but for his benefit. He had heard Carlisle say the words “home” and call the rangy redhead his son, but it just hadn’t registered. He thought it was just language, that his old friend was making himself feel better about the state of affairs he lived in. But it wasn’t.
They had a goddamn Christmas tree. When it had been suggested that he go to the Cullen home, Garrett had assumed he’d find a coven playacting. Staying out of the way of the Volturi. Hiding from humankind. And surely, surely there couldn’t be seven of them as perfect in their records as Carlisle.
But, no, here they were. Half a dozen bedrooms, closets with clothes that weren’t purloined from victims. Carlisle, nerd that he was, had a whole fucking library on the second floor, with books he’d been toting for two centuries. Five bathrooms—for what? And a kitchen. Well, that was, oddly, going to use.
Garrett could hear her, humming to herself as she buzzed around, again making some sort of something for the werewolves who were sleeping on the doorstep, and realized he recognized the tune. Penny Lane.
There was a figure already on the porch when he exited, and even if the scent hadn’t registered before his eyes did, he’d have recognized the silhouette anywhere. The shoulders were slumped in a way that reminded Garrett of two hundred twenty years ago. The body of a man trying to convince himself he was happy, when he wasn’t.
“This is some endeavor, English,” he said, and the head whipped around. Garrett laughed. “Did I startle you?” Absurd.
A long sigh. “Oh, perhaps I was somewhat aware.” The face broke into a tired smile. “I’m just out here cogitating.”
Garrett cocked his head. “You do you know you sound like the most horrible snob when you use words like that.”
This, thankfully, elicited a smile. “Noted. What brings you outdoors?”
“Your woman was singing the Beatles; I had to escape.”
“I didn’t care for the first British invasion. I like the second even less.”
His friend’s bark of a laugh was familiar. Garrett grinned in return, and then joined Carlisle at his side, leaning against the thick railing.
“I will say, however, that her taste in music aside, Esme is quite the—”
“—lovely woman is what I was going to say,” he finished sweetly, flashing Carlisle a wide smile. His friend shook his head, rolling his eyes, but then they met gazes and Carlisle smirked. Both of them began laughing.
“I am a lucky man; I won’t deny it.”
“Hell yes you are, you bastard.” He punched Carlisle in the shoulder, and Carlisle looked down shyly, a wry smile playing on his face. “And here I thought you were going to go all eternity without ever doing the deed.”
Another laugh. “Truthfully? So did I.”
The moonlight glinted off Carlisle’s hair as they both fell into companionable silence again. They looked enough alike to pass as brothers; it had been something Garrett had liked all those centuries ago. Even though Carlisle was his elder by a century and then some, he had always struck Garrett as naïve. His hope, his steadfast confidence that if he just did things his way, it would all turn out right and well. It was as admirable as it was ridiculous.
Garrett didn’t have to work hard to make out the individual conversations going on in the expansive living room as he and Carlisle stared together out into the forest. The sisters—also gorgeous, talking with the Spanish woman. Her mate, locked in a quiet talk with Carlisle’s son. The weird kid, with her even weirder name, reading to her mother while Carlisle’s blonde daughter interjected every now and again. The lawn behind the house twinkled in color from the tree and the lights that went up the banister in the big room; the shadows cast by the roaring fire danced playfully across the porch.
“You succeeded,” he said finally.
He gestured widely at the house behind them. “You succeeded. At this. I thought you were bereft of your senses, with that diet and the doctor thing and everything but…you did it.” He turned, leaning against the rail. “Family life suits you. I don’t know why I am surprised.”
Carlisle made a noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “It’s not easy. At times, I envy your freedom.” He turned back to Garrett. “I wasn’t out here merely cogi—thinking. I was worrying, while Edward isn’t paying attention. I’m worried about Alice and Jasper, and I’m worried about Renesmee, and I’m worried what that will do to Bella, and what any of this will do to Edward. And then all of you…”
Garrett clapped a hand on Carlisle’s shoulder. “We chose to come. You can’t take that on.”
The brow furrowed again. “I feel responsible.”
“That’s your problem, not anyone else’s. No one is going to hold you responsible for”—he gestured widely in the direction of the field where the clairvoyant had indicated they would need to be—“whatever goes on out there. You’re responsible for this. This gathering. These friends. This…family. This is what you worry about. This is what you can control.”
They both glanced back in the doors. Someone had turned on Christmas music. The Spanish woman was slow dancing with her mate. One of the sisters—the prettier one—had accepted the offer of a a Santa hat. Muffled laughter. The sound of crackling, and the earthen scent of a fresh log beginning to burn.
“And which of you with taking thought can add to his stature one cubit,” Carlisle muttered.
This elicited another chuckle. “The twelfth chapter of Luke, you heathen.” He grinned. “But it’s a welcome reminder. Thank you.”
The Bible. Of course. That hadn’t changed, either. Garrett stared. Carlisle’s expression seemed to have softened; the strange, amber eyes glowed differently. The two of them stared out into the blackness of the night, the moon glinting off the river so close to the house. They listened to this; the way the water pounded against what must have been much larger rocks further north, where the elevation was even higher, before coming whooshing through the woods behind the stately home.
It was a long while before Garrett got the eerie feeling of being watched. He turned back toward the hulking French doors. Esme standing there, her head cocked, her arms crossed over her chest.
“There’s a beautiful woman looking for you, English,” Garrett said, nudging Carlisle in the ribs.
Carlisle turned. “So there is.” He beckoned, and the door opened a crack as Esme leaned out.
“Your granddaughter wants to say goodnight,” she called. “They’re going back over to the cottage in a few minutes.”
Your granddaughter, Garrett mouthed. The words still felt strange on his lips.
Carlisle didn’t miss this. “It is amazing, isn’t it?”
Garrett stared back at the door. “Like I said. It suits you.” He nodded in the direction of Carlisle’s wife. “Go. Stop worrying. At least for the night.”
In the same instant that Carlisle nodded, he was at his wife’s side. He put his arm around her waist, and she tipped her chin up so that their lips met. It looked…familiar. Garrett watched the way their gazes followed each other’s, the way a hand around the waist slipped slowly over hips to become a hand in another hand. The way she smiled up at him. The blur of knee-high blue that was the little girl streaking across the living room for his knees. The way he lifted her into the air and how she giggled and squeaked as he tossed her before settling her, one-armed, onto his hip. That even amidst the worry, his face lit up as he pressed his nose to hers and she put her palm to his cheek.
He had thought Carlisle boring. Naïve. Even deluded. I envy your freedom, he heard his friend’s voice echo in his head.
But as he listened to the laughter on the other side of the door, and watched the way the colored lights played off the planes of his friend’s face, Garrett wondered if freedom was really all Carlisle imagined it was cracked up to be.
Note: A more modern translation of Luke 12:25 reads “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?” (NRSV). But I feel confident that if Carlisle is going to quote the Bible, it’s the 1611 KJV that he has in mind.