Chapter 3

Medical school flies at you fast. One day I was reading to get ahead on the term, the next I was scrambling to keep up. Michigan taught its M1s in modules, where we covered one topic for several weeks at a time, in conjunction with basic instruction on patient care. I was quickly buried in readings for “Patients and Populations,” or PatPop, as it was more commonly known. Part epidemiology, part general pathology, part medical history—it was a good thing I didn’t have much else to focus on.

Carlisle stayed true to his word and didn’t withdraw, but I barely saw him. It wasn’t uncommon, I found, for M1s to ditch class and just do the reading–at times, that seemed to be the only way to keep up. We were also in different cohorts; he was a traditional student, and I was at Michigan for medical science. So I only caught glimpses of him from across the auditorium at PatPop lectures, and only on occasion. He continued to play the role of the tuned-out twenty-three-year-old, sitting hunched low in his chair with his earbuds in more often than not. And when lectures ended, he vanished immediately. He never showed up at the library or any of the new student mixers, and as near as I could tell, whoever the guy was that he’d been with on the first day of classes had disappeared.

So I was beyond surprised when I was in the middle of a study group with two other M1s in the Michigan Union and a girl at my table wolf-whistled.

“God, he’s hot,” Kelsey said. “Isn’t he a medical student?” She nodded in the direction of the Wendy’s line.

As usual, I barely recognized him. The messy hair, the earbuds, the sunglasses—the sunglasses hilarious, as the food court was in the basement and quite dark. But it was his clothing that was most outrageous. A pair of knee-length mesh shorts hung loosely off his hips, exposing the waistband of his underwear. On top was a worn-looking Michigan Football t-shirt, on which I could see a dark “V” on the chest and back.

That must have taken some effort. Vampires didn’t sweat.

A smiling—well, okay, drooling—woman brought him a tray full of food: sandwich, fries, and a drink. He moved to a table in the corner, turning at least a dozen heads as he walked across the room. Putting down his tray, he pulled a thick textbook out of his bag and began jotting notes in the margin.

“He’s in my cohort lecture,” said Corinne. “Always totally tuned out. Which is good, because that way we can all stare. I mean, what a body.”

“Shhh,” I said unconsciously, still looking over. With his left hand, Carlisle carefully shredded French fry after French fry, breaking them into two pieces, then the two into four, and so on. Every now and then his fingers would dart out to dip a piece into the little paper cup of ketchup in front of him, and then that piece would disappear—where to, I had no idea. If I hadn’t known he couldn’t eat, I wouldn’t have seen anything remotely amiss. He was very good at this.

“Are you shushing us?” Kelsey laughed. “Bella. He’s all the way on the other side of the room.”

And he can hear you anyway, I thought, remembering how quietly Edward was able to speak in that expansive house and still summon his entire family.

Sure enough, Carlisle glanced in our direction. He and I locked gazes for a half-second, and then he pretended to bury himself back in whatever it was he was doing.

“He’s a complete jerk, though,” Corinne added. “I watched a girl trip and fall in front of him, and her books went flying. He looked down, shrugged, and walked off. And he smart mouths the teacher every time she calls on him.”

“He’s going through a lot,” I muttered.

“Do you know him?”

Oops. I realized too late what I’d said. “Uh…” My mind raced for a plausible explanation. Where was Edward and his cool lies when I needed him? At once, my stomach jerked, as though to remind me exactly where Edward was.

“I went to high school with his…brother. We even went out a few times. But then their family had to move away. We didn’t graduate together.” That was all pretty much true.

“Was he this beautiful in high school?” Kelsey asked.

“They all were,” I murmured, still looking across the room. Carlisle had put down his fry and was staring down at the book as though it contained some sort of divine revelation.


“His family, I mean. He has several siblings. They were the most beautiful kids in school. The girls, too.” Rosalie, with her terrifying perfection; Alice, who could attract anyone but only had eyes for Jasper.

I had never fit with them. And now I was the one who’d torn them apart.

“Was he this much of a jackass in high school?” This was Corinne.

What? Of course not. Carlisle I knew—the gentle man, too compassionate to harm a human in defiance of every fiber of his nature. He’d helped kill James, but only to save me. How many afternoons had I been at his home and not taken the time to get to know him?

And if I had taken the time, would I even have known that it was possible for this other man to exist?

Looking over, I saw an odd tautness in Carlisle’s body. He held himself stiffly, unnaturally, although I recalled at once Edward’s telling me that no position was uncomfortable for them. His jaw was tight as he stared down at the table and his food.

Even with all that had changed, he didn’t like being called a jackass.

“He was very sweet back then,” I answered, not taking my eyes off him, and unconsciously speaking a little more loudly. “A real old-fashioned gentleman.” Quite literally.

“Sweet?” Kelsey laughed. “Someone that gorgeous; you almost don’t want him to be sweet.”

She had a point. I remembered how holier-than-thou the Cullen kids had come off on my first day at Forks High. How aloof. Carlisle had never been that way. He loved humans; he loved life.

“His son died,” I murmured and realized as the words came out of my mouth that the truth was reasonable. Let them think Edward had been a baby. Infant death had the potential to wreck a father and destroy a marriage just as surely. They didn’t need to know that Edward had been a hundred and five.

“Or at least, that’s what I heard on Facebook,” I added.

Both Kelsey and Corinne stared openly now. Carlisle’s head bowed more over his table, and his shoulders hunched. Would he be angry with me, I wondered? Knowing the two at the table with me, the news that Will Edward was a bereaved young father would spread like wildfire.

“Oh, God, are you serious?” It was Corinne. “Shit. Never mind. I take back the jackass thing.”

On the other hand, maybe it would help.

“No wonder he keeps to himself,” Kelsey added. “God. I feel awful for him now.”

Corinne pulled her eyes away and conspicuously turned the page in our textbook.  “Hey, let’s not all stare at him then, you think? Let him do his reading or whatever.”

Kelsey nodded. Relieved, I buried myself back in my own work, too.

We kept on about epidemiology for the better part of an hour. When we were satisfied with our knowledge, or rather comfortable with the lack thereof, we split, promising to email if anyone had any other questions. Kelsey and Corinne both left, clearing the table and leaving me with my books.

Carlisle still sat huddled at his table at the back of the room. I carefully packed my bag, and then went over to him. He didn’t look up as I slid into the booth, just kept furiously writing notes. He had the same, impossibly neat, quick handwriting style as Edward, I noticed, and for a minute or so I was content to watch him flip pages and scribble.

“Do you even need to take notes?” I finally asked, my voice low.

“Not taking notes,” he answered. “Marking edits.”

Edits? I flipped up the cover of the book.

Carl Jaspers, M.D.

Carlisle. Jasper.

When I looked back up at him, I found his eyebrows raised in expectation of my conclusion.

“You wrote the textbook.”

“I had a lot of time on my hands.”

I didn’t say anything, and his insinuation, this reminder of the loss of his entire family, hung in the air between us. I reached over and took a few fry bits.

“Those are cold,” he said gruffly.

“I know. But this way some will get eaten.” I shoveled down a few pinches of French fry, and he turned back to the book, the pages whipping past as he jotted quick notes here and there.

I wanted to ask how he was doing. If he’d talked to any of the other family members since seeing me. Surely, Alice would have called?

After several minutes, his pen went still. He didn’t lift his eyes from his book.

“It was what Esme said,” he muttered.


He coughed. “What your friend called me.” He closed his eyes, and I knew he was remembering every detail–how it smelled, how the breeze felt, exactly what Esme had looked like as she’d said the words.

“When she told me she wanted a divorce. She said she didn’t know who had replaced her husband with this jackass.”

No wonder he’d looked so pained.

“Oh, Carlisle,” I muttered. “I’m sorry you had to overhear that.”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure either of them are wrong.” Again he stared back down at the book, giving me a good look at the way his hair fell forward over his face, his long eyelashes. Dressed as he was, and cowed in this little booth, he looked unbearably young. I had always thought it near-impossible for Carlisle to embody anything other than the grown man he was—even pretending to be in his mid-thirties, he projected a confidence and wisdom that marked him as much older.

But now I was struck by how boyish his appearance was. Edward hadn’t quite finished puberty—he’d always remained lanky and without that very subtle shift that somehow made men look like men. Carlisle was broader and heavier, and I’d always found it easy to imagine him as having been a man ready to marry and work in the time he’d lived as a human.

Not today. Today every bit of him that seemed to mark him as a confused young man was emphasized. The way his shoulders slumped, the untidiness of his hair, the Bic pen in his fingers, even the French fries and especially the clothes. He looked young. Vulnerable.

I realized with a start that I was now a full year older than he was.

For another ten minutes or so, I watched him scribble notes in the book and munched on the cold fries. I drank his pop, also—Mountain Dew, which for some reason struck me as hilarious. After a while, he glanced at his watch, and the book abruptly closed.

“I had to duck in here because the sun was coming out,” he said quietly. “I have enough time to get home, now.”

The backpack rustled as he shoved the textbook and pen back inside. I watched as he shrugged his shoulders into the straps, noticing again the damp, dark splotches across his chest and underarms.

Now that I thought on it, he stunk. He smelled much better than most guys would in a sweaty t-shirt, certainly, but there was an unmistakable human musk beneath his scent.

“Where did you get the shirt?”

“Stolen. From a young man who was showering at the gym.”

My shock must have registered because he added quickly, “I left him a fresh one.”

“Nice of you. I’m sure he didn’t mind you taking away his dirty laundry.”

The edges of his lips turned up for such a short fraction of a second I almost missed it. But the smile disappeared as quickly as it came, and he carefully swept the French fry bits into his meal bag, along with his sandwich and the now-empty drink cup. He began to turn away, but he stopped after only a couple of steps.

“Thank you,” he said, not meeting my eye. “It was very kind, what you said to your friends.”

Then he turned around and left, his flip-flops slapping against his heels.


Six weeks into the year, we were assigned to PC, that is, patient care. We met in a classroom at the medical school, dozens of bright-eyed doctor wannabes, with required stethoscopes and otoscopes in hand.

I confess I’d felt a little pleased when mine had arrived. The otoscope was surprisingly heavy–they were whipped out so often that for some reason I had never considered that the instrument might have some heft to it. Its cold cylinder felt like the heavy-duty police flashlight Charlie had always carried strapped to his belt. As a girl, I’d liked to pick it up and swing it around, shine it places. I think that was because I didn’t really understand divorce, and difference, and why we were in Arizona instead of with Daddy.

Something about the heavy instrument made it all feel very official, even more so than any acceptance letter or the mountains of paperwork which followed it. Holding an otoscope, I could actually envision myself in the white coat and sterile room.

The room was filled with lab tables, and some M1s sat obediently behind them, while others sprawled across them, sitting with their feet dangling and legs crossed. There was a lot of chatter; apparently the football team won some major game against their in-state rival, and there had been some spectacular touchdown catch.

I had never bothered to learn to care about football. In Phoenix, my school’s team was huge, but I never went to the games. And my short stint in Forks had been entirely outside the football season. I remembered vaguely that one boy—Tyler? Tyson? It was amazing how those memories all blended together; at least the ones that weren’t about Edward—bragged to me about what a stunning player he was on the eight-man team. He seemed certain that once I’d been to a Forks game, I’d forget about Edward Cullen completely.

If it were that easy, I would’ve watched high school football every day.

Carlisle had pulled another disappearing act after I saw him in the student union. Even Corinne and Kelsey reported they hadn’t seen him. He didn’t show up for class; he didn’t haunt the library or any of the coffee shops around campus. I’d sent him one email, telling him it was good to see him at the Union.

It went unanswered.

So when the door swung open one minute before our first class was supposed to begin, I was expecting the teacher.

Every head in the room swiveled. It was hard not to look. Such preternatural beauty, all of them. That summer, I had gotten used to it, I realized, although I had never stopped feeling inadequate. That the Cullens all looked perfect had slowly become secondary as I’d gotten to know them; Emmett, with his booming laugh and his incessant teasing; Alice, who had a talent for bounding into a conversation exactly when you needed her and exactly when you didn’t want her to; Jasper, who hung back but watched carefully, enjoying his siblings’ joy at having someone new to entertain; even Rosalie, who’d always remained frosty toward me, but who still took the time to talk on the sidelines of a baseball game. Esme, who called me her human daughter .

And of course, Carlisle. He’d offered me free rein over his study; told me I could select any books I wished to read. There were first editions everywhere–everything from Dickens to Bronte, even a folio of Shakespeare which, although nowhere near a first edition, was still well over three hundred years old. Whenever Edward and I had separated that summer–him to hunt, me to sit behind, it was Carlisle’s books I’d turned to. Sometimes, if he returned before his son did, Carlisle and I would talk about them; he putting them in context of the history at the time, connecting them to other works he loved, I doing my best to satisfy his curiosity about what it was like to read them as a young human, with only eighteen years of life experience and for whom those eras were locked in the pages of history textbooks.

I’d been at home there in that huge house on the river. To think of it sold, now, the family which had lived so happily within it dispersed and broken…it made my stomach clench.

Thirty-some-odd pairs of eyes watched Carlisle as he crossed the room, otoscope case in hand, stethoscope dangling casually from his neck. It wasn’t just his face, I realized at once. It was everything about how he carried himself. The few times I’d seen him so far, he walked with a slouch, the way boys our age tended to. But with the tools of his trade on hand, there was something calmed about him.

The night before, I’d done exactly what he was doing now: hung the stethoscope around my neck, the way I’d seen so many doctors and nurses do over the years. It had felt uncomfortable, heavy, out-of-place. I’d removed it after five minutes.

But I could imagine that for Carlisle, the familiar sensation put him back into his element. He certainly looked as though it did.

And then he laid eyes on me.

His body seemed to recoil—he might even have bared his teeth. He came up short mid-stride, turning away from wherever it was he was aiming and heading to the other side of the room. The sets of eyes stayed on him; thankfully, none of them seemed to notice who he’d been aiming for.

Carlisle situated himself as a table-sitter, his legs crossed casually at the thigh. He stared blankly at the front of the classroom, appearing to tune out, but I suspected it was simply that he didn’t wish to look at me.

The instructor entered a moment later, a cheerful woman with cascades of bright-orange ringlets who introduced herself as Dr. Leary. “I love working with the M1s,” she explained. “You all remind me why practicing medicine is a joy and not just work. But don’t forget that it’s work. The things we do in this class should be fun and inspiring–it’s why we get you into patient care and observations right away instead of waiting until your third year. However, I do expect the best from all of you. Study the text, practice the techniques, ask for help when you need it.”

Several dozen heads nodded enthusiastically. I glanced over at Carlisle, who still had a glazed look on his face. This all must seem so strange to him. Learning how to take a pulse, how to write a chart–these were things that were as second-nature to him as breathing, I imagined.

Of course, breathing wasn’t exactly second-nature for him, I realized, and laughed.

Dr. Leary projected a diagram of the anatomy of the wrist. She pointed out the tendons and the bone structure, and then the arteries and veins. She explained how to feel for the wrist tendons that would lead us to the correct place for taking a patient’s pulse.        Then she broke us into groups of three and had us practice on one another.

My group consisted of a guy, another girl, and me. The guy introduced himself as Caleb, which I found interesting. The girl was Katie–one of several dozen in our entering class. We set to work feeling one another’s wrists; although Katie and I had both had Red Cross First Aid way back when, finding the pulse was surprisingly more difficult than we remembered. I got Caleb’s, but it was weak.

Dr. Leary circulated to help us. When she reached our group, I explained my difficulty with Caleb’s pulse. She took my wrist and rotated it. “If you have difficulty finding it,” she explained, “you might turn your fingers at an angle—”

But she was cut off by a sudden argument from the other side of the room.

“Look man, all I’m saying is I’m having trouble. You need to calm the hell down.”

“Your incompetence is not my problem,” a beautifully clear voice answered.

My stomach turned to ice. Pulses. Of course.

“Seriously, dude? You’re going there? We’ve all been here for a couple of weeks…”

Not Carlisle, I thought. He’d been practicing medicine since before they understood there even was a circulatory system.

Dr. Leary straightened herself and walked to the other side of the room.

“Is there an issue, gentlemen?”

“Nothing that can’t be solved with a change of grouping,” the clear voice answered, and a second later, I found a very pale, very muscled forearm offered to me. “I’m certain even a woman whose only work has been with animals can do better than this fratboy.”

He glared at the other guy, who looked nothing like a fratboy–he had on thick glasses and a buttoned shirt.

“Take my pulse.”

I hesitated.

“Dr. Leary just showed you how to find a difficult one, didn’t she?” he said.

“Because that’s convenient,” muttered Non-fratboy.

A second later I found my wrist grasped in a surprisingly warm hand. Carlisle placed my fingers where they needed to go on his wrist, then with his index finger traced first the number 6 and then the number 4 on the back of my hand.

I nodded. I looked at my watch, the way I had when taking Caleb’s, and exactly sixty seconds later announced that Carlisle had a pulse of sixty-four.

The class seemed to calm at once. Groups turned back to their members to practice more.

Dr. Leary nodded to us. “You may stay in this group if you wish, Mr.—”

“Edward,” he said, the name causing me to jump. “Will Edward.”

“You may stay in this group if you wish, Mr. Edward.”

“Thank you.”

We all turned back to what we were doing. Non-fratboy continued to glare. Carlisle expertly found Caleb’s pulse, and gave him different instructions to find mine. When asked why he had a technique, he explained he’d been on his alma mater’s EMS squad. We worked only another ten minutes before the rustling of bags announced the end of class. Dr. Leary dismissed us, telling us she’d see us on Thursday for our first shadowing at the hospital.

I turned to tell Carlisle I’d see him then, but he was already gone.


I hit the library hard after class, reading up on anatomy, the next unit we were starting now that PatPop was coming to a close. We would be in the lab in a week. I’d gotten used to dissection from my undergraduate work, but I wasn’t looking forward to cutting open an actual human. A tiny part of me hoped I’d see Carlisle, although I knew this was unlikely. I studied until nearly midnight, then caught the night shuttle back to the student apartment complex.

I’d left my laptop plugged in on my desk, and it glowed happily. Dropping my bags at the door, I slid in front of it and gasped.

I had a new email. I didn’t recognize anything but one part of the name, but at once, I knew its sender.

Whitlock, Mary Alice Subject: Thanks!!!

I clicked.


Mary Alice Whitlock to me

Hi Bella,

Thanks for helping Carlisle today. Obviously, we’re worried about him, too. I’m glad he took my advice and stayed at U of M. Whether he realizes it or not, he needs you.

I realize he’s being difficult, but please stick with him. He will change.

We miss you.

Much Love,



An odd relief flooded through me. They were all there. Not that I’d doubted this, not exactly, but there was a difference between Carlisle saying that Alice and Jasper were in Canada and actually getting an e-mail.

I whipped off a response.


Isabella to Mary Alice

Hi Alice!

It’s nothing. It’s good to see him. It’s good to hear from you, too. How are you and Jasper? Carlisle said Jasper is a professor? That must feel so odd.

You should come visit us. I miss you, too.




The response was instantaneous.


Mailerdaemon to me

Delivery to the following recipient failed permanently:

Technical details of permanent failure:

Google tried to deliver your message, but it was rejected by the recipient domain. We recommend contacting the other email provider for further information about the cause of this error. The error that the other server returned was: 550 550

No such user:

(state 14)

–original message details–

“Oh you have to be kidding me,” I muttered.

God. I’d forgotten about all this crazy secrecy. It seemed paranoia wasn’t a trait that belonged only to the youngest Cullen. I stared at the reply for several minutes, willing it to turn itself into an actual answer. It didn’t, and after a half-hour, I decided to go to bed.

Teeth brushed, flannel pj pants and hoodie on, I climbed into bed, practically reciting Alice’s email as I reached for the lamp.

We miss you.

My vampires were out there. My second family still existed, fractured as they might be. Even if Carlisle didn’t want anything to do with me, he hadn’t shoved me away. I had touched him today, at his insistence. We had spoken. And from somewhere, Alice was sending email.

For now, that would have to be enough.

I flicked off the lamp and plunged my bedroom into darkness.




§ 21 Responses to Chapter 3"

  • verseseven says:

    Ok, first of all, I’m so thankful you updated. You have no idea how happy this story makes me. However, it’s been awhile since I read the previous chapters, so I don’t know if you’ve explained how Bella separated from the Cullens. I’m assuming Edward died? Or he left? I’m angry that Alice reached out to Bella, but then didn’t allow Bella to reach out to her. To tell Bella, “We miss you” but then not want to see her? It feels cruel.

    Please, please, please post another chapter soon. Please.

    • giselle says:

      I’ll do my best. This story is the hardest for me to write of my WIPs because I’m in Carlisle’s head and it’s a very painful place to be in this storyline.

      As for Edward, if you skim the prologue and ch. 1, that will explain better than I can in short space. Alice…well, Alice always knows what she’s doing, doesn’t she? 😛

      And I’m tickled you enjoy it. Thanks for reading as always.

  • Glynis Wood says:

    I am truly enjoying this story. I am feeling so sad for Carlisle and Bella and am still coming to terms with Edward’s demise. Carlisle and Edward for me, have always been the most interesting and complex characters developed by Stephanie. As an adult and very widely read, I surprisingly found myself become somewhat addicted to the Twilight novels but always found myself left with a feeling of being unfulfilled that these two characters were not more developed in the original storylines… given that it was really written from Bella’s POV. That is why I am such a fan of your writings… I found Ithaca is Gorges so revealing and satisfying in its exploration of the relationship between Carlisle and Edward. And I feel that this story is revealing yet another side to Carlisle’s character and hopefully Bella as well, whilst I am sure I will continue to mourn the loss of Edward throughout along with these two.

    I really, really look forward to the updates and can only hope that the wait is not too long.

    • giselle says:

      Aww, yay, thank you. And I agree. I’ve been drawn to Carlisle and Edward from the very beginning–like you, I had the experience of going, “I usually read such *good* stuff, what am I doing addicted to these novels?” Carlisle is just so much fun to deconstruct, and getting to explore him in this state just reveals facets of his character I had never before considered. Things which I think, were he asked directly, he might not even be aware of. It’s fun, although it’s hard.

      And that said, I’ll do my best with the updates. Thanks for sticking with it, and me.

  • foufymaus says:

    Wow, the pain that poor Carlisle is working through must be devastating. I think if i were in his position i too would feel some animosity toward Bella for all her frail humanness. I can’t help but think he would probably have had the ‘what if’s’ .What if she was faster, What if she hadn’t cut her finger, What if she hadn’t given in to Alice’s demands.

    On the other hand i can see where he can also feel the need to separate from his family, to have anger toward them especially with Alice and Rosalie. I think that you’ve brilliantly captured the fragility of Carlisle and Bella’s relationship.

    Thanks for the update it was utter brilliance! I’m glad that Carlisle had Bella help him find his pulse. 😉

    Thanks for the update! I loved it.

    • giselle says:

      There’s a lot of “what-if”ing going on for Carlisle, for sure. When I started this piece, there were actually a few sections in CPOV. But I decided to let Bella and her voice carry the entire story instead, because it’s precisely *because* she’s on the outside that she has such a great view.

      Thank you, as always for reading.

  • Maruxf says:

    This story make me ache. At the same time, I see so much potential for things to get better…perhaps not a happy-happy-ending….but a better place for our characters. Then again, maybe I’m just hoping for this to ameliorate the ache.

    Anyway, it’s gorgeous and I cannot wait for the next installment.

    • giselle says:

      I like the way you put this. Not a happy-happy-ending but a better place. I think a lot of stories end that way.

      Thank you for reading as always, ache-generating as it may be.

  • PDXMadeline says:

    Am I the only one who doesn’t think that Edward is really dead? I am in pain for both Carlisle and Bella but am hoping that the entire family will once again be reunited….maybe corny but there you go.

    • giselle says:

      I’m not sure you’re the only one who thinks that. I will not be confirming one way or the other–and I don’t say that in the “I’m not confirming because he’s not dead!” kind of way I see so much. One thing I hope will come out of One Day is a more organic reading experience, where you really do have to ask, is he dead? Are Carlisle and Bella going to end up together? Will Carlisle go back to Esme somehow? I think a lot of the joy of reading gets caught up when we have to mark a fic as AU, as such-and-such pairing, as such-and-such premise.

      So please, speculate away. Draw your own conclusions. That’s what this story is about. And thank you, of course, for reading it. 🙂

      • PDXMadeline says:

        Absolutely – yes, and I have that joy of reading and appreciate your stories! Thanks and I look forward to the next treat.

  • Tina says:

    As bad as I feel for Bella, I just ache for Carlisle. He is so different – but grief does that to people. The fact that he believes he could be a jackass is telling.

    I wonder what Alice sees coming. She must have contacted Bella for a reason, more than just a quick ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’.

    I’m looking forward to more of One Day.

  • Rimlis says:

    As always dear Author, your writing is compelling with a compassion and awareness of your characters that is satisfying to read. This story about grief, acceptance and learning to live on is sad and poignant. We bring our existing knowledge of these characters to this story and this new reality makes it even more heartbreaking. A young death with the loss of potential, of hope, of a future, is distressing; the possibility of eventual peace with that loss, of overcoming the disbelief, the anger, the emptiness is overwhelming for the survivors.

  • J says:

    Lol@ sweaty shirt. Gotta love that carlisle’s always got something up his sleeve… Like a hand warmer, apparently.
    I love how Bella is spilling his secrets and making the softhearted ladies fall for him despite the ridicuclothes and poor posture. Next week Carlisle has a 3 way with Kelsey and Corrine or whoever they are, right?
    Thank you for this.

  • RobinVanDam says:

    I don’t want to say to much to give away my thoughts on this just yet, but I will say I see a lot of parallels to the 1st book “Twilight”. The cafeteria, the anger, the absence for a long period of time, the science class (biology vs PC), the 1st contact…hmm…

  • StormDragonfly says:

    I began to worry at first when Bella started discussing “Will” to her friends at the table. She was being a little careless – then she produced the romantic sad story that’s going to make the females sigh for him in addition to lusting. (A college campus with a single Carlisle is likely to result in more instances of Carlisle being hit on than a professional hospital with a married Carlisle.) However, I think you wrote the scene the way you did to have Carlisle overhear something that he needed to.

    I just love that you made Carlisle’s “frat boy” taunt directed at one of the nerdiest kids in the classroom. What exactly was the silent and watching classroom expecting? For Will to be declared to not have a pulse?

    I imagine that Alice knows whether Edward is really dead or not. After all, she was practically on the scene.

  • LJ Summers says:

    OH MY.

    This is just so gripping, ma’am. I am all gaga. Absolutely.

    Brilliant cover with the sweat. Gads, he’s just all over it. Wow.

    Bella is doing her best and I love that you’ve got her so canon, but more mature. I see her heart, but she’s grown some common sense.

    And yay for Alice’s one-shot email. 🙂 I feel better knowing that they’re encouraging Bella to be persistent.

    In their own way.

    Brilliant handling of the pulse issue. Ha! See, even a human can be of use.

    I am trying to imagine Carlisle looking all – angry man. I like it.

  • Lila says:

    Okay, I’m on chapter three and I’m just noticing that people started commenting on this last September. Put an “L” on my forehead for LOSER! Then again, I get to read 5 chapters at once! Win for me!

    Love Alice. I’m sure she knows Bella’s reply, but it sure must suck for Bella to not be able to have a TWO WAY conversation.

  • Sandra says:

    Gah. I just realized that I’ve read 3 chapters and not left you a single comment. Shame on me. I don’t really have much to say yet, other than Wow. Eloquent, I know. 😉

    Thank you for sharing. Must read further now.

  • Jenny says:

    Despite all his cold jackassary he seeks a warm port in his storm. She rescues the scoundrel from his own sharp teeth.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.