Six months after Jasper and I arrived in Indiana, Carlisle turned thirty-seven. He was actually three hundred and six.
He and Esme both sighed about needing to move.
“It takes a long time to find our home,” Esme said, when I asked why she was so upset.
I shrugged. “There’s a cabin outside Portland, Oregon for the five of us. Edward will have a whole floor to himself. About four miles away there’s a little three bedroom home that Rosalie and Emmett will enjoy. The properties are on a stream right next to the Cascades. And the hospital is going to lose one of their general surgeons to Hopkins two days from now.”
Esme looked stunned.
I told her the house would look beautiful when she was done with it.