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Basswood Guitar

Generated image When Jasper finds an old basswood guitar at a rummage sale, will he rediscover an old passion in himself?


3. Chapter 3

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A few weeks went by, and Edward slowly lost interest in the guitar. You could tell it wasn’t his thing, though his form was perfect.

One afternoon I was alone, my legs slung over the arm of one of Esme’s chairs, something I would never have done if she was around. Thankfully, she and Alice were out shopping, Emmett and Rosalie were hunting, and Bella was of course with Edward. My thoughts had only just strayed to the guitar upstairs on Edward’s couch when I heard Carlisle at the door.

He came into the as he always did, hanging his coat in the closet, sitting his brief case near the stairs. It was not my wont to ever be the first to speak, but his mood was oddly dark.

“You’re off early,” I said quietly, announcing my presence in the living room. “Something wrong?”

“A rough day,” he replied, making his way into the room. “We all have those.”

“Jasper,” he said reproachfully, “Feet.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, sitting up.

It was strange, I knew that Carlisle looked on me as an equal, and that sometimes he deferred to me as a superior, but he could still make me feel like a child. It was his simple, easy confidence that did it, and the care he showed to all.

“I had a patient admitted today,” he said.

I looked up. He didn’t usually bring his work home, and of all the relationships I maintained, ours was not the strongest.

“He’s dying.”

“They all die Carlisle,” I replied, looking away out the back of the house. “Just not us.”

“No,” he chuckled wryly. “Just not us.”

I waited for him to continue. Over the years, I had found that patience truly was a virtue. If you could wait long enough, you could usually get what you wanted.

“He has a daughter,” Carlisle continued. “Hasn’t seen her in over twelve years. Now, with the end so close… I just wish he would do something about it.” He sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his blonde hair. “Their time here is so short. I just wish they would see sometimes…”

Here he made a small noise, a smile curving his mouth. Shaking his head he headed up the stairs to his office, lifting a hand briefly in a sort of farewell.

“Carlisle,” I called on a sudden hunch, feeling mystomach pitch. I heard him pause halfway up the stairs. “Your patient, it wouldn’t be Hank Jones would it?”

There was a moment’s silence, and I felt his surprise, followed closely by concern. My back was to him now, so I allowed myself a grin. There was very little that I, Jasper Hale, could do, that did not elicit concern from someone.

“Yes, it is. Do you know him?”

“I might,” I replied. “I just might.”

Though I could tell he was waiting for an explanation, I didn’t give him one. I rose easily from my chair, and slipped through the back door. Inhaling deeply, I faced the river and took a running start.