Honey

  “Happy?” she said, and she was practically yelling now. “Why would I be happy? This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re ruining my life and you don’t even care.”

  “Now wait a minute.” Melody’s father reached over and tried to touch her hand.

  Melody jerked it away.

  “No, you wait a minute!” she shouted. “How could you think this would be okay with me? You didn’t even ask. You just went ahead and did what you wanted to do, without even thinking about how I’d feel. Why do you get to decide everything? How much TV I watch. What kind of cereal I can eat. You even get to decide how much I know about my own mother. And now, without even consulting me, you get to decide this? It’s not fair!”

  Melody couldn’t hold back her tears any longer.

  “Please don’t cry, Mel,” said her father.

  “Why shouldn’t I cry?” she said through her tears. “You’re going to marry Miss Hogan.”

  Melody’s father’s jaw dropped.

  “Miss Hogan?” he said incredulously. “Is that who you think I’ve been seeing?”

  “Well, isn’t it?” asked Melody.

  Her father smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand.

  “No wonder you’re so upset. I wouldn’t do that to you, Mel,” he said. “Good grief! I wouldn’t do that to me.”

  “Then why did Miss Hogan know you’d gone camping?” asked Melody.

  “Her nephew Kirk is on the debate team.”

  “Why was she whistling your song?”

  “What song?” Melody’s father asked.

  But Melody had already moved on to her next question — the most important one of all.

  “If you’re not going out with Miss Hogan, then who have you been seeing?”

  “MaryAnn McKenna.”

  It took a minute for it to register.

  “Mrs. McKenna?” asked Melody. “But she’s married.”

  “She was, but her husband passed away a few years ago. She kept his name out of respect.”

  Melody had to ask again, just to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood.

  “So the person you called honey on the phone the other night wasn’t Miss Hogan, it was Mrs. McKenna?”

  Melody’s father smiled. “That’s right.”

  “I love Mrs. McKenna!” cried Melody, grabbing her father and hugging him tight.

  “I know,” he said, hugging her back. “So do I.”

  That night the Bishops ordered a pizza for dinner. Gramp-o, who was feeling much better, came downstairs to join them, but he stuck to ginger ale and saltines just to be safe. He was almost as happy to hear about Mrs. McKenna as Melody had been.

  “An excellent choice, son,” he said. “On both of your parts.”

  The pizza arrived and Melody’s father paid the delivery boy. As he carried the pizza into the dining room, he started whistling again.

  “I guess it was just a coincidence that Miss Hogan was whistling that song yesterday,” said Melody. “But is there something special about ‘You Are My Sunshine’ to you, Dad?”

  Melody saw tears start to well up in his eyes.

  “It was one of your mother’s favorites,” he said. “She always sang it when she was happy. I hope wherever she is, she’s singing it now.”

  “Me too,” said Melody.

  After dinner, Melody and her father wrapped up the leftover pizza in tinfoil and put it in the freezer. Then they sat down together and had a long talk. She told him all about the quest she and Nick had gone on to find out who honey might be, about her two visits to the Bee Hive, and about listening to the recording of her mother playing the piano, too.

  “That’s the tape you played at Mom’s funeral, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “How did you know about that?” her father replied.

  “Bee-Bee told me. She was there and she said I was there, too.”

  “I’m sorry if it made you sad to listen to the tape.”

  “I’m not sorry,” said Melody. “I wish I could have met Mom, but at least now I know what her voice sounded like.”

  “I only wanted to protect you,” said her father.

  “I know. But I want to know who she was. I need to know.”

  “There are some videos up in the attic,” her father told her. “I’ll bring them down and we can watch them together tomorrow if you want. It’s Memorial Day, so there’s no school on Monday. There’s also a box of stuff I saved from when you were a baby, including a beautiful little pink blanket your mother crocheted for you. I wrapped you up in that blanket the day you were born and put you in your mother’s arms so she could say good-bye to you.”

  Melody lay her head on her father’s chest. She could hear his heart beating. She closed her eyes. This time, instead of red, she saw mossy greens and deep-sea blues. Her father put his arms around her and they were sad together for a while.

  “Promise me something,” Melody said later, when her father came in to say good night. “No more secrets.”

  “I promise,” he told her.

  That night, as Melody lay sleeping in her bed, her father climbed the narrow steps to the attic and brought down all the things he’d promised to show Melody. Then he added one more thing to the pile, a small blue box, which he’d been keeping hidden in the back of a dresser drawer. He had told Melody there would be no more secrets, and he intended to keep his promise.

  The next morning, Melody called Nick to give him the good news.

  “Mrs. McKenna?” he cried. “You lucky duck!”

  “I know,” said Melody, “I still can’t believe it. I’ve been pinching myself so much my arms are covered with bruises.”

  “Wait,” said Nick. “So if your dad is in love with Mrs. McKenna, then who is Miss Hogan marrying?”

  “Who cares?” said Melody. “As long as it isn’t my father.”

  “Tell your dad congratulations, and tell him I’m sorry I ralphed on his couch, too. And, Bishop?”

  “Yeah, Woo?”

  “I’m glad you don’t have to move to Siberia.”

  “Me too,” said Melody.

  There was one other person Melody wanted to tell. She went to look for her father and found him in his office, grading papers.

  “Hey, Dad,” she said, sticking her head in the door. “Nick and I pulled out twenty-five dandelions on Saturday. Can you think of anywhere I could buy a nice candy dish for a dollar and twenty-five cents?”

  “Don’t you mean a dollar and point two-five cents?” he teased. “Why do you need a candy dish?”

  “It’s for Bee-Bee,” she said. “Hers got broken yesterday. I’m going to ride over to the Bee Hive this morning, and I thought maybe I could bring it to her.”

  Melody got the sense that her father wasn’t exactly thrilled with her plan.

  “I was hoping you and I could spend a little time together this morning, Mel,” he said. “I brought down that box of stuff from the attic.”

  “Can it wait until later, Dad?” she asked. “I really want to tell Bee-Bee about Mrs. McKenna.”

  “I suppose,” he said. “But don’t stay too long, okay? We need to make a grocery list. MaryAnn has offered to come over tonight and make dinner for us.”

  “Really?” said Melody. She had to pinch herself again.

  “She asked me to find out what you’d like her to make.”

  “Tell her anything would be fine,” said Melody. “As long as it isn’t tuna noodle casserole.”

  Gramp-o’s car was still sitting in the driveway. Melody’s father would have to rely on Esmeralda for a few days until his car was out of the shop. As she went into the garage to get her bike, Melody noticed an old fishbowl sitting in the corner of the garage and realized it would make a perfect replacement for Bee-Bee’s candy bowl. As she started down the driveway with the fishbowl balanced carefully on her handlebars, she heard a familiar voice.

  “Knock-knock!” Teeny Nelson called through the knothole in the fence.

  Melody wa
s in such a good mood, she didn’t even hesitate before calling back.

  “Who’s there?”

  Teeny scrambled up to the top of the fence.

  “Orange juice,” she said with a wide grin.

  “Orange juice who?” asked Melody.

  “Orange juice glad to see me?”

  “Actually, I am,” she told Teeny.

  “You are?” asked Teeny, surprised.

  “I’ve been wondering how things went with your mother when she found out you’d torn your tutu.”

  Teeny stuck a grubby finger in her mouth and wiggled a loose tooth.

  “At first Mama got mad,” she said. “Then when I told her about going to the Bee Hive by myself she got even madder.”

  “Did you get a spanking?” asked Melody, sincerely hoping she hadn’t.

  “Nope,” Teeny told her. “Mama said she was proud of me for telling the truth and she said if I’m a good girl, next time she gets her fingernails painted, I can get mine done, too.”

  “In case you’re still planning to get number fifty-four, you should know it’s got a new name,” said Melody.

  “What is it?” asked Teeny.

  “You’ll see.”

  “You want to hear another knock-knock joke?” Teeny asked. “I’ve got a whole bunch.”

  “Maybe later.”

  “What are you going to do with that fishbowl?” asked Teeny.

  “I’m taking it to a friend.”

  “What kind of fish does your friend have?”

  “Swedish Fish,” said Melody.

  Teeny didn’t get the joke. Sensing Melody was about to leave, she blurted out, “I know something you don’t know! It’s about Henry and the love bug.”

  “I don’t care about that anymore,” Melody told Teeny.

  “I do. Mama says if I’m a really good girl, maybe we can get one of the kittens.”

  Melody’s interest was piqued. “What kittens?” she asked.

  Teeny started wiggling her tooth again.

  “I thought you said you didn’t care about it anymore,” she said.

  “Tell me about the kittens, and I’ll bring you something special when I come back,” Melody offered.

  “What are you going to bring me?”

  “Tell me first.”

  It turned out that there was another Henry in Royal, after all: a large orange cat — the same one that had been hanging around the Bee Hive lately. It was this Henry who had been bitten by the love bug. He belonged to the pharmacist’s sister, Mrs. James, who was a friend of Mrs. Nelson’s. Apparently Teeny had overheard the two of them talking about how Henry had taken a shine to the neighbor’s calico, Josephine, and the result had been a litter of ten adorable kittens.

  “Don’t forget to bring me something!” Teeny hollered after Melody as she rode off.

  When Melody arrived at the Bee Hive, she found a sign hanging in the window saying it was closed. She was just about to turn around and ride home when Bee-Bee flung open the door.

  “Melody!” she called out to her. “What a nice surprise. Come on in.”

  Bee-Bee’s hair was red again, only this time it was straight and hung down to her waist, swaying like a grass hula skirt when she moved. She was wearing an apron and rubber gloves, and there were wet towels and soap suds all over the floor of the salon.

  “What happened?” asked Melody. “Did your washing machine explode or something?”

  “My dog got so muddy yesterday I decided to give him a bath in the shampoo sink,” Bee-Bee explained. “As you can see, he put up quite a fight.”

  “Where is he now?” asked Melody, looking around.

  “He’s in the apartment, hiding under the bed.”

  Melody handed Bee-Bee the fishbowl and explained what it was for.

  “It’s perfect!” Bee-Bee exclaimed. “Even better than the first one.”

  She got a sponge and washed the fishbowl out with soap and hot water. When she was finished she put it on the counter and filled it to the top with candy.

  “Do you mind if I take a couple of Dum Dums for Teeny?” Melody asked. “I promised I would bring her something.”

  “Take as many as you want,” Bee-Bee told her. “But first tell me what you think.”

  Bee-Bee held out her hands. Her fingernails were painted to look like bees.

  “Cool!” said Melody.

  “I’ve been practicing all morning trying to get the stripes right. I’ve never really done nail art before, but now I’m totally hooked.”

  Melody dug around in the fishbowl until she found a root beer and a mystery flavor Dum Dum and tucked them into the pocket of her jeans. She spotted a cherry Starburst — her favorite flavor — and snagged it for herself for later.

  “I have some good news,” she told Bee-Bee. “My dad isn’t marrying Miss Hogan after all.”

  She told Bee-Bee about Mrs. McKenna.

  “This calls for a celebration!” Bee-Bee said, and she grabbed Melody by the hand and pulled her over to the closet where she kept her wigs.

  “Pick one,” she told Melody. “Something to match your mood.”

  Melody hesitated.

  “I don’t know if I really want to,” she said.

  “Come on,” Bee-Bee told her, “it’ll be fun.” She grabbed a blond wig off of one of the Styrofoam heads and helped Melody put it on. “Go look at yourself in the mirror while I put on some music.”

  Melody walked over to the mirror and stared at the girl with the long yellow hair. Maybe she wasn’t the spitting image of her mother, but for the first time, Melody could see the resemblance, and she was really glad about it.

  Bee-Bee put on some early Beatles and started dancing, pushing towels around with her feet to dry the wet floor.

  “Come dance with me, Melody,” she called. “And afterward we’ll make you a special polish with all the happy colors in it.”

  Melody already knew what she was going to name her color — Honey.

  But the polish would have to wait for another day. As the Beatles launched into a chorus of “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” the door opened and Melody’s father stepped into the salon. When he saw Melody in the wig, he did a double take.

  “What’s going on in here?” he shouted over the music.

  “We’re celebrating,” Melody shouted back.

  Bee-Bee went and turned off the music.

  “Hello, Henry,” she said, kissing Melody’s father on the cheek. “It’s good to see you.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I probably should have called first. I didn’t mean to interrupt the fun. Are those bees on your fingernails?”

  He seemed nervous. Melody noticed his hands were shaking a little.

  “What are you doing here, Dad?” she asked. “Is everything okay? Gramp-o’s not sick again, is he?”

  “Is there someplace we can talk?” he said. “The three of us?”

  Now Bee-Bee seemed nervous, too.

  “The salon doesn’t open today until noon,” she said. “No one will bother us. Come on in and have a seat, Henry.”

  “What’s going on?” Melody asked as she sat down beside her father on the wicker bench. Bee-Bee pulled up a chair and sat opposite them.

  Melody’s father took a deep breath. Then he reached into his pocket and took out a small blue box.

  “There’s something I need to tell you, Mel,” he said.

  “I’m going to tell you a story,” Melody’s father said. “And I want you to let me finish before you ask any questions. Okay?”

  “Okay,” said Melody.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Henry?” Bee-Bee asked. “You don’t have to, you know.”

  “Yes, I do,” said Melody’s father.

  He began by telling Melody that one day, about a month or so before she was born, her mother had told him she wanted to go for a drive out in the country, to get some fresh air.

  “I remember she was wearing a yellow dress that day,” Melody’s father said. “Because
her belly was so big by then, instead of trying to squeeze into our little VW bug, we decided to ask your grandfather if we could borrow his car.”

  The car was brand-new, right off the lot. Melody’s mother and father had climbed into the shiny white sedan and headed off for what was supposed to have been an impromptu drive in the country.

  “I should have known your mother was up to something,” said Melody’s father.

  Melody’s mother had read an article in the paper about a puppy mill out near Cloverhitch that had fallen on hard times.

  “Your mother loved animals, Mel, especially dogs. And she had this idea that a family wasn’t complete without one. I’d never owned a pet, and did my best to talk her out of it, but she was a force to be reckoned with — just like you.”

  The paper had run a picture along with the article, and in it there was a tiny brown-and-white puppy with pointy ears and bowed legs.

  “Your mother got her heart set on having that dog and I couldn’t bear to disappoint her. A few hours later, when we got back to Royal, he was sitting in the backseat, panting and wagging his curled-up little tail. He was the runt of the litter, all skin and bones, but your mother fattened him up in no time at all. She spoiled him rotten, too.”

  Melody had managed to listen quietly up to this point in the story, but she had to ask.

  “Did something happen to the puppy?”

  “Hang on,” said her father. “We’ll get there, I promise.”

  He explained that Melody’s mother had been crazy about the dog. Her eyes lit up every time she saw him, and clearly the feeling was mutual. He followed her everywhere she went.

  Melody’s father paused. The next part of the story would be hard for him to tell.

  “The day you were born I was so busy trying to take care of you, and your mother, I forgot all about the dog. I didn’t feed him, or walk him, and when he came upstairs looking for your mother, I scolded him and told him to go away.”

  “You were overwhelmed,” said Bee-Bee.

  “Yes,” said Melody’s father. “You were so tiny, Mel, and your poor mother …” He shook his head. “I couldn’t handle it. So a few days later, when a kind friend stepped in and offered to take care of the dog, just for a little while, I thought it would be best for everyone if I let him go.”