“Is that it?”
She knuckle punched him gently in the shoulder.
“What do you mean, is that it?”
George yawned. “You have an hypothesis. It must be proven, my love.” He chuckled and turned around, punching his pillow. “Whatever makes you happy, my dear.”
“Is there a castle in Gloucester?” Jake suddenly asked.
“Yes, actually there is,” Melody said.
“A castle?” Jake said again, perplexed.
“We’ve got a few of them in the United States these days. Some are called castles—because they were built as castles, they’re as grand as some castles—and some are castles because really rich dudes had them brought over from Europe, brick by brick, stone by stone, or whatever,” Keith explained. He’d had his share of Guinness. He was leaned back happily in the limo, arms across his chest, a semi permanent smile plastered to his face.
“Why?” Melody asked Jake. She was smiling, too. She didn’t know why.
Yes, she did.
Guinness stout.
Their last stop had been the most fun of the evening. Jake had done more playing. A violinist—a very pretty one—who sat in with the band on a few numbers was also a good Irish dancer. She’d managed to get Keith out on the floor.
He’d done pretty well, too. In spite of the Guinness—or because of it.
“I’ve been asked to play at the castle. They will pay me. Their usual fiddler has a family commitment, and if I fill in for him, he can make his mother and wife happy.”
“Oh,” Melody said. “When?” she asked worriedly.
“Tomorrow night. If I’m here.”
“Dude, where else will you be?” Keith asked. “Home.”
“But you are home,” Melody said. “You told me, my parents’ house was your home. So you’ve come home.”
She realized that Jake had not imbibed quite as much Guinness as she and Keith had. He’d had a few drinks, but he’d been busy playing and dancing, as well.
He was looking out the window—they were still in Boston proper, and he was studying it with that gaze of amazement and wonder with which he looked at so much. He was a kook, but he was still someone with whom she did find herself more taken on an hourly basis. He was surreal; he was, in a way, an intangible, though he was flesh and blood. And despite all that, something about him seemed rock solid; there was a moral fiber running through him that was steady and sure.
She wished that she was that steady herself.
“I’m home, but not home. And I know that you understand. I’ve watched you—the two of you—together. You know what it is to be a sister and a brother. I could take anything, I believe, if I just knew that Serena was safe, that she was happy,” he said.
Melody looked out the window.
He was damn stubborn, too.
Of course, with her luck, when his memory returned, she’d find out that he was a married banker from Orlando who had been taking part in some kind of theatrical recreation.
She felt a sudden punch in her arm.
“You are pretty cool now. Well, you’ve grown into being cool,” Keith told her. “You used to be a real bitch, but now you’re pretty cool.”
“And you used to be a pain-in-the-ass dork, but you’re coming around, too,” Melody told him.
Keith laughed. “You’re only saying that because I finally got muscles, and now your friends think I’m a hottie. And a younger man. Seductive. Hot.”
“No, no, I don’t think that’s it,” Melody told him.
“See?” Jake interrupted quietly. “I have to get back. If my being here, being alive, caused Serena any hardship, I couldn’t bear it.” He cleared his throat. “Actually, I’m not at all certain that I would have called my sister a bitch, and I’m quite certain that she’s unfamiliar with the word dork.”
“She is a bitch,” Keith said sagely. “But I’m not a dork,” Keith said, waving a hand in the air.
Melody gave him a push and he fell back against the seat, grinning. “How will you ever know?” Melody asked him. “I mean, you are here. You are flesh and blood. How will know about your—your sister?”
“I got here somehow. That means I can get back. Somehow,” Jake said.
“Well, meantime, are you going to play with the band tomorrow?” Keith asked, leaning forward again.
“I certainly believe that I should,” Jake said. “I have been accepting your kind charity long enough. I must repay you somehow.”
Melody didn’t tell him that one night of a paying music gig was not going to give him much. She smiled and nodded. “Hey, if it’s a private party, will we be able to come?”
“I can tap on a tambourine—or Irish drum,” Keith suggested hopefully.
“And I can…I don’t know what I can do. Sketches or caricatures for folks,” Melody suggested.
“I will call my new friend Donald on that marvelous creation, the telephone, tomorrow, and find out what is possible,” Jake said.
When they reached the house, Keith stumbled a bit as he tried to exit the limo. Thankfully, he’d taken care of the driver when he had called for the limo, Melody discovered, dreading the thought of going through her brother’s wallet for his credit card.
Jake, trying to get Keith’s arm around him, was unaware of the quick discussion she carried on with their amused driver. She was glad. She had just realized how it must have been hurting his pride to accept all that they had done for him.
“Whoa…whoa, Nellie! Slipping on the ice here,” Keith said.
“Keith, there is no ice tonight. Come on, let’s get you up to your room. And shush! You don’t want to wake Mom and Dad. You’re the good kid, remember?” Melody said.
“Shh! Shh!” Keith told Jake.
Melody caught his other arm. Together, they led him to the porch and up the steps. At the door, he suddenly decided that he needed to start singing one of the slightly off-color Irish ditties they had learned that night.
“‘My wild Irish lady lass, sweetest lips and biggest ass—’”
Melody clamped a hand down hard over his mouth.
“Sorry,” Keith muffled out.
They made it into the house and up the stairs. In Keith’s room, Melody had barely drawn his covers down before he plopped face-first into his bed.
“Go on, Melody. I’ll take care of him,” Jake said.
“His shoes, just his shoes.”
“I can take care of him. He’s taken wonderful care of me. I will take care of him,” Jake insisted.
Melody nodded. “Okay.”
She slipped out of the room and down to her own. She lay in her bed, and she stared at the ceiling.
It was impossible.
Why did he seem so much like the real thing?
She lay awake, still. She listened, but she didn’t think that her parents woke up.
There was a soft tap at her door. “Yes?” she whispered.
The door opened a crack. Jake stood there, a dark silhouette against the hallway night-light.
“I just wanted to let you know, your brother is all set, and fine.”
“Thank you, Jake.”
He hovered for a moment. It was her parents’ house—even if he were someone with whom she’d been having a wild and turbulent affair, she wouldn’t have asked him in her room.
And yet…
She wished that he would come in. She’d like to be held by him. She just wanted to touch him.
“Good night, Melody. Thank you for a lovely evening.”
“Good night, Jake,” she said. “Thank you.”
“The thanks is mine, Melody. You have done so much for me.”
“I hit you on an icy road.”
“No, you gave me a brand-new world. And more. The kindness of this family. Well, good night.”
She didn’t have a chance to say more. He stepped out, closing her door behind him.
Mona was humming. She was in the kitchen preparing pancakes. Bacon sizzled on one griddle, while pancake
s were fluffing up. Her mother loved to cook, and the kitchen had been outfitted for that love bit by bit over the years.
“Smells wonderful, Mom,” Melody said.
Mona cast a shrewd gaze in her direction. “You took your baby brother out last night, eh?”
Melody snatched a piece of bacon. “Mom, I have news for you. My baby brother took me out last night. Well, he took Jake out, too, of course.”
“I heard you all clattering up the stairs,” Mona said.
“He hired a car, Mom, so none of us would have a single drink and get behind the wheel,” Melody said.
“Yes, I know. That was good. But still…”
“It was Guinness, Mom. Guinness stout. We must have Irish in us somewhere along the way.”
“Really? I love Italian wines. And I’m not Italian.”
“Oh, Mom, we don’t know what we are. We’re a bunch of mutts.”
Melody grinned. Her mother wasn’t angry; she was glad that her children had the sense to hire a car, and she didn’t know that Keith had gotten a wee bit more than carried away.
“Mutts, hmm? Speaking of mutts, will you feed the dogs for me, please?”
“Of course. Jimmy, Brutus? Where are you, you monsters?”
The little clacking sound that always accompanied Brutus could be heard coming down the hallway. In a minute, both dogs were in the kitchen. Melody gave them affection along with their dog bowls. As she did so, she was aware that her mother was still watching her.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” she asked.
“Why, nothing is wrong. Is something wrong with you, dear? Something you care to share with me?”
“No. Oh, guess what? Jake played with an Irish band last night. He’s taken a job with them tonight, out at the castle.”
“Really?” Mona said. She smiled.
“What?”
“Your father and I are invited to that party.”
“Oh?” Startled, Melody almost dropped Kibbles ’n Bits all over the kitchen.
Mona smiled serenely. “Do you know whose having the party?” she asked.
“No,” Melody said. The way her mother was smiling, she didn’t think that she wanted to know. “Who?” There was no choice but to ask.
“Friends of mine,” Mona said.
“Which friends?” Melody asked.
“Yes,” Mona said serenely.
Melody frowned, hesitated, and waited, then carefully asked her question again. “Mom, I asked which friends.”
“Oh. I thought you said witch friends, and yes, actually, it’s the Wicked Wiccan Christmas Ball that’s being held there. You know those folks—they do love Irish music. Well, I suppose because a lot of the current Wiccan beliefs date back to pagan times and Druids and all that. Back in Ireland. Well, other places as well, I suppose, but mainly Ireland. So, I had assumed they’d be hiring an Irish band. I didn’t realize that Jake was Irish. I thought he said that he was English.”
“He’s probably a real American mutt, Mom, no matter where his family hailed from. He…he knows a lot of Irish tunes, that’s all.”
“Well, how lovely. I hadn’t decided yet whether to go or not—you know how your father can be around some of my friends.”
“Oh, come on, Mom, Dad is never rude.”
“No, he’s just a bit…well, you can tell he doesn’t believe in them, or worse. He doesn’t believe that they believe in themselves, that it’s all kind of a commercial thing. I mean, let’s face it, down in Salem, the witch shops there do flourish.”
If her mother and father were going, she certainly had to find a way to be there.
She closed the bag of dog food thoughtfully. “Mom, what exactly do you believe?”
“Well, I still go to the Anglican church,” Mona said.
“I didn’t ask you that. I asked you what you believe.”
Mona flipped a pancake, and then took it off the griddle. She turned to Melody. “Me? I’m an eternal optimist. I believe all things are possible. I believe that there is a God, and that he does show himself to different people in different ways. Christ was the son of God, and the son of man, but to a child living in the center of Asia or Africa or China, perhaps he has himself seen in another way. I believe, more than anything, in the power of love. I think we’ll be judged on how we behaved to our fellow citizens here on earth, and not on how we sat in a church, a temple, a synagogue, mosque or any other place of worship. I believe…I believe that we do have the power to find love and happiness, and perhaps finding that within us is the greatest gift that we’re given, but we must work to achieve it. I believe that everyone out there has the absolute right to believe what they choose to believe, and that I have no right to ridicule them. The worst thing we can do is persecute others for being different from ourselves. I…”
Mona ran out of steam and stared at Melody.
She hadn’t heard her brother come into the kitchen.
His wry comment startled her.
“Bravo, Mom! But then, you are from Massachusetts, and we are one liberal state.”
“Thank you, son. I pour my heart out, and that’s the comment I get!” Mona said.
Keith grinned and went to his mother and hugged her. “I think you’re wonderful. I’m proud of you, maternal figure.”
Mona pushed him away. “Breakfast is almost ready. And I adore you, son, and you know it.”
“Mom has an invitation to the castle tonight, Keith.”
“Really? Great. What is it?”
“It’s the Wicked Wiccan Christmas Ball,” Melody said.
“Oh? Cool! Hey, we won’t need Jake to finagle us invitations then, will we?” he asked his mother, frowning.
“Of course, you children may come along,” Mona said. Keith went to steal a piece of bacon. Mona slapped his hand. “I’m ready to put this all out on the table. Get the maple syrup, please, and milk, coffeepot, and someone grab the orange juice.”
Mona went on out carrying the platters of pancakes and bacon.
Melody went to the refrigerator, staring at her brother.
“Headache?” she asked him.
He grinned. “Sorry, none at all.”
“No hangover at all?”
“Nope.”
“You deserve the worst, you know!”
“Hey, I was a good guy. I thought we had a great time.”
“We did,” Melody admitted. “But I’m worried about tonight.”
“Kids?” Mona called.
“Why?” Keith asked quickly.
“It’s all her Wiccan friends. What if…”
“Don’t live life on what-ifs, sis. It’s not good. And, hey, let’s go have a good time. Lover boy Mark will be here tomorrow!”
She grated her teeth. “He’s not my lover boy.”
“Ah. He thinks he is!”
“Where’s Jake?”
“On his way down. I see a love triangle a-comin’.”
“Keith, will you give me a break? Stop it.”
“Gonna tell on me?” he teased. “Think they’ll send me to my room?”
“Careful, little brother, I can still make you pay.”
Wiggling his brows, Keith went out with the maple syrup and coffeepot. Shaking her head, Melody took the orange juice and milk from the refrigerator and followed him.
As she went through the swinging door to the dining room, she saw Jake coming in from the hallway. He caught her eyes and smiled. It was just a smile. Juice trembled in her hand.
Got to stop this, she warned herself.
And, of course, she didn’t want to be worried about Mark, but she was.
It wasn’t so much a matter of losing her determination that they weren’t meant to work together as a couple, it was that she was worried about hurting him, about her family, the combination of her family and Mark—and now, Jake.
Mona asked Melody to bring an extra bottle of syrup from the kitchen. Finally about to sit with the others, Melody discovered that her father, Jake and Keith had gotten into a discuss
ion on waves and the speed of sound.
“There were a number of studies going on at the university regarding the speed of sound,” George said, helping himself to the bacon. “Any of it is quite fascinating. Sound traveling, light traveling. To reach certain points in the heavens, we’re talking hundreds and thousands of years. How far will sound travel before it fades completely? What frequencies will be heard by others? Is there life on other planets?”
“Dad,” Melody said, aware that Jake was watching him intently.
“So what is your work now?” Jake asked George.
“Telepathy,” Keith suggested with a smile.
George frowned at Keith.
“Hey, I’ve seen telepathy at work,” Keith assured him.
“Telepathy. What am I thinking?” Melody demanded, shaking her head.
“I didn’t say that I was capable of telepathy,” Keith said. “But—once again, at a prestigious university, mind you—they are doing many experiments and it’s amazing what can be accomplished. I saw a fellow guess every card on a deck of fifty different symbols.”
“Maybe he memorized them. Maybe the cards were marked,” Melody said.
“Ouch. Poor baby—your glass is half-empty, isn’t it?” Keith teased.
“Nothing that I’m working on right now has to do with mental capabilities,” George said. “It all has to do with frequencies and waves. But just think about the things we’ve been able to do. Or how remarkable, unbelievable—some things we take for granted today would appear to someone who, say, just popped in from a couple of hundred years ago.”