Melody

  the stairs.

  "It's Haille," Aunt Sara said. "Hurry, it's long

  distance."

  I rushed to the living room. Uncle Jacob sat in

  his chair, smoking his pipe and thumbing through a

  mail-order catalogue. He glanced at me and then back

  at his pages, but he didn't get up. Aunt Sara stood in

  the doorway, watching. I would have no privacy for

  this phone call. Nevertheless, I seized the receiver.

  "Mommy?"

  "Hi Honey. See, I told you I would call you

  first chance I got. Aunt Sara says you've already

  started school there and you said you were right up

  with the work."

  "Yes, Mommy. Where are you?"

  "We're on our way to New York City," she said

  excitedly. Her voice dropped. "The people in Boston

  weren't available when they told Richard they would

  be so we never met them, but he has people for me to

  meet in New York and then in Chicago. After that

  we'll head for Los Angeles."

  "Los Angeles? But Mommy, when will I. . .

  when will we be together again?" I asked my question

  as quietly as I could.

  "Soon, honey. Real soon, I promise."

  "I could still meet you someplace, Mommy. I

  could take a bus and--"

  "Now don't make things harder than they are

  for me, honey. I've already suffered a serious

  disappointment, Please, cooperate."

  "But I need my things," I said. "You didn't

  leave me any money, Mommy. I can't call my friends.

  I can't call Alice or Mama Arlene. It's long distance." "I'm calling Mama Arlene as soon as I get to

  New York," she promised. I heard a horn blaring and

  some-one shouting.

  "Coming!" Mommy shouted back. "I've got to

  go, honey. I've already held us up longer than I should have. I'll call you as soon as I can. Be good, honey.

  Bye."

  "But Mommy--"

  The phone went dead. I held it tightly'. Silent

  screams stuck in my throat and tears froze behind my

  eyes.

  "Hang it up properly," Uncle Jacob instructed.

  "I'm waitin' on an important call."

  I cradled the receiver with my back to him and

  walked out of the living room quickly, not glancing at

  Aunt Sara either.

  "Just a minute, there," Uncle Jacob growled.

  "Get yourself right back in here, young lady." I sucked in my breath, turned, and marched

  back. My heart thudded madly, drumming out a tune

  of fright in my ribcage.

  "Yes sir?"

  "It's proper to thank people when you use their

  things. Sara ain't your secretary."

  "I'm sorry. Thank you, Aunt Sara."

  "You're welcome, dear. Is everything all right

  with HaiIle?"

  "Yes," I replied.

  "Good."

  "Humph," Uncle Jacob grunted.

  "I'll bring you a glass of hot milk tonight," she

  offered. "You don't have to do that, Aunt Sara." "I always brought Laura a glass of warm milk. I

  bring one to May as well." Her huge scared eyes

  stared woefully at me. I glanced at Uncle Jacob. He

  looked ready to pounce.

  "Oh, then thank you, Aunt Sara."

  Her face brightened, the darkness evaporating

  from her eyes. I forced a smile and hurried up the

  stairway. When I reached my room, I closed the door

  behind me and threw myself on the bed, burying my

  face in the pillow to smother my sobs.

  I didn't want to be here! I hated it! No wonder

  my father stopped speaking to his family. He was

  nothing like Uncle Jacob. I would be happier if

  Mommy had dumped me in an orphanage, I thought.

  My shoulders shook with my muted crying. Suddenly,

  I felt something touch my shoulder and I turned

  quickly to see little May staring at me, her face full of

  fear and sympathy. She had come in so quietly that I

  had not heard her. Her hands moved rapidly,

  wondering why I was so unhappy. What made me

  cry?

  "I miss my mother," I said. She tilted her head.

  I let out a deep breath and located the book on sign language. I found the gestures and produced them. May nodded and signed how sorry she felt for me.

  Then she offered me a hug.

  How sweet, I thought, and how sad that the

  only one in this house who made me feel at home was

  the only one who couldn't hear the sound of my voice. Nor could she hear the sounds of scuffling and

  footsteps above, but she saw where my gaze had gone

  and understood.

  "Car . . ry," she said and demonstrated the construction of a model ship.

  "Yes. Do you go up there?" I signed. "Or

  doesn't he even let you up there?"

  She thought a moment and then shook her head.

  "No?"

  She shook her head and gestured "only.. ." She

  pointed to Laura's photograph.

  "Only Laura?" May nodded. "Only Laura," I

  thought aloud and gazed at the ceiling. May grunted

  and then signed about his great sorrow.

  I gazed at the ceiling again. Cary was in pain, I

  thought, and for a moment at least, I stopped feeling

  sorry for myself.

  May returned to her room to complete her

  school work. After I finished mine, we practiced sign language until it was time for her to go to bed. I washed and dressed for bed myself and then Aunt Sara brought my glass of warm milk. There was something rolled under her arm. She took it out and showed me Laura's unfinished canvas of needlework. It was a picture of a woman on a widow's walk gazing

  at the sea.

  "Laura drew the picture herself," Aunt Sara explained. "Isn't it beautiful?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "Don't you want to finish it for her, dear? I can't

  get myself to do it," she said with a deep sigh. "I'd be afraid I would mess it up, Aunt Sara." "Oh, you won't, I'm sure. just leave it here and

  bring up the threads tomorrow and show you the

  stitch."

  "I never did something like that before," I said,

  but she didn't seem to hear or care.

  "My goodness," she said, her gaze falling on

  the two nearly identical stuffed cats. "Where did this

  one come from?"

  "It was mine, a present from my daddy. I

  brought it with me in my suitcase."

  "Isn't that remarkable. Cary won the other one

  for Laura at a fair one summer. And this Teddy bear

  you brought along, too?"

  "Yes."

  "Geminis," she said. "All of you."

  She gazed around the room sadly, looked at me,

  smiled and then left, after wishing me a good night's

  rest.

  I was tired. It had been an exhausting day, my

  emotions on a rollercoaster. I had gone through the

  tunnel of fear, been angry, sad, and curious. I enjoyed

  being with little May and appreciated that she

  sincerely welcomed me. That was the only ray of

  sunshine in this gloomy world of sadness.

  Impulsively, I picked up my fiddle and played a

  mournful tune. It was the mood I felt and the music

  came from deep within me. I closed my eyes and

  pictured Daddy sitting on the sofa in our trailer living

  room, a small smile on his face, his eyes full of pride

  as I playe
d. Afterward, he would pull me to him and

  give me one of his bear hugs, smothering my cheek

  and forehead with kisses.

  Suddenly, there was a loud rapping on the wall.

  "Stop that noise!" Uncle Jacob ordered. "It's time for

  everyone to sleep!"

  My memories of Daddy popped like soap

  bubbles. I put away the fiddle and crawled under the comforter. Then I turned down the oil lamp, closed my eyes, and listened to the roar of the ocean. The house was very quiet for a few moments, and then I heard what I recognized as the distinct sound of

  someone sobbing.

  "Just go to sleep!" Uncle Jacob commanded

  gruffly, his voice seemingly coming out of the walls. The sobbing stopped.

  The ocean came roaring through my window

  again, the same ocean that had taken Laura from this

  house and the melancholy world in which I now found

  myself.

  Following Aunt Sara's instructions the next

  morning, I made lunches for both Cary and myself. It

  was something Laura always had done and I assumed

  it was to be one of my chores. We were to have a

  sandwich and an apple, and we were given fifty cents

  to buy a drink. May's lunch was provided for her at

  the special school.

  When we left the house, May took my hand

  instead of Cary's. He paused for a moment, visibly

  annoyed, but said nothing about it.

  "Let's go. We don't want to be late," he

  muttered and plodded along ahead of us, moving so

  quickly, May practically had to run to keep up. We dropped her off first and then started for our school. I

  tried to make conversation.

  "How long have you been constructing model

  ships?" I asked. He glanced at me as if I had asked a

  stupid question.

  "A long time and they're not toys," he added. "I didn't say they were. I know grown-ups can

  have hobbies, too. Papa George used to carve out

  flutes from hickory branches. He even made my

  fiddle."

  "Why do you call this person Papa George?" he

  said disdainfully. "He's not your grandfather. This

  Sunday you'll meet your grandfather."

  "Papa George is the only grandfather I've

  known. He and Mama Arlene are my real

  grandparents as far as I'm concerned," I replied firmly. "Don't they have any children of their own?" "So why didn't HaiIle leave you with them

  while she went rushing off to become a movie star?"

  he asked, his eyes sparkling wickedly.

  "Papa George is very sick. He suffers from

  black lung," I replied.

  He grunted. "That's a convenient excuse," he

  said. Furious, I seized him at the elbow and pulled

  him to a stop, spinning him around. He was genuinely shocked at my outburst of physical strength. I shocked

  myself.

  "It's not an excuse. He's very sick. I don't know

  why you don't like me, Cary Logan, and the truth is, I

  don't care to know. If that's the way it has to be, that's

  the way it has to be, but don't think I'll let you ridicule

  me or say bad things about the people I love." He went from astonishment and shock to what

  looked like appreciation and pleasure, before

  returning to his stoic self.

  "I can't be late for school," he said. "I already

  have two demerits."

  He walked on and I hurried to catch up. "You have two demerits? What for?"

  He was silent.

  "What did you do?" I pursued, keeping pace

  with him. I was curious what possible infraction of the

  rules Mr. Perfect could have committed.

  "Fighting," he finally replied.

  "I wonder why that comes as no surprise?" I

  said. I couldn't resist.

  He glared at me and I thought if looks could

  kill, I'd be long dead and buried. Then he pumped his

  legs harder, remaining a foot or two ahead of me the

  rest of the way to school.

  Theresa Patterson was friendly and spoke to me

  between classes, but since she didn't have to be my

  guide any longer, she stayed with her own friends.

  She didn't have to say it, but I knew if she brought me

  along, her friends might resent it. Just as in my

  school, and probably in most schools, clumps of girls

  and boys clung to each other in cliques, feeling safer

  and more comfort-able hanging around with those

  whom they perceived to be their own kind.

  At lunch I sat at a table alone until Lorraine,

  Janet, and Betty brought themselves and two other

  girls over to join me. I saw by the mischievous

  twinkle in Betty's eyes that they had been plotting

  something.

  "So after nearly two days here, how do you like

  our school?" Lorraine asked innocently.

  "It's okay. The teachers are nice," I said. "Are the boys better looking than the boys in

  West Virginia?" Janet asked.

  "I haven't had a chance to look," I said. When

  they all looked skeptical, I added, "It's hard starting

  someplace new during the last quarter of the year. I've

  got to take the same finals you will take."

  One of the new girls looked sympathetic, but

  Betty tucked in the corner of her mouth and said, "You don't look like you're going to have a problem

  with schoolwork."

  "Grandpa might have a problem, though," Janet

  said. "He's barely passing. He might not graduate, I

  hear."

  "Billy Wilkins told me Grandpa is going to fail

  English," Lorraine said nodding.

  "Maybe you can tutor him," Betty suggested.

  "That's right, like show him how to do it," Janet said.

  They all laughed.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked. The

  girls glanced at each other and ate.

  "Do you sleep in the same room?" Betty asked

  me. "Same room?"

  "With Grandpa? We heard Laura and Cary slept

  in the same room ever since they were born." "Of course not," I said. "And they didn't." "I wouldn't be so sure about that," Lorraine

  said.

  "Laura had a very nice room. That's the room I

  use. None of you have ever been in my aunt and

  uncle's house?"

  "No," Betty said.

  "Laura was a very strange girl," Janet offered.

  "That whole family's strange."

  "She didn't want to do anything with girls her

  age,"

  Lorraine said. "She was like an old lady--

  cooking, cleaning, canning fruit with her mother." "I hardly saw her at any of our dances," Janet

  complained.

  "Robert Royce was the only boyfriend she ever

  had," Lorraine said.

  "Unfortunate for him," Betty added.

  "Whereas, Grandpa has never been with anyone

  we know," Janet said.

  "Now we have someone who will tell

  us,"Lorraine said, eyeing me. "Tell us, Melody." "Tell you what?"

  "Does Grandpa spend a lot of time in the

  bathroom, maybe sneaking in with girlie magazines?" More laughter. The blood rushed to my neck

  and face. "When he goes to sleep, do you hear the

  bedsprings squeaking?" Betty continued. The girls

  giggled.

  "You're all disgusting," I said. Their laughter

  stopped.

  "Oh come on, Melody. I'm sure you're curious
/>
  about him, too," Janet said.

  "He's not bad looking," Lorraine offered gazing across the cafeteria at Cary. He stared back at us. "Maybe you can get him to loosen up, relax. We could

  help you."

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  The girls were quiet a moment, all eyes on the

  teacher monitor. Betty nodded at Lorraine. She

  opened her school bag, which she had set between me

  and her, and took something out quickly. Then she

  pressed it into my hand. I gazed down at what looked

  like one of Papa George's self-rolled cigarettes. "I don't smoke," I said.

  "That's not a cigarette, stupid," Betty said. "And

  keep it below the table so Mr. Rotter doesn't see." "What is it?"

  "It's a joint," Lorraine whispered loudly. "I don't want it," I said and tried to give it back,

  but she pushed my hand away.

  "Just keep it in case you get a chance to offer it

  to Grandpa. It'll loosen him up."

  "Just tell us what happens, that's all," Betty

  said. "Put it away, quick," Lorraine said as Mr. Rotter

  started down the aisle between the tables.

  Little butterflies of panic fluttered in my head.

  Gazing around, it seemed as if everyone were looking

  at me, waiting to see what I would do.

  "Hello, girls," Mr. Rotter said smiling down at

  us.

  "Are you making our new student feel at

  home?"

  "Yes, Mr. Rotter," Lorraine fluttered her

  eyelids. "Is that true, Melody?" he asked me. I was afraid my voice would crack. "Yes sir," I

  said. "Good. Good." He continued through the

  cafeteria. I let out my breath.

  "Very nice. You did well," Betty said. The

  other girls apparently agreed.

  "We're having a beach party Saturday night.

  We'll meet about eight at Janet's house. You want to

  come? It will be a chance for you to meet some

  normal boys," Betty said.

  "I don't know if I can. I'll ask my aunt." "Don't tell her where you're going," Janet said,

  "or she won't let you come. Just say you're coming

  over to my house to study for a test. That always

  works."

  "I don't like to lie," I said.

  She smirked. "You haven't been living with the

  Logans long. After a while, you'll get to like it." The bell signalled the end of lunch period.

  Everyone rose to leave. I was the last to get up, not realizing until that moment, that I still had the joint of marijuana clutched in my hand. I dropped it into my sandwich bag and then dropped the bag in the garbage

  can on the way out of the cafeteria.

  At the doorway, someone bumped into me

  hard, and I turned to look into the most perfect face I