Melody

  had ever seen. His blue eyes were positively dazzling

  and his smile was the warmest and sweetest I'd ever

  seen. Strong, full lips were turned up gently at the

  corners, revealing teeth as white as piano keys. A

  wave of dark brown hair floated over his forehead. He

  was tall and broad in the shoulders with a narrow

  waist. His face wasn't as tanned as Cary's, but he had

  a creamy rich complexion and looked like a male

  model or a movie star.

  "Excuse me," he said. "Did I hurt you?" "No. It's all right."

  "I'm afraid I had my mind on my upcoming

  European history exam. I'm not usually this clumsy." "It's okay. I'm fine."

  "You're the new girl, right?"

  "Yes," I said smiling.

  "I'm Adam Jackson."

  "Melody Logan," I returned.

  "Welcome to Provincetown," he said. "I see you've already made friends with some of the girls.

  Are you going to their beach party Saturday night?" "I don't know. I . . I'll see."

  "I hope to see you there," he said. His face

  glittered with a handsome smile as he moved away to

  join his friends, who, I saw, included a very pretty

  brunette. She glared at me as she threaded her arm

  through his and moved him down the hall and away. I

  stared after him until Lorraine nudged me. The girls

  had been standing nearby, watching.

  "Be careful," Lorraine said. "That's Adam

  Jackson." "I know. He told me."

  "Did he tell you he puts a nick in the bow of his

  sailboat for every girl he takes to bed?"

  "What?"

  "One more nick and that boat might sink,"

  Betty added. We continued toward class before I

  could catch my breath.

  "But maybe she won't mind becoming one of

  Adam's nicks," Janet quipped. "Would you, Melody?"

  "What?"

  Everyone laughed again. I was beginning to

  feel as light and helpless as a balloon caught in a

  crosswind, blown one way, then another. And I had

  been here only a couple of days!

  Mr. Malamud, my chemistry teacher, spent

  some time with me after class to be sure I was up-todate with the class. It was my last period of the day.

  Cary wasn't waiting for me when I finally emerged

  from the building.

  I gazed around for a few moments and then

  hurried along. I assumed he had picked up May from

  her school already, so I just took the shortest route

  back.

  "Oh Melody, dear, I was worried about you,"

  Aunt Sara said when I entered the house. "Cary and

  May have been home a while."

  "I had to stay after school for a few minutes to

  get some extra help from my science teacher," I

  explained.

  "You should have let Cary know," she told me. "I don't see or speak to Cary much after we

  arrive at school, Aunt Sara, and that's not all my fault

  either," I added. I went upstairs to change into a pair

  of jeans. I found the needlework picture spread out on

  the bed with a box of colored thread beside it.

  Moments later, Aunt Sara was in the doorway. "I'll show you how to make the stitch," she said.

  "I'm really not good at this, Aunt Sara."

  "Once you start, you will be, I'm sure," she insisted. I was about to continue my protest when

  Cary appeared in the hallway behind her.

  "If she doesn't want to do it, don't keep forcing

  it on her, Mother," he snapped. Aunt Sara's mouth fell

  open and her hand fluttered up to the base of her

  throat.

  "I didn't mean to. . . I--"

  "It's okay, Aunt Sara," I said, shooting my own

  sparks of anger from my eyes, "I'd be happy to learn." Cary took on a look of amusement that added

  fuel to the fire before he hurried down the stairs and

  out of the house. Aunt Sara smiled and came into the

  room to demonstrate the needlework. I picked it up

  quickly and did enjoy it.

  "As soon as this is finished, I'll get a frame for

  it and put it up with the others," Aunt Sara promised.

  "But you don't have to work on it now. You've been

  cooped up in school all day. Go get some fresh air.

  Laura liked to walk on the beach and hunt for

  seashells."

  May was still completing her chores so I went

  out by myself. The sky still had patches of deep blue,

  but most of it had become covered with what looked

  like storm clouds, bruised and sooty puffs that rolled

  angrily from the horizon. The ocean looked more tempestuous, too. I could see Cary and Roy Patterson on the lobster boat bobbing beside the dock. I walked out a little way. Cary left the boat and started back

  toward me and the house.

  "There's going to be a storm," he said as he approached. "It's a nor'easter," he added, continuing

  past. I said nothing and continued to walk toward the

  ocean. "Didn't you hear what I said?" he called. I turned.

  "Look at the sky. Even a landlubber like you

  should be able to see rain comin'."

  "Don't call me a landlubber."

  He smiled. "Well what are you?"

  "I'm a person, just like you, only I was brought

  up in a different place. I'm sure you wouldn't know

  your way around a coal mine, but I wouldn't call you

  silly names just to pump myself up."

  "I'm not doing it to pump myself up." I turned away. To my surprise, he was at my

  side in moments. "Keep walking in this direction and

  you'll get caught in a downpour. Look at the breakers.

  The ocean is talking to us, telling us what to expect.

  See how the terns are heading for safer ground, too." "Where's Uncle Jacob?" I asked, gazing toward

  the dock.

  "He took today's catch into town. It wasn't

  good. Only four good-size lobsters in the traps." "How do lobsters get trapped?" I asked. "We bait them with stinky dead fish and set

  them on the ocean bottom. The lobster crawls into the

  living room and gets caught."

  "Living room?"

  "That's what we call that part of the trap. Later,

  we pull up the traps and if the lobsters meet the

  measurement, we prepare them to take to market." "How do you prepare them?"

  "Well, you got to put rubber bands on the claws

  so they can't pinch. One claw is a cruncher claw,

  strong, dull; the other is like a scissor, sharp and

  quick."

  "I didn't know they were so dangerous." "It's not really so dangerous if you're careful.

  I've been pinched a bit, but only once had blood

  drawn." He showed me his right hand. I could see a

  faint scar along his forefinger.

  "Did Laura go lobstering with you?" I asked.

  He blinked rapidly and turned toward the ocean. "No, not much," he replied.

  "She didn't know the ocean as well as you did?" "We should go back to the house. There goes Roy." Cary nodded at the tall, broad black man who

  hurried away from the dock.

  "Where do the Pattersons live?"

  "In the saltbox houses on the other side of

  town."

  "What happened to Theresa's mother?" I asked. "You're stuffed full of questions, aren't you?" "Wouldn't you be if the shoe was on the other

  foot and you just arrived?"

  His lips made that tiny turn up again and he


  permitted his eyes to stay on me for a few moments

  longer.

  "I guess," he finally admitted. "Theresa's

  mother died in a car crash coming home from work.

  She was a chambermaid in a hotel in North Truro.

  Terrible accident. Man driving a tractor trailer lost

  control in the rain and crossed the road. Smacked her

  clear into the other world. Dad says it was meant to

  be."

  "How can something so terrible be meant to

  be?"

  "It's what my father believes," he said. "Is that why he doesn't seem one bit sad about

  my father's death, even though my father was his

  brother? It was meant to be?"

  Cary was silent. He kept his head down and

  kicked some sand. A particularly loud tern cried at the

  approaching storm.

  "And your sister's death," I pursued. "Was that

  also meant to be?"

  He looked at me, his eyes glistening with tears. "I don't like talking about Laura's. . Laura's

  disappearance."

  "If you keep sadness and pain bottled up, it

  swells and swells inside you until you burst," I said.

  "Mama Arlene told me that."

  "Yeah, well I never had the pleasure of meeting

  Mama Arlene," he replied. "I'm going back to the

  house. Do what you want."

  "Why did your father stop talking to my

  father?" I demanded, my hands on my hips. He

  hesitated and then turned. "He told me my daddy

  defied his parents. What did he mean by that? What

  did my daddy do to them?"

  "I don't know."

  "But Aunt Sara and Uncle Jacob must have

  talked about it often."

  "I don't listen in on their private talks," he said.

  "Besides, it's over and done, why talk about it now?" "I know. You've got to go with the tide." He widened his eyes and lifted his eyebrows. "Well," I continued, "sometimes you have to

  swim against the tide and just be strong enough to get

  past it, too. Sometimes, you don't give up and give

  in."

  "Really?" he said, amused by my defiance. "Yes, really."

  "Well, first chance I get, I'm going to take you

  out in my sailboat and let you buck the tide." "Good."

  He shook his head, his smile widening. "The girls in school told me Laura and her

  boyfriend went out in your sailboat. Was that so?" The smile quickly faded. "I have a different

  sailboat now. And I told you," he said, turning away,

  "I don't talk about Laura's disappearance with anyone.

  Especially strangers."

  I watched him walk away, shoulders sagging,

  his head bent, his hands clenched in fists.

  The wind grew stronger and whipped past me,

  catching my hair. Sand began to fly from the beach

  into my face. The small patches of blue had

  disappeared from the sky, now completely overcast

  with dark, brooding clouds. I could feel the ocean

  spray even this far from the beach. It all began to

  terrify me. How could weather change so rapidly? I started for the house, bucking the wind, every

  step harder than the one before it. My feet slipped on

  the sand that gave way beneath them. It was harder

  than walking on ice. The wind was so strong, my eyes

  began to tear. I had to keep them closed and pump my

  legs hard. I tried to run. My blouse flapped over my

  breasts and ribs.

  Just before I reached the house, the first sheet

  of rain tore down, washing over me. I screamed and

  ran harder for the front door. When I burst in, Cary

  stood in the hallway, a look of glee in his eyes, an "I

  told you so" written on his lips.

  "I hate it here!" I screamed at him and charged

  up the stairway.

  The wind howled around the house and

  whistled through it. I thought it might take the roof

  off, but at the moment I didn't care. Let the sky fall,

  let the rain swell the ocean and wash over this place, I

  thought. I embraced myself at the window, watching

  the trees bend to the point of breaking. The rain came

  down like bullets fired by God. The street was being

  pounded. I shuddered and stripped off my blouse.

  Then I rushed to the bathroom to get a towel for my

  hair.

  Moments later, when I emerged, Cary was in

  the hallway. He glanced at me before I realized I was

  standing there in my bra. I draped the towel around

  myself.

  "I'm sorry," he said. He looked repentant. "I

  shouldn't have left you out there."

  "It was my own fault. I didn't listen," I

  admitted. "Where's May?"

  "She's in her room. Sometimes, it's a blessing to

  be deaf," he said. "She can't hear how hard it's raining

  and blowing."

  "How do you say it's raining?" I asked. He demonstrated. "This means it's raining

  hard," he added and showed me. Then he smiled. "Not

  the same thing as being out there, huh?"

  I relented and smiled. "No."

  "Maybe you ain't such a landlubber after all,"

  he allowed. He blushed before going to his room. It

  was the closest he had come to giving me anything

  akin to a compliment.

  Daddy would say, "Be grateful for the little

  things." I went into my room to work on the

  needlepoint until it was time to help Aunt Sara with

  dinner. Before it was time to go down, I heard a knock

  on my door. "Yes?"

  Cary poked his head in.

  "I just thought I'd let you know what we do in

  case it's still raining in the morning."

  "What do we do?"

  "We walk faster," he said. For the first time

  since I had come to Provincetown, I heard the sound

  of my own laughter.

  9

  Something Special

  .

  It rained most of the night. Twice, the loud

  drumming of the drops on the windowpanes woke me.

  I heard Aunt Sara come to my door after the second

  time. She stood there gazing in at me, her face in

  shadow, her head silhouetted against the dim hallway

  light. I said nothing and she finally closed the door

  softly.

  The rain stopped just before morning. After I

  dressed and went downstairs, I was surprised to find

  most of the windows crusted with salt. It reminded me

  of ice and I remarked about it at breakfast. Aunt Sara

  said it wasn't unusual after a storm.

  "The salt even peels the paint from our window

  casings. The weather is hard on us, but we endure it." "The weather's hard on people everywhere,"

  Uncle Jacob declared. "But it's good to us too, and we

  should be grateful for our blessings. Mark that," he

  said sharply, waving his long right forefinger at us

  like some Biblical prophet.

  "I can help you clean the windows after school

  today," I told Aunt Sara.

  "Why thank you, dear. It's kind of you to offer." "Kind? She should do nothing less," Uncle

  Jacob fixed his eyes on me. "Most young people today

  don't know what it is to have regular chores and

  responsibilities. They think everything is owed to

  them just because they were born."

  I wanted to snap back at him and
tell him I

  hadn't been brought up to be spoiled and selfish. I did

  plenty of work around our home in Sewell, and I often

  helped Mama Arlene and Papa George with their

  housework, too. I never asked them anything for it

  and I never expected anything. It was enough that

  they gave me their love.

  I glared back at Uncle Jacob, the crests of my

  cheeks burning. He didn't know me. He had hardly

  spoken ten minutes to me my whole life. What right

  did he have sitting there on his high and mighty

  throne and lumping me in with all the spoiled young

  people he saw in town?

  Cary must have sensed those words were at the

  tip of my tongue, for he shot me a look of warning

  before I had a chance to part my lips. I stared at him a

  moment and saw a gentle, but definite shake of his

  head. I looked down at my hot cereal and swallowed

  back my anger, even though it threatened to get stuck

  in my throat and choke me all day.

  "Your father is an ogre," I told Cary as we left

  for school that morning.

  Cary didn't reply for a few moments and then

  said, "He's just afraid, that's all."

  "Afraid?" I nearly laughed. "Your father?

  Afraid of what?"

  "Of losing another one of us." Cary marched

  on, his lips tight, his eyes so focused on the street

  ahead he barely glanced at me the remainder of the

  way to school. Despite what Cary said, I think he was

  ashamed at how his father sometimes behaved. Since it was Friday, at the end of the school

  day, Betty, Lorraine, and Janet reminded me about

  their beach party Saturday night. I said I would try to

  go, but I reminded them I couldn't go without

  permission.

  "Then you won't be there," Betty predicted.

  "You'll miss a great time."

  "I can't help it. I have to ask my uncle and aunt

  first. My mother left them in charge of me." "Just do what Janet told you to do: tell them

  you're going over to her house to study," Lorraine

  instructed. "A little white lie is no big deal. We all do

  it."

  "It sounds like more than a little white lie. If my

  uncle found out I lied -."

  "He won't find out," Betty assured me. "We

  don't tell on each other."

  "Of course, if you tell Grandpa, he'll turn you

  in," Janet said.

  "Stop calling him Grandpa," I snapped. "He's

  not anything like an old man."

  "Oh? Why do you say that? Do you know

  something we don't?" she asked quickly. The girls all