Melody (31 page)

“Laura used to help Cary like that, too. Remember, Jacob?” Aunt Sara said smiling.

“I remember,” he said. “I have something to do at the dock.” He pushed himself away from the table and stood. “Don't make me any coffee.”

“I'll have some hot water steaming for tea for you when you return, Jacob,” Aunt Sara promised. He glanced at me once more, then left the room.

“If you have homework, you don't have to help me with the dishes tonight, Melody,” Aunt Sara said. She was trying her best to make things right again. I felt sorry for her, but even sorrier for myself.

Cary's eyes were fixed on me. They were strangely haunted. Was he still angry at me or did he feel sorry for me? From the day I arrived, I had felt Cary carried deep secrets in his heart, secrets that resembled chunks of lead weighing him down, making him grow older faster. It was why he seemed so bitter all the time and why the girls at school saw him as Grandpa.

“I do have something to do tonight, Aunt Sara,” I said. “I'm going to study for a test with a friend.”

Cary looked down, his head lowering as if in prayer.

“Oh? Well. . . yes, Laura did that once in a while. Who was it she studied with, Cary? Sandra Turnick?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, but he didn't look up.

“She has a sister in your class, doesn't she, Melody? Is that who you're studying with tonight?”

“No,” I said. Cary lifted his eyes and gazed at me. “It's someone else. Janet Parker,” I said. Cary looked disappointed and once again dropped his gaze to his plate. “But first, I promised May I would do some homework with her,” I added.

Aunt Sara smiled. “That's nice of you, dear. I'm sure May appreciates it.”

She signed to her and May signed back, expressing her enthusiasm. I went upstairs with her and worked with her on her reading and speaking exercises. At a quarter to eight, though, I had to leave. I explained that she would probably be asleep when I returned, so I kissed her goodnight.

Cary had gone up to the attic. I heard him moving about while I worked with May, but now he was quiet, still. I found a blue cardigan sweater to wear over Laura's yellow dress. It was a little over sixty degrees outside, but the sky was clear with a three-quarter moon that put a bone-white glow over the sand.

“Don't be too late, dear,” Aunt Sara called from the living room when I headed for the front door.

“I won't,” I promised. My heart was pounding, both from the excitement and from guilt. I hated lying to her, but there was no doubt in my mind what her and Uncle Jacob's reactions would have been if they had known I was planning to meet a boy on the beach.

They have no right to restrict me, I told myself. This family, especially, has no right to tell me what I should and shouldn't do. Never before did I feel as much on my own, as much in control of my own destiny. Mommy had deserted me, lied to me, ignored my feelings and my needs. She knowingly left me with people who looked
down on us. She had left me to fend for myself. And that's just what I would do, I told myself.

All my life I had believed in being honest. I believed in the ultimate goodness of people, only to find out that my own parents had deceived me. Who did I have but myself? I thought. Driven by my rage as much as I was drawn by Adam Jackson's magical eyes, I bounced quickly down the steps and walked away from the house. I looked back once. I thought a curtain in an upstairs window moved, but other than that, there was no sign of anyone watching, so I veered left onto the beach and plodded through the sand. I quickly discovered it was easier to walk with my shoes off. The sand, still holding on to the day's sunlight, felt warmer than the air.

As I drew closer to the ocean, I saw the moon walk on the water and heard the roar of the surf. The water looked inky, mysterious and the stars on the horizon blazed with a brightness that filled my heart with even more excitement. In moments I was far enough out on the beach to sense the solitude. The Logans' house was lit up, but looked toy-like and distant after another few minutes of my walking away from it.

I went up and down the hilly terrain. At the top of the dune, I gazed toward the place on the beach I had been when Adam had first found me. I saw the glittering flames of a small bonfire and my heart thumped. Would he be surprised to see that I'd actually come, I wondered. I was surprised, myself.

When I drew closer, I saw his motorboat anchored on the beach and heard music from his radio. He was sprawled on the blanket, his hands behind his head, and he was gazing up at the sky. He wore a white polo shirt and a pair of white shorts. He was barefoot. If he heard me approach, he didn't show it. I stood beside him for a moment before he slowly turned, his face glimmering in the moonlight with that polished smile. He sat up.

“I'm glad you came,” he said. “It's a great night. It
would have been a shame for you to miss it.” He patted the space beside him on the blanket. “Did you have any trouble getting out?”

“No,” I said. “I dug a tunnel.”

He laughed. “Great. So?” he said after a moment, “Are you just going to stand there? You didn't come all this way to watch me lie on a beach blanket, did you?” he asked.

“Maybe. Don't forget my uncle and aunt don't allow television in their house.”

He threw back his head and roared with laughter. Then he grew serious and gestured for me to come to him. “It's very cozy on this blanket.”

I lowered myself to my knees and put my shoes down before sitting on the blanket, close to the edge.

He stared with a quizzical look on his face and then he shook his head, still smiling. “Aren't you the tease?” he said. “All right, I'll play hard to get, too.” He lay back on his hands to look up at the sky.

“I'm not a tease.”

“Of course you are. All girls are.”

“Well, it's not true about me.”

He turned over and braced his chin on his hand to gaze at me. “Really? Well, why do you work so hard at being beautiful if not to have boys look at you longingly?”

“I don't work so hard at being beautiful.”

“I imagine you don't,” he said nodding. “You are what I would call a natural beauty. That's why all the cats in school are clawing at you. So,” he said, sitting up again, “tell me about your life in coalmineville. Leave a boyfriend crying in his beer when you came to the Cape?”

“No.”

“I'll bet. Well, his loss is my gain.” He snickered. “Come a little closer. I won't bite,” he said. “You want me to beg? Is that it?” he asked when I didn't move.

“I don't want you to beg, no.”

“So?”

I shifted on the blanket until I was beside him.

“Now that's better. At least I can smell your hair.” He put his nose to my head and then kissed my forehead. “And I can look into those terrific eyes. You know you turn me into jelly, don't you?”

This time, I had to laugh. “Don't you mean cranberry sauce?” I asked.

That brought a wide smile to his face. His blue eyes seemed to sizzle as they blazed down at me. “You're smart as well as beautiful. A rare jewel.” He kissed me on the lips, but I was so tense I thought he would hear my nerves twang.

He gazed at me with a curious smile, then he leaned over to his right where he had a cloth bag. He produced a bottle of vodka and two glasses. Then he dipped his hand into the bag and came up with a jar of cranberry juice. “How'd you know I had cranberry juice? Some little bird at school whisper in your ear?”

“I didn't know.”

“It's a great drink with vodka. My father's favorite. Let me fix us a couple.”

“I don't like drinking whiskey,” I said quickly.

“This isn't whiskey. It's vodka. Doesn't stink on your breath as much, and when you cut it with the cranberry juice, you hardly notice it. But it sure makes you feel good. I'm sure you've had it, right?”

“Of course,” I said, even though I never had. All I had ever tasted was Mommy's gin and I never could understand how or why she liked it so much.

After he made the drinks and handed me my glass, he tuned the radio to a station that played softer music.

“Let's make a toast,” he said tapping his glass against mine. “To us. To good times and good weather forever.”

I took a sip. He was right. It didn't taste as bad as Mommy's gin.

“So where did you used to go at night with your boyfriends in West Virginia: old coal mines?”

“Sometimes,” I said, even though the very thought of going into a coal mine at night was terrifying. I didn't want him to think I wasn't as experienced or as sophisticated as the girls here.

He brought his glass to his lips and urged me to bring mine to my lips. “Keeps you warm inside,” he promised. I drank some more. “Was the sky as beautiful at night in West Virginia?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn't have the ocean. The ocean makes the sky look better, doesn't it?” He moved closer, putting his arm around my waist. I looked at the sky where it merged with the horizon. The water was glimmering and the stars did seem brighter than ever, some actually twinkling on the water. He nudged my cheek with his nose and kissed me softly on the neck.

A flow of warmth rushed down over my shoulders to my breasts. Nervous, I drank some more. Then I pulled a little away from him.

“I like this song,” I said. “Don't you?”

“What? Oh, yeah.” He reached for the bottle of vodka and refilled my glass. “Feels good, right?”

“Yes.”

“Let's see, this time we'll toast to. . . the end of school. May it come quickly and put me out of pain.” He clinked my glass again. “Quick, drink or we won't get our wish,” he urged. I took a long sip and thought this time the vodka was a lot stronger.

“I thought you were a good studious—I mean student,” I said.

He laughed. “I do all right. Adam Jackson does just enough to make his father happy with his grades,” he bragged.

“Isn't your father a lawyer?” I asked him.

“Yeah, but don't worry. I won't sue you if we don't have a good time tonight.”

“Do you want to be a lawyer?” I asked quickly as he leaned over to kiss me.

“Maybe. I don't know. My father wants me to be.” He brushed his lips against mine and then turned abruptly and lowered his head to my lap so he could look up at me. “You look great from down here,” he said. He reached up and fingered the buttons on my cardigan sweater. I put my hand over his. “You're not cold, are you?”

“A little,” I said.

“Take another drink. Go on,” he urged. “You won't be cold long.”

I did and he smiled. His finger undid one button and then another.

“You looked great in this dress today,” he said. “Like a fresh flower. I was jealous at the way some of my friends were looking at you.”

His finger traced the valley between my breasts. Then he lifted himself slowly, reached behind my neck, and gently brought me down to meet his lips. It was like a kiss in the movies, his lips pressing against mine, his tongue moving between my lips, the music around us, the stars above us. I felt warm all over. My mind reeled. He took my glass of vodka and cranberry juice from me, urged me down to the blanket, and then turned so he was lying face down over me.

“I just knew you and I would click,” he said.

“How did you know?”

“Adam Jackson knows women.”

“You talk about yourself as if you were someone else.” I giggled. “I never heard anyone do that.”

“Simple explanation,” he said, shrugging, “I'm bigger than one person.”

He lowered his lips to mine and kissed me long and hard, his right hand moving over my ribs to my breasts.

“You are delicious,” he said. My pulse was racing. I looked past him at the stars and they seemed to blur and merge. He kissed my neck, then lowered himself so he could move his tongue under my collar, toward my breasts. I felt him lift me gently and find the zipper
behind my dress. I started to resist, but the zipper flew down and he quickly nudged my dress over my shoulders, driving his mouth to my breasts.

It was as if I were on a magic carpet and not just a beach blanket. It seemed to lift both of us off the sand and begin to turn in a counter-clockwise circle. He had the straps of my bra down and was manipulating the hook with surgical expertise. It popped and his hand moved up under the garment instantly, lifting it away. Before the air could touch my naked bosom, his lips were there, nudging, strumming my nipples.

I felt a weakness in my legs as his legs moved in between and forced mine to separate. It was happening so fast—the blinking, out-of-focus stars were falling like a downpour of diamonds around us, the blanket was spinning, his hand was under the skirt of my dress and his fingers were toying with my panties. The roar of the ocean covered my small protests and he was saying, “You're perfect. I knew we would be great together.”

But this wasn't romantic and lovely. This frenzy of passion frightened me more than it excited me. Too fast, I thought. It's happening too fast.

I pushed at his chest and shook my head, but he smothered my exclamation with his lips, jabbing his tongue harder into my mouth. I nearly gagged, and when he pulled back I screamed. “Stop it!”

“What?” he cried. “You wanted this, didn't you? Otherwise, why would you come here? Just relax. Lie back and enjoy Adam Jackson.”

My arms were too small and weak to hold back the weight of his upper body. I started to cry as he lifted me easily and began to slip my panties down my thighs. I was shaking my head and pleading. I could hear his heavy, hard breathing and I tried to turn my mouth from his, but he seemed to have grown in size. I saw him in the same distorted way I saw the stars. He resembled a great jellyfish spreading over me, encompassing me.

“Please . . . stop!” I pleaded.