Melody (42 page)

Where would I go now? Who would I go to? I wondered, but I was too tired and to overwhelmed to care. I went to our old home and tried the front door. There was a For Rent sign on it. Of course it was locked, but all that had happened to me on the trip and the shock of this news put me into a frenzy. I searched the yard until I found a short metal rod, which I brought back to the door. I jabbed it into the small space between the door and the trailer and I pulled and tugged, shaking
it and putting all my weight behind it until the door snapped open and I went flying back on the patio. I got up, threw the rod away, and went inside. One way or another I was home again, I thought.

Everything had been turned off in the trailer home: electric and gas, and even water. The cupboards were empty, the refrigerator door left open with nothing on its shelves. Someone, probably the bank, had come into the trailer and removed everything else.

After I had wandered through the trailer, I curled up on the ragged living room rug just about where the sofa had been. I didn't know the time. There were shadows in the corners and whispers in the walls. Time was as irrelevant as honesty, I thought. I lay there sobbing until I fell asleep again. The sound of someone calling my name woke me. I sat up, grinding the sleep from my eyes. The late-afternoon sun was blocked by some high clouds, so the trailer was dark and I could see only a shadowy silhouette in the doorway.

“Melody?”

“Alice!” I cried, so happy finally to hear a friendly, familiar voice. “How did you know I was here?”

“Your cousin Cary called me very late last night. He found my phone number in your notebook and remembered you had mentioned me as your best friend in Sewell.”

“Cary?”

“Yes. He told me he put you on a bus and he was very worried that you would arrive safely,” she said.

“I almost didn't,” I replied and described my nearly disastrous adventure.

“Wow!” she said when I had finished. “You're lucky you got here, but. . .” She gazed around. “Is your mother supposed to meet you here?”

“No. I don't know where Mommy is, Alice,” I wailed. I sat on the floor again and she sat beside me just the way we used to sit together on the floor of her warm room in her beautiful house.

“What do you mean, you don't know where she is? Didn't she call you? Didn't she tell you to meet her here? I don't understand,” she said.

Finally, I told her my story.

With her eyes widening as I spoke, she absorbed it and then dropped her jaw in amazement and shock. “Chester Logan was not your father? And you don't even know who your real father is?” I shook my head. “What are you going to do?”

“I don't know. I ran away because I was hoping to live with Mama Arlene,” I said. “I never heard about Papa George.”

“I went to the funeral,” she said. “Papa George is buried close to your. . .”

“I know. I don't know what to call him either.” I sighed deeply. “I'll just keep calling him Daddy until I find out the truth about my real father.”

“You must be starving. Come home with me and get something to eat,” Alice urged.

“I am starving, but I know what your parents will say. No thanks, Alice.”

“You can't stay here. This place doesn't belong to you anymore. It belongs to the bank.”

“I'll stay until they throw me out, I guess. In the meantime, can you loan me some money? I'll buy some food.”

She thought. “I know what I'll do. I'll go home and get some food for both of us. I'll tell my parents I'm studying chemistry with Beverly Murden and I'll come back here. I'll bring us some candles, too. It'll be like a picnic. Like the old days, okay?” she said with enthusiasm.

I laughed. How ironic. My predicament provided Alice with the most excitement she'd had in months.

“Okay,” I said.

“Your cousin left me a telephone number so I could call to tell him whether you arrived safely. You want me to tell him anything else?”

“Just say thanks, but don't tell him about the other
things. I don't want him to know how terrible my trip was, okay?”

She nodded.

“It will take me a little while to get everything together and get back.”

“That's all right. I want to go to the cemetery to pay my respects to Papa George and visit my daddy's grave.”

“You mean the man you thought was your daddy,” she corrected.

“Yes.”

“Okay. I'll meet you back here. I'll bring a radio that works on batteries so we can have music. I've got a lot to tell you about the kids at school. Bobby Lockwood's going with Mary Hartman.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to sound interested, even though it sounded very insignificant to me at the moment.

“I'm glad you're back, even if it's not for long,” Alice said, squeezing my hand. “See you in about an hour.”

She hurried from the trailer. I followed soon afterward. The sky became more and more overcast, making everything gray and dreary by the time I arrived at the cemetery. It didn't take me long to find Papa George's fresh grave. Under his name were the dates of his birth and death.

“I'm sorry I wasn't here to see you one more time, Papa George. You were my real grandfather and will always be in my heart.”

I kissed the top of his tombstone and then walked down the path to Daddy's. For a long moment I stood there, just looking at the familiar carving. Then I shook my head, the tears running down my cheeks.

“Why, Daddy? Why didn't you tell me the truth?” I glared at the grave. I wanted to be angry, to hate him, but all I could see was his smiling face, his warm eyes, his happiness at the sight of me.

“I'm all alone now, Daddy. I'm really all alone.”

I knelt at his grave and said a prayer. I asked that he
and Mommy be forgiven for anything terrible they might have done and I asked for mercy. Then I stood up and stared at the tombstone for a long moment until a funny thought came to mind.

“If Papa George is with you, he's bawling you out for sure, Daddy. I can almost hear him.”

I sighed deeply and then walked back to Mineral Acres. Soon afterward, Alice arrived bearing bags of food and news.

“Your cousin answered the phone. He said he was waiting for my call all day. He sounds nice, Melody.”

“He is. You didn't tell him any of the bad things, did you, Alice?”

“No,” she said, but the way she lowered her eyes quickly told me otherwise. “He said he hopes you'll come back.”

“You told him about Mama Arlene and Papa George then?”

“He asked me. You didn't tell me not to tell him that,” she protested.

“It doesn't matter, I suppose.”

She smiled and began to unpack. She had brought two candles and candle holders and we had to light them right away because the twilight—blocked by the heavy clouds—made it very dark in the dingy trailer.

“I didn't know what to bring,” she said, “so I brought whatever I could.”

Her leftovers included chicken, some cold pasta, fruit, cookies, bread, a jar of honey, tuna fish, and two bars of chocolate. The sight of food reminded me how very hungry I was. Alice, still quite overweight, didn't need any reminders or excuses. Whatever I ate, she ate. As we gobbled away, she related all the stories about the kids at school. She described Bobby Lockwood's new love affair as if it were the hottest relationship in America. Finally exhausted, she begged me to tell her about the students in Provincetown. I was reluctant to stir up the raw memories, but she pleaded and pleaded, telling me how unfair it was for me to have listened to her and not tell
her anything. Finally, I gave in and described the last few weeks. She was glued to my every word.

The candles burned down. Darkness closed in around us and with it, the cool air.

“You should at least come to my house to sleep,” she said. “You can come back here in the morning if you want. What are you going to do?” She fired her questions at me before I could think of a single idea.

Finally, something occurred to me. “How much money can you lend me, Alice?”

“I could manage to scrape up about a hundred and fifty dollars, maybe a little bit more. I know where my brother keeps some money in a drawer. He won't miss it.”

“Good.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to go to Los Angeles and find Mommy,” I said.

“Wow.” She thought a moment. “A hundred and fifty dollars won't be enough to get across the country, Melody.”

“I'll get there. I got here, didn't I?”

She nodded.

“Okay. I'll give you the money.”

“Thank you, Alice. You are my one true friend.”

“Are you coming to my house to sleep?”

I gazed around the trailer. Even without furniture, it seemed like home again. I could easily imagine where everything had been and I could remember conversations and moments at practically every spot.

“No, I'll just curl up here. You'll get into trouble if your parents find me. I've made enough trouble for enough people.”

“But,” she gazed around, “can you sleep here?”

“Yes,” I said. “I can. Cary's coat is pretty warm.”

“All right,” she said. “I'll get up a little earlier in the morning and come here with the money before school. I'll leave the radio with you for company.”

“Thanks, Alice.”

“I'm going to miss you all over again,” she said.

“As soon as I get to Los Angeles and find Mommy, I'll write. Maybe you can come visit.”

“Yes, maybe,” she said, excited with the idea. “Okay. Good night, Melody.”

“Good night.”

She left, and the candles burned out, leaving me in the darkness, surrounded by memories of Daddy's voice and laughter, Mommy's voice and laughter. I softly wept for a while and then curled up and fell asleep.

I woke in the middle of the night when I thought I heard footsteps. My heart pounded as I gazed into the pitch blackness of Mineral Acres, half expecting to see Mommy emerge from the dark. Something scurried over the floor and I realized it was either a squirrel or a rat trying to work up enough nerve to get to the remnants of our picnic.

That thought made me uneasy and for the remainder of the night I woke up continually, listening and then falling asleep, only to wake up again. By the time the first light of morning came through the dirty, smudged windows, I was almost as tired as I had been when I first tried to sleep. Nevertheless, I rose and used the bathroom, even though the toilet didn't work. I had no choice.

I heard voices around the trailer, other people going to work or to town, so I remained hidden inside, quiet, waiting for Alice. She was true to her word and arrived before going to school.

“You don't look as if you slept too well, Melody,” she said when she set eyes on me.

“I didn't.”

“You should have come home with me. I worried about you all night. Anyway, here's the money,” she said, handing me an envelope packed with bills.

“Thank you, Alice.”

“Don't get robbed this time.”

“I've learned my lesson, don't worry.”

“Well, I better get to school.”

“Don't tell anyone about me until I'm long gone,” I asked.

“Okay.”

We hugged.

“Don't forget to write as soon as you can,” she reminded.

“I won't,” I promised.

I watched her walk away and then I sat on the floor with my back against the wall, trying to get up the strength and the energy to begin this long and dangerous journey to California. I had no idea about the route or the cheapest, safest means of travel, or even how to go about finding Mommy once I got there.

Finally, I rose and left the trailer, pausing to take one last look at it as I left Mineral Acres and headed to town. On the way I paused at a stream and dipped my hands into the cold water, washing the sleep from my face. I was sure I looked a mess.

The bus depot was in the Mother Jones luncheonette. I ordered a cup of coffee and a buttered roll at the counter. The waitress asked me why I wasn't in school and I told her I wasn't living here anymore, just visiting. Still, I drew a lot of attention. I was afraid to go up to the information desk and ask about routes to California. In the end I decided to take the bus back to Richmond, thinking it would be much easier to plan a cross-country trip from a big city like that. I didn't wait long for the bus.

This time, when I got on, I sat up front near the driver. There weren't many passengers and the driver was talkative. I told him I was going to Richmond to stay with my grandparents for a few days. Lies, I found, were coming to me easier, now that I was on the run. I didn't like doing it, but I could see how much easier it was than telling people the truth.

At the depot in Richmond, the ticket seller gave me a map that outlined a few different routes. I sat on a bench, trying to figure which route would be the cheapest and fastest. I was concentrating so intently on the bus map, I
didn't see or sense that someone was standing right beside me. When my gaze moved off the page and I looked at the feet, I recognized the shoes.

“Cary!” I screamed.

“Talk about luck,” he said smiling. I was shocked, but very happy to see his face. “I got off the bus and was just on my way to buy my ticket to Sewell when I saw you sitting here.”

“What are you doing here? How—”

“Grandma Olivia was furious when she found out what I did and you did. She gave me the money to buy my bus ticket here and our bus tickets back,” he said.

“I'm not going back, Cary,” I said. “I'm going to Los Angeles to find my mother and get her to tell me the truth.”

“You don't have to go to Los Angeles, Melody. I think I know the truth,” Cary said. “Grandma Olivia and I had some down-to-earth talk, and I got her to tell me all she knows.