Melody (8 page)

“We're going away, Papa George,” I said.

“Who's going away?”

“Mommy and me . . . and for good,” I said.

He stared, took another breath, coughed a bit and then pushed hard to get himself into a sitting position.

“Where she taking you?”

“We're going to see my daddy's family. They live in Cape Cod.”

The old man nodded. “Well, maybe that's best. Leaving on quick notice, though, ain't you?”

“Yes. I haven't said good-bye to any of my friends and I haven't been to the cemetery yet.”

He thought a moment and then reached over to his night table drawer. He took something out and beckoned for me to come closer.

“I want you to have this,” he said and handed me a gold-plated pocket watch. I had seen it once or twice before and knew that on the inside was the inscription, To George O'Neil, Ten tons of coal! “It still keeps good time,” he said. When the watch was opened, it played one of Papa George's favorite tunes: “Beautiful Dreamer.”

“I can't take that, Papa George. I know what it means to you.”

“It will mean more to me to know Chester Logan's little girl has it now and forever,” he said, urging me to take it. I reached out and clutched it in my hand. “This way, you won't be able to forget me.”

“Oh Papa George, I can't ever forget you,” I moaned and threw my arms around him. He felt so small, all skin and bones, and his hug was barely anything. I was shocked. It was as if he were wilting, disappearing right before my eyes.

He started to cough again and pushed me back so he could lower himself under the blanket. I waited for him to catch his breath.

“Send us postcards,” he said.

“I will. I'll write every day.”

He laughed. “A postcard now and then is all we need, Melody. And don't forget to play that fiddle. I didn't spend all that time teaching you for nothing.”

“I won't.”

“Good,” he said. He closed his eyes. “Good.”

Hot tears streamed down my cheeks. I felt as if my lungs would burst, the ache was that deep. I turned and saw Mama Arlene standing in the bedroom doorway, her tears falling just as hard and fast. She held out her arms and we hugged. Then she followed me out.

Mommy and Archie had finished loading his Chevy. He slammed the trunk closed and got behind the wheel. Mommy came over to Mama Arlene.

“I didn't know you meant you would be leaving this soon, Haille.”

“It's just worked out that way, Arlene. I guess Melody already asked you to look after our remaining things, if you can.”

“I'll keep an eye on the place, sure.”

“Once we're settled, I'll see about getting what else we want. Where's George?”

“He's lying down,” she said.

“Oh.”

They exchanged a knowing glance that made me weak in the knees.

“Well, I'll call and I'll drop you a line now and then,” Mommy promised.

My mind was racing. There was too much to think about. “Mama Arlene. I'm going to leave my school books on the kitchen table. I'll call my friend Alice and she'll come by to get them and my library books, okay?” I asked.

“Of course, dear.”

“Here's the keys to the trailer.” Mommy handed them to Mama Arlene. She took them reluctantly. Her gaze went to me and her lips trembled.

“I better go put the books on the table, Mommy,” I said.

“Hurry. We want to be on the road. We've a lot of distance to cover,” she said. “Go on. I'll wait here with Arlene.”

I ran back to the trailer and entered. For a moment I just stood there gazing around. Yes, it was a tiny place to
live and our furniture was very ordinary. Yes, the rugs were worn, the curtains thin, the wallpaper faded. The faucets dripped and the sinks were stained with rust at the drains. The heat never worked right and in summer, the place was an oven. I had wished and wished to have a real house instead, but this had been home to me, and now I felt as if I were deserting a poor old friend.

Daddy and I had eaten thousands of meals at that small dinette. I had curled up in his arms a thousand times on that worn sofa while we watched television. I blew out candles on many birthday cakes here. In that corner we had decorated our small Christmas tree. Although the pile of gifts under it was never impressive, it was always exciting for me.

Good-bye trailer home, I thought. Good-bye to the sound of the rain's drum beat on the roof while I slept or studied or ate my meals. Good-bye to every creak and groan in the wind; to the funny moaning sound in the plumbing that brought laughter to Daddy and me dozens of times.

And how do I say good-bye to my small room, my small private world? Once, this was my special place and now I was looking in at it for the final time.

I bit down on my lower lip and pressed my palm against my heart, holding in the ache, and then I scooped up my school books and the library books and put them on the kitchen table.

Archie Marlin honked the car's horn. I glanced at everything one last time, pressing it forever into my memory. Archie honked again.

“Good-bye,” I whispered to the only home I had ever known. I rushed out the front door, afraid that if I paused or looked back, I would never be able to leave.

“What took you so long?” Mommy complained, her head out the window.

I got into the back seat. It was half covered with some of Mommy's clothes. I put my fiddle on the car floor.

“Be careful of my things,” she said.

“Here we go.” Archie pulled out of our lot. I pressed
my face to the window. Mama Arlene stood in her doorway, small and sad, her hand frozen in good-bye. The tears blurred my vision and some of them ran down the glass. I sat back to catch my breath as Archie spun around the entrance to Mineral Acres and shot onto the road.

“We're stopping at the cemetery, aren't we, Mommy?” I asked.

“What? What for?”

“To say good-bye to Daddy,” I replied, my voice filled with desperation.

“Oh, Melody. Can't we start this trip on a happy note?”

“I've got to say good-bye to Daddy!” I exclaimed. “I've got to!” My voice was full of desperation.

Archie looked at Mommy and she shook her head.

“It's on the way out,” he said.

“Well, I'm not going in with you,” Mommy said. “I can't bear it.”

Archie stopped at the entrance to the cemetery. Mommy said it would break her heart again to drive in. It reminded her too much of the funeral.

“We're only waiting five minutes, Melody,” she told me.

“Are you sure you don't want to come, Mommy?”

She stared at me a moment, her eyes looking genuinely sad. She gently shook her head.

“I said my good-bye some time ago, Melody. I had to or I couldn't go on with my life.”

I opened the door and jumped out, running up the pathway past the monuments until I reached Daddy's stone. I walked up to it and threw my arms around it the way I used to throw them around him. I pressed my cheek to the hard granite and closed my eyes.

“Oh Daddy, we're going, but I'll come back as often as I can. Mommy has to get away. She can't live here anymore.

“I know you would forgive her. You forgave her for everything,” I said a little bitterly. “And I know you
would tell me to be a help to her, but I can't help how I feel.”

I fell to my knees in front of the stone and bowed my head to say a little prayer and then I plucked a blade of grass growing on the grave and put it inside Papa George's pocket watch. It would always be with me, I thought. I kept the watch open so some of “Beautiful Dreamer” would play. Daddy loved that song, too.

Mommy and Archie were honking the Chevy's horn again.

I closed the watch, stood up, and gazed at the mountains in the distance, drinking in the trees and the bushes. I wanted to press the memory of this place into my mind as firmly as I had pressed the blade of grass into the pocket watch.

Then I kissed Daddy's gravestone, leaving some of my tears on top of it before I turned to walk away. I got back into the car without a word. Archie and Mommy both glanced at me and then he turned the car around and we started down the road that would lead us north, first to Richmond.

Mommy squealed with delight as we passed through the town and beyond the sign that read, Now Entering Sewell, West Virginia.

“I'm leaving!” she cried. “I'm really getting out of here. My prison sentence is over!”

I gazed at her and squinted. What had she meant by that? I would have asked, but my chest ached so, I knew my voice would crack as soon as I tried to speak.

Archie sped up. They turned on the radio and began to sing along with the music. Mommy swung around to look at me.

“Oh, be happy, Melody. Please. Be happy, if not for yourself, then for me.”

“I'll try, Mommy,” I said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Good.”

The scenery whipped by. I barely paid attention, but I saw enough familiar territory fall back to fill my heart
with sadness. I gazed through the rear window, watching Sewell disappear behind a hill, and with it, the cemetery in which Daddy rested.

Then I turned around and looked ahead. Trembling, I felt no less frightened and confused than a newborn baby pulled kicking and screaming into the future, terrified at the unknown.

4
 
The Girl out of the Country

I closed my eyes and lay back in the seat. Before Daddy was killed, he, Mommy, and I had gone to the beaches in Virginia a few times, but other than those trips, we hadn't traveled many places. I had never been north, and had only read about and seen pictures of cities like New York, Washington, D.C., and Boston. Mommy tried to get me excited about the trip by telling me we would see Washington and Boston on the way to the Cape. Someday, she said, we'll go to New York City. She said she had been there once herself, but she went with her elderly adoptive parents who weren't much fun. She could barely remember it.

“But we'll have wonderful times going to museums and shows and eating in the famous restaurants. Right, Richard?”

“Absolutely,” Archie replied. “Your life is really just beginning, Melody.”

“See?” Mommy said.

As we rode on, I listened to their conversation. Archie talked about the cities he had been to, comparing them, complaining about this one or that one, raving about the
others. He claimed to know the best restaurants in New York and Chicago. He had been to Las Vegas many times and Los Angeles at least three times. He bragged about the people in the entertainment industry he had met and gotten to know at the various bars and restaurants where he had worked. He said he was sure he could call any of them on the phone and get them to consider Mommy. Mommy squealed and laughed with delight at all his promises. I couldn't believe she was so gullible, but then I remembered Daddy once telling me that if you want something to be true hard enough, you'll ignore all the proof that it's not so. Mostly, you won't ask questions that give you answers you don't want to hear.

Mommy should be asking Archie Marlin if he was so friendly with all these important people, why didn't he have a better job himself? How did he end up in Sewell? I was tempted to lean forward and fire these questions at him myself, but I didn't want to anger Mommy so I tried to sleep instead.

We stopped for gas, got some snacks and drove until we reached Richmond. Archie bragged about knowing a little Italian restaurant, the owners of which he claimed would surely remember him and give us special treatment. He promised Mommy he would take us someplace special every step of the way. However, when we turned down the street where the Italian restaurant was supposed to be, it wasn't there anymore.

“That's the trouble with these little restaurants,” he remarked. “They go in and out of business so quickly. Let's just stop at that roadside diner,” he decided and pulled into the parking lot.

I wasn't hungry, but Mommy insisted I eat something. While we waited for our food, I took a closer look at Archie Marlin, trying to understand what Mommy liked about him, especially after she had been married to a man as handsome and strong as Daddy.

Besides having patches of freckles on his face, Archie had them on the backs of his hands as well. His pink skin
was interrupted here and there by white blotches. It looked as if he had been splattered with permanently staining milk. I thought his wrists were not much wider than mine or Mommy's, and I laughed to myself at the thought of him lifting a pick axe or a shovel. No wonder the heaviest thing he ever hoisted was a glass of beer.

Archie Marlin was full of nervous energy. He lacked Daddy's strong, quiet, calm manner. Archie's gaze was forever wandering. When he answered questions, he rarely looked at you. He looked down or up at the ceiling or fiddled with a spoon while he replied. While we waited for our food he described how he had once been a Blackjack dealer in a Las Vegas casino. He demonstrated how he would flip cards and hide aces in the palm of his hand. He'd been one of the best Blackjack dealers in the whole city, he said.