Melody (29 page)

He grimaced. “Why is it that girls who are normally smarter than boys are so dumb when it comes to boys?” he asked me.

I stared at him. He blinked his eyelids rapidly. He had long, perfect eyelashes, which most girls I knew would die to have.

“That's a matter of—”

“What?” he interrupted.

“I was going to say opinion, but it's really more a matter of the heart.”

He blew air through the side of his mouth. “Matters of the heart,” he said disdainfully. “An excuse for stupidity.”

“Cary Logan, are you going to sit there and tell me you don't believe in love? You don't believe two people can fall in love?”

“I didn't say that exactly,” he retreated. “But it's silly to think you can fall in and out of love the way you . . . you catch a cold.”

“From what I understand, that doesn't sound like a good description of Laura. She didn't have lots of boyfriends, did she?”

“That's not the point. She thought she was in love and that he loved her, but. . . Let's just say I know it was a mistake, okay, and leave it at that.” He glared down at
his textbook. “I hate this stuff. What does it have to do with what's important?”

“It's important to understand our language so we can express ourselves,” I said, my voice hard and firm. Like a splinter, Cary had a way of getting under my skin.

He grimaced again and raised his eyebrows.

I wasn't intimidated by him.

“You're not just going to spend all your life talking to lobsters, Cary Logan. You're going to have to talk to your customers, too, and if you sound as if you don't know what you're doing, they won't believe in you, no matter how good a fisherman you are.”

He broke into a smile. “Don't get so mad.”

“I'm not mad. I'm—”

“What?” he teased.

“Mad,” I said. “Why should you have to be talked into educating yourself? We don't live in the Dark Ages. Even up here in Cape Cod heaven where everyone is supposedly so perfect, people still need to be educated,” I snapped.

He laughed. “Okay, help me talk to my customers.”

I gazed at the page.

“Clauses are easy to recognize. Just test them. If they don't have a subject and a verb, throw them back in like a lobster that's too small.”

His smile widened. “I like that. That, I can understand.”

I went over what a subject does in the clause and then what the verb does.

He listened, tried some examples, and then widened his eyes. “I understand what you're saying. I just don't understand how you know whether it's an adverb or an adjective.”

“Test it again,” I told him. “Here's one way: if you can move it around in the sentence, it's an adverb. Look at this one: Because I got sick, I had to go home. I had to go home because I got sick. See?”

His eyes lit up.

“Yeah.”

“Your teacher never showed you that?” I asked.

“I don't remember. I guess I wasn't paying as much attention to her as I paid to you. Maybe you should be a teacher.”

“Maybe I will. Do those exercises at the end of the chapter. I'll correct them when you're finished.”

“Yes ma'am.”

I went to the closet to sift through the clothing. Tomorrow, I would wear one of my own things, I thought, not that I had much from which to choose. How could Mommy not have called Mama Arlene yet? She knew I needed my clothes.

“Laura always looked really good in that,” Cary said. I hadn't known he was watching me. I held a light yellow cotton dress in my hands. “You thinking of wearing that to school?”

“I might just wear a pair of jeans and a blouse I brought with me,” I said.

“Laura never wore jeans to school. My father didn't think it was proper.”

“Well he's not my father,” I replied. “And I'm not Laura.”

He shrugged. “I'm just telling you.”

“Are you finished with the exercises?”

“No, I—”

“Then finish,” I commanded.

“Right,” he said turning back.

I smiled to myself and considered the yellow dress again. It had a square collar with frilled sleeves and a gently billowing skirt. I imagined it might look nice on me. I
did
want to look nice for Adam, I thought.

“Finished,” Cary declared.

I put the dress back and went to the desk. He had one mistake, but even I might have made it, I thought. “Not too bad,” I said.

“I hope I can do it tomorrow.”

“You will. Just remember the tricks” I told him.

“Thanks,” he said standing. “I owe you one.” He thought a moment. “Maybe I'll do what Grandpa suggested this weekend.”

“What's that?”

“Take you sailing. Would you like that?”

I thought about Adam. What if he invited me to go motorboating again?

“I . . .”

My hesitation jarred him. “Don't if you have better things to do.” He turned for the door.

“No, it's just that I've never really gone sailing.”

He looked back at me. “Whatever. If you want to, we'll do it.”

“We'll go over the material again on the way to school,” I told him.

He rolled his eyes. “Can't wait,” he said and left.

A little while later I heard him go up to his attic hideaway. I didn't know for certain, of course, but I was willing to bet that he spent more time up there alone since Laura's death than he had when she was alive.

We all retreat to different attics when we're unhappy, I thought. I was still looking for mine.

Uncle Jacob had eaten his breakfast and left by the time May, Cary, and I went downstairs the next morning. I decided to wear Laura's yellow dress, and when Cary saw me in the hallway, he said I looked very nice.

“It's not going to rain, is it?” I asked him.

“No. It's going to be a nice day and a pretty nice night,” he told me. I breathed relief and felt a tingle of the excitement of anticipation.

Downstairs, Aunt Sara was frenzied. Grandma Olivia had called last night and told her the dinner would be tomorrow night. Apparently, from the way she spoke, I understood that dinner at my grandparents' house wasn't merely dinner, it was an elaborate affair. There would be someone else there, some highly respected member of the community. We would all have to be on
our very best behavior, be well dressed, and be more polite than the Queen of England.

“Don't forget Grandpa wants to hear Melody play her fiddle,” Cary teased. Aunt Sara gasped and gazed at me with abject terror in her eyes.

“Oh, I don't think he meant this particular dinner,” she said in a voice just above a whisper.

“Sure he did,” Cary continued, deliberately raising his own voice. “We all heard him, Ma.”

Aunt Sara shook her head. “But Olivia didn't. . .”

“It's all right. I don't want to bring my fiddle anyway,” I said.

“Grandpa's going to be disappointed,” Cary warned. “He might just send you back for it. Why don't you bring it along and leave it in the car, just in case,” he pursued.

Aunt Sara shook her head again, this time more emphatically. “Jacob might be upset. I don't know if—”

“I'm not bringing it along, Aunt Sara. Stop worrying,” I declared firmly. I gazed at Cary, whose green eyes sparkled with mischief.

May wanted to know what we were all talking about so intensely. Cary signed and explained, mimicking my playing the fiddle. Her eyes lit up with encouragement.

“See, Ma, even May wants her to bring it along, and she can't even hear.”

“Oh dear,” Aunt Sara said, wringing her hands.

“Stop it,” I told him sharply. “You're going to get me into trouble.”

With a tiny smile on his face, he finished eating his breakfast quietly. On the way to school, I chastised him. “You shouldn't tease your mother that way, Cary Logan.”

“I wasn't teasing. I'd like you to play your fiddle, too. It will spice up the dinner party. I've been to enough of them at Grandma's to know what to expect. They could use some excitement.”

“Well under the circumstances, I'm not feeling much like fiddling. It only reminds me of my daddy and
Grandma Olivia's house is no place to be thinking about him,” I said bitterly.

Cary's impish grin faded. “Maybe if they heard you play and learned more about your father after he and Haille left here, they'd be more inclined to feel sorry about things, too,” he offered.

“They should feel sorry! My daddy's gone and the damage that was done is done forever and ever.”

Cary was silent. The subject sank deeply in the pool of our thoughts. We dropped May at her school and continued to our own, reviewing the material Cary would have on his English test. As soon as Cary and I arrived at school, we split up. Fortunately, he didn't hear the girls heckle me when I went to my locker. I'm sure he would have become very angry.

“We missed you Saturday night,” Janet said. “Too busy darning socks or something?”

“Or did you have to make cranberry muffins?” Lorraine asked.

“I tried to come,” I told her. Betty closed in beside her and Janet to listen to my explanation. “But my uncle wouldn't let me go.”

“We told you he wouldn't. We told you to lie,” Betty said. “But you're just like Laura, aren't you? You're too goody-goody to have any real fun. It must run in the family or something—Grandpa, Laura and now you. I bet the mute is the same.”

“She's not a mute,” I snapped, my face filling with blood so fast I thought I would blow the top of my head off. “She's deaf, but she can talk.”

“I've heard her talk. Who could understand that?” Betty said. The others agreed.

“If you take the time, you can understand her. She's a bright, sweet little girl.”

“Right. Anyway, we all had a good time. A certain boy was heartbroken that you weren't there,” Lorraine said, a twisted smile on her lips.

As if on cue, Adam sauntered down the corridor and paused when he reached us. All three of the witches from
Macbeth
fluttered their eyelashes and beamed their most seductive smiles, but his eyes were on me.

“Good morning, girls. Exchanging feminine secrets or can I listen in?” he asked with that beguiling smile. Even early in the morning, he looked perfect enough to have just walked out of an aftershave advertisement in a men's magazine.

“We were just telling Melody about what a great beach party she missed,” Janet said.

“That's right. It was a great party,” he agreed, his eyes still fixed on me.

“Debbie McKay certainly had a good time,” Betty said. “Didn't she, Adam?”

“You'll have to ask her,” he replied with a nonchalance that made the three giggle.

“I'm sure we'll find out,” Lorraine said. “Debbie's the kind who kisses and tells. See you later, Melody,” she sang.

“Yeah, see you later,” Betty echoed. The three walked off, leaving me with Adam.

“Now you know why I want you to keep the things between us secret,” he said looking after them. “The gossipmongers around here work overtime. I'll walk you to homeroom,” he offered when I closed my locker. “Everything else all right? You didn't get into trouble after our ride yesterday, did you?”

“No,” I said.

“Good.”

I noticed everyone's interest as we continued down the corridor. Even Mrs. Cranshaw, the librarian, peered at us over her thick lenses.

“I really had a good time with you,” Adam said softly. “Did you like it, too?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Good. Until eight o'clock,” he whispered at the homeroom door. “Don't disappoint me.” He squeezed my hand and walked away.

My heart pounded. Was I really going to meet him? Did I have the courage? His lips had the lure of forbidden
fruit, but oh, how luscious, ripe, and delicious was the promise they had left on my own when he held me in his arms and kissed me! I sighed.

When I turned to go into the classroom, I saw each and every girl was looking my way. All looked curious, many looked envious.

“That didn't take long,” Theresa Patterson said coming up behind me as I walked to my desk.

“Pardon?”

“For Adam Jackson to find a new fish,” she muttered, walking by.

The girls in this school, I thought, gave the word catty a new meaning. Adam wasn't wrong about that. Cary had told me much the same thing.

I didn't see my cousin until lunch time in the cafeteria. When I did, he looked very excited and happy. He had taken his English test and for the first time, he felt confident of the results afterward.

“Every time I considered an answer, I could hear your voice, your advice. It didn't seem as hard as I thought it would be.”

“Good,” I said. I looked past him toward the cafeteria's entrance, hoping to spot Adam. I expected he would want to sit with me, but when he came in, he was with some boys and they all went to a table on the right. He gazed my way and smiled. He looked as if he were holding court. Cary saw the direction of my interest and my expression of disappointment.

“Thanks for your help,” he said dryly and started away.

“Cary,” I called. He turned. “Mind if I sit with you? I'd rather skip my new girl friends for the moment.”

I could see they had a place open for me at their table, but it would have been like delivering myself to the Spanish Inquisition, torture chamber and all.

Cary shrugged and looked in Adam's direction. “Suit yourself,” he said. “It won't be the most exciting table, though.” I followed anyway and he introduced me to two of his friends, Billy Beedsly and John Taylor. Their
families were also in the lobster and fish business. They asked me a lot of questions about coal mines, but they were frustrated by my limited knowledge of the industry.

“My father was stuck down in the shafts, locked away from sunlight and air, and I hated thinking about it. He didn't like talking about it much either.”