Melody by V. C. Andrews
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
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