by Sydney Logan
Why doesn’t he just leave if he’s so uncomfortable?
“I was sort of expecting you to conduct the service today.”
Brody frowned. “Me? Why?”
“I thought maybe—”
“Oh. No. I didn’t become a preacher, Mel.”
Brody had felt called to preach at fifteen years old. She’d tried to be supportive, despite the fact she knew, even as a teenage girl, that she’d make a terrible preacher’s wife. She was too hot-headed. Too outspoken. Too excited about leaving Meadow Creek and moving to Nashville to become a songwriter.
Melody couldn’t help but wonder if Brody had decided not to preach because of her, or if the choice had been taken away from him.
“Don’t do that.”
She glanced in his direction. “Don’t do what?”
“It’s been ten years and I can still tell when you’re blaming yourself. It wasn’t your fault, Mel. After everything that happened . . . let’s just say I had a crisis of faith. It’s sort of a requirement in that line of work, so I decided to skip seminary.”
She wondered what he was doing instead, but she didn’t ask.
“Any idea what will happen to her little girl?” Brody asked, thankfully changing the subject. “I didn’t see her inside the chapel.”
“Trish’s daughter? No, I haven’t heard.”
“She’s really sweet. I hope she finds a good home.”
Melody was just about to ask how he knew the little girl was sweet, but people began to join them in the garden. They watched as the solemn crowd made their way to the parking lot.
“Listen, Mel. Your folks invited me back to the house. I don’t want it to be weird, so if you’d rather I skip it—”
“No, it’s fine. I have an appointment in town with Troy Tucker, anyway.”
“Why are you—” Brody stopped himself and shook his head. “Never mind. None of my business.”
She shrugged. “It’s okay, and I don’t really know why. Something about Trish’s will. Do you know him?”
“Troy? Yeah, he’s a nice guy. His son’s a patient of mine.”
Patient?
Before she could ask, her parents appeared in the garden. Melody watched her mother’s eyes widen when she saw the two of them together. Sharon started to walk in their direction, but John grabbed his wife by the elbow and gently steered her toward the car.
“I should go,” Brody said.
“Yeah, me too.”
They stood at the same time. Like magnets, they turned in each other’s direction. Brody started to say something, but he reconsidered and snapped his mouth closed instead. Melody watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed—a sure sign he was nervous. Or emotional. Maybe a little of both.
“It was good to see you, Brody.”
“You, too.”
Melody offered him a polite smile before walking away. It was only when she reached the sanctuary of her car that she finally allowed herself to take a deep breath. The entire exchange was awkward, but she couldn’t help but feel proud.
Melody had come face-to-face with the love of her life—and survived it.
Chapter 3
A fter introducing herself to the receptionist, Melody found a seat in the empty lobby of Tucker and Associates. Between the funeral, her conversation with Brody, and her appointment with the attorney, Melody’s nerves were shot. Needing something to do with her hands, she quickly dug in her bag and pulled out her phone. A text from Claire was on her screen.
How’s it going?
Melody’s fingers flew.
I’m a nervous wreck. This is why I never come home.
“Ms. Mitchell?”
Her head snapped up. The receptionist smiled.
“Mr. Tucker will see you now. Third door on your left.”
“Thank you.”
Standing slowly, she dropped her phone into her bag and squared her shoulders.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Left foot. Right foot.
That was her mantra as she walked down the narrow hallway that led to his open door. She was greeted by a short, middle-aged man with a crooked tie. He smiled warmly and shook her hand.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Mitchell.”
“Melody, please.”
“I’m Troy Tucker. I’ve done some work for your family over the years. It’s a pleasure to finally meet John and Sharon’s daughter. Your parents are very proud of you.”
She thanked him and followed him inside. Troy offered her a seat before walking to his desk. Once he was settled, he reached for a manila file.
“I’m sorry for your loss. Trish was a wonderful mother.”
“Thank you. I’ve heard she was very devoted to her daughter. I have to admit I didn’t know that side of Trish. I hadn’t spoken to her since we graduated from high school.”
Troy nervously cleared his throat.
Why is he nervous?
“Melody, before we begin, would you like a drink?”
“Am I going to need one?”
Troy laughed uneasily and fidgeted with his tie.
“Look, Mr. Tucker—”
“Troy, please.”
“Troy. I’m nervous enough as it is. I haven’t seen or heard from Trish since we were eighteen, and even then, we weren’t close, so I’m really confused as to why I’m here. So, could we just get on with it, please?”
Sighing heavily, the lawyer nodded and opened the folder.
* * *
“Melody, are you all right?”
She couldn’t feel her legs. Couldn’t open her mouth. Couldn’t find the words. Which was odd, she thought, because words were her life. She could write a song about anything.
But in that moment, words failed her.
Am I in shock? Is this what shock feels like?
In a flash, the attorney was by her side.
“I’d feel better if you’d say something. Should I call your parents?”
She slowly shook her head.
“There . . . must be some mistake. This is a joke, right?”
“I’m afraid there’s no mistake, Melody.”
His voice was soft and low, like he was talking to a wild animal, which was exactly how she felt. A wild animal that had just been caged. Trapped. Imprisoned.
“Ms. Webster—Trish—was very clear in her request. In the event of her untimely death, you were to be named the legal guardian of her child.”
Guardian of her child.
Raise her daughter.
A baby.
Me.
Mine.
“I . . . don’t understand,” Melody whispered, trying desperately to keep control of her emotions. Tears stung her eyes as she tried to make sense of it. “Why me?”
“Macy’s father disappeared right after she was born. You and your parents were Trish’s only family. I am sorry she didn’t discuss this with you. That was very irresponsible of her. Of course, I’m sure she never expected to need you, especially not so soon, but . . . life sometimes has other plans.”
Melody closed her eyes and begged the room to stop spinning.
“Are you sure that’s Trish’s will?” She didn’t even recognize her own voice, with its high pitch and shakiness. “I mean, I can’t believe she even had a will. I don’t.”
“Of course you don’t,” Mr. Tucker said, smiling kindly. “Very few young people do. A will is one of those things you’ll do someday. In Trish’s case, she had a very precious asset. Her daughter.”
This can’t be happening. It just can’t.
“There is a letter,” Mr. Tucker said, offering her a folded piece of paper. “Judges require them in cases such as these. It might shed some light. That’s your copy to keep.”
With trembling hands, Melody reached for the note. She couldn’t read it. Not right now. Instead, she slipped the letter into her bag.
“Aren’t you going to read it?”
“Yes. Later.”
Desperate for air, Melody quickly jumped to her feet and rushed toward his off
ice window. It was already open, and she sighed as the soft spring breeze blew across her face.
Melody couldn’t believe what was happening. What was Trish thinking? Wouldn’t it be common courtesy to ask before you name someone your kid’s guardian? What about her friends? She had plenty lined up at the funeral. Wouldn’t one of them make a better choice? And what about the baby’s father? Shouldn’t someone be looking for him?
Melody loved her life. She loved being single in Manhattan. She loved her apartment and her job and her friends. She loved hiding in the studio for hours upon hours without having to worry about another human being. She did what she wanted, when she wanted.
She couldn’t be a mother. She shouldn’t be a mother. Hadn’t God proven that already?
“I’m sure this is quite a shock,” Mr. Tucker said.
With pleading eyes, Melody turned toward the man who had just ripped her perfect little world to shreds.
“There’s really no one else?”
Troy shook his head. “Just you or your parents. I’m afraid that’s all.”
“What happens if I refuse? I can do that, right? This is America. I have choices. Right?”
“You do,” Troy said softly. “If you refuse, I would have to ask your parents.”
Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.
“And if they refuse?”
“Then the baby would become a ward of the state. She would enter the foster care system in hopes of being adopted someday.”
Melody fell back into her chair.
Ward of the state?
Foster care?
“Her name is Macy Rose,” Troy said gently. “She’s quite adorable, really. Nine months old. I have a picture if you’d like . . .”
Melody swiftly shook her head. She didn’t want to see her. Seeing her would make her real.
Melody didn’t want her to be real.
“Where’s the baby right now?” she asked.
“She’s been placed in a temporary home for the time being.”
“And she can’t stay there?” Melody winced, regretting her words immediately. “I’m sorry. I’m truly not this heartless. I just . . .”
“No apology is necessary, Melody. And no, she can’t stay there. That’s just a short-term solution until more permanent arrangements can be made.”
Nodding numbly, Melody slowly rose from her chair.
“I need some time to think.”
“Of course,” Troy said, handing her his card. “I . . . don’t mean to rush you, but the sooner I have your decision, the sooner we can get Macy settled. She is with a wonderful family now, but, as I said, that home is just temporary. Decisions will need to be made . . . if you refuse.”
Wow. The man could give my mom a run for her money in the guilt department.
“I understand.”
“And please read the letter,” he said, following her to the door. “Perhaps it will give you some insight and help you make the decision that’s best for all of you.”
“Yes, I’ll do that. I’ll be in touch soon.”
Troy thanked her for coming, and without a backwards glance, Melody rushed out of the office and straight to her car.
She waited until her seatbelt was snapped before she burst into tears.
* * *
“Trish gave you her baby?”
With a nod, Melody sipped her sweet tea—her southern mama’s answer for everything. All the guests, including Brody, were gone by the time she made it home. The sweet folks of Meadow Creek had brought enough comfort food to feed an army, but the fried chicken on their plates remained untouched.
Extreme shock apparently ruins the appetite.
“Without your knowledge? How is that even legal?” Sharon asked.
Melody shrugged. “According to the lawyer, all you have to do is name a guardian. You don’t necessarily have to ask them if it’s okay.”
“Well, that’s crazy,” John said.
“No kidding.” Melody glanced nervously at her parents. “I don’t suppose the two of you would —”
John grunted loudly. Melody watched as the blood drained from her mother’s face.
“Your father wants to retire. We . . . plan to travel,” Sharon said, her voice soft but pained. “Of course, if you don’t want the responsibility, we’d have to consider it, but—”
“No.” John shook his head. His firm tone assured them that raising a baby wasn’t up for discussion.
“You know, Melody,” her mom said softly, “maybe this is God’s—”
“I swear, if you start talking about God’s plan and how this is a blessing . . .”
“Well—”
Melody jumped to her feet. “When I got pregnant, you said that was God’s plan. When I miscarried, you said that was God’s plan, too. God gets blamed for an awful lot of crap, don’t you think?”
“Melody, please don’t yell at your mother.”
With a groan, Melody walked straight out the kitchen door, letting it slam behind her. She fell into the porch swing and glared at the darkening sky.
Really, God? Really?
How did this happen? What did she know about raising a baby? Melody was an only child. She’d never even been a babysitter. Never changed a diaper. How dare Trish put her in this position? How could she place this weight on her shoulders?
Sighing heavily, Melody reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out the letter. She hadn’t read it, but maybe she should. Maybe it would give her some sort of explanation as to why.
With trembling fingers, Melody unfolded the sheet of paper and began to read.
Melody,
This is the saddest letter I’ve ever written. How do you put into words the reasons you’re naming someone as the legal guardian of your child?
When I found out I was pregnant, my life was no longer my own. Your wild-child cousin was gone. In that moment, I became a mom.
Can you believe I’m a mother?
Macy is my life now. I have a good job and we have a decent place to live. Macy’s dad ditched me as soon as she was born, which is really for the best because he’s the biggest deadbeat who ever walked. So, that’s a blessing. She’ll never know what a horrible father she has, and I hope that, in not knowing him, she’ll avoid making my same mistakes with men. I want her to be surrounded by good people. Responsible people. I never want her to feel the cold slap of her boyfriend’s hand, and I never want her to feel like she doesn’t have a family to come home to if she ever needs them.
I haven’t been a good daughter, but I’m determined to be a good mother.
For her protection, I’m drawing up a will. I’m thirty years old, and I’m writing the shortest will in history because I own nothing. I have nothing but my mom’s old house and my baby girl.
I was driving home from work last week, and I passed an accident on the freeway. An eighteen-wheeler and a Volkswagen Bug. It was no contest, and the woman driving the car passed away at the scene. I couldn’t help but wonder . . . did she have kids? And if so, what would happen to them? Maybe she had a wonderful husband at home, and the kids would be taken care of.
But what about my baby? If something happened to me, who would take care of her?
So, I found a lawyer, and he asked me if there was anyone in this world with whom I’d trust my daughter.
You came to mind immediately.
You were always the responsible one. The smart one. The one who couldn’t stand it if her locker wasn’t perfectly organized and if her clothes weren’t freshly ironed. All those little things about you that drove me crazy when we were kids. Now that I’m older, I wish I’d been a little more like you. Maybe I would have made better decisions in life. But that doesn’t mean I regret having my baby. Having—and keeping—Macy Rose was the very best decision of my life.
I know you’re successful and living in New York now, and probably the last thing in the world you want or need is a baby. Obviously, my choices are limited, but honestly? If I had to pick a guardia
n for my baby, I’d still choose you or your mom. I hope it never becomes an issue. I hope I live to be a hundred and this entire letter is pointless. But I’m writing it anyway. I’m writing it for my baby girl, because I just can’t take that chance. Not with her.
I do plan to discuss all this with you. I’m just trying to get the paperwork out of the way. I’ll get your number from your mom and call you soon.
Thank you so much,
Trish
Through her tears, Melody checked the date on the letter.
It was written three weeks ago.
She was going to call me. She was going to ask.
Melody carefully folded the letter just as the screen door opened. Her dad walked out and sat down beside her.
“What’s that you’re reading?”
“Trish wrote me a letter. The lawyer gave it to me today. It’s dated three weeks before the accident.”
“A letter asking you to be Macy’s guardian?”
She nodded. “This was just part of the paperwork for the judge. Trish was going to ask me. She just didn’t get the chance.”
John sighed and stared off into the distance. “Life is so unpredictable, Sweet Pea. You never know what tomorrow will bring. It’s good to be prepared, and I’m proud of Trish for thinking of her daughter. That’s not something the old Trish would’ve done. But she’s certainly given you a dilemma, hasn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
“No one would think less of you if you turned her down. It’s a lot to ask of anyone. Your mother and I . . . we’re just not able, and we aren’t ashamed to admit that. It’s an enormous responsibility. A lifetime commitment to a child.”
Melody stared down at her hands. “After my miscarriage, I sort of accepted the fact that I’d never be a mom. The doctor said it wasn’t impossible, but it would be extraordinarily difficult for me to carry a baby to term. So I made my peace with it. I’d never be someone’s mother, and I’d never be someone’s wife.”
“And you broke the heart of the only boy you ever loved to make sure it never happened.”
Her eyes instantly filled with tears.
“I’m sorry, Mel. I know we never talked about that, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out. And, as much as I don’t appreciate you yelling at your mother, you were right. If it was your mom sitting here in this swing, she’d tell you all the reasons why this is a good idea. She’d say that Macy would give you something to focus on besides your career. Or, that a baby is exactly what you need to bring balance into your life.”
