by Stacey Weeks
Melody began to sing. Tenderly at first, but with growing power. The only times she’d been able to sing since her diagnosis had been with Janie. A boulder filled her throat, threatening to force her voice off pitch, but the awe and delight on Janie’s face dissolved the lump. This was for Janie. She’d do anything for Janie.
Her airway opened up, and she sang like she did before she’d ever heard the words Multiple Sclerosis. She sang like she hadn’t in months, like she thought she never would again. The song ended, and she held the final note as long as possible, wanting to savour the magic of the moment.
“That was amazing,” Janie whispered. “Can you teach me to play like that? I want to try.” Tears filled her eyes, and she repeated her words softly, “I want to try.”
A fluttering filled the emptiness inside Melody. A wonderful feeling of weightlessness lightened the load she had been carrying for months. She blinked back tears. “It’s why I bought the harp.”
Janie’s mouth fell open. “Dad said you bought it for a friend.”
She locked onto Janie’s gaze like a magnet. “I did. I bought it for you.”
Janie sprung up and flung her arms around Melody. “Thank you!”
Melody froze, and then she slowly wrapped her arms around Janie. Was this what it felt like to be a mother, to love someone else and want good things for them more than you want good things for yourself?
She dipped her head and pressed her face into Janie’s hair and inhaled the sweetness of youth. She squeezed her eyes shut. She’d come to love Janie, and she could tell Janie was fond of her too, but Melody was not what Quentin needed. She couldn’t be what any man needed.
She untangled herself from Janie’s embrace. “Let’s make some hot chocolate. Your dad will be in soon.”
Janie spun toward the door, but Melody caught her hand before she could run out. “Let’s keep this a secret, OK? Let’s surprise your dad on Christmas Eve.”
Janie beamed. “OK.”
They made their way down the main staircase as Quentin walked in the front door.
“Want some hot chocolate, Dad?” Janie asked.
“Sure!”
Janie hugged Melody. “I’m glad you’re here.” She ran ahead to the kitchen.
Quentin held Melody back from following her. “I see a sparkle in her eyes that’s been missing for a while.”
Melody grinned. She’d done that. She’d put that sparkle there. Maybe God could still use her after all.
“I’m happy you’ve brought her joy,” Quentin said, “but I’m not sure it’s a good idea for Janie to become attached to you when you’ll be leaving soon.”
Just like that, joy withered like a deflated balloon. She loved the connection she had made to Janie, but Quentin was right, of course. It was selfish not to consider the effect her leaving would have on the girl. She was here as a guest, not a family friend, not a music teacher, and certainly not a surrogate mother. She refused to let her disappointment show on her face. “I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds.”
Quentin looked after his daughter. “I feel like a jerk saying it, but it hasn’t been that long since Ashley died.”
“Died?” Melody jerked her head back. “I assumed—”
“That we couldn’t make it work,” he finished for her. “We didn’t, not for a long time. But she came back, and we were a real family.” His eyes darkened. “But she had Hepatitis C. She acquired the disease during her drug use.”
Melody bit the inside of her cheek. “I didn’t think that was fatal.”
“It’s not if you manage it well. But while Janie was recovering from her stroke, Ashley became a bit lax in her health care. Her platelet numbers went too low, she fell and injured herself and lost too much blood internally. It happened so fast.”
Melody couldn’t imagine enduring grief like his. After the roller coaster of fearing that he was going to lose Janie, he ended up losing his wife. Her gaze dropped to his right ring finger, where a wedding band connected him to a memory.
“Janie can’t become attached to another woman who is going to leave. I can’t do that to her,” emotion choked his voice.
She nodded. “I understand.”
His gaze and posture softened. “Thank you.”
“You’re a good father,” Melody said. She’d ensure Janie understood that she was only in Mistletoe Meadows for a few more days.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Thanks. I’d fill the house with a dozen Janie’s if I could.”
Melody’s heart hurt. She could never give him what he wanted, but she could give it to Janie.
She promised Janie secret harp lessons. There was no way she was letting that sweet girl down. Janie needed to take back some of the control that her stroke had stolen from her.
10
Two days later, while Quentin filed paperwork at the roll top desk in the living room, he watched Janie and Melody search the coffee table top for edge pieces in the puzzle Janie had pulled from the bottom of her closet. Janie’s chestnut curls meshed with Melody’s darker strands as they bent their heads together.
The rest of the Staff clan had left after lunch to explore a portion of the Mistletoe Mile and gather souvenirs from the shops. They planned to skate at the outdoor rink in the centre of town before returning for a late dinner. Melody had begged off, citing cold as her get-out-of-skating-free card.
Janie hadn’t skated since her stroke.
The emotional bond forming between Janie and Melody grew stronger each passing day. It softened and hardened his heart. Melody tried to keep her distance and honour his request to protect Janie from heartbreak, but Janie made it near impossible. The way she clamoured for Melody’s attention proved that his daughter needed a woman’s influence whether he was comfortable with it or not.
Melody lived only thirty minutes away; maybe she could stay in touch. Maybe it was time he started thinking about the future, starting considering the things Janie needed that he couldn’t provide. Maybe Melody—
His phone vibrated on the desktop, and his mother’s caller I.D. lit up on his screen. He set aside the papers he was working through and picked up his phone. “Hey, Mom.”
“Dad and I just wanted to check in. How are things at the Manor?”
“It’s good. The Staff family are having a good time. They are doing all of the Mistletoe Meadows events and loving it.”
“And Melody, is she going with them?”
His gaze drifted to Melody again, whose laughter at something Janie said filled the entire room. “No. They went skating today. Melody stayed here with Janie and me.”
“She is a sweet woman.”
His mom didn’t need to say anything else. He stiffened against her matchmaking, swivelled in the chair, and turned his back on the girls. Despite having just considered that it might be time for him to open himself to the future, he shut his mom down. “I’m not looking for a sweet woman. I don’t have time. It takes everything I have to be there for Janie.” His voice hardened with each word.
Melody looked up from the table. Janie tugged on her sleeve to get her attention again.
“Janie won’t always need you,” Mom said.
He shoved himself out of the chair, and it slammed against the desk. He walked into the kitchen. “How can you say that? You know Janie is not like other children. She’ll always need me.”
His mom clucked her tongue. “She’s not unlike other children either. It’s a parent’s job to raise independent children, to force yourself out of the picture. You’ll know you’ve been successful when Janie can function without you.”
A brick filled his gut. Is that how she felt about him? “Do you think I’m a failure for moving back in with you, for needing your help?”
A gasp came from behind, and Quentin spun around.
Melody stood frozen with her hand over her mouth.
“I gotta go, Mom.” He hung up.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered, backing out of the kitchen. “Jani
e wanted a glass of milk. I didn’t mean to hear something so personal.” Her eyes stretched impossibly wide like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.
“She never called me a failure. My mom wouldn’t do that.” He patted at the air in front of him. He’d say just about anything to inject some color into her pale cheeks. “I twisted her words because I was mad.”
Two red spots burned high on her cheeks. She stopped her retreat and twisted her mouth into a wry smile. “I’ve been known to do that too, on occasion.”
Her rigid posture slackened, and she opened the fridge to grab the milk. “For what’s it’s worth, you work at Mistletoe Manor. That’s not the same as living with your parents.”
He leaned his hip against the kitchen island as Melody retrieved a drinking glass from the cupboard and filled it with milk.
“Who wants to date a grown man living with his parents?” As soon as he spoke the words, all moisture evaporated from his mouth. When did he move past Ashley’s death and start thinking of dating? Was he ready to re-enter the world?
She chuckled. “Trust me; it’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it? I’ve sunk to the bottom of the dating pool. The only people under me are multiple-divorced guy, stalker guy, and momma’s boy. And the cherry on this mud sundae is that I come with a ready-made family. Not too many ladies are looking for that.”
Melody laughed so hard that she sloshed milk over the rim of the glass. “You are, most definitely, not at the bottom of the pool.”
He got a wet cloth from the sink and wiped up the spill. “Really? Who’d be below me?”
She returned the milk jug to the refrigerator. “If anyone is scraping the sludge off the bottom, it’s me.”
He chuckled at her self-deprecation. He couldn’t imagine why someone hadn’t snapped her up already. It certainly wasn’t because she was undesirable. He brought the milk-soaked cloth back into the sink and rinsed it clean.
Her demeanor sobered. She tilted her head and pulled at her bottom lip with her thumb and forefinger. “Do you believe that Janie will always need you because she got lost at the tree farm?”
He wrung out the rag and draped it over the edge of the sink to dry. He folded his arms across his chest. “Of course, she needs me.”
Melody chewed on her lip. “But what if she wasn’t lost?”
“What do you mean?” He peeked into the living room. Janie was still engrossed in her puzzle.
“Maybe she’s grown so much that she knew exactly where she was, only you didn’t know where to find her.”
His body tensed and pounding filled his ears. Who was she to say something like that? She’d hardly been there a week.
He opened his mouth to reply as his phone rang. It was the church office. He stabbed the answer button. “Yeah?”
“You still tuning the piano tonight?” Jethro asked.
The piano! “Yes! I forgot. Sorry. I’ll be there in ten.” He disconnected. He and Melody would have to finish this conversation later. “I have to head to the church.”
“No problem. I’ll stay with Janie until you get back.” She hummed a little tune as she carried the milk back to Janie.
Was Melody right? Did he need Janie more than Janie needed him?
11
Everyone had gone to bed hours ago except Melody and Quentin. He was still out tuning the piano, and Melody sat on her bed with a fistful of medication to swallow before she could retire.
She had tucked Janie into her dad’s bed about 9:00 p.m., as much as you can tuck in a pre-teen insisting that she always slept in her dad’s bed when he was out.
The minutes she perched on the edge of the mattress listening to the retelling of dramatic happenings between Janie and her friends had intensified the ache in Melody’s heart. She wanted this: a family. She wanted to be giving her daughter secret harp lessons to surprise her daddy, but she couldn’t have any of that. Circumstance had forced her to choose between her heart and her health.
Melody forced herself to swallow past a lump and uncurl her fist. Getting choked up over something she couldn’t have would not help her down these pills. Just looking at the capsules of assorted sizes and colors caused her throat to seize more. She hated pills. She hated medication. She hated that she had twenty plus to consume daily.
She spilled them onto the bedspread. She arranged them into neat piles in front of her. She folded her legs criss-cross on top of the comforter and pulled a loose weave afghan around her shoulders. She aimlessly plucked at a dangling thread on the bedding and tried to gather the mental ability to down the lot. It’s like a mouthful of peppermints.
Except it wasn’t.
She picked up one tiny pill and rolled it back and forth between her index finger and thumb. Her fingers trembled. She fisted them around the pill to control the involuntary movement.
One more week and the new drug trial would start. One more week until she started injections instead of daily pills, injections that offered her hope for the future.
No, that wasn’t right. Her hope was not in the drug trial. Her hope was in the Lord.
But if His plan included working through the drug trial, she had to make it there without a relapse. That meant she had to take her pills.
Her body teetered on the edge of relapse. She’d felt it gaining momentum since the cold day at the tree farm. She couldn’t start the trial in the middle of an attack. She had to do her part to fight the relapse. Stay calm. Remain stress-free. Get lots of rest. Don’t push herself. Those were the choices she could control. Everything else was up to God.
Lord, please, help me hold it all loosely and trust You. Whatever happens, don’t let me relapse here. I don’t want them to see me like that, to see me as sick. I don’t want Janie or Quentin—
The front door creaked downstairs. Quentin must be back. His quiet footsteps padded up the staircase.
She scrambled to scoop up the pills as he stopped at her partly open door and knocked. The movement pushed the door open a little bit further.
She swiped the remaining stragglers into her hand and thrust her hands behind her back. “Yes?”
He leaned against the door jam of the open doorway. “I heard something about the addition of a harp at the Christmas Eve service.”
Her eyes widened. “She told you?” Janie had wanted to surprise her dad.
“She? No, Jethro mentioned it tonight. Who is she?”
Melody blinked. Whoops. “No one,” she back peddled. She wouldn’t be the one to spoil Janie’s secret.
“Is your friend, the one you bought the harp for, playing?”
Melody shrugged non-committedly.
He narrowed his eyes and jutted his chin to her hands behind her back. “What do you have there?”
“Nothing.” She forced her tight shoulder muscles to relax, and she moved her fists to her lap. She buried them under the afghan.
“What’s in your hand?”
She spilled her medication on her lap and pulled her hands out from under the fringes of the afghan. She looked out the window to the darkened night sky. “Nothing.”
“Is there something you need to tell me?” His posture widened slightly, and he filled the doorway like a football linebacker preparing for a tackle.
She shook her head. Her gaze bounced past him into the hall, bounced off the picture of Janie framed there, and returned to the window where she started. She looked everywhere but at him. “It’s nothing.” She sat unnaturally upright. She didn’t owe him an explanation. She wasn’t doing anything wrong.
Quentin searched her face, and a strange sadness settled into his eyes, a combination of acceptance and disappointment. “I know this,” he referenced her blanket hiding the pills, “is none of my business, but Janie is. I don’t want her around whatever this is.” He emphasized the word this with a hard glare.
“It’s not what you think.” Her heart sagged. He thought she was some pill popping partier. He thought the worst without giving her the
benefit of the doubt.
“Then tell me what it is.”
She squirmed under his intense stare. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. She wanted to tell him. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Telling would cause him to pity her. She didn’t want his pity. She wanted his respect and his admiration. She stopped her thoughts before her mind added love to her list of desires. Love wasn’t an option available to her.
He pulled his shoulders back. “It doesn’t take this long to tell the truth. I’m not interested in whatever cockamamy story you are trying to cook up. I’ve been here before. I have no intention of going there again. You’re not to be alone with Janie.”
Her mouth slackened. He’d been here before? He did think she was taking drugs! What could she have possibly done to make him believe that she would abuse drugs? Why wouldn’t he clarify things before forbidding her from seeing Janie? Why didn’t he give her the benefit of the doubt?
He stormed down the hall before she could voice any of her questions.
12
Quentin knew what he saw. There were pills. Lots of pills. He mussed his hands through his hair. What was he going to do? He couldn’t have her here if she was taking drugs. He couldn’t go through that again.
How had he missed the signs? He replayed the last few days in his mind. She was too shaky to go tree cutting. She was unsteady walking up the stairs. Her mom mentioned triggers and referred to the “real reason” they were here. Were they having some drug intervention at his parent’s home without telling him? Did his parents even know?
He stormed into his bedroom and skidded to a stop. Janie was stretched diagonally across his mattress. Her soft intake and exhalation fell in the steady rise and fall of sleep. He softened.
She’d been through so much in her young life, so much more than most girls. He struggled to understand why God would allow such heartache for her. Why did some families sail through life with few trials and others stagger under the weight of God’s sovereign plan? He scooped her into his arms, and she snuggled in close. His throat closed up. He’d do anything to protect this girl.
