The Mistletoe Melody

by Jennifer Snow

  “You bet we are,” his mother said. “I didn’t allow strangers to rearrange my furniture for nothing.”

  “Okay, well, I’m not watching.” How could he? “Good night, everyone. See you all in the morning.”

  “Gracie and Darius both set their alarms for five-thirty, in case they sleep in,” Breanne said with a laugh, resting her legs on her husband’s lap on the couch. “We told them to wake Uncle Brad first.”

  He tossed a throw cushion at his sister. “Nice. Thank you.” With that, he headed back upstairs.

  Lying on his air mattress, he stared at the ceiling in the dark. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about the family across town that he longed to be spending the evening with. He wanted to be there with Melody on what had to be one of the toughest nights of her year. He wanted to hold her on the couch in front of the fireplace and then in the morning share in the delight of watching the twins, children he would do anything for, open their presents.

  The sound of his family talking and laughing downstairs only soured his mood more as he lay there alone, missing the woman he loved. Suddenly he got up, pulled on his jeans and sweater and quietly made his way back downstairs. After putting on his boots, he grabbed his jacket and the keys for the snowmobile and left the house.

  A half hour later, he cut the engine of the machine. He’d left the house with no destination in mind...or maybe he had. Either way, here he was. Getting off the snowmobile, he tucked the keys into his pocket and made his way along the snow-cleared stone pathway and through the cemetery gates. He wasn’t sure of the exact location of Patrick’s grave site, but as he walked, memories from the day of the funeral replayed in his mind, leading him to the small marble plaque that marked his friend’s grave. He read the engraving: Patrick Myers. Forever remembered as a loving husband, father, son and friend.

  His eyes blurred as he thought of everything the plaque didn’t say. That his friend had been a talented musician who could have realized his dreams, given the chance. That he had been secretly saving money to take Mel on the honeymoon they’d never had. That he’d stopped for flowers and had been rehearsing his apology for being late before the car had crashed that fateful night. Those heartbreaking facts played on repeat in his mind, along with a million If onlys.

  Tears froze on his cheeks and he wiped them away. “I’m sorry, man,” he murmured, lowering his head.

  What felt like hours later, he heard the crunching of snow behind him. He didn’t even turn until the person stopped beside him.

  Looking up, he saw Dan Myers. His shoulders tensed. “Sorry, sir. I was just leaving.”

  “Stay,” Dan said quietly, and Brad remained where he was.

  Silence enveloped them. The only light on them was coming from one of the pole lamps scattered throughout the grounds. At last the older man spoke again.

  “There’s so much I didn’t get to say to him.”

  Brad had no idea if a response was required, so he just nodded numbly.

  Dan went on, “You just never know when you’re going to run out of time to say all the things you need to, you know?”

  Brad did know. How many times over those first few months had he longed to talk to his friend? Seek redemption and forgiveness? The fact that neither of the men at Patrick’s grave would ever receive it now gave them a shared source of anguish and torment. “I’m so sorry you didn’t get the chance...” Brad began. His voice broke and he swallowed hard, unable to clear the lump in his throat.

  Dan put a hand on Brad’s shoulder. The touch broke him completely, and his body shook as the tears started to flow. He’d never be able to make this right, never be able to undo the past and give this man and Melody and the boys the peace they deserved. Coming back here and staying to face his past had been the right thing to do, but it changed nothing. “I’m so sorry,” he said again. He’d never be able to say it enough.

  * * *

  AFTER POSITIONING THE last gift under the tree, Melody stood back to admire her work. For the first time in far too long, presents extended into the middle of the room. The boys were going to lose their minds the next morning. The thought made any regret she might have had over selling the microphone disappear.

  Draining the contents of her wineglass, she hung their three matching red-and-green wool stockings on the fireplace hooks and tried to ignore the temptation of the television in the corner of the room. She almost wished she hadn’t paid the cable bill at the last minute—it would have taken away the agonizing choice she was now forced to make. The clock on the mantel read ten minutes past nine. Maybe Brad’s segment was already over. She’d read in the show’s listing that Martina McBride was also being featured that evening on the “Home for the Holidays” special. She would hate to miss that.

  She turned on the television, and then hurried to the kitchen to refill her glass with wine. She returned just as the show was coming back from a commercial break. She curled her legs under her in a corner of the sofa and reached for the quilt, which she draped over her knees. The Monroe family farm appeared on the screen, and her heart raced as she watched footage from the day she and the boys had picked out their tree. A sense of pride filled her at the sight of the farm and Brad’s family on television, even though they were pretending to be a completely different family, or at least a family with a different name. Next, they showed Brad at Joey’s Diner, where she and Patrick and Brad used to keep the place open long past closing time, working on their music. When the show reached its final clip of Brad singing in front of the family’s Christmas tree, after an on-screen dedication of the episode to Patrick’s memory, tears were running freely down her cheeks. She didn’t try to stop them.

  A moment later, after the song ended and the segment on Martina McBride began, Melody struggled to clear the lump in her throat. She stood and reached for a tissue from the festive box on the coffee table, and from the corner of her eye, she noticed a gift sticking out from under the chair next to the tree. She wiped her tear-stained cheeks and bent to retrieve it. It was light and beautifully wrapped, and it had her name on the tag. Had the boys gotten her a gift she didn’t know about? She couldn’t remember a time they’d gone shopping without her, but maybe Bailey and Ethan had taken them.

  She contemplated waiting until the morning, but a second later she found herself tearing into the wrapping. On top of the white box from Chantelle’s—a high-fashion store she’d only ever dreamed of walking into—were the words “A matching pair. Love, Brad.” She knew what was inside before she opened the lid, but a gasp still escaped her lips as she discovered the pale blue cashmere gloves, wrapped in layers of white tissue paper. Removing them from the box, she slid her hands inside the soft, beautiful fabric and brought them to her face. Then, picking up the box, she hugged the message tight to her chest, no longer fighting the feelings for the man she shouldn’t love, but did.

  She stood and rushed to the closet for her winter coat and boots. Grabbing the keys to the shed, she made her way through the deep snow in her backyard and struggled with the frozen lock. “Come on,” she said as she tugged on the rusting metal. The lock gave way, and she flicked the light switch as she entered.

  Heading straight for the bookshelf, she retrieved the set of CDs in the black leather folder, flipping through to find one in particular. Ah, there it was. She pulled the CD from the case, tucked it into her pocket, and after locking up the shed, hurried back into the house. In the kitchen, she wrote “For Brad Monroe, track number eight,” on the CD label, then put the CD into a Bubble Wrap mailing envelope. She addressed it to Arnie King in Nashville—she still had the manager’s information in an old file.

  If she couldn’t give Brad her heart, she could at least give him her song.

  * * *

  “YOU MISSED THE cue again, Brad,” the sound engineer said from the mixing booth, a note of annoyance in his voice.
It was two days after Christmas, and Brad was at a popular studio in Nashville laying down tracks for his newest single.

  “Sorry, man. Once more and I’ll get it.” Brad rotated his shoulders and took a sip of the water on the table beside him in the recording booth. Sweat formed on his brow as the prerecorded music track for his upcoming single began to play through his headphones. He hated the confined space of the booth, and the longer he stood in it, the smaller and smaller the space seemed to get. The sound treatment foam blocks seemed to trap him on all sides. But today, it wasn’t just the booth that was making him lose focus. His mind kept straying to the day before, when he’d left Brookhollow. It had been tough saying goodbye to his family and the kids, and not getting to see Melody and the boys again was tearing him apart. The farther the jet had gotten from New Jersey, the deeper his frustration and hurt had become.

  When the cue came this time, he was ready. Fake it until you make it, as Patrick used to say. This CD needed to be released in January, when his tour was set to start—with or without a number-one hit song. Belting the lyrics to the upbeat song about young, exciting love made his chest hurt. His brokenhearted songs fit his mood much better.

  As he finished the last verse, his manager, Arnie King, entered the mixing booth. He gave a nod as the music ended, and the man waved him into the room, a wide smile on his face. Arnie had been his manager for years, since back when Patrick was alive, and now had taken Brad’s career to a whole new level, securing him a New Year’s Eve gig in Times Square, among other high-profile performances.

  Removing the headphones, Brad quickly escaped from the vocal booth, grateful for the break. Entering the mixing room, he extended a hand to his manager. “Happy holidays, Arnie.”

  The man gave him a hug instead.

  Weird. In all the time he’d known him, Arnie had never struck him as a hugger.

  When he pulled away, Arnie waved a CD in his right hand. “Happy holidays, indeed. It’s a little late, but I’ll take a Christmas present anytime,” he said.

  Brad frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Arnie slapped the sound engineer on the back. “What a joker this guy is. Had me sweating bullets all through the holidays, and then this arrives.” Again he showed the CD, one Brad had never seen before.

  “Seriously, man, I have no idea what that is.” Brad ran a hand through his disheveled hair and sat on the worn leather sofa in the studio. He couldn’t wait to finish this recording session and get to his therapy appointment. His leg had been hurting ever since the flight home and he just needed to relax. His Times Square event was only four days away, and he needed to get his head back in the game before then.

  “You haven’t heard this?” Opening the case, Arnie scanned the studio for a CD player. “All this expensive equipment and no CD player?”

  “Give it to me, old man,” the sound engineer said, sliding the disc into his computer. “It’s called technology.”

  Brad leaned forward as the sound of the music filled the room. “Turn it up,” he said, standing. He forgot his painful leg as soon as Melody’s voice began to sing...

  Waiting all alone

  In this silent emptiness

  This house no longer a home

  Without your touch and tenderness

  These walls won’t let me breathe

  Closing in so tight

  I just want you here with me

  Each and every lonely night

  I want to be

  All that you see

  When love finds you

  I want to be

  The voice that calls you home

  When loneliness surrounds you

  And I want to be

  All that you need

  When love finds you

  His mouth was dry and his gaze was transfixed on the computer. This was it. This was exactly what he’d been hoping for. But more than that—it was as if she’d read his mind. A duet. This song was meant to be a duet. As the music faded at the end of the repeated chorus, he turned to Arnie. “When did you get this?”

  “It was shipped to my office by overnight courier yesterday from—”

  “Melody Myers,” Brad supplied. She was giving him the song she’d told him she had. One that obviously meant a lot to her. One she had previously been unwilling to give up.

  “So we need to move quickly,” Arnie said. “I already have the band lined up to record the tracks separately tomorrow morning, and then we’ll need to record the vocals in the afternoon—”

  “I want this single to be a duet,” Brad interrupted.

  The sound engineer nodded. “I was thinking the same thing as I listened.”

  Arnie shrugged. “Fine. You two are the experts. As long as the track is ready to go in two days. I’ll get Lisa to start looking for a female vocalist, though on such short notice, we may not get the best of the best.”

  Brad already had the best of the best in mind. There was only one female he wanted singing the title track on his CD with him. “I want Melody Myers on this track.”

  “Patrick’s widow?” Arnie frowned. “Look, Brad, I agree that her voice is amazing, but the woman’s an unknown. If we can get a bigger up-and-comer...”

  “It’s Melody or no one.” Grabbing his coat, Brad headed for the door. “And if I have to drag her to Nashville kicking and screaming, she’s going to do it.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “BOYS, IF I keep tripping over these new things, I’m going to get Santa’s elves to come take them back,” Melody called down the hallway to the twins. It was two days after Christmas, and the boys were in their bedroom playing their new video game.

  “Okay, Mom. As soon as we beat this level, we’ll clean up,” Josh said.

  “You, too, David,” she said, a hint of warning in her voice.

  “Yes, Mom,” he said.

  She sighed and shook her head. She’d bet he was so preoccupied with that game that he didn’t even know what he was agreeing to.

  She heard her cell phone ring. Damn, where was it? She had to follow the sound to find it between the couch cushions in her messy living room. How on earth did it get there? She picked it up and her heart sank. The Play Hard Sports local store number lit up her display. Of course they would call her in on her only day off that week, apart from Christmas Day. Returns after Christmas sucked. The store was just as busy now as it had been the month leading up to the holidays, but now people were grumpy. Could she afford to not answer it? “Hello?” she said, picking up on the last ring before the call went to voice mail.

  “Melody?” A male voice.

  “Yes.”

  “Hi, it’s Greg Harrison.”

  She searched for the television remote control to turn down the cartoons that were blaring on it, but it was likely buried in the mess. She moved into her bedroom instead. “Sorry about that, Greg. My house is a zoo right now.”

  “With two boys, I can only imagine. Anyway, sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you. I was traveling before Christmas and then Emily went into labor a few weeks earlier than we expected...”

  “I hope everything’s okay.” Emily Parsons might have made a mess of her relationship with Ethan, but she’d known the woman since high school and she cared what happened to her.

  “Yes, she’s great. The baby’s fantastic—he’s a boy.” Pride was evident in his voice.

  “Congratulations, Greg.”

  “Thank you. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I did receive your voice mails and I think I can make an exception for you this time. I’m at the store in Brookhollow today, so if you can get here within the next hour or so, I’ll administer the exam myself.”

  Happiness and relief flowed through her. She’d been prepared to beg T.J. for extra shifts
at the club. “Thank you. Yes, I’ll be there right away.”

  “Great. See you soon.”

  Melody disconnected the call and tossed the phone onto her bed. Opening her closet, she pulled out a pair of jeans and her Play Hard shirt. “Boys, put the game away and get dressed. We have to go. I need to drop you guys off at Grandma’s for a few hours.”

  An hour later, she sat in the lunchroom at the back of the busy store, staring at the exam. The questions were different than they had been on first one, but they covered the same ideas. She worried that over the last month, she might have forgotten some of what she’d studied, but as she turned the pages, her confidence grew. She felt great as she turned to the last section of essay questions. The call from Greg had been a good sign. Things were getting back on track after the tumultuous past few weeks.

  “Melody.” The voice coming from behind her in the doorway of the lunchroom made her jump.

  Brad. Oh, no. She closed her eyes. What was he doing here? She hadn’t heard from him or Arnie since she’d sent the song, and she’d tried to push all thoughts of it from her mind.

  “Sorry, you can’t come in here,” Greg said. “Melody’s writing an exam.”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Brad said, standing just outside the doorway. “But this is important.”

  Melody forced her voice to remain calm as she swung to face him. “So is this, Brad.”

  “You don’t really want this promotion,” Brad said, entering the room.

  “How do you know what I want?”

  “Because I know you. You sent me that CD for a reason.”

  “Yes. To tell you I’m done with music,” she said through gritted teeth. She was being given another chance at her much-needed, much-deserved promotion, and she refused to let anything screw it up this time.