by Roz Lee
“Yeah. How many times have you listened to it?”
“I’ve only heard it the one time you played it for me in the studio. I haven’t opened the envelope at all. I put it in my safety deposit box at the bank the same day you gave it to me. Why?”
He sank onto the bench and shook his head. “That’s what you were playing.”
He spun around to the piano and played the chorus. The notes sang through her system. Her blood ran cold, freezing the air in her lungs, and rendering her legs useless. She collapsed onto the bench beside him, her back to the keyboard. She sucked in a deep breath. The tart freshness of the lemon-scented furniture polish tickled her nose and she chuckled to herself at the absurdity of her observation.
The music faded away. Hank sat motionless beside her.
“I don’t know how to play the piano, Hank. I swear I was just toying with the keys, but you’re right. I can hear it now.”
Hank half turned toward her. “What time did you start playing today?”
Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know, four-thirty, maybe. Why?”
His voice carried low, tinged with compassion. “Mel, it’s nearly six o’clock.”
Her gaze darted to the window, and she noticed the soft light of early evening, the deepening shadows in the East-facing room. “Oh God.”
He swiveled all the way around on the bench and took her in his arms. “It’s all right.”
She wished she could believe, but at that moment, it didn’t seem like anything would ever be all right again.
Chapter Twenty-two
Mel stretched and opened one eye, taking stock of her surroundings. Morning. Hank’s bed. Alone. Memories flooded back. She closed her eyes, draping one arm across them in an effort to block out reality.
She didn’t know what disturbed her more, the realization she could play the piano like some freak of nature, or Hank’s distrust and disappointment. He’d thought she’d been lying. He hadn’t been convinced even after she swore she’d never taken a lesson in her life. Still, he had held her through the night while she slept.
She bolted upright, her feet hitting the floor as the thought settled in. She had slept, really slept. In fact, she had slept like a baby. Her jeans and shirt were draped across the ladder back chair in the corner. She pulled them on and finger combed her hair before going downstairs.
Low voices and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee met her at the bottom of the stairs. She stepped cautiously into the kitchen where Hank and his father sat, a plate of doughnuts on the table between them. Betty Boop was at Henry’s knee, her eyes pleading for a handout. As she stepped into the doorway, Hank turned.
“Dad brought your favorite, doughnuts and hot chocolate. Come join us.” His voice was smooth as ever, but his eyes were distant, cool, and wary. He’d taken time to pull on jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt, but he hadn’t shaved and his feet were bare. He was adorable, and sexy, and pissed.
She decided she didn’t want to know how Henry knew she would be here. She took a seat and helped herself to a chocolate-frosted pastry. “Good morning, Henry. Thanks for the doughnuts.”
Betty Boop shifted her eyes to Mel. She pinched off a piece of dough without chocolate and tossed it into the air. The dog caught it on the fly.
She popped the lid off the cardboard cup Henry slid in her direction and tested the temperature. It was still reasonably warm, so Henry hadn’t been there long. If they could pretend everything was just dandy, so could she. “What’s up, guys?”
“I came out to see if there was anything Hank needed done today and to remind him about the parade tomorrow. The high school band will be wearing their new uniforms,” Henry stated proudly.
Hank laughed, spinning his coffee cup between his hands. “I’ll be there, Dad. You haven’t volunteered me to work on anything tomorrow, have you?”
“No, not this year. I figured you have enough to do with the album and all. Why don’t you come by the house tomorrow and we can walk downtown together. This year’s picnic and fireworks should be pretty good. There’s a carnival set up in the high school parking lot, too.”
She couldn’t contain her excitement. She’d always enjoyed the small town parades when she was a child. She grew up in a small coastal community, and the townspeople were always finding excuses for a parade. “Sounds like fun. Am I included in the invitation?”
“Of course you are.” He stood. “I’ve got to go. Things to do, you know. I’ll see the two of you tomorrow around nine-thirty. We should have plenty of time to get a good viewing spot. I wouldn’t want to miss any of the floats.”
As the sound of Henry’s car faded into the distance, Mel spoke. “Did you tell him?”
“About last night? No, I didn’t. I don’t want to talk about it.” He crossed to the coffeemaker and refilled his cup.
“I didn’t lie to you, Hank. I swear. I feel like some kind of freak of nature.” Tears filled her eyes. She swiped them away with a napkin and sat up straighter, tamping down on the cold fear threatening to take over.
Hank resumed his seat at the table. “I want to believe you. It’s hard though. I’ve been used before and I was so sure you were different. But first you sang like an angel, and now I find out you can play the piano. It’s a lot to believe, Mel.”
“I’m sorry, Hank. I don’t know who lied to you before, but I’m telling the truth.”
“I’ve heard of people who could play by ear, but I’ve never met anyone who could. It doesn’t mean you aren’t one of them. Who taught your father to play?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. My mother might know.” She jumped up and grabbed her purse from the counter where she’d left it. She found her cell phone and made the call, heedless of the two-hour time difference. She was aware of Hank watching her as she spoke with her mother. She ended the conversation as quickly as she could and turned to him.
“Did you follow that? Mom says he played by ear—at least at first. He did learn to read and write music, but not until he was in college.”
Hank sipped his coffee. “Well, it explains a lot. Where did he go to college?”
“Cambridge.”
He flashed his crooked grin, and her insides melted.
“It isn’t Harvard, but it’s an okay place,” he teased.
Mel returned the smile. The conversation with her mother explained her obviously inherited talent but disturbed her on another level. She realized how little she knew about her parents and her father in particular. Since his death, her mother had avoided talking about him, and Mel, mired in her own grief and guilt, had been all too willing to let the subject slide. She didn’t want to think about it today either.
“Let’s fix a picnic and go down to the creek,” she said. “We can sit under a shade tree and listen to the water, or take a nap, or whatever.” She needed the peace and quiet, and Hank could use a restful day, too.
“Or whatever sounds good to me.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I was thinking more along the lines of reading or fishing.”
“Well, if we can’t do whatever, I vote for napping. It’s the next best thing on your list.”
Mel raided the kitchen for suitable picnic fare while he rounded up old quilts and insect repellant. He found a couple of old throw pillows suitable for outdoor use and piled everything into a wagon and they set off for the creek bank.
She kicked off her shoes and stretched out beside Hank on the quilt, curling onto her side so she could watch him. He’d fallen asleep almost as soon as he lay down. A soft breeze wafted through the shade, tempting her to do more than was wise. His jaw and lips were more relaxed than she had seen them in weeks. She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. He needed to find the time to visit Judd Spencer. She smiled to herself. I love you.
She closed her eyes and waited for the panic and doubts to creep in. The drone of summer insects and the leaves whispering on the breeze lulled h
er. “Melody” filled her mind as it often did, but today, it was Hank’s voice crooning the lyrics, weaving a sensuous tapestry that blanketed her. He loved her and she loved him. Drifting into sleep, she wished it could be so simple.
Chapter Twenty-three
The Fourth of July dawned hot and humid, but it wasn’t enough to deter the citizens of Willowbrook. From her kitchen table, Mel watched the sun blaze its way into the sky. These were the kind of days she had imagined when she chose Willowbrook. Nearly everyone in town would be in the parade or lining the downtown walkways, cheering and waving as the revelers passed by.
She slipped her camera into her shoulder bag. There would be plenty of photos in the paper tomorrow but she wanted to take her own.
Over the last few weeks, everything she knew about herself had been called into question. She had fallen in love with a man she couldn’t live with, and she’d ruined any chance she had of staying in Willowbrook by doing so. Despite her inner turmoil, she wanted to spend the day with Hank. She wanted to enjoy the simple pleasures of small-town life with him. All too soon, it would be over, and she would have to leave. Today, she wanted to make memories she could take with her, memories to pull out and savor when the inevitable loneliness overcame her.
Their time together had grown shorter day by day. The recording session was on schedule. Six songs were already in the hands of the mixer, who would reunite the disjointed tracks into the final two tracks for mastering. Seven more were still to be recorded.
She tamped down the panic she felt every time she thought about the final two weeks. Moving in chronological order was like some macabre countdown to reliving the worst nightmare of her life. Each song, each week brought her a step closer.
When Hank knocked on her door, she was ready and waiting for him. In honor of the holiday and bowing to the summer heat, she’d chosen to wear blue denim shorts, a red T-shirt, and white sneakers.
“You could be Uncle Sam’s niece,” Hank said, pulling her close for a kiss.
“Uncle Sam doesn’t have a niece,” she said against his lips.
“Yeah? Well, if he did, she’d look like you—cute, and sexy as hell.”
“Flatterer.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him out the door. “Let’s go. I don’t want to miss a thing.”
They drove the few blocks to Henry’s, and the three of them walked the short distance to Main Street. A crowd had already gathered, but they found a place on the sidewalk in front of the Donut Hole to view the parade. Cathy came outside, handing out miniature flags and doughnut holes covered in red, white, and blue sprinkles. Mel snapped her picture—the first of many memories she wanted to document.
The Willowbrook High School Band led off the parade, proudly sweating inside their new uniforms. The School Superintendent trailed behind the band in an open convertible. When he was right in front of The Donut Hole, he jumped from the moving vehicle and snatched Henry from the crowd. The car stopped long enough for the two men to climb in and continued on its way, leaving Hank and Mel laughing on the sidewalk. They waved their flags, clapped, and shouted good-naturedly at the passing entries. She clicked away, taking photos of every float and turning the camera on Hank as often as possible.
As the last group made its way down the parade route, they moved with the crowd to City Park where all the floats would be on display and the picnic festivities would be held. Henry was there, accepting thanks from band members, their parents, and school officials. They left him to his admirers and wandered through the displays. She bought earrings from one booth and a handmade tote bag from another. They ate roasted corn on the cob, barbeque, and ice-cold watermelon. Hank bought two apple pies from the Methodist Church women’s group and arranged for them to bake a special batch to be delivered to the farm the following week.
She didn’t have a care in the world walking hand-in-hand with Hank, sitting in the shade of the ancient oak with him while sipping lemonade made by the Boy Scouts. This was normal. It was the life she longed for, the one she could never have if the paparazzi found out where she was. And they would find out if she stayed with Hank. There was no way around the inevitable. When she thought about living the rest of her life without Hank, her heart felt like a stone, but she couldn’t live with him either. If they had been anyone but who they were….
Hank stopped at nearly every booth or food vendor and was greeted by name. Everyone in town seemed to know him, and to her surprise, he knew them. He asked about their families, jobs, and vacations. She expected someone to ask for his autograph or want his or her picture taken with him, but no one asked. Instead, she handed over her camera several times for his friends to snap a photo of the two of them. He went along with it every time, holding her close for each photo. In one, he even turned his head at the last minute and kissed her as the shutter clicked.
In Willowbrook he was simply Henry Travis, Jr. His worldwide celebrity status didn’t mean a thing to the people of his hometown. Who he was eclipsed what he was in their estimation. Some offered congratulations on his latest Platinum album or the Grammy the band had recently won. Plenty commented on both, sometimes referring to some childhood peccadillo or other, letting him know, at the heart of it all, he was one of them. Hank accepted the praise and the teasing with good humor, as if his youthful escapades were equally as important as the career accolades.
They rested the late afternoon away at Henry’s house and retreated to the air-conditioned living room to eat pie and down giant glasses of sweet tea. Hank’s dad dozed in his easy chair, so they moved to the kitchen where they could talk without disturbing him.
“Are you having a good time?” he asked.
“Yes, very much so. I know the Willowbrook celebration is corny by big city standards, but I love it. The whole town is involved from the smallest ballerinas at the dance studio, to the little old ladies selling pies for a good cause. It’s wonderful.”
He smiled. “I love it, too. I’ve been to many places around the world since I left for college. I’ve seen lots of cities, big and small. I keep coming back here, though. Willowbrook is home. It’s where I want to be, even when I’m not here, if that makes any sense. Not everyone can say as much about the place they grew up.”
She envied him. “I know what you mean. The people here may be short on sophistication, but they’re long on caring. They care about their town, and they care about each other.” She swirled her tea glass, watching the expanding damp circle on the tabletop. “They care about you.”
“I suppose they do. I care about them. I’ve known these people my entire life. I’ve shopped in their stores, been in their classrooms, played with them, and dated a few of them.” He chuckled. “Maybe more than a few. I’ve even mowed lawns and raked leaves for a bunch of them.”
“They treat you like you’re just another member of the community. Your celebrity status doesn’t seem to impress them much.”
“I guess if I was overly impressed with my status, things would be different, but I’m not. When I’m home, I’m just Hank, the kid who did chores for them or who rode his bike through their flowerbed. My job is a little different from most folks in town, but it’s what I do, not what I am. They accept it.”
A band of longing tightened around her heart. “I don’t fit into your world, Hank. As much as I want to, I don’t. If they all knew who I was, they’d look at me differently. People always do.”
He covered her hand with his and waited until she turned her gaze up at him. “Mel, your Uncle Jonathan has been in town for over a month. You don’t honestly think no one has noticed, do you? He’s hard to miss, even though he’s spent most of his time at the farm.” He released her hand, sitting back in his chair. “These people may be small town folk, but they aren’t stupid. Most of them have probably figured it out on their own.”
Dear God! She gasped for breath as panic threatened to take her under.
“Hold on,” he said, reaching for her hand again. “Think about it. Did anyone treat you differen
tly today? Did anyone ask you uncomfortable questions?”
His touch calmed her. “No. No one said anything.” She wanted him to be right. She wanted what he had, to be accepted for the person she was, not because of her name. “Well, a few ladies at the pie booth did ask about Uncle Jonathan.”
“See, I told you so.” He smiled. “Half the town knows where he went and who went with him. You can’t hide anything in a town this size. It’s the price you pay for all the caring you were going on about. Everyone knows everything about you, and worse, they think they have the right to know it.” He paused and rolled his shoulders. “You get used to it.”
When the sun dipped low in the western sky, taking the temperature and humidity down with it, Hank asked, “Ready to try the carnival?”
“Oh yeah,” Mel said.
He kept her close to his side the whole evening. She noticed a few envious looks, some from small children admiring the prize, others from teenage girls, and a few grown women who openly admired her date. Hank won a giant purple teddy bear by landing dimes on upturned goblets. Mel hugged the bear close while Hank explained his winning secret to the gathered crowd.
“It’s all in the wrist.” He demonstrated the action. “It’s just like playing the drums.”
She tried her hand at a few games, but couldn’t come close to duplicating Hank’s success. She consoled herself by feasting on the usual carnival delicacies, cotton candy, snow cones, and greasy burgers with fries. Hank steered her to the Ferris wheel and discreetly bribed the ride operator to stop them at the top when the fireworks started. She loved picking out landmarks among the glimmering lights across town and laughed when the ride spun in a lazy circle leaving her stomach behind. The fireworks exploded in the sky, showering the town in red, white, and blue glitter. The wheel inched to a stop. Dangling on the cusp, their seat rocked a few times and stilled. Mel took in the unprecedented view.
