The Touch of Love

by Unknown

  Last night she had reached for the telephone to call Robin, intending to play the music over the telephone and ask him if it was any good. He would have been astounded. She had never let anyone else listen to a song unless she was sure it was good. If she had no confidence in it, she was not willing to share any of her work.

  She turned everything off and took the tape out of the recorder, placed it in its protective plastic case. Then she closed the door on the music room and went out, locking the house.

  She went to the radio station, although it was hours too early for Island Time. She wanted busy-work, so she buried herself in the record library. She picked out other people's music, talked her way through Island Time, and felt a little better.

  It was returning home that was difficult. It had never bothered her before that the house was empty. If she wanted to talk to the world, she had the ham radio. And there was her music room, always before filled with life and feeling. But now, three days living alone and she was ready to climb the walls.

  She accepted Bev's invitation to dinner, spent an evening playing with Bev and John's two-year-old holy terror. The next day she went down to the college and picked up a copy of the new calendar, but none of the night school courses would be starting until September, so that did her no good. She needed something to fill her hours now, to stop her from thinking.

  Then she went back to the radio station, into Laurie's office, to ask the station manager about going to work full time. Laurie was sorting through the results of a survey of listeners, turning endless pages of computer printout. She looked up at Melody, frowning, her lively dark eyes worried.

  Are you sure you want to, Melody? Full time, I wouldn't be able to release you for the recording sessions, you know.

  Melody wondered if she would ever be able to write another song. She could not say that to Laurie.

  Think about it, said Laurie. And if you ever want to talk. I'm here, you know. About anything.

  Friends. She had more friends than she deserved. Jeff and Laurie and John and Bev. Yet she knew that she could not go to any of them for help. She had to be strong, to start planning for herself and the child. She had to find her own answer, not someone else's.

  She went to her doctor and came home with a vitamin supplement and a book on looking after herself and the child inside. Queen Charlotte being the small town it was, she suspected that within twenty-four hours everyone would know Melody Connacher was expecting a child. No one would be likely to say anything, not to her, but there were few secrets in a town this size. She did not think any of her friends would criticize her, but they would expect her eventually to confide in them.

  Plans, she thought, and she went down to the basement to start cleaning out the storeroom. It had been waiting ten years or so to be organized, but now seemed a good time. Some of it was bits and pieces of Charlie and Amanda's theatre life. Some of it was from Robin and Melody's youth. She thought that if she cleaned house, she might find her thoughts tidier, more purposeful.

  At least there were the royalties coming in, and with Robin turning so many of her songs into hits, Melody and the baby should not have to worry about how to pay the grocery bill for a while. Better if she could write more good songs, but if not, she would go back and tell Laurie that she wanted to dedicate all her time to the radio station. She would tell her about the baby, and Laurie would understand.

  Crouched on the floor amidst the dusty memories, Melody picked up a bundle of paper with a garter holding them together. She slipped the garter off. A blue garter. Something blue for Amanda's wedding?

  Love letters, from Charlie to a younger Amanda. She thought of the letters Robin had written to Donna. Love letters. Lovers. Then she put Charlie's letters back where she had found them, without reading them.. They were private, not hers to intrude on.

  She sat cross-legged on the basement floor, thinking about her parents as lovers for the first time. With a child's narrow view, she had never thought of their romance. She knew them as characters, as friends to each other and their children, as partners on the stage ... but not as lovers.

  What would they think when she told them she was going to have a child? They would accept it, but they would worry about her. From a distance, she thought wryly, because she and Robin had never been encouraged to lean on their parents. Perhaps that was the pattern they had learned, standing alone, because despite the ways in which they were close, Robin had not told her of his love for Donna, and Melody was not reaching to tell her twin what she loved a man who did not want loving.

  When the knock came, she knew that it would be Scott.

  He had been in her mind, lying in the background through everything else, the doctor and the radio station and Charlie's love letters to Amanda. In a few days, he would be back on his icebreaker in the Beaufort Sea. She had been counting the days. She thought she knew him well enough to know that he would want to settle his loose ends before he left.

  She went up the stairs, dusting her hands off on the seat of her jeans. She was aware of watching herself move, observing herself as she opened the door. Then he was there, in front of her, his broad shoulders blocking out the light. His hazel eyes were serious, thoughtful. She wondered what he intended for them, for their child. Her eyes went past him, to the shiny black truck. She thought of the first time she had seen him, Robbie hidden in the truck.

  He must have read her thoughts because he said, Nothing in the truck this time. May I come in?

  When she stepped back, he passed her and walked into the public part of her living room. She closed the door and stood at the end of the sofa, watching him prowl the deep carpet. He stopped to stare at the fireplace. For a crazy moment, she thought he was going to kneel and start tending the fire. She wondered how she could think of this as the public area when they had made love just there, lying together on the deep carpet in front of the fire.

  I've been thinking. His voice was strained. He swung around and they were staring at each other, like two people across a classroom. She had known he would be like this. Frozen. We'll get married, he said coldly, deliberately.

  Why? There was no love in his eyes, his voice. She wondered what kind of a marriage it could be.

  Babies need families. His face was expressionless.

  She had to move. She gulped and walked past him, to the fire. She knew it was a warm June day, but she felt the trembling inside herself, like cold. Babies need families. Scott's family had been torn from him at a young age. He was still talking, his words falling into the quiet of her living room. She tried to concentrate on what he was saying.

  ... get married right away. I've got five days before I go back to the Beaufort. It's just long enough. We'll go down to the government agent this afternoon and apply for a license.

  He dominated the room. He would dominate her life, but when she turned to face him, his eyes were flat and lifeless, not even angry. Whatever had been between them, the warmth and the sharing which had seemed strong from the first day-If she married him with his jaw set and his eyes determined, then it would be gone. He would have locked himself into a trap. A trap of his own choosing, but she would be the jailer.

  She moved her hand, a spasmodic movement. You make it sound like getting a fire permit. Her voice was jerky, too.

  Fire. There was no fire in him at all. Not now. He had it all under control. He started pacing, then stopped and stared at her, his hands clasped behind his back. He had worked all this out. What she thought, what she felt did not matter. She was just a game piece he was moving. He wanted it that way, without feeling.

  He said tonelessly, You can stay here for the summer. It would be better, until I'm finished my season in the Beaufort, if you were close to your friends. After that, you'll move to Cortes Island.

  To your house? It was a plan for strangers. Will you give me a room of my own? He had built walls in his mind to keep her out. Walls. Rooms.

  If that's what you want. He said the words as if he did not care.
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  She said abruptly, I'm going to make coffee.

  He did not follow her into the kitchen. She should have known he wouldn't. He had not come for intimacy, for sharing. He had come to look after his obligations. She poured water into the reservoir in the coffeemaker, spooned coffee grounds into the filter. She heard the music start. If she married him, it would be like this forever, Scott in the next room, playing her music, touching her soul. She stared at the coffeemaker as it gurgled and hissed, and she thought of the letters in the basement. Charlie, hopelessly in love with Amanda. Her parents, together, walking through the life they had chosen.

  She tried to shift her reality, to turn what she was feeling into a poem, words for a song, but it was too real. She could not remove herself from her own feelings by making them poetry.

  She brought the coffee to him in the living room. He was in the private part now, standing at the window, his shoulders broad through the warm brown of the knitted shirt he wore. She put the coffee down and felt the barriers in him. She could not reach, could not touch. She curled her fingers inwards, nails digging into her palms. Touching was important to her, she realized. Touching and loving. Better to live without him entirely than to walk through a life of walls and tension.

  Coffee, she said, and he turned, as if he had not heard her until that instant.

  The music was a soft background. Not her love songs, not Robin's deep emotional voice. He had picked a neutral, classical piece. Background, filling the silence. He did not reach for the cup she had set down on the end table for him. They stared at each other for an endless moment.

  She clasped her hands together behind her back, licked her lips and whispered, Do you love me?

  His jaw flexed. Something in his eyes flared briefly and was gone. She felt tightness in her throat and swallowed.

  Scott, I want a marriage with love, with intimacy. I ... I can't marry you if you're doing it just because ... because you see it as your duty. She saw his chest expand, felt the tightness in his breathing.

  His words were stilted. I assume that it is my child?

  She felt as if he had struck with his closed fist. She gasped and his jaw became even more rigid. She blinked and managed to win a victory over the tears that wanted to flow. She whispered, I did not get pregnant to trap you. This is not a trap. But it obviously felt like a trap to him.

  Under his hardness must be some emotion, some caring. She had to believe that, had to trust her instincts. Loving Scott was not something that would go away, but if there was ever to be a chance for them, he must acknowledge their love, too.

  I didn't plan to have your baby, she said, whispering. It just-that night ... it was right. Loving, feeling love for you- His jaw clenched in a spasm, but she remembered what had been in his eyes, in his voice as he whispered against her naked flesh. She said, You loved me, too, that night. We made a baby that night, and it will be a child of love. I don't regret it, and I won't regret it. I won't have him-I won't have our baby grow up in anything but a home of love.

  If she stayed, he would have to say something, to deny her truth, so she left the room as if she were running. She was afraid that if he denied what they had shared, the denial would become his truth forever.

  She went to her music room. Her haven, she thought uneasily, knowing she could not hide from her world, knowing she should face Scott and say something. But she could not handle it even one minute longer, her heart aching and her voice trembling, her tears so close, and his eyes so cold.

  She shut the door. He would not come into this room. If he did, he would be exposing himself to all the things he was afraid to acknowledge. Loving and risking. She did not close the shutters. She could hear the birds outside, and she would hear his truck when he started it. She wanted him to stay, but knew he would leave. He had come to offer marriage, but her price was far higher than he would pay.

  Love.

  Oh, God! Was she wrong? He had been dragged through homes that did not want him as a child. Maybe he could never reach for her. Maybe she was the one who had to take chances, accept his stilted proposal of marriage and hope he would learn to let himself love her.

  She went to the window when she heard the sound of his truck. She watched him drive away, almost certain that she had just made a terrible mistake.

  By eleven-thirty that night she knew that she had been mindless, asking a man who was afraid to love for words that would commit him. She dashed out and started her van, roaring down the hill and along the highway to the ferry terminal. If she was fast enough, there might be time. His car was probably aboard by now, but she could get a foot passenger ticket and run on just before they pulled out. She saw the lights of the ferry ahead, her hands trembling on the wheel because it wasn't too late yet. The ferry wasn't gone yet.

  Then she saw the other lights behind her, red and blue lights flashing. Oh, God! Not now! The police. She jerked the wheel and stopped on the shoulder, hoping desperately that the police car would tear on past her, on its way to something more urgent than a mere speeding driver.

  But the police car stopped too, pulling up behind her. She watched in her rear-view mirror as the officer got out and walked slowly forward to her car.

  In a hurry? He looked very young, but his face had the stern authority to back up the uniform.

  I-I have to get to the ferry. It's-

  Can I see your driver's license and registration, please? His voice was politely critical. If you'd gone slower, you'd have got there more quickly.

  It was no use. She rummaged in the glove compartment for her registration, in her purse for her driver's license. He took the documents and went back to his car and she sat, watching the rear view mirror, knowing it was going to take too long.

  The officer came back eventually, after checking on the radio, she supposed, that she wasn't a wanted criminal. He was writing out her speeding ticket as she saw the lights of the ferry moving away from the dock. Too late.

  She called Scott's home two days later, figuring that's how long it would hake him to get home. There was no answer. She called again the next day and wondered what she would say if he answered, but he did not answer and she did not dial his number again.She called the Caribbean two weeks later. Amanda answered, her voice that magical, husky music that had enchanted her audiences for decades.

  Darling, she breathed, I was just going to call you.

  Melody laughed, knowing it was probably not true. How's the act? she asked. Are you still throwing the West Indies on their ears?

  Of course, darling. What about you? Have you written a gold for Robin yet?

  Next week, Melody said. She twisted the cord from the telephone around her index finger and tried to decide if she was imagining the worry in Amanda's voice. I thought I might come down and catch your act. I could use a holiday.

  You'd be crazy, said Amanda repressively. Come in the winter. Right now it's a steam bath here. You'd be dripping all over the hotel, and the audience is no hell. Honey, it's the off season.

  I want to see you. To tell them about their coming grandchild, that had been her idea when she picked up the telephone, but now she was worried. Amanda wasn't herself.

  Amanda said coolly, We're not at our best during the hot season.

  What's wrong? Something was. Is Charlie okay?

  Amanda did not have a quick answer to that question, and Melody demanded urgently, He's not sick? Three years ago he had had a heart bypass. Ever since, he had insisted he was a young man again. Forty at least.

  No. Of course not. Amanda took a noisy breath, then admitted, He's having trouble remembering his lines.

  Melody closed her eyes on a vivid picture of her parents. She did not know which town to attach the memory to, there had been so many stages in so many towns. Just another memory, Charlie throwing back his words to Amanda on cue, the audience laughing. Backstage, hidden in the shadows, Robin and Melody watching. After the laughter came the hush, then the music, and the Connachers drifted from silence
into a soft duet that caught the heart strings.

  Mom-

  We've been thinking of retiring, said Amanda briskly, covering emotion now. Melody thought of Scott, of the way he covered emotion. Amanda said, I'm the business head, of course. I'm always the one counting pennies.

  If you need a loan, you can always hit me up, said Melody, careful to keep her voice light.

  Amanda laughed and Melody relaxed. If her mother could still laugh, things would be all right. I'll hit Robin, her mother said. I saw him on satellite TV yesterday. That concert in LA, and they mobbed him. They love him. And his new album's a winner. The title song-

  Where did you hear that? It's not been released yet.

  Amanda laughed, a sound of happy victory. We've got our contacts, darling.

  It was the stuff of her childhood. Theater talk. Melody let Amanda lead them away from the personal. They had never leaned on each other. Affection, yes, but all the Connachers knew how to stand alone. Even she and Robin, supporting each other as children because their parents were often away, but not sharing the secrets of their souls.

  I still thought I'd come down there, said Melody.

  All right, if you must, although I'd rather you waited awhile. Amanda paused, then said, And think about what you want to do with the house.

  What? Melody looked around her. The house? Her home? It had been hers and Robin's since they were teenagers. What do you mean?

  Money, said Amanda. I'm sorry, honey, but if Charlie and I are going to retire, we've got to liquidate some of our assets.

  This house? You're going to sell this house?

  Well, yes. Amanda's voice was brisk again now that she had introduced the subject. So if you and Robin would get together and think about it. Whether you want it. Because, you see, we've had an offer. You remember Wendy and Ronald Saunderly? Last year, they were up for an autumn holiday. A good offer, and if we accept it, we can walk out on the club here. She laughed, a sharp sound. Rather walk out before we get the axe, you know. Charlie would like to know we quit because we decided it was time.