Honey

by Sarah Weeks

  Melody felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. If Miss Hogan was getting married, that meant —

  “Knock-knock.”

  Someone tapped Melody on the shoulder from behind. Startled, she spun around to find Teeny Nelson standing there in her tutu.

  “Go away!” Melody hissed, waving her away from the window.

  “You’re not the boss of me,” said Teeny, folding her arms over her chest.

  Melody grabbed Teeny by the elastic waistband at the front of her tutu and dragged her over to where her neon-pink bike was parked on the sidewalk.

  “What are you doing here?” Melody demanded.

  “Did you find out about Henry and the love bug yet?” asked Teeny.

  “That’s none of your business,” snapped Melody.

  “It is so,” said Teeny. “You wouldn’t even know about it if I hadn’t told you.”

  Nick came over and joined them.

  “Are you okay, Bishop?” he asked, putting his hand on Melody’s arm. “Your face is kinda red.”

  “Is he your boyfriend?” asked Teeny, pointing at Nick.

  “No,” Nick and Melody said at the same time.

  “Do you have a suntan or are you always that color?” Teeny asked Nick.

  Nick’s mother was African American and his father was Chinese.

  “What kind of question is that?” snapped Melody.

  “I’m just saying,” grumbled Teeny.

  “Does your mother know you’re here?”

  Teeny looked down at her pink ballet slippers, which were streaked with dirt and grease from her bicycle chain.

  “Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe she had a headache and told me to watch TV for an hour while she lay down and took a nap, for golly’s sake.”

  “You didn’t come all the way here by yourself, did you?” Nick asked.

  “I wore my helmet,” Teeny told him, pointing to the Styrofoam Dora the Explorer bike helmet hanging from the handlebars of her bike. “And I didn’t cross until I saw the white walky man light up.”

  “You’re too little to be riding around by yourself,” said Melody. “Besides, you don’t belong here. This isn’t some silly game we’re playing. This is about my life, or what’s left of it, anyway.”

  “I want a Dum Dum,” said Teeny.

  “How can you think about candy at a time like this?” asked Melody.

  “I want a Dum Dum,” Teeny said again.

  She started toward the door but Melody reached out, snagging her by the back of her tutu this time.

  “Not so fast,” she said.

  “I want a Dum Dum!” insisted Teeny, trying to wriggle free.

  “You’re not going inside,” Melody told her. “None of us are.”

  Teeny turned around and glared at Melody.

  “Why’d you come all the ding-dong way here if you’re not even going to go inside?” she asked. “Don’t you want to know about Henry and the love bug anymore?”

  “No,” said Melody.

  “But I want a Dum Dum,” Teeny whined.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go inside?” Nick asked Melody. “I still think you might be wrong about Miss Hogan.”

  “How much more proof do you need?” she asked him. “She’s honey, and not only that, apparently she’s marrying my dad.”

  Teeny, still fixated on getting a Dum Dum, decided it was time to take matters into her own hands.

  “I’m going in!” she announced.

  There was a loud ripping sound and Teeny took off running, leaving Melody standing there with her mouth hanging open and what was left of Teeny’s pink tutu in her hand.

  “That little miscreant,” fumed Melody as she balled up the torn tutu and shoved it into the basket on the front of Teeny’s bike.

  “What do we do now?” asked Nick. “We can’t just leave her here.”

  He was right, of course, but Melody was furious at Teeny for barging in. As if she didn’t have enough to deal with already.

  “Come on,” she told Nick. “I suppose we’d better see what Teeny is up to.”

  Nick followed her back to the window.

  “There she is,” said Nick, cupping his hands around his eyes and peering into the salon.

  They watched as Teeny, in only her leotard and tights, skipped across the salon and tugged on Bee-Bee’s sleeve. Bee-Bee stopped what she was doing and leaned down, listening. Then she nodded her head and pointed to a glass bowl sitting on the counter. Teeny skipped over to the bowl and, after pawing around for what seemed like about an hour, finally found what she was looking for.

  Melody preferred Blow Pops and Tootsie Pops to Dum Dums, but now that Teeny had her precious sucker, Melody hoped she would turn around and come back outside so they could leave. Instead, Teeny tugged on Bee-Bee’s sleeve again, then, to Melody’s dismay, she pointed toward the window. Melody grabbed Nick and they ducked down as quickly as they could, but it was too late.

  They’d been spotted.

  “Come on in and join the party, you two,” Bee-Bee called out from the doorway a minute later. “The more the merrier.”

  “Now what are we going to do?” asked Melody.

  Nick shrugged. “What choice do we have?”

  “But what are we going to say if Miss Hogan asks us what we’re doing here?”

  “Don’t worry,” Nick assured her. “I’ll think of something.”

  “Welcome to the Bee Hive,” Bee-Bee said, holding the door open as Nick and Melody reluctantly entered the salon.

  Teeny had been right — Bee-Bee Churchill’s hair did look like macaroni, and it was a shade of red that could only have come from a bottle. Now that she was standing beside her, Melody realized Bee-Bee had to be close to six feet tall. She was wearing a flowery dress and leather sandals, revealing ten long pale toes, each nail painted a beautiful pinkish-orange color that reminded Melody of ripe papaya.

  “Do I know you?” Bee-Bee asked Melody. “Your face looks familiar.”

  “Her name’s Melody and she doesn’t have a mama,” said Teeny, who was elbow deep in the candy bowl again.

  Bee-Bee put her hand to her mouth and Melody wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw tears in her eyes.

  “You’re Melody?” she asked.

  Do you know me? Melody thought to herself. Am I supposed to know you?

  “Melody Bishop?” Miss Hogan cried, jumping up out of her chair. “And is that Nick Woo with you? What on earth are you two doing here?”

  “Hello, Miss Hogan,” Melody muttered.

  “What are you doing here?” Miss Hogan asked again.

  Melody turned to Nick, since he’d promised that he would handle this question if it came up — but Nick was busy gawking at the flowers on the ceiling and wasn’t paying attention.

  “I know why they’re here,” Teeny piped up. “They want to know about Henry and the love bug.”

  “Henry and the who?” asked Bee-Bee, confused.

  “Ignore her,” Melody said quickly. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

  “Do so,” Teeny insisted. Then she stuck her tongue out at Melody and ran over to one of the black-and-yellow-striped styling chairs. Throwing herself into it headfirst, she began pushing off the floor with her feet to make it spin.

  “Look at me!” she squealed.

  “I’m waiting,” Miss Hogan said, looking at Melody expectantly.

  Melody jabbed Nick in the ribs with her elbow to get his attention.

  “Miss Hogan wants to know why we’re here,” she said. “I thought maybe you’d like to tell her.”

  “Oh,” said Nick, clearly caught off guard. “So you want to know why we’re here?”

  “I believe I’ve made that abundantly clear,” said Miss Hogan.

  In the pressure of the moment, Nick panicked and blurted out the only thing he could think of:

  “We came to get our fingernails painted!”

  “Yippee!” shouted Teeny, leaping out of the chair. “I want to
pick my color!”

  Dizzy from spinning, Teeny careened across the room toward the cabinet containing the bottles of Bee-Bee’s homemade nail polish. But as she wobbled and weaved past Melody, somehow Teeny got tangled up in her own feet and went flying, knocking the glass candy bowl off the counter and sending it tumbling to the floor with a terrible crash.

  Mo didn’t usually have dreams during the day, only at night, but that afternoon after his encounter with the little girl with the sticky fingers, he fell asleep on the couch and his eyelids immediately began to twitch. There she was again. His girl. The sunlight caught in her long yellow hair, then she threw back her head and laughed — but wait. What was this? Something new, or had he simply not noticed it before? The girl was holding something in her right hand, her fingers clasped tightly around it. “It’s you,” she whispered, and started to open her hand. Mo caught a glimpse of something shiny … but then a terrible crash suddenly woke him from the dream before he could see what was in her hand.

  “It wasn’t my fault!” Teeny wailed. “Melody pushed me!”

  “I didn’t push you, Teeny,” Melody insisted.

  “Did so!”

  “Stop arguing and somebody go find a broom,” Miss Hogan said, taking charge.

  “There’s one over there in the corner,” Bee-Bee said, pointing. “I’ll go get the dustpan. Everyone, please be careful not to step on the glass.”

  “I’m gonna pick out my color,” said Teeny. Then she turned to Nick and added, “I’ll pick one out for you, too, if you want.”

  “Uh, that’s okay,” said Nick.

  Teeny marched over to the glass cabinet and, after examining the bottles of nail polish for a minute, plucked number fifty-four from the shelf. Teeny looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching. There was something she’d been itching to do since the minute she’d walked into the Bee Hive. With everyone busy cleaning up the glass from the broken bowl, now seemed like the perfect time. Moving slowly, so as not to draw attention to herself, she made her way across the room to the row of hair dryers. Quietly climbing into a chair, she pulled one of the dome-shaped beehives down over her head and switched it on, grinning happily as the hot air began to whip her hair around.

  “We’re really sorry,” Nick told Bee-Bee as he took the dustpan from her and squatted down on the floor.

  “No worries,” Bee-Bee told him. “I’m just glad nobody was hurt.”

  Miss Hogan swept a pile of broken glass and candy into the dustpan, then turned to Melody.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?” Melody replied.

  “The child says you pushed her.”

  “I didn’t,” said Melody. But she could tell by the look on her face that Miss Hogan didn’t believe her.

  “If there’s one thing I can’t abide in a person” — Miss Hogan sniffed with disdain — “it’s dishonesty.”

  Melody felt her face getting hot. She knew she shouldn’t say anything, but she couldn’t help it.

  “That’s pretty funny coming from you, don’t you think?” she said.

  Miss Hogan’s eyes flashed, and when her upper lip curled, Melody saw a bright red lipstick stain on her front teeth.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Miss Hogan snapped.

  “You don’t have to pretend anymore, Miss Hogan,” said Melody. “Your secret is out. I know about the wedding. I know about everything.”

  Miss Hogan was mad as a hornet.

  “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Melody Bishop, poking your nose into other people’s business! How dare you? When your father gets back from his camping trip, the three of us are going to sit down and have a serious talk about this.”

  Your father. The way she said it was so … familiar. It gave Melody chills.

  After thanking Bee-Bee for her time, Miss Hogan snatched up her hat and stormed out of the Bee Hive, slamming the door behind her.

  Melody turned to Nick.

  “Now do you believe me?” she asked miserably.

  There was no getting around it — things did not look good. Miss Hogan hadn’t denied anything, and the fact that she knew Melody’s father had gone camping was pretty incriminating, too.

  “I’m sorry, Bishop,” Nick said. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Yeah. Ask your phone to find out how much a one-way ticket to Siberia costs,” she told him. She was only half kidding.

  Bee-Bee, who had been standing there quietly through all of this, finally spoke up.

  “Can somebody please explain what just happened?” she asked.

  “It’s kind of a long story,” Nick told her. “But I guess we should start by telling you that we didn’t really come here to get our fingernails painted.”

  “I did!” cried Teeny. She had grown bored with the hair dryer, and was ready to move on to the main event. Her hair was so tangled and teased up from being under the dryer, she looked like a tumbleweed with pink legs. “Here’s the color I want,” she said, holding up the bottle of nail polish she’d chosen earlier.

  Melody glanced over at Nick. “Do you want to tell her, or should I?”

  When Teeny found out she wasn’t going to be getting a manicure after all, she had a total meltdown.

  “It’s not fair!” she said, stamping her foot. “I already picked out my color!”

  “Maybe you can come back some other time with your mother,” Bee-Bee suggested.

  “But I want to do it right now!” Teeny sobbed, throwing herself down on the floor in despair.

  “Is there anything else you can think of that might cheer you up?” Bee-Bee asked, leaning over her.

  Teeny looked up at Bee-Bee, and Melody could hear those little gears turning inside her head again.

  “Candy makes my feelings feel better,” Teeny sniffled.

  It might have been the first thing Teeny had ever said that Melody agreed with. But a mountain of Wild Berry Skittles wouldn’t have cheered Melody up now.

  Bee-Bee went to the supply closet, where she kept her stash of candy, and came back a minute later holding a bouquet of Dum Dums in her hand.

  “What flavor do you want?” she asked.

  “Root beer,” said Teeny, plucking a sucker from the bunch. “And mystery, too,” she added, helping herself to a second Dum Dum, this one with yellow question marks decorating the wrapper.

  “What flavor is mystery?” asked Nick.

  “Mystery flavor,” said Teeny, pulling off the wrapper and jamming the Dum Dum into her mouth.

  “We should get going,” said Melody. “Teeny’s mother might be worried.”

  “Mama’s taking a nap,” said Teeny. “And I want to go in the back and see the dog.”

  “This isn’t a good time,” said Bee-Bee quickly.

  “I just want to pat his head!”

  “The answer is no,” said Melody firmly. “Undeniably, indisputably, categorically no. It’s time for us to go.”

  Teeny glowered at Melody, then turned and started to make a run for the white door that led to Bee-Bee’s apartment. Only Nick was too quick for her. He scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder like a wriggling pink sack of potatoes.

  “Come on, short stuff,” he said. “We’re outta here.”

  Nick carried Teeny outside, but when Melody reached the door, Bee-Bee put a hand out to stop her.

  “I wish you’d stay,” she told Melody. “Just for a little while. We need to talk.”

  “If it’s about the bowl,” said Melody, “I’m sure my dad will lend me the money to buy you a new one.”

  “It’s not about the bowl,” said Bee-Bee.

  “Bishop!” Nick called from outside. “Are you coming?”

  “Please stay,” said Bee-Bee.

  Melody hesitated, then leaned out the door.

  “Would you mind taking Teeny home?” she asked Nick. “I’ll meet you back at the house in a little while.”

  He didn’t question he
r. He just nodded. From the way Teeny was looking at him, Melody knew she’d be no trouble at all on the ride home. It was impossible not to like Nick Woo.

  Once they were off, Melody closed the door.

  “Thank you,” said Bee-Bee. Melody noticed her eyes looked moist again.

  “So what did you want to talk to me about?” Melody asked.

  “Your mother,” Bee-Bee said.

  “Did you know my mother?” asked Melody.

  Bee-Bee nodded. “We were best friends back in elementary school.”

  “Do you know my dad, too?” Melody asked. “His name is Henry Bishop.”

  “I met Henry for the first time at your mother’s funeral,” said Bee-Bee. “That’s where I met you, too.”

  “Was I there?” asked Melody, surprised.

  “Sleeping in your father’s arms,” said Bee-Bee. “Surely he must have told you about it.”

  “He doesn’t like to talk about my mother very much,” said Melody. “Nobody does. I think they’re afraid it might make me sad.”

  A dog barked and Bee-Bee jumped as if she’d been poked with a stick.

  “Is that your dog?” asked Melody.

  “Yes,” said Bee-Bee. “He’s probably spotted a cat.”

  The dog barked again and Bee-Bee jumped even higher.

  “Are you okay?” Melody asked.

  “I’m fine,” said Bee-Bee, smoothing a wrinkle from the front of her dress. “Just a little tired.”

  “I should probably get going,” Melody told Bee-Bee. “Nick’s waiting for me.”

  “Before you go, I want to show you something.”

  Bee-Bee walked over to the shampoo sink and took the framed photograph off the hook. Melody had been so busy contending with Miss Hogan, she hadn’t even noticed it hanging there.

  It was a faded Time magazine cover. On it was a picture of a girl with long yellow braids sitting on a piano stool in a pair of overalls, blowing a big pink bubble with her gum. The headline read, Hoosier Wunderkind.

  The cover story had been about a girl named Annabelle Winters who’d started playing the piano at the age of three. Before she’d lost her baby teeth, she was giving concerts with some of the most renowned symphony orchestras in the world. Audiences went wild over the little girl from the Midwest who could play Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff as easily as “Chopsticks.”