by ID Johnson
“You look like the Cookie Monster.” Reid wiped some of the crumbs off of his son’s face and considered licking his thumb and wiping away the frosting, but decided to leave that page out of his own mother’s playbook alone.
While Reid wasn’t sure they actually had the right house at first, even though the address matched the one Melody had mentioned in the hardware store, he saw her standing on the front porch, wringing her hands and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. He wondered how someone so young could afford such a large house. He assumed she wasn’t married since she’d mentioned only her mother as a candidate for helping her fix the door knob. While it was possible she could have a well-paying job that allowed her such nice accommodations, he also wondered why a single woman would need such a large space.
Michael was out the truck door before Reid could even unbuckle his seatbelt. He wasn’t sure why his son was so drawn to the young woman; he did have an affection for pretty young girls. Maybe Michael was drawn to her because she seemed nurturing and kind, two characteristics the little boy couldn’t get enough of despite the kindness he received from Ms. Karen, Mrs. Gregory, and just about every other female he came into contact with.
“Miss Melody!” Michael shouted, hopping up the wide brick steps and flinging himself around her knees.
“Well, hello,” Melody stuttered, clearly taken aback by Michael’s enthusiastic greeting. She bent down and patted him on the back, but her eyes were glued to Reid, as if she needed confirmation that the child had actually just flown to her, and her laughter filled the chilly air, a sound unlike anything he’d ever heard before. He couldn’t help but smile at the pure glee his son’s hug invoked.
“Don’t knock her over,” Reid warned as Michael continued to squeeze.
“He’s fine,” Melody said, still smiling as Michael finally released her. “I’m not used to such strong hugs.” She bent down and ruffled his hair.
“I just missed you so much,” Michael smiled up at her.
“It’s only been ten minutes!” Reid shook his head, still trying to figure out exactly what it was that had Michael so excited about this new acquaintance.
Melody placed one hand on the door handle but stopped, her expression shifting back to the nervous look he’d seen even from the truck. “I should warn you. My mom and I are in the process of going through my late father’s antique collection—and the house is truly a mess. It’s pretty embarrassing.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Don’t worry about it,” Reid assured her. “We’re not exactly the tidiest ourselves.”
“No, seriously,” Melody continued, “I keep expecting to see the crew from Hoarders walking through the hallway upstairs, talking about the best place to stage the lighting.”
Reid couldn’t help but laugh at the idea. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
Melody’s eyebrows stayed arched, and he couldn’t help but notice how vibrant her green eyes were. “All right,” she said, letting out a deep breath and pushing the door open, “but you were warned.”
The inside was just as opulent as the exterior, and Reid took a moment to look around. A large staircase stood just in front of them, complete with what appeared to be the original hand carved newel post. The floors had certainly been restored with the same care taken when they were first installed. From the molding to the pocket doors leading into the great room, every detail appeared to be authentic.
“This place is incredible,” Reid said, still gazing up at the ceiling. “You hardly ever see Victorian architecture maintained to this standard.”
“Thank you,” Melody said, her hand resting on the railing that led upstairs. “My father loved old things. From houses to antiques, he definitely saw the value and the beauty in anything from the past. He worked on this house most of his adult life.”
“He did a really nice job.” Reid could see from her expression that she was quite proud of her father, and the timid smile of gratitude his compliment received was enough to let him know Melody still missed him very much.
“It’s the attic door that has decided to be uncooperative today,” she said, climbing the stairs. “I took the knob and the kit up just before you got here, but I have no idea what to do next.”
“Let me take a look at it and see what tools I need.” Reid followed her up the stairs, Michael between them.
“Your house is so big,” Michael said as they neared the second story.
“It’s actually my mom’s house,” Melody replied. “I just came to live with her for a little while.”
“How come?” Michael asked, his voice and the question both innocent.
Melody glanced down at him before she answered. “Well, when my dad died, she was sad. And I was sad. So we decided to keep each other company.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Michael said. Reid could see in his eyes that he looked a little sad himself, and he was certain it was that M-word Melody kept saying that was altering his usual happy-go-lucky disposition.
“All right—this is what I was warning you about,” Melody said once they reached the top of the stairs.
All down the hallway in both directions, antique furniture, boxes, and various other items lined the walls. Though there was a small path to squeeze through, there wasn’t much space at all, and Reid now understood completely what Melody had meant when she said Hoarders might show up.
Trying to be polite, he decided to focus on the positive. “Well, it looks like you have some really great finds here. You could start your own antique store. Be careful not to break anything, Michael.”
Melody chuckled as she squeezed down the path. “We own an antique store. Believe it or not, this isn’t it.”
“Look at all this old stuff!” Michael exclaimed, and Reid grabbed his hand to keep him from touching any of the potentially fragile items.
“You own the antique store downtown?” Reid asked. He could see the attic door at the end of the hallway.
“Yes, my mom does,” Melody nodded. “It’s been in the family since my dad was a little boy.”
Reid had seen his fair share of antiques from working on so many older houses. He saw some very rare, very expensive items among Melody’s father’s treasures. “Once you get these to the shop, you should be in good shape to stay open a few more generations. Your father had a good eye.”
“Thank you,” Melody said, but the tone of her voice made him wonder if she either didn’t want to keep the shop open for generations to come, or she was just exhausted from long hours of working to get everything inventoried and down to the shop.
She stopped in front of the attic door and made a gesture like she was Vanna White. “This is the culprit,” she said, stepping out of the way.
Reid stooped to examine the hole where the door knob should be. He could see what sort of tools he would need to make the repair. He pulled on the door to see if it was locked, which it was, so he felt inside the mechanism of the door and had it unlocked in just a moment. He pulled it open so that he could retrieve the other side of the handle.
“How did you get it open?” Melody asked.
“I have a special way with door knobs,” he said, with a subtle smile.
Melody raised her eyebrows and then looked back at the door. “Do you think you can fix it?”
“Oh, yeah,” he assured her. “I’ll just need a screwdriver.”
“I’m sure we have one of those somewhere….” Melody replied, glancing around as if a screwdriver might be amongst her father’s antique collection.
“I have one in the truck,” Reid assured her. “I’ll be right back.”
“Can I stay here?” Michael asked. He stood wedged between two boxes looking longingly at the caboose of an old tin train sticking up from one of the boxes.
“I don’t know. You might get into mischief,” Reid said with wink.
Michael giggled, and Melody said, “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
Hoping Melody didn’t regret her decision to let Mich
ael stay in the house, he made his way back through the maze to get the screwdriver.
“You like that train?” Melody asked, pulling her eyes away from Reid’s retreating form and focusing instead on the little boy looking longingly at the toy sticking up from the top of the cardboard box.
“Yes,” Michael nodded. “Could I take it out?”
Even though she knew the train was both very old and worth quite a bit of money, Melody didn’t hesitate to pull it out of the box. Made of tin and consisting of an engine, two cars, and a caboose, the black lacquer was a bit worn and one of the buckles that held two of the cars together stuck a bit, but other than that, it was in good shape.
Michael’s eyes lit up as he took the train out of her hands. “Wow—it’s so cool!”
“There isn’t much room to play with it up here, but would you like to go downstairs to the living room and play with it there?”
Before she was even through with the question, Michael was exclaiming, “Yes!” and making his way back down the stairs. She followed to make sure he found the right room and didn’t take a tumble down the steps.
“The wooden floors in here should make it easier to roll,” Melody explained as Michael sat the train on the living room floor and tore his coat off. He began to enthusiastically roll the train around on the parquet floor. Melody watched for a moment, marveling at his pure joy and absently wondering at what age that begins to fade.
A few moments later, Michael said, “You got a lot of Santas on your fireplace.”
“Oh, yeah,” Melody agreed. “And that’s not even half of my dad’s collection.”
“He sure musta liked Christmas,” the little boy replied before returning to the train.
Melody nodded. No one loved Christmas as much as her dad did.
Without even looking up at her, Michael asked, “Do you miss him?”
She was caught off guard by the simplicity and innocence in the question. Dropping down to the nearby window seat, she said, “Yes. Everyday.”
Michael was still zooming the train around, but his voice sounded a bit different when he said, “I’m sorry. I miss my mom, too.”
Melody’s eyes widened, wondering what had happened to Michael’s mother, but before she could ask the question, Reid came back in the door, a small toolkit in his hand. Stepping into the room, he asked, “Whatcha got there, Mikey?”
“Oh, it’s a train!” Michael popped up and rushed over to his dad. “Look! Isn’t it cool!”
“Sure is,” Reid replied, “but it looks old. Be careful not to break it.”
“I know.” Michael hurried back over to his previous spot, and soon the train was rushing down the imaginary tracks again, some sort of bandits chasing behind.
Melody stood. “Did you get everything you need?”
“Yes. It should just take a few minutes.”
She nodded and followed him back toward the stairs, Michael’s comment and his question still lingering. She had just assumed Reid was married, and even though she had immediately found him quite attractive, having no idea what had become of Michael’s mother made her both curious and slightly nervous to be in the handsome man’s presence again, particularly now that Michael wasn’t with them as a distraction.
“How long have you lived in Charles Town?” she asked as he weaved his way back through the labyrinth to the attic door.
“About six months,” he replied, looking at the hole in the door with great scrutiny. “Have you always lived here?”
“No,” Melody answered very quickly, and when he glanced up at her, a question in his eyes, she realized not everyone felt the same way about the small town that she had grown up in as she did. “I mean… I was born here. And I graduated from Washington High School. But then I went to college in Chicago and just loved it. I worked there for a few years before I came back to help my mom out.”
He had the door knob lined up now and was using some tool Melody wasn’t sure she knew the name of to assemble the pieces from the kit she’d picked up at the store. “What did you do in Chicago?”
“Oh, I worked in marketing,” she replied. “Seems like a million years ago, even though I’ve only been back a couple of months.” He only nodded to acknowledge she was speaking, and she realized she might be oversharing. “Where did you and Michael move from?”
“Montana,” he said, using a screwdriver now to tighten the knob.
“What brought you to Charles Town?”
He shrugged, and Melody wondered if she was asking too many questions. “We’d heard it was a nice small town. Lots of old houses. We like that sort of thing.”
“I see,” she said, deciding not to pry any further.
“There you go, good as new,” he said, giving the door knob a final spin and opening and closing the door a few times.
“Thank you so much,” Melody said, delighted that the knob was fixed. It looked as if it was actually repaired, too, that it wouldn’t fall apart again any time soon. “I really appreciate your help. Will you let me pay you something?”
“No,” Reid answered quickly, scoffing at her request. “It only took a minute.”
“I know, but if you hadn’t volunteered to help, I would’ve ended up paying a handyman anyway. I may as well pay you instead.”
“It’s really no problem,” Reid insisted, packing his tools back into the toolbox.
“I mean, my mom’s friends are raving about this new handyman in town and how he can fix anything, and my mom really wanted me to give him a call, but things are kind of tight right now with the store and all, so I thought maybe I could do it myself and not have to bother calling someone who’d likely overcharge and then who knows if it would even stay put together, you know?”
When she finally stopped rambling long enough to look at him, she realized his expression was one of slight amusement coupled with a hint of offense. A few details from her mother’s conversations with Mrs. Gregory came flooding back to her, and Melody realized why Reid was looking at her so funny. “You’re the new handyman, aren’t you?”
Reid chuckled. “Actually, my degree is in architecture, but yes, since we moved to town, that’s what I’ve been doing. To pay the bills. And to get to know the area before I start any sort of restoration business.”
“I am so sorry!” Melody could feel the heat rising in her face. “I didn’t mean to say anything offensive. I’m sure you don’t overcharge or do shoddy repairs.”
“It’s okay,” he said, a grin on his face. “I understand the sentiment.”
“You’ve got to let me pay you though,” Melody insisted. “This is your job.”
“It’s really no problem.” He had his toolkit in hand now and looked down the hallway like he was about to head for the stairs.
Before she realized what she was doing, Melody put her hand on his arm. “Please?” she asked. Then, looking at her hand as if she’d never seen it before, she pulled it away and folded her hands in front of her, but not before those tingly sensations began to course up her arm again.
“Melody, really, it was an easy fix. I won’t take any money from you. Consider it a favor from a friend—a new friend.”
Reluctantly, Melody smiled and said, “Okay. Thank you.” He smiled back at her and gave her a slight nod. Just then, Melody realized she was hearing a sound she hadn’t heard in almost two years, and even though it was nothing like the perfectly constructed songs her father played, the sound jarred her.
“Michael,” Reid said, shaking his head and heading for the stairs.
Melody wanted to push him aside and sprint down the stairwell to stop the little boy, though she rationalized he had no idea what he was doing, and she could hardly be rude to the man and his son who had just fixed her door knob for free. Still, as they reached the more open expanse of the stairs, Melody went flying around Reid, hurrying into the parlor to the piano.
Taking a deep breath, she put her hand on top of the two tiny ones that were banging on the keys. “Michael,” she
said calmly. “This was my father’s piano, honey.” Michael stopped and looked up at her, his eyes wide. “We don’t… we don’t play it anymore.”
Reid caught up to her then, and placing his hand on her back for a moment, he said, “I apologize. Michael, you were supposed to stay in the other room. Tell Miss Melody you’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” Michael said as his father scooped him up off of the piano bench.
“No, it’s okay,” Melody said, forcing a smile, the rush of adrenaline from running down the stairs and the lingering feeling of Reid’s hand on her back causing her voice to tremble. “You didn’t know.”
“Still, we shouldn’t go into other people’s homes where we are not invited,” Reid said, eyeing his son with a look only a seasoned parent could muster.
“Please don’t be mad at me, Miss Melody,” Michael said, and tears began to form in his eyes.
“Oh, honey, I’m not mad at you,” Melody said, feeling her heartstrings tugged nearly out of her chest. “Don’t cry.”
“He’s fine,” Reid assured her with a slight shake of his head. Then, to Michael, he said, “Go get your coat, and find Miss Melody’s train.” He set Michael down on the floor, and with a sniffle, the little boy shot toward the living room on the other side of the stairs.
“He has a way of making a person feel guilty for any sort of correction to his behavior whatsoever,” Reid explained, stepping over to where Michael had just disappeared.
Melody carefully put the lid back over the keys on her father’s grand piano and lovingly patted the top before she scooted the seat in. With a deep breath, she said, “I overreacted. I just… hadn’t heard that sound in a while.”
“I’m really sorry,” Reid said, and turning to face him, Melody saw genuine concern in his eyes.
“No, I should’ve told him not to come in here, or something….” Melody forced a smile and walked over to where he was standing. Out in the hall, they saw Michael running toward them, coat on, train in hand. Melody went out to meet him, Reid behind her.
“Here you go, Miss Melody,” Michael said, lifting the train up to her.