Melody's Christmas

by ID Johnson

  “I’m fine,” he assured her, but as he rose to throw his plate away, Melody wondered just how sick the man might really be.

  “I’ve heard of man flu,” Mrs. Gregory began, mostly addressing the other married woman at the table, “and when that man gets sick, it is the exact opposite. I swear he could have pneumonia and still report to work like it’s nothing.”

  “I hope he gets better,” Hailey’s mother—whom Melody had found out was named Angela—offered.

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Gregory replied, her eyes still following her husband out of the room. “Well, Michael, are you ready to go sing a few songs?”

  “Yes!” he exclaimed.

  “I guess that means I need to tell you goodbye for real this time,” Melody said, standing.

  “Awww,” he moped, standing and pushing in his chair, his head downcast and his arms straight to his sides. “Can’t you stay, Miss Melody? You’ve already stayed this long. Can’t you listen to me sing?”

  “There are only a few rehearsals left before the festival,” Mrs. Gregory reminded her, and Melody wondered why that might be an incentive to stay. Didn’t that mean she’d be seeing the real performance soon enough?

  Michael wrapped his arms around her and leaned his head against her leg. “I’ll miss you so much, Miss Melody.”

  “Oh, my goodness!” Melody exclaimed. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

  “Yay!” Michael hollered, squeezing her even harder than he had been before. “You’re the bestest, Miss Melody!”

  Mrs. Gregory gave her a wink and then began to herd the children back into the sanctuary. Melody followed and dutifully took a seat in the pew where she’d sat last time. Hailey’s parents walked their daughter in but then left to go join the adult choir practice, and once again Melody was virtually alone in a big room full of laughing children, two sweet older women who were doing their best to teach the children the love of music, and a thousand thoughts of all the reasons why she would rather be just about anywhere else in the world.

  Rehearsal was scheduled to last an hour, but a few minutes before it was over, just before the children began to sing “Silent Night,” one of the deacons came into the sanctuary and pulled Mrs. Gregory aside. Her face went ashen, and she hastily nodded at him, looking at the children and then around the room. Her eyes fell on Melody.

  “Melody, sweetheart, I hate to trouble you, but Mr. Gregory is not feeling well at all. Brother James just came to get me to take him home. I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you please just get the kids started on “Silent Night”? Mrs. Watson will handle the music of course. And then… would you mind running Michael home?”

  The second part of the request was no problem at all; it was the first part that had left her mortified. Was Mrs. Gregory actually asking her to lead a song? Melody felt her face turning red. How could she say no to a woman who was rushing out of the room to take care of her sick husband?

  “You don’t mind, do you?” she asked again, clearly in a rush.

  “I, uh….” Melody began.

  “Oh, thank you, sweetheart,” Mrs. Gregory said, patting her shoulder. “You are a lifesaver. You really are.” Then, turning to address the two dozen little people who were beginning to grow restless as they waited on stage, she yelled, “All right, children. We have one more song. Now, Mrs. Gregory has to go take care of her husband who is sick, sick, sick. But Miss Melody is going to help get you started on “Silent Night.” Can you all tell her thank you?”

  A chorus of thank yous in sweet, angelic voices filled the air, and Melody was to her feet and approaching the stage before she even realized what she was doing. Mrs. Gregory patted her on the shoulder one more time and then took off.

  Melody stood a few feet in front of the stage where the children were in rows, all of them staring at her in anticipation. Glancing at Mrs. Watson, Melody got a nod and a smile, so she returned her attention to the children. “Okay, are you all ready?” Several said yes while others nodded, and Melody raised her hands the way she’d seen lots of choir directors motion over the years, and then Mrs. Watson played the introduction. She knew she’d have to let them know when to come in, and with a deep breath, she began to sing, “Silent night, holy night….” Once the children were singing along, she dropped out, keeping her hands up so they’d stay together as much as possible.

  This was the first time she’d sang anything at all since her father had died. Not a tune in the shower, not a hum to the radio, not even a catchy jingle from a TV commercial. She’d decided there was no reason to sing anymore without her father in her life, and even though she still heard music everywhere she went, she would never make her own again. She hadn’t touched the keys to the piano or picked up a guitar—nothing. Now, standing there in front of so many smiling faces, she wasn’t sure how she felt about the few lines she had sung. While part of her felt the hole in her heart grow even wider, like the guilt of a child who’s taken the last cookie from the jar, another part of her felt the joy only singing from the soul can invoke. As the final bars reverberated around the sanctuary, she realized this hadn’t really changed anything. Just because she’d been forced to sing a few lines, that didn’t mean she was singing again. Unless and until there was truly another song in her heart, Melody would not let another lyric escape her lips.

  The drive from the church to Michael’s house wasn’t that long, and Melody tried to concentrate on the road in front of her instead of the voice of the sweet child serenading her from the back seat. Apparently, “Silent Night” was permanently stuck in Michael’s head. While it was nice to hear him singing so joyfully, Melody was ready to have Christmas music off of her mind.

  She’d had to text Reid for his address. Their house was only about a half-mile from her own, and she’d actually had a friend in high school who used to live there. She tried to think about how different the house might look now to keep her mind off of the tune radiating from the back seat.

  “You wanna sing with me?” Michael asked once he’d finished a verse.

  “No, thank you,” Melody said, forcing a smile and glancing at him in the rearview mirror. “Look how much the snow has melted. I bet a lot of snowmen aren’t around by the end of today.”

  The distraction did not work. “You have a pretty voice, Miss Melody. I heard you sing at church.”

  “I wasn’t really singing,” she insisted. “I was just getting you guys started.”

  “Well, I still heard you. And it was pretty.”

  Melody let out a sigh. “Thank you, Michael. This is your street, isn’t it?”

  His only answer was to break into “Joy to the World,” and Melody was glad she hadn’t attempted to navigate to his house through Michael’s directions alone.

  She pulled into the driveway, noticing that the formerly white house was now a nice gray color, and turned the ignition off. While she was excited to see Reid, she hoped he wouldn’t be able to tell how off she felt. Michael finished his verse and then began to fumble with the seatbelt. “I can’t get it,” he said. “Can you help me?”

  “Of course,” Melody replied, hopping out of the car and turning to open Michael’s door. She unbuckled him and helped him down into the melty snow.

  “Dad!” Michael shouted, and Melody turned to see Reid standing in the yard just in front of the porch, wearing a Seahawks jersey and jeans. Even though it wasn’t nearly as cold as it had been the day before, she thought he must be freezing, though he didn’t look it. He bent to scoop Michael up and gave him a hug before Michael wiggled free and came flying back in Melody’s direction.

  “You gotta see the tree,” he insisted, grabbing her hand.

  “Oh, well, I don’t want to impose.”

  “Hi, Mel,” Reid said, smiling at her as she walked over. “Thanks for bringing him home.”

  “Sure,” she replied. “He’s a little excited.”

  Reid laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s pretty much his usual disposition.”

  “
Come on, Miss Melody!” Michael was still yanking on her hand.

  Melody wasn’t sure what to do, so she just stared at Reid, hoping he’d say something to either welcome her or explain why she shouldn’t stay. After a long pause, he said, “Would you like to come in? I mean, I’m sure you have other things to do today, but if you’ve got a minute to check out the Christmas tree—which isn’t even fully decorated yet—I think Michael would appreciate it.”

  With a small giggle, Melody said, “I’d love to see your tree, Michael.”

  He pulled her across the yard and up the wide porch into the living room. Melody had always loved the architecture of the Gothic Revival home, and she could tell even from the porch that Reid had done a lot of work on it. There had been sagging window sashes and missing spindles in the porch railing. Now, everything looked as new and polished as it must have over a hundred years ago when the house was built.

  The inside was just as impressive, and Melody couldn’t help but be awestruck at the new cherry wood floor and the refinished fireplace. “This place looks amazing,” she said as Reid followed her inside and closed the door behind them.

  “Thanks,” he said. “We’ve finished most of the downstairs, but the upstairs has a long way to go.”

  “My friend Olivia lived here when we were in high school. Have you met her? She still lives in town.” He shook his head, and she continued. “Anyway, the house looked much different then. I don’t think her parents knew much about taking care of old houses.”

  “Well, whoever lived here before us didn’t do a whole lot of repairs,” Reid agreed. “But the bones were still good, so most of what I’ve done is cosmetic.”

  “New floors, new railing on the stairs, refinished fireplace?” Melody questioned.

  “Most of it…. Not all of it.”

  “Look at the tree!” Michael exclaimed, pointing to where his Christmas tree stood in a corner next to the fireplace.

  “It’s beautiful!” Melody agreed. She did notice that their tree was not in front of the window, despite Reid’s comment yesterday that her tree would look nice there.

  “It’s so tall, it was hard to find a place where it would fit,” he explained, and Melody glanced over at the window to see that the ceiling did drop there, though she still thought it would fit just outside of the window surround.

  “We put the lights and garland on yesterday, but we are going to do the ornaments today,” Michael said. “You should stay and help us.”

  “That’s usually more of a family thing,” Melody replied, waving her hands in front of her.

  “You are our family, Miss Melody,” Michael replied, looking up at her with wide, innocent eyes.

  Melody felt a tug at her heart strings and couldn’t help but smile at him. “You’re very sweet, Michael, but I don’t want to impose.”

  “You’re not imposing on us,” Reid assured her, “but then, I’m sure you have to have other things on your schedule today. Especially since I’m guessing you hadn’t intended to stay for rehearsal again.”

  He was standing behind her, and she turned to face him. She couldn’t help but notice how athletic he looked in the football jersey, a bit of stubble on his handsome face. She couldn’t think of a single thing she needed to do that day. Not a one. “I can stay—if you really don’t mind.”

  A crooked grin spread across his face. “Not at all.”

  “Yay!” Michael shouted. “We are going to have so much fun!”

  “Why don’t you go change out of your church clothes?” Reid said to Michael whose smile fell a bit, but he didn’t argue and shot off down the hallway, his shoes thunking on the hardwood floor.

  Melody looked down at what she was wearing—a long, green sweater dress and leggings with black suede boots—and was happy she’d decided to dress up a bit for church today.

  As if he were reading her mind, Reid said, “You look really nice today.”

  “Thank you,” she said, blushing.

  “You look really nice everyday.”

  The color rose even higher in her cheeks, and Melody was suddenly more interested in the floor than she had ever been before. “Thanks.”

  “Can I take your coat?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she muttered, slipping out of her long black dress coat. He helped her, and the feel of his hand grazing her arm sent little electric bolts throughout her body.

  Reid took her coat and hung it by the door, and Melody’s attention turned to the football game that was on, though the sound was muted. “Who’s winning?’

  “The Seahawks are not having their best day,” he replied. “Would you like to sit down? Can I get you anything?”

  “I’m fine, thanks,” Melody replied, approaching the brown leather couch. It was much more comfortable than it looked. Reid sat down in a chair nearby, and Melody was secretly glad he hadn’t sat right next to her. She was still struggling to determine what, if anything, she meant to him, but she was trying to concentrate on Michael today. After all, he’d been the one to invite her. They watched the game in silence for a few moments, and Melody wondered if he was really just that into football or just that uncomfortable around her.

  “Miss Melody!” Michael’s voice yelled from the hall. “You should come see my room!” He came running back out, dressed in play clothes now. “I’ve got a pirate bed.”

  “You do?” she said. “That sounds really cool.”

  “Yeah. Wanna come see?”

  “I guess so….” Melody answered, looking at Reid.

  “Tell you what, I’ve got to go up in the attic to get the ornaments. So… why don’t you give Melody a quick tour of your room and meet me back here in a few minutes?”

  “Okay!” Michael replied, and grabbing Melody’s hand, he took off down the hall, dragging her behind.

  The pirate bed was quite impressive, and Melody couldn’t help but gasp as Michael brought her in to show her. “Look!” he said. “There’s a lookout, and a wheel that really spins. And even a rope ladder.”

  The bottom part of the boat did contain a mattress, but the rest of the bed really did resemble a pirate ship, complete with crow’s nest. His room was painted to look like an ocean meeting the shore, and the rest of his furniture blended in nicely with the faux landscape. “This is amazing, Michael,” Melody said.

  “You can come aboard!” he shouted as he scurried up to the lookout.

  “Okay….” Melody sat down on the edge of the bed, still on the wood part, and Michael pretended to take out some attacking pirates before swinging down off the top to land next to her on the mattress.

  “Do you want to kill some pirates?” he asked, offering her a plastic sword.

  “No, thank you,” she said, with a smile. “I’ll let you keep me safe.”

  “That’s my dad’s job,” he said returning to his make believe pirates.

  Melody shook her head behind his back, wondering where he’d gotten this idea that his dad was somehow her protector.

  After a few more minutes, Michael tossed himself backwards onto the bed, breathing a little heavily, and folded his arms behind his head. “I’m glad you’re here, Miss Melody. I wanted you to see my room.”

  “I love it,” she replied. “Who made your bed?”

  “My dad,” he said. “And my Great-Aunt Bonnie painted my room for me.”

  “Wow. They are both very talented.”

  “I know.” He flipped over onto his stomach and cradled his head in his hands. “Miss Melody, can I ask you something?”

  Though she was a bit leery of what the question might be, Melody said, “Sure, sweetie. What do you want to know?”

  Michael let out a sigh much bigger than someone his size should be able to muster. “Do you think my mom asked Santa for a new kid?”

  Melody felt her heartbreak and clenched her hands over her chest. “What, baby? Why would you ask something like that?”

  He sighed again, though this one wasn’t as loud as the first. “I don’t know. I just feel b
ad, I guess.”

  “Feel bad about what?” She straightened a rogue lock of blond hair.

  “I know I’m supposed to be happy with what I’ve got. But I figure, if my mom doesn’t really want to be a mom, then, maybe I should ask Santa for a new one. But I know I’d feel bad if my mom asked Santa for a new little boy.”

  Melody considered what he had to say and chose her words carefully. Having no children of her own, she wasn’t exactly sure what might be appropriate and what might not be. “Michael, I don’t know anything at all about your mom, sweet boy, but I know that you are a wonderful child. I’m sure that, for whatever reason your mom and dad aren’t together anymore, it had nothing to do with you. Maybe someday your dad will find a new wife, and you’ll have a stepmom. And I’m sure she will love you more than anything in the world. But for now… you have lots of people who love and care about you. Whether or not Santa can bring you a new mom, I honestly don’t know, but I do know someone brought you into my life, and I’m really, really happy to know you.”

  He was quiet for a moment, but then he smiled at her and said, “I’m not sure if it was Santa or God that brought me, Miss Melody. But I’m glad to know you, too.”

  Melody returned his smile and patted his hair. After a few more moments of silence, without a word, he climbed off of the bed and crossed to his closet. He opened the door, disappeared inside for a second, and then came out, carefully carrying something against his chest. He sat down on the edge of the bed, next to Melody and showed her what he had.

  “This is my mom,” he said, gesturing at a photograph in a wooden frame.

  The picture was of a young woman with strawberry-blonde hair sitting on a plaid sofa, holding a small baby. She was smiling, but the expression looked forced. Dark rings beneath her eyes and a messy ponytail gave the impression that she was overly tired. Melody could definitely see Michael in her, especially her nose and forehead. “She’s pretty,” Melody said, forcing a smile.

  “This was the day before she left,” Michael explained, his eyes sad, his voice quieter than usual.

  Melody hid her surprise. She had no idea that Michael had never really known his mom. He couldn’t have been more than a few months old in the picture. “That was a long time ago.”