Melody

by V. C. Andrews

  lessening, but there was an ache in my eyes and my

  stomach felt as if I had been punched a dozen times.

  The good thing was that the spinning had stopped. "How did you find us?" I asked, starting to

  realize all that had happened.

  "I followed you. I had a suspicion you were

  going to meet that creep," he said. "He has trouble

  keeping his bragging tied at the dock. He was telling

  some of his friends that he was going to have a good

  time tonight on the beach and he would have a big

  story for them tomorrow. He didn't mention your

  name, but I was afraid it was you, and then, when you

  told me you couldn't go to town with me because you

  had made other promises, I was even more suspicious.

  That lie you told at dinner clinched it. I knew you

  wouldn't go to Janet Parker's house to study." "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry I made trouble for

  you."

  "No trouble for me," he said with a laugh.

  "Trouble for Mr. Perfect."

  "He threatened you."

  "He'll be too embarrassed to tell anyone what

  really happened. Don't worry."

  I tried to sit up.

  "Think you can walk?" Cary asked.

  "Yes," I said. He had pulled the zipper of my

  dress up, but my bra was still undone. For the moment

  it didn't matter. I started to stand. He came around

  behind me and lifted me at the elbows until I was on

  my feet, but I wobbled and fell against him.

  "Whoa," he said. "Steady as she goes. Seas are

  a bit rough tonight."

  "Maybe I should be wearing a life jacket," I

  said and he laughed. We started away. "What about

  the blanket and the radio and all?"

  "Leave them to the ocean. She has a way of

  cleaning up the messes left on her beaches," he said.

  He held my right arm as we continued walking. "I must look like a mess," I said. "My stomach

  feels as if I swallowed a beehive."

  "We'll get you home and to bed, but you'll

  probably feel crummy in the morning."

  "Your mother will be very upset with me, and if

  your father sees me--"

  "He won't," Cary promised.

  "It's too soon. Your mother will wonder why

  I'm back from studying already."

  "We'll smuggle you in," he promised.

  I walked with my eyes shut, my head against

  his shoulder, feeling heavy with the burden of shame I

  carried. He held me as if I were made of spun glass

  and any second I'd break. When I stumbled, he held

  me even tighter and more firmly. It seemed to take

  forever to go back over the hill, and then when we

  started to descend the second one, he abruptly

  stopped. "Wait."

  I opened my eyes.

  "What?"

  He squinted at the darkness.

  "My father," he whispered. "He's coming back

  from the dock."

  "Great. Now all I'll hear is how this proves I'm

  my mother's daughter. He'll have me reading the Bible

  all night."

  "Shh! Just don't move for a moment." Cary was

  quiet a long moment. "All right, he's just about to the

  house. Let's go to the boat for a little while," he said.

  "You'll clean up and straighten up and then we'll go

  in. Come on. You'll be all right," he promised. His

  words spread a magic shawl of comfort about my

  shoulders. I relaxed and followed his direction. He turned me right and we moved down the hill toward the ocean again. Moments later, we were at the dock. He helped me onto the lobster boat. It bobbed gently in the water, but I was still too unsure of

  myself to walk without Cary's support.

  "Easy." He guided me into the cabin, leading

  me to a cushioned bench. He turned on a small oil

  lamp. "How are you doing?"

  "I feel as if I'm stuck on a runaway roller

  coaster. My ribs ache, my head feels like a hunk of

  coal, my stomach wants to resign from my body. . .

  I've never been drunk before. Lucky you were there

  for me," I said. "Thanks."

  He stared at me. "I hate guys like Adam

  Jackson. They think everything's coming to them

  because they were born with silver spoons in their

  mouths. They all oughta be harpooned, or taken out to

  sea and left there floating on their egos."

  I laughed, but it hurt and I moaned.

  Instinctively, he reached for my hand. "You

  want a drink of water?"

  "Yes, please," I said and he rose to get it. That

  was when I looked down and saw the mess I had

  made on the front of my dress. "Oh, Cary, look. Aunt

  Sara will be devastated. One of Laura's dresses. It will

  be stained."

  He turned and gazed at me. He thought a

  moment. "I got a tub on deck, and some soap. We'll

  scrub it clean and then I'll put it on the kerosene

  heater for a half hour and that'll dry it enough." He

  poured me a glass of water and handed it to me. "In

  the meantime," he took a rubber raincoat off a hook,

  "you can wear this."

  I drank the water.

  "I'll go fill the tub and get a brush."

  "I'll wash it," I said. "You don't have to do

  that."

  "It's all right. If I can wash smelly fish guts off

  the deck, I can wash off some used vodka." "Ugh," I said, laughing.

  He left, and I took off the dress, fastened my

  bra and put on the raincoat.

  "All set," he called out.

  "I'll do it," I insisted.

  "You sure?"

  "Yes."

  He took me to the tub and I scrubbed the dress

  clean while he lit the kerosene heater in the cabin.

  When I thought the dress was clean enough, I brought

  it in and he draped it carefully over the heater. "Shouldn't take too long," he said. I sat on the bench. He went to a closet and took out a pillow. "Here," he said placing it on the corner of the bench.

  "Lie back, close your eyes, and rest."

  "Thank you. You're a regular rescue service," I

  told him.

  He sat at the base of the bench, his back against

  it, his arms around his legs. The small flame in the oil

  lamp flickered, making the shadows dance on the

  walls of the cabin. I could hear the water licking at the

  sides of the boat. The pungent odor of seaweed and

  salt water was as refreshing as mint at the moment. I

  took a deep breath and sighed.

  "I'm a mess," I said.

  "You're not. You're bright and pretty.

  Everything is going to be all right." He said it with

  such assurance, wondered if everyone else could see

  my future clearer than I could. "Don't feel bad about

  what happened. Guys like that fool girls every day,"

  he added bitterly.

  I thought about Laura and Robert Royce and

  imagined that was what Cary meant.

  "I read a letter Robert Royce wrote to Laura," I

  confessed.

  "That garbage?" Even in the dim light, I could

  see his frown.

  "It didn't seem like garbage, Cary. I read only

  one, but I thought he was sincere."

  "He knew how to use sincerity to get what he

  wanted," Cary said sharply. "He was a conniving,

 
; sneaky--"

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "I can," he said firmly.

  "I'm not even confident about people I've

  known all my life, people I've seen on a daily basis.

  You can't possibly know what things Laura and

  Robert said to each other, what they told and

  promised each other, and from what I've learned about

  her, she must have been a very bright person, Cary.

  Maybe you were just--"

  "Just what?"

  "Overly worried. It's only natural, I suppose.

  Tell me about the accident."

  "There's nothing to tell. They went sailing, a

  storm came, and they got caught in it."

  "They had no warning?"

  "They were out there too long. He was

  probably. . ."

  "Probably what?" He didn't answer. "Cary?" "Probably trying to do to her what Adam

  Jackson tried to do to you tonight. She resisted and he kept her out there and they got caught in the stoi in. He's responsible for what happened. He's lucky he died too, otherwise, I would have killed him with my bare hands. In fact I wish he hadn't died. I wish I

  could have been the one to kill him."

  I was quiet for a moment. His shoulders,

  hunched up with rage, relaxed a bit.

  "Don't you think that if Robert Royce were that

  sort of a boy, Laura wouldn't have continued seeing

  him, Cary?" I asked softly. "I certainly don't want to

  be alone with Adam Jackson again."

  He didn't reply for a while. Then he sighed,

  lowered his head and shook it. "She was confused, is

  all. She was in a rush to have a boyfriend."

  "Why?"

  "Because of those. . . busybodies in school

  always teasing her about not having one, saying nasty

  things to her about . . ."

  "About what?" I held my breath.

  "About us. They spread dirty stories about us

  and she thought it was because she didn't have a

  boyfriend. So you see, she didn't really like Robert

  that much. She was just trying to please everyone and

  get them to stop. She thought it was bothering me and

  she blamed herself."

  "That's terrible," I said. He nodded. "Why did

  they make up those stories about you two?" "Why? Because they're dirty, mean, selfish.

  They couldn't understand why Laura and I were so

  close, why we did so much together and for each

  other. They were jealous so they made up stories.

  They're as responsible for her death as Robert was,"

  he concluded.

  "I'm sorry, Cary." I touched his shoulder. He nodded. "Don't bother reading any more of

  those phony letters. They're full of lies. He wrote and

  said whatever he thought would get him what he

  wanted," Cary assured me.

  "Why doesn't your mother throw them out,

  then?"

  "She wouldn't touch anything in that room. For

  a long time afterward, she refused to believe Laura

  wasn't coming back. They've never found her body, so

  she refused to accept her death. And then, my father

  had the gravestone put in and forced her to go there

  with him. Finally, she accepted that much, but she still

  clings to the room, to her things, her clothes. I was

  surprised she wanted to take you in and let you stay in

  Laura's room, but it's almost as if she thinks . . ." "What?"

  "Laura's come back through you. That's another

  reason why my father hasn't been the most hospitable

  person. It's not that he dislikes you for any reason." "There's a reason," I said prophetically.

  "Something happened that has made him so bitter

  about my mother, and I want to know what it was. Do

  you know anything else?" I asked.

  "No," he said quickly. Too quickly, I thought.

  "Then, I'll just have to ask our grandparents to tell me

  everything."

  He turned, a look of disbelief on his face. "You wouldn't just come out and ask them?" "Why not?"

  "Grandma Olivia can be. . . tough."

  "So can I," I said firmly. "When I have to be."

  He laughed.

  "Maybe you shouldn't, Melody," he said after a

  moment, his smile gone. "Maybe some things are

  better left below deck."

  "Secrets fester like infections. After a while

  they make you deathly sick, Cary. That's the way I

  feel. It's the way you felt when people were making

  up stories about you and Laura," I said searching for a

  way to make him understand how important it was to

  me.

  "I tell you what," he said, reaching for my hand.

  "I'll make you a promise. I promise to try to find out

  as much as I can about your parents, too."

  "Will you? Oh thank you, Cary."

  He held on to my hand. "It's okay," he said.

  "You're probably right. You probably should know

  everything there is to know about the Logan family." I smiled at him. "When I first came here, I

  thought you hated me."

  "I did," he confessed. "I knew why my mother

  wanted you here and I felt bad about it, but. . ." "But?"

  "You're very nice," he said. "And the only

  cousin I have, so I have to put up with you."

  "Thanks a lot."

  "Let's check the dress," he said and got up. "It's

  not completely dry, but it's dry enough. You'll get by

  with it."

  "Thanks," I said rising. He handed me the dress

  and I started to take off the raincoat.

  "I'll wait outside," he said.

  I changed, hung up the raincoat, and joined him

  on the deck.

  "How do you feel?" he asked.

  "Tired and wobbly, but a hundred percent better

  than I did, thanks to you."

  "Let's go home," he said taking my hand. He

  didn't let go until we were at the house.

  "How do I look?" I asked him, brushing back

  my hair.

  "Fine," he said gazing at me in the glow of the

  porch light.

  Uncle Jacob was in the hallway when we

  entered. He was heading for the living room with a

  mug of tea in his hand. He paused and looked at us,

  his eyes growing small and dark.

  "Where were you two?" he asked.

  "I met Melody coming back from studying with

  her friend," Cary said quickly.

  Uncle Jacob's gaze shifted from Cary to me and

  then back to Cary before he continued toward the

  living room.

  "Get home as soon as you can tomorrow," he

  said. "Lots to do."

  "Okay," Cary said.

  Aunt Sara appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Oh, hi. Is everything all right?"

  "Yes, Aunt Sara," I said. "I'm tired and going to

  sleep."

  "Good night, dear," she said.

  Cary followed me up the stairs.

  "I'm sorry you had to tell your father a lie,

  Cary," I told him at my door.

  "It was only half a lie," he said. "You were on

  the way home." He smiled.

  "Good night and thanks again," I said. I leaned

  over and kissed him on the cheek. He blushed. I

  flashed the best smile I could and retreated to my

  room. He was still standing in the hallway when I

  closed the door. I heard him pull down his attic steps

  and go upstairs.

&nb
sp; I changed and dressed for bed. I hated the sight

  of myself in the mirror and wondered if those

  shadows under my eyes would be gone by morning.

  Nothing felt as good as the mattress and covers. My

  eyelids were like two steel doors slamming shut. The

  last thing I remembered was wishing Cary hadn't lied

  for me. It all starts with little half lies and then it

  grows until, until.. . you become like Mommy and

  lose track of the difference.

  It won't happen to me, I vowed.

  It won't.

  The chant worked like a lullaby. The next thing

  I knew, I was fluttering my eyelids at the flood of

  sunlight penetrating the window curtains and nudging me to start another day.

  14

  A Helpless Creature

  .

  Unfortunately, Cary wasn't right about Adam

  Jackson. It was true that his ego had been bruised, but his embarrassment over my rejecting him turned into something uglier. By the time Cary and I had arrived at school, Adam's lies had spread like a brush fire in a drought. The moment I saw the expressions on the faces of girls like Lorraine, Janet, and Betty, I knew something mean and vicious had been poured into their ears and would soon be poured into mine.

  As soon as we entered the building, Cary sensed the negative electricity in the air. He hovered about me like a nervous grizzly bear. Usually, when we arrived at school, he would scamper away to join his few friends, but today Cary lingered at my side while I organized my things at my locker. Nearby, the girls watched us, giggling. Other boys walking by held smirks on their faces and twisted their lips as they whispered. I marveled at how completely Cary could ignore everyone when he wanted to. For him, they didn't exist at the moment. He heard no evil and saw no evil. If he looked in their direction, he gazed right through them.

  "Good morning, Cary," Betty said as she passed us with Lorraine and Janet.

  "Good morning, Cary," Lorraine echoed.

  "Good morning, Cary," Janet mimicked.

  Something slippery and ugly obviously was hidden beneath their wide smiles. Cary didn't respond. He escorted me to my homeroom and was there at the sound of the bell to walk with me to my next class.

  "You don't have to be worried about me," I told Cary after I found him waiting in the hallway outside my first period classroom.

  "Oh, I'm. . . not," he fumbled. "I was just nearby and thought I might as well walk along with you as with anyone."

  "Thanks a lot," I said, smiling at his clumsy effort to explain his presence.

  "I mean, I like walking with you, it's just that-- "

  "You're usually too busy?"

  "Yes," he said, grateful for my suggestion.

  Although he wasn't there after my next period ended, he wasn't far behind in the corridor. It was nice having him look after me. For the moment at least, I felt as if I had a brother.