Touching Melody (A Forever First Novel)

by RaShelle Workman

  “Maddie,” I say, blinking rapidly.

  “May I hold your hand?” she asks quietly.

  I nod.

  They take me to the police station, and I stay there until my aunt and uncle come.

  Two distinct aromas are scorched onto my brain: chlorine and the smell of donuts. A lady at the police station gave me a custard-filled donut. I ate it, and then puked it up later.

  The police say my parents were killed in a robbery. I tell them they’re wrong, that I saw Kyle Hadley’s dad leave my house. That he had a gun. Their eyes get wide. One says, “You mean Chief Hadley?”

  I glance around the room. It’s obvious no one believes me. I can understand. He’s handsome and has a charming smile. I used to think he was so cool, until the first time I saw him hit Kyle. Since then I’ve steered clear. Even my parents told me never to go over to Kyle’s if his dad was home. And my parents were his friends—at least I thought so, until last night. I didn’t see him shoot my parents, but I saw the gun. I know what he did.

  My aunt touches my arm and whispers, “Don’t say another word. Not one. You hear me?” She pats my knee and gives me a stern look.

  A sick terror races up my spine at the urgency in her voice. I give her a look. It seems so unfair. I know what I saw.

  “I mean it,” she adds.

  At that moment Kyle Hadley’s dad walks in, wearing his uniform. His features appear concerned. But I know the look. He’s arrogant, daring me to say something.

  I want to reach over and rip the smug look off Chief Hadley’s face. But my aunt is like a second mother, so I listen.

  I will not cry, I think, even as tears leak from my eyes. And I wish there was some way I could make him pay.

  One of the officers asks, “Is this the man you saw leaving your parent’s house last night?”

  I shake my head.

  “Is that a no?” the female asks.

  “No,” I say firmly. I give my aunt a sideways look. She nods. “I must’ve been mistaken. It was dark,” I continue in a whisper.

  Chief Hadley smiles. His large black and white mustache rises into his nose, and I wish it would suffocate him. “You’ve had a rough night, kiddo. I’m so sorry.”

  I cringe, pressing my body to my aunt’s side.

  A while later we leave. My aunt and uncle take me to live with them in Sugar River, Wyoming, a small town twenty minutes from my home in Bellam Springs. We bury my parents in a cemetery about a mile from my aunt and uncle’s house.

  I don’t get to tell Kyle or my friends from school good-bye. We just pack up a few of my favorite things and leave.

  Kyle calls my aunt and uncle’s house, of course. He’s my best friend, after all. But I can’t talk to him. I don’t know how to wrap my brain around his father killing my parents and getting away with it. My aunt tells me the chief is a dangerous man. That the world is full of scary people and Daniel Hadley is one of them.

  My aunt says, “Know this, Maddie. Bad men raise bad kids. It’s a fact, I tell you. Do not talk to Kyle or you’ll be sorry. That’s a promise.”

  I am beyond sick with grief at losing my parents, so I accept what she says.

  After I while I become angry and throw raging fits, breaking anything I get my hands on. When I shatter every piece of my aunt’s favorite china, I know for sure they’ll send me away, and that’s what I want. A gaping crater replaces the space where my heart used to be, and I don’t care what happens.

  Instead, they take me to see Abigail, my shrink, and they buy a black baby grand piano. They force me to take lessons five days a week from Mrs. Nelson, an older woman. She was a concert pianist years ago. She loves music. Mrs. Nelson kindly and tenderly pours all of that love into me. It helps fill the hole, patches it up, and slowly I’m able to live again.

  Until tonight.

  Kyle doesn’t remember me. I recognized him immediately.

  It feels as though my body is being torn in half.

  Seeing Kyle has brought back every moment we shared. He’s the boy I loved. The boy I used to dream of marrying. The boy I made a pact with. First kiss. First time. And I secretly believed he’d be more. My first and only husband. I dreamed of our wedding, what I’d wear, what he’d wear. The colors. The words we’d say to each other. I used to make myself cry at how touching his words were, almost like a poem or lyrics to a beautiful song. Then he would confess his everlasting love. And kiss me.

  He was all I ever wanted.

  But seeing him also brings back fresh wounds, stabbing, ripping my heart to shreds. His father killed my parents. Shot them dead, and got away with it.

  My hands shake and tears spill onto my cheeks. Hurriedly I wipe them away, hoping no one notices as I make my way to my room.

  “This can’t be happening.” I rip off my shirt and toss the smelly thing into my hamper. My bra is stained too and I unhook it, throwing it into the hamper as well. Pulling off my jeans, I kick them near the hamper and put on an oversized t-shirt. It was my dad’s. Across the front are the words: Bellam Sprints Police Force.

  I curl into bed, pulling my comforter around me for warmth and protection. I lay there crying for a long time, until the sun comes up and I finally sleep.

  5

  Maddie

  Interpersonal Relationships

  A door slams and I blink, sitting up. “Wha—” I rub sleep from my eyes and work to focus on Gina. She’s still wearing her slinky black dress, but her makeup is smeared and she has bed-head.

  “Why did you leave the party?” she asks, gingerly sitting on the edge of her bed, grabbing a fluffy cream teddy bear from the rumpled covers and squeezing.

  I don’t answer. Warning bells are flashing behind my eyes. Something’s wrong. “Gina,” I stand and move to sit next to her. “Are you… okay?”

  She waves me away. “Yeah.” I notice her lashes are wet. She sniffs and lies down on her side. “I asked for it.” She rolls over, facing the wall.

  I stand there, unsure whether to comfort her or leave her alone. My homeschooling days haven’t prepared me for real interpersonal relationships. I’m not sure what she thinks she asked for, but I’m terrified for her.

  I’ve been sheltered since I went to live with my aunt and uncle. They aren’t old-old, in their late 50’s, but they act old. “Technology is not our friend” is my aunt’s motto, while my uncle always says, “Remember the Titans.” Neither saying makes any sense to me. They own one TV and one DVD player. All they watch are sitcoms from the sixties and seventies like I Dream of Genie, The Brady Bunch, and Bewitched. Occasionally my uncle will watch old movies. His favorite is Remember the Titans. He says it's “Because it’s a story of true friendship combined with football, and there’s nothing better.” Sometimes I watch TV with them, but mostly I prefer to read the dusty classics tucked away in old boxes, or practice piano.

  Finally I whisper to Gina, “Can I get you something? A coffee?” I hope that sounds appropriate. I’m astonished at the gnawing worry in my gut. But it’s there, and I’m concerned. Just because I hurt doesn’t mean I want anyone else to.

  She turns over gently. I see she’s crying. “Why do you care if I’m okay?”

  I realize she’s flinging my words from last night back at me. My first instinct is to agree and walk out. But she’s hugging the teddy bear so tightly I feel sorry for it.

  I sigh and sit on her bed. “I think it’s because you and I are meant to be friends. And friends care about each other. If you’re sad, I want to help.” My voice sounds more calm, more sure than I feel.

  Two enormous tears drop on her pillow. “You mean it? You don’t think I’m outrageous?” I force back a snort at her choice of word. She’s the epitome of outrageous with her crazy outfits, hair, and makeup. Even her black boots scream outrageous. She seems to know it though, because she eases one hand from the stranglehold she has on the bear and picks up the edge of her dress.

  I force myself to smile. “I think your outrageousness is going to be one of
my favorite things about you.” My hands are tucked into the end of my shirt, but I feel like I need to comfort her somehow. I grab a tissue from the table situated between our beds and hand it to her. She takes it and wipes her eyes, then blows. When she’s finished she chucks the wadded tissue toward the trash. It lands on the end of her bed. She reeks of alcohol and cigarettes.

  “You wanna talk about it?” I ask.

  She takes a deep breath, yanks off her boots, and lies back down. “First I need to sleep off this hangover.” She pulls her covers up and rolls over.

  “’kay,” I say softly, surprised I’m not hung over. At least I don’t think I am. I’m tired, and it feels like I have grass growing on my teeth and tongue, but it’s nothing a shower and some toothpaste won’t fix. “I’ll try to keep it down.”

  Today is the first day of classes. I feel like I should remind her about going. But she seems so broken. I can’t bring myself to speak the words.

  I quietly pick up my towel and bathroom necessities, pulling on a pair of fluffy pink slippers. I grab my keycard and open the door.

  As I’m leaving, Gina whispers, “Thanks, Maddie.”

  She didn’t call me Maddelena. “You’re welcome.”

  There’s only one other person in the bathroom. She gives me a curt smile, takes her stuff, and walks out. The black and white checkered floor is wet. Most of the shower stalls are dripping water. I step inside one, close the bright white curtain, and set my stuff on the ledge. Then I pull off my slippers, hang my shirt on a hook, and turn on the water.

  Icy liquid sprays my body. I quickly adjust the faucet, wondering who would be crazy enough to shower in cold water. Within seconds the water warms and my body relaxes.

  I wet my hair and squirt shampoo into my hand, then massage it into my scalp. As I’m rinsing, I close my eyes. And Kyle is there, as though he’s been waiting. His smile, the one he gave me last night, lights his face, turns my knees to jelly.

  I shudder, and my thighs seem to light on fire.

  From the way he acted last night, the promise he made to save himself for me hasn’t been honored. I try to ignore the way my heart beats when I think about him. If I’m honest with myself, I hoped he’d be here. Despite everything his father did, I’ve missed him.

  After showering I scour my teeth, paying close attention to my tongue. I dress in jeans, ballet flats, and a black tee. Brushing through my hair, I whip it into a messy bun and apply lip-gloss to my dry lips.

  There are dark circles under my eyes. I put on some concealer and brush on a little mascara. My normally caramel eyes are flecked with green. Sometimes, depending on my mood, they get darker. Today they’re almost almond in color. I know why. Kyle. It isn’t just my encounter with him last night. It’s more than that. It’s the feelings I’ve worked so hard to bury. I’m of two minds. I want to know him again. I want to be his friend, and more. But I shouldn’t. His father is evil.

  My aunt’s words, “bad men raise bad kids” repeat like a broken record in my thoughts. Is he here because of his father? Is he out to get me? I used to hear my aunt and uncle whisper about Chief Hadley, especially when I was younger. They worried he would come after me, try to silence me. Because I know what I saw, and he knows what he did. But in seven years I haven’t heard a word from him. Kyle quit trying to contact me after six months.

  And it was for the best. It’s still the right thing.

  Remember your latest promise, I tell myself, lifting my shirt, touching the iris tattoo.

  Faith. In others, and most especially in myself.

  But it’s hard. My eyes fall on the kanji symbol. The tattoo I got when I was in a dark place emotionally.

  Hate.

  Over the last year I worked hard to push the emotion out. I believed myself calmed down. But seeing Kyle has brought back all the hate for his father. It eats at my insides. I won’t ever stop hating him. Not until justice is served. Not until I see him pay for what he did.

  Kyle is the son of a murderer. It’s better if I stay away from him, avoid him. I take a deep breath. At least he didn’t seem to recognize me.

  Didn’t he? I wonder, recalling the way his eyes flickered.

  I push that thought away, letting go of my shirt and pulling at a tendril of hair on either side of my face. I give my reflection another once over and put away my makeup. No sense dwelling on it, on him. It won’t do any good since I’ve promised myself I won’t speak to him again.

  I’ll attend my classes, and spend my free time practicing.

  Avoid.

  Avoid.

  Avoid.

  Right, I think, trying to convince myself to be brave.

  Finished, I sneak into my room careful to be quiet. Grab some sheet music and my iPod, a secret gift from my uncle, and carefully close the door.

  6

  Maddie

  Several Beats

  The sun beats down as though it’s desperately trying to elevate my mood.

  It’s still September, and there’s a slight chill in the morning air. Bellam Springs has three seasons: Summer, Winter, and Fring, which is the two weeks between Summer and Winter where it’s almost like Fall and Spring combined. Fring. My mother made that word up when I was little and it stuck. I kind of like it.

  That’s what today feels like, a beautiful Fring day. I hurry into the cafeteria, punch my code into the console, and grab a bagel, cream cheese, and a glass of orange juice. The smell of coffee and bacon fill the room and I debate bacon. But the line is long and I don’t have time. I want to practice the piano an hour before my first class.

  There’s a tiny round table in the corner near one of several large windows, and I sit. After I smear cream cheese on half a bagel, I take a bite. The air is crackling with anticipation. It’s my first day of college. I’m giddy. I feel grown up.

  The cafeteria is packed. People are in groups, just like the high schools I’ve seen in the movies, and I’m surprised. One long table is filled with kids, all chatting and laughing loudly. I can’t help wondering what they’re talking about.

  I take another bite of bagel and put my ear buds in. Scrolling through my music, I find the piece I’m going to practice—Nocturne No. 2 in E—and press play. It starts out slow, whimsical.

  As I listen, Kyle walks in. His hair is wet and rumpled. Like he got out of the shower and shook it dry. He’s wearing a tight blue t-shirt that accentuates every muscle in his arms, chest, and abs. His jeans sit low on his hips. The two who were with him at the party last night flank him. They look hung over, but still beautiful. I wonder if they stayed the night with him. And if they did, what they did. I think about his offer to join them, and what that would’ve entailed. My cheeks get hot. I look away, taking another bite of my bagel, but I can’t keep my traitorous eyes from his body.

  The music playing in my ears speeds up, and so does my heart.

  Kyle glances over, his eyes locking on mine, and a smile spreads across his lips.

  He remembers me. And I realize I’m really excited. All the times we hung out together—in his room, in my room, listening to music, talking about what we wanted in life, rushing through homework—it bubbles up and runs over. I’ve missed him terribly.

  He whispers something to the girls and then strolls over, leaving them to fend for themselves. My heart leaps. Butterflies escape, spread their wings and flutter lightly in my stomach. What will he say? I can’t help but notice the way people in the cafeteria watch his movements. He’s like one end of a magnet. Everyone is drawn to him.

  Including me.

  I sit up straight and pull out an ear bud.

  “Hi,” I say when he’s close. My heart skips several beats.

  “Hey.” He places both hands on the edge of a chair and leans forward. I can smell his aftershave and a hint of vanilla... his shampoo? “Didn’t I see you at a party last night?” He licks his lips and I’m mesmerized. “What’s your name?” he asks.

  I blink several times, open my mouth and close it, t
rying not to look like a trout. My bagel drops onto the napkin.

  He doesn’t know who I am. I can’t believe it. Am I really that forgettable?

  The girls he left behind have sauntered up next to him. They aren’t twins but they are dressed alike: white button shirts undone to their belly buttons with crisp collars, navy miniskirts, over-the-knee navy socks, and black, super high Mary Janes. Their shoes say slut, I’ve decided.

  One of the girls drapes a hand through Kyle’s arm. She glares at me before smiling brightly at Kyle. “Let’s eat,” she coos.

  Trying not to gag, I stand. “No. Sorry. I thought you were someone else.” I pick up my music and my iPod and move to leave. “You’re welcome to sit here, if you want,” I say and skirt around them.

  His smile falters, but only for a second. “Thanks.” As I walk by he makes a point to grab the girls’ asses. They squeal and giggle.

  Yeah, he’s a jerk. I didn’t check his shoes, but I’m sure they scream jerk.

  Because you were too busy staring at his gorgeous face and beautiful body, I think, disgusted with myself.

  I huff. He probably had on really expensive shoes. Pretentious asshole shoes. I’m tempted to turn back and look, but I don’t. It’s better if we stay as far from each other as possible.

  Kyle

  As soon as Maddie leaves I ditch the girls. Last night was fun, but that’s it.

  “Thanks again. See ya around.” I pat them both on the back. This is always the awkward part.

  Baby grabs my arm. “Wait. I—Let’s do it again sometime.” She winks.

  I smile. “Laters, Baby,” I say flippantly, and pry her fingers from my arm. The girl is way too needy, and not nearly as into girls as her girlfriend thinks. I feel kinda bad for Beth. At least she knows what she wants. “I had a great time.” I squeeze Beth’s hand. Of the two I like her best, which is sad because Beth is shooting daggers my way. While we were in the moment she seemed to enjoy herself. Guess that’s changed.