“Better sooner than later,” Clara said. “Now, your mother had a will made up after your dad died.”
“Yeah, she told me. Said you never knew when tragedy would strike and you had to be ready.”
“She was right. Now—”
“Not really,” Mel interrupted.
“Sorry?”
“Well, it’s not like she didn’t know this would happen, right? She made this choice.”
“Mel,” Clara began. “You and I both wish this hadn’t happened the way it did. But we still have to deal with the consequences. That’s what I want to talk to you about.”
“Fine.” Mel stared at the table. It was still unfathomable that her mother had left her. Mel couldn’t count the number of times they had talked about the future, about Mel’s college plans or career goals. Why would she leave when she knew exactly what she’d be missing?
“Now, your mother named me and Joseph your guardians in the event of her death, as I imagine you’ve gathered.”
“Yeah, and?”
“Mel,” Joseph said warningly, having looked up at the sound of his name. “Your aunt is just trying to help.”
She looked down at the floor. “I know. Sorry, Aunt Clara.”
Clara continued, “The main issue now has to do with where to live. We can’t all fit comfortably in Joseph’s and my apartment, and it’s not in the zone for your school. And we certainly can’t leave you alone here, since you’re still a minor. It looks like the only option is for us to move in here with you and sublet the apartment until our lease runs out. How would you feel about that?”
Mel sighed. “Does it matter?” The thought of living in this house without her mother made her chest pull tight. This was the home they’d made together, just the two of them, in the years after her dad died. They’d chosen curtains that three-year-old Mel loved, and the walls were decorated with a collection of art pieces they’d picked up at various fairs throughout the years. She couldn’t stay here without her mom, but she couldn’t leave either.
“It matters to me.” Clara’s face was placid as she reached out to touch Mel’s hand.
“I mean, it sounds like you’ve made your decision, haven’t you? And you’re right, it’s the only choice.”
“It’s your life too, though.”
“Only for a couple more years.”
Clara put her fist to her forehead. “Yes, that’s true, but, Mel...”
“Look, do what you want, okay?” Mel stood up. “Lea’s coming over in a bit and I have to clean my room.”
“We are not finished talking about this!” Clara’s voice grew in volume as she pushed back her own chair.
Mel spun around and walked out of the room, fuming. It wasn’t even a discussion, so why bother pretending it was? She heard Joseph’s low, thundering voice talking Clara down but didn’t stop to hear his words.
Once in her room alone, she shut the door and moved to sit on the bed. Before she got there, her knees gave out. She crumpled onto the carpeted floor, drawing her knees to her chest as her lungs heaved. For the first time since she’d heard the news, all the awfulness seemed real. Only a handful of tears fell from her eyes, but she could hardly draw a breath. She curled in tighter, trying to stop the room from spinning.
The door opened and a body sat down beside her.
“Hey, it’s me,” Lea said.
Mel turned, her body still a tense ball, and leaned against her girlfriend. She felt arms wrap around her shoulders and rock her gently until the tightness in her chest subsided.
She sat up, coughing a little. “Hey there.”
“I’m so sorry, Mel.” Lea kissed her forehead. “How are you feeling?”
Mel laughed shakily. “Well, I was doing okay until about five minutes before you came in.”
Now finally able to breathe steadily, she stood and held a hand out to Lea. Lea was white, a full five inches taller than Mel, and much more muscular. Mel liked that they looked like opposites in the mirror. “Opposites attract, right?” she’d said to Lea on their first date.
“I mean, I don’t know how I’m feeling,” she continued. “The only reason I got through today at work was because of the energy potion. Otherwise I don’t think I could have kept from falling down.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Lea pursed her lips.
“What are you, my mother?” The words fell from Mel’s mouth without passing through her brain, and she froze. “Right. Of course not.”
“Here, come sit down.” They sat beside one another on the bed, fingers intertwined. Lea stroked Mel’s hand with her thumb.
“I just don’t believe it,” Mel burst out.
“What do you mean?”
“How could she have done it? I know my mom. I know her. She wouldn’t have killed herself, it just doesn’t make sense.”
Lea breathed out, heavy and deep. “It seems pretty clear she did, though.”
“Does it?” Mel turned toward her, legs crossed. Her eyes were bright, and only partially from the tears she’d cried. “I mean, think about it. It doesn’t make any sense for a woman who is happy, well-paid, and involved in her community to do this. For a mother to do this. Right? There’s no reason.”
“We don’t know if she was really happy.”
“You think she wasn’t?” Mel scoffed. “She spent practically half her time singing, she was so happy. And the bridge…”
“Mel, don’t go there.”
“No, I’m serious, think.” She grasped Lea’s hand in her own. “You remember that psych class we took last year? When we talked about suicide, one of the things Mr. Williams said was that women don’t kill themselves like this. They don’t—it isn’t messy.”
“That’s just a trend, it isn’t always true.”
“But you knew my mom, she was… To jump off a bridge? Onto asphalt?” Mel sat up straight. “There’s no way. It must have been foul play, it must have.”
Lea’s jaw dropped. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Haven’t you been listening?”
“I have, and you’re being absurd.” She furrowed her brow in concern. “I know this is hard for you, but that doesn’t mean you can just go making ridiculous claims.”
“It’s not ridiculous!” Mel snapped. “Look, you don’t have to be involved in this, whatever.”
“I’m not going to.” Standing, Lea shook her head. “Get some sleep, okay? Maybe things will look clearer in the morning.”
“Yeah, maybe,” she said, unconvinced. “I’ll see you in school tomorrow?”
“I’ll see you then.” Lea leaned forward and kissed her gently. “Take care of yourself.”
“I will.”
❦
The following Wednesday in geometry, Mel doodled stars on the edge of her notes. She listened idly to the lecture, aware that she should be paying much closer attention but unable to summon the will. When she walked into class, Mrs. Irwin had had pity in her eyes, and Mel knew she wouldn’t be penalized for her inattention. Her stomach felt like it was full of rocks, and soon her eyes unfocused from the little drawings. Up through Sunday, grief had felt like numbness. Now, after the weekend’s breakdown, she felt the full weight of everything that had happened. The words she was supposed to say bubbled up from her throat, acidic and foul, whenever people asked how she was doing. The bitterness that coated her skin had rubbed off, and even moving felt raw.
Blissfully, the bell rang. Mel put her nearly-blank notes back into her folder and rose from her desk. From the front, Mrs. Irwin called her name.
“Mel, could I speak to you for a moment?”
Mel’s stomach would have dropped had there been anything left to feel.
“Sorry I spaced out in class,” she said preemptively. “I didn’t...”
“I know.” Mrs. Irwin nodded. “I just wanted to let you know that it’s fine if you can’t get the homework in for the next couple of days. I’m surprised you’re even here.”
Mel shrugged. “My aunt said
it would be best.”
“She may be right. Just make sure you’re taking down the assignments, and turn them in when you can.”
“I will.”
“Okay, enjoy your next class.”
Mel hoisted her backpack higher as she stepped out the door. In the hallway, Lea stood, waiting.
“Oh, hey. You waiting for me?”
“I figured I’d walk you to Spanish like normal. That okay?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
The two girls walked in silence. Some of Mel’s hair had come out of her ponytail and dangled in front of her face. She twisted it around her finger, watching it bounce back into its curl when she let go.
“Hey, watch out!” someone shouted.
Mel stumbled and spun around, barely missing a trash can.
“Sorry,” Lea said for her, taking Mel’s arm and walking her past. “You okay?”
She nodded, still walking. Lea’s face creased in concern as they turned the corner, but Mel shrugged it off.
“I’m okay, I promise.”
Lea squeezed her hand and nodded at a classroom. “That’s your class.”
“Right.” They parted ways, Mel still fiddling idly with her hair.
When lunch came around, Mel sat with her usual group, munching quietly on her turkey sandwich at the end of the table. Nobody spoke to her. She couldn’t really be bothered to care. It wasn’t as though she had anything to say to anybody. Lea didn’t join them for lunch most days because of rehearsals or drama club meetings, for which Mel was secretly glad. She knew Lea worried.
As she ate, her conversation with her aunt from the previous night came back. Clara was right about there being no other realistic option, but, God, the idea of somebody other than her mom living in that house with her was unnerving. To call it a stain on her mother’s memory seemed melodramatic, and yet the image still wrapped around her heart like a boa constrictor. There was no real comfort in their presence.
It should have felt better to have people who loved her around. That’s what everybody said, what the books said. Everybody was wrong. It didn’t do any good. Joseph was always wrapped up in his grading and planning, and Clara—whatever she was, she wasn’t a mother. They’d chosen not to have kids, and Mel knew the idea of raising her now had to be a bitter pill.
At the bell’s ring, she tossed her banana peel in the trash and trudged to her next class, head still foggy with thoughts of her future. The rest of the day passed in the same thickness, for which she was grateful.
After school, Mel dropped by the theatre room and gave Lea a quick hug before leaving for the studio. Once outside, she leaned against the wall and pulled out her cell phone. Maybe Lea thought she was simply consumed by grief, but the conditions of the suicide continued to nag at her. It didn’t make sense.
She looked up the local police department’s number and dialed, focusing on keeping her breath even.
“Hello, Glenwood Police Department. How may I direct your call?”
“Hi, my name is Melanie Daniels, and I was hoping to talk to the officer who came when my mom, uh—when my mother, Rosemary Daniels, committed suicide.”
There was a brief pause. “What date did the suicide occur on?”
“Um, last Wednesday.” The sound of long nails clicking on a keyboard came through the phone. Mel tapped her foot on the ground.
“Okay, that’ll be Detective Rosen. She’s not in today. Would you like to leave a message?”
Mel’s heart fell.
“Could you just have her call me back? Any time is fine.” She rattled off her cell number. This was not the kind of call she wanted to get through to Clara.
“I’ll let her know. You won’t get a call before tomorrow, though. Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?”
“No, thanks, that’s all. Goodbye.” She sighed as she hung up the phone. The report had already been filed, but maybe she could convince the detective to investigate further. Like on those crime shows Mom watches, she thought, then caught herself. Right. Used to watch.
❦
When Mel walked into the studio, Hannah was deeply engaged in an insistent conversation with two young girls. They were waving paint-stained hands around and talking animatedly over one another. Hannah shot a worried glance at the nearby ceramics, so Mel rushed over and stood between them and the shelves.
“Girls, come on over here and just wait for everyone else to arrive. Please, just”—Hannah took in a deep breath—“just sit for a few minutes. I promise we’ll start soon.”
Once she had the girls settled, Hannah came over to where Mel was now wiping down the tables in the middle of the room.
“Thanks for that. I was sure she was going to knock half those mugs down.”
“No problem. First timers?”
“Yeah, their mom dropped them off twenty minutes early and bolted.” Hannah rolled her eyes. “She’s got a lot of chutzpah.”
“Delightful. Hopefully the girls are more respectful than their mom.”
“It is what it is. Are we good to go?”
Mel glanced at her watch. “We’re at T-minus ten minutes,” she said. “The tables are almost all cleaned off. Do we need the tarps on the ground today?”
“Yeah, we’re painting with the kinetic paints. We’re going to do landscapes on paper, since this is the first time any of them have worked with this medium.”
“Got it.” Mel started spreading plastic sheets around and beneath the tables. Even though the floor was linoleum for this very reason, sometimes it was easier just to use disposable sheets with this many children involved. The after-school program was only once a week, and they had between fifteen and twenty-five local children each session. Hannah had started the program after learning that none of the elementary schools in the area had any arts education.
“It’s unfair to them,” she’d said to Mel when she first started working there. “Art makes a difference, you know? I can’t know that they don’t have any way to access this and not care. I have to do this.” She’d insisted on making the program free despite the fact that the studio wasn’t exactly a financial success. The area was definitely lower-income, and most of the families who sent their kids here couldn’t have afforded a traditional art camp, especially not one that lasted all school year.
The door jingled, and Mel snapped out of her reverie to see a pair of twin boys walk in the door.
“Miss Mel! Miss Mel!” they yelled, starting to run over to her but then skidding to a stop at her raised eyebrows.
“We’re not supposed to run,” one half-whispered to his brother.
“Good memory, Brian,” his father said, trailing them a few steps behind.
Mel grinned. “Hi, Brian. Hi, Xander. How are you?”
“We got to make volcanoes in school today!” Xander burst out. “It was so cool!”
“That sounds fantastic. We’re painting moving nature scenes today. Maybe you can paint a volcano!”
“Yeah!”
“All right, go sit down. Miss Hannah will help you get settled, okay?”
They scurried off, and their father smiled wearily at Mel. “Thank you both for doing this, as always.”
“It’s our pleasure.”
When three-thirty hit, there were seventeen children scattered around five tables, most chattering loudly. The benefit of having the same kids every week was that by a month or two into the school year, they’d found friends in the group if they didn’t already know anyone. Hannah brought out the kinetic paints on a cart, which she placed between the tables.
“Okay, now listen. We talked last week about how we’re going to be really careful with our materials, right?” There was a chorus of yeses. “Because today we’re going to paint things from nature. You can paint a beach, or a forest, or a lake, or a mountain, or anything like that.”
“Can I paint a volcano?” Xander interrupted.
“Yes, you can paint a volcano.”
“Can I paint a dinosaur?”
another child yelled out.
“Well, we should try not to paint animals. But we’ve also talked about listening to all the directions before we ask questions, right?”
Another chorus of yeses. Mel smiled, impressed at Hannah’s infinite patience.
“What’s special today is that we’re using something called kinetic paint!” She went on to explain the paint that would move slightly on the page, making the landscapes look a little more real. It was a clever charm that went into that kind of paint. Mel was no good with charms, but Hannah had spent the last month perfecting this one. The paints they were using today were booster paints, purchased pre-charmed from a supplier and amplified by Hannah’s spell.
The next hour passed by in a flurry of paint splatters and encouraging words. As their time came to an end, Mel knelt behind the new girls, who had introduced themselves as Thea and Becca.
“How are you two doing?”
“I made a river! Look, the water’s moving!” Becca said cheerfully.
“Wow, that’s pretty great! You gonna put it on the refrigerator when you get home?”
“Yeah!”
“Mine, too!” Thea said. “It’s a forest.”
“I love it! You girls did a great job. Go ahead and finish up, and then go wash your hands, okay?” She stood, her knees cracking, and ushered some of the other kids toward the sinks. Parents began to arrive, gathering up children and gushing over paintings. Xander and Brian waved goodbye, the door closed, and Hannah flopped into a chair.
“I always forget how exhausting that is.”
Mel looked around the room. “I’m officially glad we put tarps down.”
“Tell me about it. They tracked some of the paint on their shoes, of course, but it could have been so much worse.” She took out her scrunchie, then retied her hair, pulling the flyaway locks back into submission. “Let’s crank out this cleanup so you can go home.”
❦
Mel was back in the studio less than twenty-four hours later, this time for her own project. She pulled a pot from the top shelf and began gathering her materials. She’d found an old book of potions in a bookstore a few weeks previous, most of which she’d never heard of. Some of the names for ingredients were old, and some were rare, but she’d flagged a few that looked doable.
Perchance to Dream Page 2