“I don’t know about the kids, but I’m certainly jacked up,” Brad said. He pushed his pie away but then reached for one more bite. It was Christmas, after all.
“That’s because that’s your third piece of pie,” Melody said. Her voice lacked the edge it usually held when she spoke to him, and when she turned in her seat to meet his eyes, he felt an overwhelming urge to just stare at her. She’d always been one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met. Her talent and love of music had made her even more intriguing, as had her fantastic capacities as a mother. Despite their hardships since Patrick’s death, her little family was close. The boys were well mannered and thoughtful. He just hoped she would work to fulfill her own dream of making music again.
After Gracie had sold him out, he’d never expected Melody to agree to have hot chocolate with them, but she’d surprised him. Did he dare hope she was softening a little? In a mere twenty-four hours, she’d gone from threatening him bodily harm to sitting at the same table with him at the diner. It was progress. Of course, the other kids had left her little choice.
“Mom, doesn’t this remind you of the night David broke his arm sledding in the park and we all came here for hot chocolate after his arm was set?” Josh said. “The only person we’re missing is Dad.”
David stared at his cup and even Gracie and Darius were quiet.
Yes, they were missing Patrick. As much as life went on, he wondered if it would ever feel the same without his friend. He knew Melody must wonder about that every day.
“It does, sweetheart,” Melody said with a soft smile at her son. She turned to Brad. “I also remember it was Brad who carried your father to the van after he passed out at the sight of David’s arm twisted the wrong way.”
Brad laughed. The injured little boy had been more concerned about his father than the pain in his arm. “My favorite Joey’s memories are still of us coming after your soccer games in the summer. Nothing beats Tina’s chocolate malts. Speaking of which...” He glanced around for the waitress.
“Seriously? Where are you going to put it?” Melody glanced at his stomach, which had started to bulge slightly over his jeans in the week he’d been in town.
“I’ll find room. Once I get back to Nashville, who knows when I’ll get a chance to have one again?” He waved at Tina as the front door of the diner opened. Great. He lowered his eyes to his hot chocolate.
“Grandma and Grandpa!” Josh’s squeal of delight made Melody turn. All the color drained from her face. A look of panic flitted across her dark eyes before a forced smile appeared on her lips.
“Delores and Dan, hi,” she said, as Patrick’s parents approached the table.
Brad’s mouth was dry and all the sweets he’d just consumed threatened to come back up. Staying in town longer than he’d planned had basically guaranteed a run-in with the Myerses, but this was the last way he’d wanted it to happen. No doubt the friendly looking reunion would be unsettling to Patrick’s parents.
Pain, anger and confusion showed in Delores’s eyes as she glanced between him and Melody. Only anger burned in Dan’s. So Brad avoided both.
“Hi, everyone.” The woman’s voice was tight, and Brad flinched, unsure what to do. Should he say something? Should he leave? He desperately wanted to escape the situation, but he reminded himself he was here to face the mistakes of his past. Avoidance was no longer an option.
“Grandma, we saw Santa at the mall—look!” Josh said, extending the photo of him and his brother on Santa’s lap.
“What a great picture,” Delores said, her eyes resting on the photo in her visibly shaking hand before passing it to her husband, who stood silently behind her.
Dan Myers had been a corporate law attorney for over forty years. He’d retired early five years before, after Patrick had made it perfectly clear the business suit and high-powered career was never going to be his path. He’d then sold his firm, which he’d been hoping to pass along to his son. In the two years before his death, Patrick hadn’t spoken more than ten words to his father—or rather, Dan had forced distance between them. The man no doubt held his own torturous guilt over that decision.
“Can you guess which one I am, Grandpa?” Josh continued, standing in the booth to peer over his grandfather’s shoulder.
Dan looked at the Christmas photo and shook his head quickly before handing it back to the little boy. “You both look great.”
A long silence followed as Josh slid back into his seat next to his brother. The tension at the booth made it difficult to breathe. This is my fault, Brad thought. The Myerses would surely have shown more interest in their grandsons had he not been there. He wished someone would just yell at him or slap him—anything to interrupt the heavy silence.
“Are you and Grandpa coming to the school Christmas concert this year?” Josh asked hopefully.
“Of course, sweetheart,” Delores said. “Your mom sent us the information last week.”
“Uncle Brad is staying in town for Christmas. He’ll be at the concert, too,” Gracie said, popping a whipped cream−covered cherry into her mouth.
Delores nodded. “That’s great.”
Brad knew what she was thinking because he was thinking it, too. Another unfortunate opportunity for them to see each other. Another opportunity for him to ruin their family time with his mere presence. But he needed to be there for Gracie.
“Have a seat, Grandma,” Josh said, shifting over in the booth and patting the seat next to him.
“Oh...um...”
“You’re welcome to join us,” Melody said, shooting Brad a look.
That’s right. He was the outsider. The unwelcome one.
Dan’s eyes widened as his wife hesitated. “We have to go,” he said finally.
“Sorry, boys. Another time, okay?” Delores said.
Brad stood up. He wasn’t running away—he was just giving the family some space. “Please stay and visit. I’m the one who should leave. Gracie and Darius, whenever you’re ready, I’ll be outside.”
* * *
“MOM, WHY DID Brad leave the diner tonight?” Josh asked as she turned off the boys’ bedroom light a few hours later.
Because he was lucky enough to escape that uneasy situation. Melody turned the bedroom light back on and approached the bunk beds, where both boys were still wide-eyed even though it was two hours past their normal bedtime. Not surprising, given the amount of sugar they’d consumed that evening. She sat on the floor next to Josh’s bed and said, “He just needed some air, and your grandparents are still...” What? Hurt, angry, unforgiving? She could say the same things about herself. “Um...”
“Mad?” David supplied, tossing a baseball up in the air and catching it. He lay on his back staring up at the ceiling.
Definitely. “I think so...”
“Why?” Josh asked, propping himself up on his elbows on his pillow.
“It’s complicated, boys.” Were they old enough to understand this? She didn’t think so, but she’d explain it the best way she could. “You boys know the accident that night was sort of Brad’s fault...”
The boys nodded. David stopped playing with the ball and turned to look at her.
“Well, Grandma and Grandpa—” and me, she didn’t add “—are still having a hard time forgiving Brad.”
“Are they mad at us, too?” Josh asked.
“No! Why would you think that?”
“Grandpa just doesn’t talk to us very much,” David said.
“Yeah, and Grandma always looks sad when she sees us,” Josh added.
“Of course they’re not mad at you. They love you. How could they not? You guys are awesome.” She ruffled Josh’s hair and reached for David’s hand, which was draped over the side of the bed. “It’s just hard on them. They see a lot of your dad in you guys, and they miss him.” S
he knew that was true. They may not have understood their son or agreed with his choices, but they’d loved him. She knew her resentment toward Brad could never compare to theirs. She’d lost a husband, but they’d lost a child. “Anyway, you both need to sleep. Big day tomorrow—parts are being assigned for the school Christmas play.” She kissed both of their foreheads and headed toward the door.
“Mom?”
“Yeah, Josh?”
“I’m glad we’re able to forgive Brad.”
Her heart fell. Was she able to forgive him? Would she ever be able to? “Good night, guys.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“THIS IS ONLY three lines. You can totally do this.” Brad eyed Gracie’s script for the Christmas concert play—it was the same one he’d performed over twenty years before. The wrinkled pages of the twenty-five-page script had been laminated in recent years to prolong its use. Maybe it was time for someone to write a new one. He’d heard about a new bestselling author in Brookhollow. The school should ask him.
“Yeah, three lines is nothing,” Darius said.
Gracie swung to face her younger brother, eyebrows arched. “You don’t even talk!”
He shrugged, unfazed. “If I did, I could do three lines.”
Brad hid a laugh. He gave a gentle nudge to the little boy sitting on the kitchen counter. “Get down before Grandma sees you up there.”
He took a gingerbread man from the snowman-shaped cookie tin before hopping down from the counter.
“No way. Not before dinner,” Brad said, taking the cookie and popping it into his own mouth. “Okay, let’s try it. I’ll play the shepherd, you play your part.” He swallowed the cookie and read from the sheet. “‘My wife and I have traveled far, dear innkeeper. Please tell me you have room for us.’”
Darius nodded his approval. “Not bad.”
“Thanks, man. Okay, Gracie, your line.”
“I don’t know, Uncle Brad. This is embarrassing.”
“It’s just us here. Come on. I’ll start again.” He repeated the line and waited.
Gracie hesitated but then said, “‘I’m sorry, because of the snowstorm, we are full tonight.’”
“See? Not hard at all.” He cleared his throat. “‘But my wife is with child. I beg of you—you must have somewhere we can sleep.’”
“‘We do have a stable I could offer you. It’s not much, but it’s warm and dry.’”
“‘We’ll take it, good sir. Thank you.’”
“‘Come with me,’” Gracie said, a look of relief on her face at having finished saying her lines.
“Awesome! See, I told you—there’s nothing to it.” Brad smiled. He opened the cookie tin and took another gingerbread man. On the upstairs bathroom scale that morning, Brad had learned he’d gained an extra ten pounds in the past week. He wasn’t worried. If you gain the weight quickly, you can lose it quickly. At least that was what he was choosing to believe. “Anyway, you’ll do fine, so quit worrying,” he told his niece.
“It’s different when it’s just us,” she said. “I just know that once I’m up onstage, I’m going to freeze.” The little girl frowned and tucked her script back into her backpack.
“Remember what I told you. Find one person who is smiling and focus on them until you feel comfortable. It really does work, Gracie. I do it at every show.”
“Will you be there? Will you be my smiling face?” she asked.
Brad didn’t hesitate. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
The kitchen door opened and Breanne entered, holding the children’s photos with Santa. “Um, Brad, as cute as these children are, they’re not my children.”
He frowned, taking the photos from her. Josh and David’s smiling faces stared back at him. “We must have gotten the photos mixed up.”
She laughed. “I’ll get Gracie to take these to school. No doubt Melody will notice soon enough that she’s framing pictures of my two.” She reached for the photos, but Brad held tight to them.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll make the switch.”
Breanne eyed him with suspicion. “Kids, go upstairs and wash your hands before dinner,” she said.
Brad stood up.
“Not you,” she said.
She blocked his way and shooed the kids out of the kitchen. “What’s going on?” she asked him when they were gone.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Really? Since when you do purposely want to see Melody Myers?”
“I saw her last night and things were...fine.” He avoided his sister’s eyes as he reached into the snowman cookie jar for another gingerbread cookie.
She slapped his hand. “You’re getting fat.” She leaned against the counter with her arms crossed in front of her. “What are you doing, Brad? Is Mel the reason you’re still here?” She looked disappointed.
“No, it’s not like that.” He hesitated. “She has a song I want.” The last thing he needed was for his sister to think he had feelings for Melody.
“So, it’s exactly like that. Brad, don’t you think you’ve forfeited any right to ask that woman for anything?”
“Yes, but she needs this, too.” He refused to tell his sister or anyone else about Melody’s dire financial situation. “Music is her passion and she’s wasting her talent.”
“You’re doing this for her?” His sister’s look of disbelief annoyed him.
“Is it really that hard to believe I would want to help her?”
“All I’m saying is, Mel has struggled the last three years to get things back on track and make a life for those kids. The last thing she needs is for you to complicate that life.”
“That’s not my intention.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes even good intentions go wrong.”
CHAPTER NINE
“OH, COME ON,” Melody said. Her key refused to turn in the rusted padlock on the door of her shed. Josh never seemed to have any trouble with it. Maybe that was a sign. Or maybe the metal lock was just old.
She felt ill about the choice she was about to make. But what else could she do? Another unreturned message to Greg Harrison that week had confirmed her suspicion—the man was avoiding her, and at this point, she didn’t think she wanted to hear his answer, anyway.
Her key finally turned, and a rough push later, the shed door gave way. Entering the insulated space, Melody reached for the light switch along the wall. When the room lit up, her breath caught in her throat. The shed was exactly the same. Somehow she’d expected things to look different...feel different. They didn’t. Patrick’s guitars still hung on the wall on her right—two acoustic ones and an electric one she’d given him as a wedding present. Their electronic keyboard was set up on the left, and a drum set was sitting in the center of the room next to two microphone stands. Binders of CDs lined a bookshelf along the wall under the window, and the music books Josh was learning to play from were scattered across a coffee table.
On either side of the table were two old plush chairs she and Patrick had moved out there for their writing sessions. Evenings, once the boys were asleep, they used to spend hours writing melodies and lyrics. Patrick could play every instrument in the room—his talent had amazed her. It was one of the things that had attracted her to him most. One of the things she longed for most.
“Man, I’ve missed this place.” Brad’s voice behind her made her jump.
She swung around to face him. “What are you doing here?”
“I knocked out front, but there was no answer. I noticed the door was open back here.”
“Okay, so what are you doing here?” She knew going along with the events of the evening before had been a mistake. She hadn’t intended to give Brad the impression they could be friends. Having him think he could show up at her home unannounced, as he used to, certainly had
n’t been her plan.
“I wanted to bring you these.” He handed her the boys’ Santa photos.
“But I have these.”
“No, you have pictures of Gracie and Darius.”
She clenched her jaw. “Another one of your manipulations?”
He held his hands up and shook his head. “I swear I had nothing to do with this one. Simple mix-up.”
She wasn’t sure she believed him, but she tucked the photos into her coat pocket and nodded. “Okay, well, thank you. I’ll get the others for you.” She took a step outside, pushing him out with her, but he stood firm.
“Wait. Can I? Please?” He gestured inside the shed.
Damn it. The last thing she wanted was to be in that shed with him. “No.”
“Just for a minute? I just...I miss all of this,” he murmured.
God, how she wished he’d never come back. Why had she gotten friendly with him the evening before? She sighed. She would regret this. “Fine.” If he wanted to go in there, she’d let him, but she’d wait outside, or in the house. “I’ll go get the pictures, and then you have to leave.”
He nodded, not looking at her. Instead, he stood there taking in the space the way she had just moments before he had intruded.
She made her way into the house through the front door and picked up the bag from North Pole Santa Village on her counter. Sure enough, the photos she had were of Gracie and Darius. She waited another minute before heading back toward the shed.
At the doorway, she saw Brad approach the electric guitar, and her lips tightened as he reached out to pick it up. She looked away, refusing to watch him hold something so dear to her. This had been a bad idea. A second later, the sound of the guitar made her flinch. That was enough. “Here are the photos,” she said, stepping inside.
Brad quickly replaced the guitar. “Sorry, Mel.” He shoved his hands deep into his jean pockets.
She shook her head. “It’s just a guitar.” That was the attitude she needed to have if she planned to sell any of it.
The Mistletoe Melody Page 12