“Could?” Laura frowned at the past tense. “Is he no longer living?”
“Oh, he’s still alive. We just live in two different worlds. Literally and figuratively.” At Laura’s puzzled look, Melody explained. “My father’s in petroleum and has lived most of his life overseas. I grew up in the Middle East. That’s how I met Roger.”
“Roger? Your ex-husband, right?”
“Yeah. Colonel Roger Piper.” Her voice caressed the name with fondness. “Of course, then he was a lowly second lieutenant. My family lived as civilians on base.”
“That must have been fascinating, growing up in the Middle East,” Laura said.
“It’s not as exciting as it sounds.” Melody’s mouth twisted with distaste. “At least not if you’re a girl. Every time you leave the base, you have to make sure your whole body is covered. Even then, there’s not much they allow you to do other than shop. I was bored stiff.”
Laura nodded, thinking it sounded a lot like growing up in a small town.
“Then I turned sixteen and discovered men.” Melody flashed a wicked smile. “Ah, to learn that I, the stupid girl who couldn’t do anything right, suddenly had tremendous power over male hormones simply by growing breasts.”
“I know what you mean.” Laura chuckled softly, then glanced from her moderate chest to the generous bosom that filled Melody’s purple halter-top. “Though not to the same degree, obviously.”
“Hey.” Melody stuck out her chest. “Like we always tell the men: It’s the quality that matters, not the quantity.”
“And you obviously got more than your share of both.”
“We all have our crosses to bear.” Melody sighed dramatically.
Laura laughed, enjoying the moment of closeness.
Melody shook her head, sighing. “You know, I’m not sure why I picked poor Roger as my first serious target. He was quite a bit older than me, and not the best-looking guy on base. But the more he tried to treat me like some bothersome child, the more I turned on the heat.”
“I take it you got your man.”
“Oh, yeah.” Melody snorted. “Unfortunately, I also got pregnant.”
After one quick sideways glance, Laura hid any show of surprise. A good portion of the girls in her graduating class had found themselves in the same predicament. As much as she loved children, she wouldn’t have traded places with any of those girls. To go straight from childhood to raising children seemed even more stifling than the life she’d led.
“I expected Roger to be as horrified as I was,” Melody said. “If he was, he never showed it. Instead, he went right to my father to ask for permission to marry me. I’ll never forget him standing there taking all the blame, letting my father rant and rage at him. But the minute my father tried to turn on me, Roger nearly came unglued. I think that’s when I fell in love with him.”
“And the baby?”
Melody’s gaze remained fixed on the road. “I lost it. I was never able to have another.”
“Oh, Melody.” Laura heart twisted. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too.” A sheen of moisture rose in Melody’s eyes. Blinking it away, she pasted on a false smile. “You know, though, sometimes I think it was for the best. No, really. Not that I didn’t want that baby like the very dickens once I got used to the idea, but the truth is I wasn’t old enough, emotionally, to be a mother.”
Laura swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat. “How long were you and Roger married?”
“Twenty years. We’ve been divorced nearly four.” She let out a breath. “Which means I’m now pushing forty.”
“Forty’s not that old,” Laura insisted.
Melody laughed, looking youthful even in the harsh Texas sun. “You’re right. It’s just that, here I am at an age when most people are trying to figure out how to pay their kids’ college tuition, and I’m still lagging behind trying to figure out the basics, like what life is all about.”
“I know how you feel,” Laura sighed.
“I figured you did. Although you’ve got a whole lot more going for you upstairs then I ever did.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Laura smiled. Melody had a quirky sort of wisdom she found admirable. “So what happened with Roger?”
“Well, now we’re back on the subject of guilt.” Melody released a long breath. “I never could live with the fact that I’d trapped the poor man into marriage and stuck him with more of a daughter than a wife. I know he loved me, still does in some ways. And I tried to play the housewife bit.” Melody shrugged. “But I hated every minute of it. Which taught me that no matter how badly you want to please someone, you can only put up a false front for so long. The whole military wife routine was smothering me. I didn’t fit in with those people, and I hated myself for crying about it to Roger all the time.”
“So what’d you do?” Laura asked.
“Became an artist,” Melody said, as if such a feat were as simple as breathing. “Ironically, Roger was the one who encouraged me to start painting as a way to gain a sense of self-worth. Of course,” Melody grinned, “he meant it to be a hobby, not a career. But the day I took my first real art class was the day I found myself. And the more I learned about who I was, the more I realized I didn’t belong in the role I was trying to fill.”
Laura frowned, thinking of her own role as Dr. Morgan’s daughter and town do-gooder.
“The problem was,” Melody said, “how could I possibly leave Roger? I mean, here was a man who’d nurtured me and encouraged me through my teens and twenties. He’d been more of a father to me than my old man ever was. And the minute I finally get my head on straight, I want a divorce? Now there’s a guilt trip for you.”
“What did you do?”
“I toughed it out for a few more years, until we were both so miserable, I realized I wasn’t doing either of us any good.”
“And?”
“And … I finally worked up the courage to tell him how I felt. There were lots of tears, and ‘I’ll always love yous,’ and ‘if you ever need anythings.’ He helped me find a place to live, even painted it for me and gave me the dogs. Then one year later, nearly to the day, pow—he up and marries the widow of one of his air force buddies!”
Laura’s eyes widened at Melody’s vehemence. “Were you jealous?”
“I was stunned! The woman is boring with a capital B. She’s one of those steady-as-she-goes types. Totally competent and self-sufficient. She drives poor Roger crazy—even crazier than I did. He can’t stand not rescuing people. Although I have to say, it’s nice seeing him get rescued for a change. I hate to admit it, but they’re perfect for each other.”
“But you’re still jealous,” Laura guessed.
“No, actually, I’m pissed.”
“Why?”
“Think about it.” Melody raised a hand. “After all the agony and guilt I put myself through, my leaving Roger turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. I was heating myself up for nothing.”
Laura frowned over that revelation, wondering if the same would hold true in the case of her and her father. Could it be that sometimes you have to hurt people to do what’s best for them? She wasn’t sure she liked that notion, but it definitely gave her something to think about for the rest of the drive.
—
When they arrived at the house, Laura directed Melody to park around back, next to her own car. She noticed her father’s car was gone and breathed a small sigh of relief.
“At least we’ll be able to pack in peace,” she told Melody as they climbed the steps to the back door. To her surprise, the knob didn’t give when she turned it. “That’s funny,” she muttered. “We never lock this door during the day.”
She dug into her purse for her seldom-used key. But the key didn’t fit.
“What’s wrong?” Melody asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe the lock is rusted.” Something cold settled in the pit of her stomach as she bent down to inspect the lock. It
was as shiny as a new dime. Through the sheer curtain on the door’s window, she saw a shadow move. “Clarice?” She knocked and waited as the woman shuffled toward her.
“Oh, Miss Laura Beth.” Clarice’s eyes filled with tears as she opened the door. “I’m so sorry.”
Laura’s heart lurched. “What? What’s happened?” She stepped inside to soothe the woman. “Is it Dad? Is he sick?”
“No.” The elderly maid sniffed, then thrust out a mutinous chin. “Though I wish he were. I’d like to put him in the hospital myself.”
“What!” Laura straightened. “Clarice, what happened?”
“He’s the one what had the locks changed. Made me promise to keep ‘em locked till you got here.” Her eyes filled again with tears. “And that’s not all he made me do. All your things is packed.” The woman’s chin trembled. “I’m so sorry, miss, but if I hadn’t done it, he’d have throwed everything out in the yard.”
“My things?” Laura whispered. Turning toward the back hall, she hurried up the stairs with Melody right behind her. She halted in the doorway to her room. In the middle of the floor sat a pile of cardboard boxes. The four-poster bed had been stripped of the eyelet-and-lace bedding her mother had picked out for her. Even the ruffled canopy and matching draperies had been taken down. The vanity where she’d learned to put on makeup and the desk where she’d done her homework stood devoid of picture frames, perfume bottles, and knickknacks.
Through the open door of the closet, she saw only bare hangers. Numbly, she walked to the dresser, pulled open a drawer and found it empty. Even knowing Clarice was the one who had packed her things, the total invasion of privacy tore at something deep inside of her.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, staring into that empty drawer. “How could he have done this?”
“He said—” Clarice hesitated. “He said to tell you that if you went through with this nonsense, you weren’t to ever come back, and he didn’t want no reminder of you left in the house.”
All the guilt Laura had felt at leaving home vanished in a snap. She slammed the drawer closed and turned to face a startled Clarice. “Oh, he did, did he?”
She glanced around again and saw the ploy for what it was, a calculated move designed to have her running home, begging for forgiveness, and promising never to leave him alone again.
“Well, Clarice,” she said with deadly calm, “you can tell my father that two can play at this game.”
The maid blinked in confusion. “Excuse me, miss?”
“You heard me,” Laura said, ignoring the quiver in her stomach. “Tell Dr. Morgan that when he decides he wants his daughter back, he knows where to find me. In the meantime, I have work to do.” She turned to Melody. “Would you care to help me load these boxes?”
Melody gave her a questioning look, then nodded in understanding and support. “I’d be happy to.”
“Clarice,” Laura said as she lifted a box of her Madame Alexander dolls and set them aside to load last “if you’re not too busy, could you make some iced tea? I have a feeling we’re going to build up quite a thirst loading all these boxes.”
Clarice stared at her a moment, clearly startled that she wasn’t caving in to her father’s command. Then slowly a grin spread over her face, rearranging the wrinkles. “Yes, ma’am.”
The maid turned and left with more spring in her step than Laura had seen in a long time.
Picking up one of the boxes filled with her clothes, Laura started down the stairs with Melody following suit. Trip after trip she hauled the bits and pieces of her life out of the house and stacked them beside the van. Melody took care of arranging the boxes in the cargo space that was usually used for hauling her booth and artwork across the country.
“How many more of these?” Melody asked as she hoisted a heavy box of books.
“One more trip ought to do it.” Laura turned to head back into the house, but the sound of a car pulling into the drive stopped her. For a split second, her heart jumped with the hope—and fear—that her father had changed his mind, that he’d come home to confront her in person. Then she turned and saw Greg, in his familiar zipper-fronted pharmacist’s shirt, stepping out of his conservative blue Chrysler.
She heaved a sigh, not sure if she was disappointed or relieved.
“Who is it?” Melody asked, poking her head out the back of the van. “Oh, him.” She sounded unduly irritated. “This is all we need.”
“Hello, Greg.” Laura greeted him with poorly disguised impatience as he walked up the drive. They hadn’t spoken since the day after the Homes Tour, when she’d told him she was moving to Houston.
“Laura Beth.” He rushed toward her, concern lining his brow. “Clarice called to tell me you were here.”
When he reached her, he enfolded her in his arms. She suffered the embrace in silence, telling herself not to take her anger at her father out on Greg. Still, dealing with Greg’s stubborn refusal to accept their breakup as final was not what she needed at the moment.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered against her hair. “I can’t believe your father is acting this way.”
“I can.”
He made a sound that was almost a laugh. “Yes, I guess I can, too. Stubborn old goat.” He stepped back to study her face. “Do you want me to talk to him?”
“No, I don’t want you to talk to him.” She frowned at him incredulously. “I’m perfectly capable of dealing with my own father.”
“Yes, but if he understood your move to Houston is just temporary, he’d quit taking it so hard.”
“Greg…” She stared at him. “How many times do I have to tell you that this move is not temporary? The only part of this that’s temporary is my rooming with Melody.”
“And that’s another thing.” He straightened abruptly. “I can’t believe you’re going to live with that—that—”
”Hey there,” Melody called cheerfully to Greg from inside the van. “Are you going to help, or just stand around and watch?”
Greg spun about, his cheeks turning bright red. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping Laura move.” Melody leapt from the van and planted her hands on her hips. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
Greg’s gaze swept over her purple halter-top and skintight blue jeans. “Yes, but … you…” He drew himself up. “If you don’t mind, this is a private conversation.”
“Suit yourself.” Melody shrugged, then turned around and bent forward to pick up another box. Greg’s eyes widened as the worn denim of her jeans stretched over her shapely derriere. As Melody straightened, she cast him a knowing smile over her shoulder. “You two just pretend I’m not here.”
“Laura Beth.” Greg stepped toward her and lowered his voice. “Could we go inside to talk?”
She started to protest, then shrugged in defeat. “Sure. Why not. You can help me get the last two boxes.”
Leading the way into the cool interior of the house, she told herself to stay civil and she’d get out of the house that much quicker. Eventually, Greg would have to realize she was serious about leaving Beason’s Ferry.
“I can’t believe you intend to live with that—that hippie,” Greg muttered as they reached the top of the Stairs.
That did it! Laura whirled on an unsuspecting Greg. “Melody Piper happens to be one of the nicest, most genuine people I’ve ever known. And I wish you and everyone else would give me a little credit for choosing my friends.”
He took a step back, surprised at her outburst. Well, fine! She was tired of playing little-miss-walk-all-over-me.
“You don’t have to take it personally,” Greg said. “I only meant I can’t picture the two of you rooming together, that’s all. You’re so … different.”
“So what if we are?” she demanded. “There’s a lot more to getting along with someone than being just like them. Heck, Greg, look at us. On the surface, you and I are just alike. We both come from small-town East Texas German families, but wh
en it comes to the really important things in life, we’ve never seen eye-to-eye on anything.”
“That’s not true—”
“Yes, Greg, it is.” Turning, she marched into her bedroom with him dogging her heels. He hesitated awkwardly at entering such a forbidden space. “For one thing,” she picked up the box of dolls she’d left on the dresser and thrust it against his chest, “you happen to be a prude.”
He staggered back, then straightened with indignation. “I am not.”
She raised a brow. “Then why do you turn beet red every time you look at Melody Piper?”
His mouth moved soundlessly as color flooded his cheeks. “I—I do not turn beet red.”
“Yeah, right.” She turned to gather the last box off the floor, too emotionally drained to care what she said. “If you ask me, the subject of sex has always embarrassed you.”
“I beg your pardon.” The flush of color in his cheeks went a shade brighter. “If this is about the fact that I did not pressure you to consummate the physical part of our relationship right away, it’s simply because I happen to have more respect for you than that.”
“Respect!” She stared at him, remembering how long they’d dated before they’d gotten past the kissing stage. “Greg, have you ever heard the expression ‘A lady in the parlor, a wanton in the bedroom’? Well, I hate to tell you this, but it goes both ways. Women don’t always want a man to be a gentleman.”
He stepped back, as if some blinding revelation had just struck him. “Are you saying this … phase you’re going through is because I’m not hot enough between the sheets?” His eyes blinked behind his glasses. “Good Lord, Laura Beth, loving someone is about more than just sex.”
“Maybe so.” She shook her head. “But you act as if the two have nothing to do with each other.”
He set the box back on the dresser, as if afraid he’d drop it. “That’s it, isn’t it? You really did run off to Houston to be with Brent Michaels—just like everyone’s been saying.”
So her father’s prediction had come true; people were talking behind her back. “I left Beason’s Ferry for a lot of reasons.”
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