“Am I glad to be able to see you again,” James said at last. “Mel, when my car hit that median, I figured I was a goner.” His voice caught. “And I had so much to say to you—”
Melody’s eyes filled. “Oh, James…”
“Shh. It’s okay.” He took her hand. “I’ll say what I have to, now that we’ve got time. But for starters, know this, and know it well. You are absolutely, positively not at fault for my being here. No one blames you, and no one ever will. I came down of my own free will, and if I had to do it over, I would.”
Stunned, she watched him bring her hand to his lips, then kiss each finger.
“Does that help?” he finished.
She dabbed her eyes. “Immeasurably.” That much was true. It was one thing for James’s parents to reassure her; it was another thing entirely to hear it from the man who had borne the pain. “But how did you know—?”
A light of tenderness filled his eyes. “When you didn’t come to see me, I got upset. Mom told me you probably felt too guilty to want to show your face here. Was she right?”
“Dead on,” Melody said without thinking, then winced. “On second thought, ignore what I just said, James. I’m sorry.”
He laughed out loud. “What did I tell you that first day? Don’t ever apologize for saying what comes naturally, Mel. It’s one of the things I love about you.”
Her pulse lurched at his use of the “L” word, then restarted. He was feeling expansive, no doubt about it, and he had a warm enough personality to use that word in a hundred ways that had nothing to do with romance. The fact that he didn’t use the word lightly made no difference…except to Melody’s heart. There, it lodged happily, where she knew she would hold it close.
But James didn’t dwell on his terminology, either. He merely squeezed her hand one final time, then let it go, with an eye on the package she carried.
“I understand you’ve got something for me.”
“Yep.” She brought out the tape and a small player. “You want to do anything with the score first, or hear how it’s going?”
“Let’s hear it all the way through, then make some notes,” he said with a sly smile. “I seem to recall that’s the way my soloist likes to work.”
The way he looked at her now, Melody would have worked any way he asked her to. But that sensation, too, she would have to file away for later. They had an important task to accomplish, and she couldn’t let anything — not even a band of insistent butterflies — get in the way. She only gave him a brilliant smile, nodded, and started the recorder.
****
For the month of January, Melody became a woman obsessed. She went through basic functions in her life by rote: eating without tasting the food, sleeping without dreams, and practicing so intensely that Hattie fretted about Melody developing her own case of carpal tunnel, or worse. But Melody had seen the man she loved working from a sickbed, and she could commit no less than that. The work paid off. Her focus honed to a fine edge by the first day of February, and her confidence grew with it.
Then dress rehearsal dawned and shook that confidence to the bone.
After an entire week of crisp breezes and light dustings of snow, Mother Nature threw an unexpected tantrum. The morning of February fourth came in thick fog and balmy temperatures, which gave way by midday to a dank, chilling rain, then sleet that penetrated even winter wraps. Melody layered a sweater beneath her heavy coat and headed for rehearsal, only to learn that five first-chair players had come down with raging flu and their subs needed to be coached through the brand-new music. Then the heat in the performance hall went on the fritz, sending the Bosie wildly off-tune and creating havoc with the orchestra’s intonation. By the time the ensemble had slogged its way through the third movement, after much stopping and starting, Melody’s nerves were as raw as the weather outside. Only the dean remained cheerful throughout, ending the rehearsal with a smile.
“We got all the bugs out today,” he assured them with spirit. “I’ve seen this happen a hundred times. It’s a good omen. We don’t want to peak too soon.”
Melody rolled her eyes in exasperation, and behind her heard a tentative laughter in the orchestra.
“Just relax, all of you,” Dean Thomas urged. “Go home, rest, take your vitamins. Call is six o’clock tomorrow night. I’ll see you all then.”
The group broke with alacrity, and it occurred to Melody that even in early winter darkness, the outdoors might be warmer than the hall by this time. As she packed up her music and prepared to slip on her knit hat, the dean sidled over and gave her a reassuring shoulder squeeze.
“I know you’re worried,” he said. “But don’t be. You and I both know a dress rehearsal this bad really does work like a good-luck charm. Tomorrow, it’ll click right along.”
She gave him a wry look. “Why do I get the impression you’re trying to talk yourself into this as much as me?”
He laughed, but not without an edge. “I’d forgotten how perceptive you can be.” Then his face went pensive as his eyes scanned the hall. “I believe it’s vital we do well. I spoke with James on the phone today, and he didn’t sound good. He’s not bouncing back as well as they hoped for.”
“Oh? The last time I saw him, he seemed fine.” Melody smiled. “He was even up and around out of bed. Let me tell you, that’s a wonder in itself.”
“I heard he had a setback earlier today, though. Nothing serious, they tell me, but it’ll delay his release.” The dean sighed. “You know, Melody, he’s supposed to be a colleague, but there are times he feels more like a son to me. I’d love to see him be able to stay on in some capacity.”
Hope rose within her. “Is that possible?”
The dean shrugged. “Hard to say. He might have to accept that his days in the spotlight are probably over. I only hope in our small way, we can help make that acceptance a little easier for him.”
Melody patted his arm. “He’s lucky to have you for a boss, and not Cynthia.”
Dean Thomas looked away. “James has a difficult enough row to hoe now. But we made an agreement for this concert, and I’ll stick by it.”
With that, he bade her good evening, and Melody realized they’d been the only two people left in the hall. Pausing, she let her gaze rest on the Bösendörfer one more time. Of course, it would be in concert condition on Friday. And the orchestra would rise to their occasion. She would do her part. So why was she unsettled?
Something in the dean’s concern troubled her, as if there were far more he could have said but didn’t, and Melody found herself wondering about it as she half-walked, half-slid on a crust of thin ice forming on her path toward home.
****
“Well, at last!” Hattie bustled into the kitchen as Melody shut the door behind herself. “I called the music office half an hour ago, but Barb said rehearsal ran late.”
“It ran late, and it ran badly.” Melody slipped out of her coat. “This weather is no good for musical instruments.”
“Oh, then it’s nothing to worry about. The weather report says we’re supposed to get a break tomorrow.” Hattie hung Melody’s coat in the front closet. “I have your dinner in the oven. It should still be warm. Give me five minutes—”
“I’m not that hungry right now,” Melody cut in. “I’m going to take a shower, and maybe later—”
“Not hungry? You’ve gone through a three-hour rehearsal, and you’re not hungry?” Hattie tsk-tsked. “Oh, well, then, be off with you, my girl. Some nice hot water will take the kinks out, and then you’ll feel better. Just don’t you go even thinking about coming down with the flu, too!”
“Heaven forbid. I can’t get sick now.” Melody mustered a grin before she left the room, then merely grabbed her robe as she headed to the bathroom. She wasn’t planning on wearing much more than that for dinner, either.
But no sooner had she stepped out of the bath, a towel around her head, when the phone rang. Hattie picked it up downstairs, then called up to her. “Melody! You
decent? You have a phone call.”
“I have to be decent to answer the phone?” Melody teased back, then laughed and picked up the extension in her room. “Okay, I’ve got it.”
“Hello?” The woman’s voice was unfamiliar. “Melody Rowland?”
Melody nodded, then realized the woman couldn’t hear that. “Speaking.”
“Ms. Rowland, this is Felice Graham from University Medical Center, with a call from James Goodwin. He would like to speak with you. Hold on.”
She sat down abruptly on the bed, her hands gone clammy. She’d seen James only the other day. Why couldn’t he call her himself?
“Mel?” His voice came over the line, low and rough. The sound sent chills up her spine.
“James,” she said, “are you okay?”
No reply came at first, at least not one in words, only a spell of dry, deep coughing that hurt to listen to. Anxiety prickled her nerves.
“James, you don’t sound like you’re up to a conversation,” she said quickly. “Please don’t strain yourself. Call me tomorrow morning, maybe you’ll feel better then.”
“No.” His voice was harsh. “No. Tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight. Here.” Another spell wracked him, and she cringed. Each breath he took sounded labored. “I need to see you.”
Melody bit her lip hard. “I’d love to see you, too, don’t get me wrong. But you’re in no shape to entertain anyone. Why don’t I come tomorrow?”
“No.” His voice trembled. “No. Tomorrow — will be — too late.”
He coughed again, but she’d stopped hearing anything beyond those last two words. “James?” Her voice rose. “James, are you still there?”
“It’s all right, Ms. Rowland, he’s still here.” The woman came back on the line. “He’s not up to a lot of talking, but—”
“Tell him I’m on my way.” Melody’s hand shook. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
She dropped the receiver in the cradle before the woman could say anything more, then flew to her closet and dressed. Hattie couldn’t get her to slow down for so much as a cup of tea before she was buttoning her coat and pulling open the front door. Once outside, she took off as fast as she dared walk in the sleet, rapidly becoming snow, on the way to the hospital bus stop three blocks away.
Looking back, Melody didn’t remember any other time when the bus had been so slow. True, the roads were treacherous, so she appreciated the driver’s caution, but she still would have given anything for wings to close the distance faster than the snail’s pace they were forced to take. Mentally ticking off the blocks, she felt a knot of tension across her shoulders growing tighter by the minute. By the time she entered the hospital, she was half tempted to run up all five flights of stairs, to try to dissipate the energy that had her bouncing off the walls of the elevator car. The moment the doors opened, she turned left down the corridor and saw Angela and Mike outside James’s door. Keeping vigil, she thought, and her heart clenched.
“Oh, look who’s here,” Angela greeted her with deliberate brightness. “Relief!”
“Not a moment too soon,” Mike said gently. “I heard James called you. I’m glad you came. It’ll mean the world to him.”
“I-I hope so.” Melody felt Angela give her a nudge into his room.
“Don’t be afraid, Melody,” she whispered. “It’s all right now.”
The first thing — the best thing — she heard was the sound of his breathing, even, regular, and deep, and Melody hobbled her way to a chair on knees weak with gratitude. His bed was cranked halfway up, clearly assisting that easy breathing, and he was getting that rest she’d urged him to take. Pulling herself closer, she marveled at how quickly his condition had improved, after that nerve-wracking phone call.
At least he was alive. For now, that was enough.
She heard a rustling behind her, then felt a hand on her shoulder.
“He’s resting much better now,” Mike whispered. “Must be because you’re here.”
Melody’s eyes blurred. “I was so afraid when he called. He sounded terrible.”
“He did hit a bad patch earlier. But they adjusted his medication, and that seemed to do the trick.” Melody felt him squeeze her shoulder. “I think I will go get that coffee now. You staying, Angel?”
“Of course.” Angela moved in from the doorway and took a second blue upholstered chair, settling next to Melody. “In case he wakes up confused.”
“Very considerate of you,” came a whisper. “But I can tell you now, that’s not likely to happen.”
An eternal moment ticked by while Melody assimilated the voice and where it had come from. By the time those cornflower eyes opened and found her, she was leaning toward him, half-afraid to breathe.
“James.” She stretched out the one word, savoring his name on her lips. “You woke up.”
“I’ve been awake longer than you think.” He yawned, shifted in the bed, and she saw a wince of pain, then a hasty cover-up. “In…more ways than one.”
Melody felt a chill, a whisper of sensation at first. A sense of a dark double entendre colored his words, and the look he gave her was closer to impassive than impassioned. On a growing foreboding, she saw his mouth tighten and sensed more than pain was behind the sudden hard light in his eyes. But nowhere in her wildest nightmares had she imagined what James would do next.
“Mom?” he whispered. “Dad?”
Mike hadn’t left the room yet, and at James’s call he hurried back. Angela was already on her feet. “Yes?” they said, as one.
“Kindly tell me, please,” James rasped, “what this…cold-blooded little opportunist is doing in my hospital room.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“I’ve got a better idea,” came a voice at Melody’s elbow. Melody knew she hadn’t said a word, for her mouth wouldn’t form words. It was Angela who’d stepped into the breach. “Why don’t you tell us what you’re talking about?”
She spoke in a tone that could have sliced steel. It didn’t faze James.
“You heard me, Mom. What’s she doing here?”
“She came at your request, son,” said Mike. “You asked her here.”
“I did.” James smirked. “And why did I do that?”
“You called me,” Melody said. “You said you needed to talk to me tonight. You insisted. That tomorrow…would be too late.” Her voice broke. “I didn’t know but that—”
“Oh, wait a minute. Let me get the picture here.” He blinked. “I was in bad shape, and I was asking for you?”
Melody lowered her eyes, but no doubt the color in her cheek gave her away, for James’s laugh was like a blade against her nerves.
“That’s it!” he crowed. “Well, nothing like a touch of melodrama to spice up your day, is there?”
“James!” Mike’s voice was very quiet. “You’d better apologize, right now, and then shut your mouth before you get in any deeper than you already are.”
“No! He doesn’t have to.” Melody could barely speak, but the last thing she wanted was James to worsen her embarrassment by feigning contrition. “Obviously I misunderstood—”
“You sure did.” James’s eyes glittered in the subdued light of the room. “So you thought I was dying, huh? Bet that was a thrill. Imagine, you could be the poor girl with the sainted teacher—”
“James!” Angela was horrified. “For the love of—!”
“You think my grandfather’s a saint when he isn’t even dead, so why not?” James surged on. “What would you have done for me, Mel? It boggles the mind. True, I’m younger and friskier, so the halo would have been harder to fit.”
“Okay, I give up.” Melody sprang from her chair so hard it slid backward, but she didn’t care. “You’re making no sense, James, so let me refresh your memory. I got a phone call from you when you could barely talk. I didn’t know what I’d find when I came. But I sure didn’t come here for this. Make fun of me if you like, but I happen to care!”
<
br /> He started to retort, but she shook her head.
“No, don’t you say another word. I can’t trust your words right now.” Shouldering her purse, she strode past Mike, not intending to stop. But just as she reached the edge of the blue curtain and was about to pull the door open, she heard James’s voice again, lethally cold.
“Stay put. I’m not finished with you yet.”
“Oh, yes, you are.” She turned slowly. “You’ve taken enough pieces out of me for one sitting. I’ll come back when you can be civil.”
“After the games you’ve played with me, you don’t deserve civility.” He laid his head back on the pillow, glaring at both his parents. “Do you people not know, or care, what this woman’s going to do tomorrow night?”
“Of course we know, son,” Mike replied. “She’s playing your premiere, like you wanted.”
“I didn’t want it like this.” He reached over to his nightstand and picked up two folded newspapers. “I may have been busted up pretty bad, but I can still read. Take a look!”
“Let me see those.” Back at his bedside, Melody reached down, grabbed the papers and scanned them. Bad enough was the college newspaper’s feature article, with almost no mention of the composer in the write-up. But worse was the community column, giving mysterious hints of impropriety, of money having surreptitiously changed hands in order to get the premiere off the ground.
“Like it?” he drawled. “Cinderella found a way to go to the ball, with or without the prince.”
Melody’s blood chilled in her veins, but she was not about to show weakness at this point. She only tossed the paper back on his bed.
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