Lost Melody (25 page)

She burst out laughing. “Oh Hank!
That’s good. You had me there for a minute. Thanks, I needed a good
laugh.”

He wasn’t sharing her amusement. His
eyes flashed shards of glass. “There’s nothing funny about this
situation,” he said, his words slicing sharp. “You’re lying, and I
want to know why.”

Her heart sank to her toes. He was
serious. She rose from the bench, putting the length of it between
them. Stung and confused by his accusation, she matched his tone.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hank. I’m not lying. I’ve
never had a lesson of any kind in my whole life. I was just goofing
around with the piano. Other than playing chopsticks with Daddy
when I was a child, I’ve never touched a piano until today. We
didn’t have one at home. I don’t know what you think you saw or
heard, but you’re wrong.”

Her whole body vibrated with anger.
How dare he accuse her of lying? She had been more honest with him
than with anybody she had ever known. Hank covered his face with
his hands and scrubbed them up and down. The only sounds in the
room were the rhythmic tick from the old mantle clock and the faint
rasp of skin across Hank’s unshaven jaw. She waited for him to say
something, anything to explain his absurd accusation.

A hoarse laugh bubbled up from deep in
his chest. “I’m sorry. I should have known better. You wouldn’t lie
to me.” He stood to face her, his hands resting on hips cocked
slightly to the side, one leg bent in a casual stance. “I heard the
piano from the backyard, and in my sleep, I guess I thought it must
be a ghost or something in here playing my mom’s old upright. I saw
your Jeep in the driveway and knew it had to be you, so I came in.
I stood in the doorway and listened to you play for quite a while.
I was furious. Convinced you’d lied to me. Every minute you played,
I got madder and madder.” His eyes pleaded with her in the gloaming
light of the living room. “I’m sorry. I really am. You continue to
surprise me, that’s all.”

His words spun through her head like a
tornado, whirling, making no sense. She forced her mouth closed.
“You’re mad all right. Completely insane. What are you
saying?”

“How many times have you listened to
the CD I gave you?”

The change of subject took her by
surprise. “What CD?” An image of the manila envelope containing
“Melody” flashed in her mind. “You mean the other version of
‘Melody?’”

“Yeah. How many times have you
listened to it?”

“I’ve only heard it the one time you
played it for me in the studio. I haven’t opened the envelope at
all. I put it in my safety deposit box at the bank the same day you
gave it to me. Why?”

He sank onto the bench and shook his
head. “That’s what you were playing.”

He spun around to the piano and played
the chorus. The notes sang through her system. Her blood ran cold,
freezing the air in her lungs, and rendering her legs useless. She
collapsed onto the bench beside him, her back to the keyboard. She
sucked in a deep breath. The tart freshness of the lemon-scented
furniture polish tickled her nose and she chuckled to herself at
the absurdity of her observation.

The music faded away. Hank sat
motionless beside her.

“I don’t know how to play the piano,
Hank. I swear I was just toying with the keys, but you’re right. I
can hear it now.”

Hank half turned toward her. “What
time did you start playing today?”

Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know,
four-thirty, maybe. Why?”

His voice carried low, tinged with
compassion. “Mel, it’s nearly six o’clock.”

Her gaze darted to the window, and she
noticed the soft light of early evening, the deepening shadows in
the East-facing room. “Oh God.”

He swiveled all the way around on the
bench and took her in his arms. “It’s all right.”

She wished she could believe, but at
that moment, it didn’t seem like anything would ever be all right
again.

Chapter
Twenty-two

Mel stretched and opened
one eye, taking stock of her surroundings.
Morning. Hank’s bed. Alone.
Memories
flooded back. She closed her eyes, draping one arm across them in
an effort to block out reality.

She didn’t know what disturbed her
more, the realization she could play the piano like some freak of
nature, or Hank’s distrust and disappointment. He’d thought she’d
been lying. He hadn’t been convinced even after she swore she’d
never taken a lesson in her life. Still, he had held her through
the night while she slept.

She bolted upright, her
feet hitting the floor as the thought settled in. She had
slept,
really
slept. In fact, she had slept like a baby. Her jeans and shirt
were draped across the ladder back chair in the corner. She pulled
them on and finger combed her hair before going
downstairs.

Low voices and the aroma of freshly
brewed coffee met her at the bottom of the stairs. She stepped
cautiously into the kitchen where Hank and his father sat, a plate
of doughnuts on the table between them. Betty Boop was at Henry’s
knee, her eyes pleading for a handout. As she stepped into the
doorway, Hank turned.

“Dad brought your favorite, doughnuts
and hot chocolate. Come join us.” His voice was smooth as ever, but
his eyes were distant, cool, and wary. He’d taken time to pull on
jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt, but he hadn’t shaved and his feet
were bare. He was adorable, and sexy, and pissed.

She decided she didn’t want to know
how Henry knew she would be here. She took a seat and helped
herself to a chocolate-frosted pastry. “Good morning, Henry. Thanks
for the doughnuts.”

Betty Boop shifted her eyes to Mel.
She pinched off a piece of dough without chocolate and tossed it
into the air. The dog caught it on the fly.

She popped the lid off the cardboard
cup Henry slid in her direction and tested the temperature. It was
still reasonably warm, so Henry hadn’t been there long. If they
could pretend everything was just dandy, so could she. “What’s up,
guys?”

“I came out to see if there was
anything Hank needed done today and to remind him about the parade
tomorrow. The high school band will be wearing their new uniforms,”
Henry stated proudly.

Hank laughed, spinning his coffee cup
between his hands. “I’ll be there, Dad. You haven’t volunteered me
to work on anything tomorrow, have you?”

“No, not this year. I figured you have
enough to do with the album and all. Why don’t you come by the
house tomorrow and we can walk downtown together. This year’s
picnic and fireworks should be pretty good. There’s a carnival set
up in the high school parking lot, too.”

She couldn’t contain her excitement.
She’d always enjoyed the small town parades when she was a child.
She grew up in a small coastal community, and the townspeople were
always finding excuses for a parade. “Sounds like fun. Am I
included in the invitation?”

“Of course you are.” He stood. “I’ve
got to go. Things to do, you know. I’ll see the two of you tomorrow
around nine-thirty. We should have plenty of time to get a good
viewing spot. I wouldn’t want to miss any of the
floats.”

As the sound of Henry’s car faded into
the distance, Mel spoke. “Did you tell him?”

“About last night? No, I didn’t. I
don’t want to talk about it.” He crossed to the coffeemaker and
refilled his cup.

“I didn’t lie to you, Hank. I swear. I
feel like some kind of freak of nature.” Tears filled her eyes. She
swiped them away with a napkin and sat up straighter, tamping down
on the cold fear threatening to take over.

Hank resumed his seat at the table. “I
want to believe you. It’s hard though. I’ve been used before and I
was so sure you were different. But first you sang like an angel,
and now I find out you can play the piano. It’s a lot to believe,
Mel.”

“I’m sorry, Hank. I don’t know who
lied to you before, but I’m telling the truth.”

“I’ve heard of people who could play
by ear, but I’ve never met anyone who could. It doesn’t mean you
aren’t one of them. Who taught your father to play?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought
about it. My mother might know.” She jumped up and grabbed her
purse from the counter where she’d left it. She found her cell
phone and made the call, heedless of the two-hour time difference.
She was aware of Hank watching her as she spoke with her mother.
She ended the conversation as quickly as she could and turned to
him.

“Did you follow that? Mom says he
played by ear—at least at first. He did learn to read and write
music, but not until he was in college.”

Hank sipped his coffee. “Well, it
explains a lot. Where did he go to college?”

“Cambridge.”

He flashed his crooked grin, and her
insides melted.

“It isn’t Harvard, but it’s an okay
place,” he teased.

Mel returned the smile. The
conversation with her mother explained her obviously inherited
talent but disturbed her on another level. She realized how little
she knew about her parents and her father in particular. Since his
death, her mother had avoided talking about him, and Mel, mired in
her own grief and guilt, had been all too willing to let the
subject slide. She didn’t want to think about it today
either.

“Let’s fix a picnic and go down to the
creek,” she said. “We can sit under a shade tree and listen to the
water, or take a nap, or whatever.” She needed the peace and quiet,
and Hank could use a restful day, too.

“Or whatever sounds good to me.” He
wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know
it. I was thinking more along the lines of reading or
fishing.”

“Well, if we can’t
do
whatever
, I
vote for napping. It’s the next best thing on your
list.”

Mel raided the kitchen for suitable
picnic fare while he rounded up old quilts and insect repellant. He
found a couple of old throw pillows suitable for outdoor use and
piled everything into a wagon and they set off for the creek
bank.

She kicked off her shoes
and stretched out beside Hank on the quilt, curling onto her side
so she could watch him. He’d fallen asleep almost as soon as he lay
down. A soft breeze wafted through the shade, tempting her to do
more than was wise. His jaw and lips were more relaxed than she had
seen them in weeks. She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead.
He needed to find the time to visit Judd Spencer. She smiled to
herself.
I love you.

She closed her eyes and waited for the
panic and doubts to creep in. The drone of summer insects and the
leaves whispering on the breeze lulled her. “Melody” filled her
mind as it often did, but today, it was Hank’s voice crooning the
lyrics, weaving a sensuous tapestry that blanketed her. He loved
her and she loved him. Drifting into sleep, she wished it could be
so simple.

Chapter
Twenty-three

The Fourth of July dawned hot and
humid, but it wasn’t enough to deter the citizens of Willowbrook.
From her kitchen table, Mel watched the sun blaze its way into the
sky. These were the kind of days she had imagined when she chose
Willowbrook. Nearly everyone in town would be in the parade or
lining the downtown walkways, cheering and waving as the revelers
passed by.

She slipped her camera into her
shoulder bag. There would be plenty of photos in the paper tomorrow
but she wanted to take her own.

Over the last few weeks, everything
she knew about herself had been called into question. She had
fallen in love with a man she couldn’t live with, and she’d ruined
any chance she had of staying in Willowbrook by doing so. Despite
her inner turmoil, she wanted to spend the day with Hank. She
wanted to enjoy the simple pleasures of small-town life with him.
All too soon, it would be over, and she would have to leave. Today,
she wanted to make memories she could take with her, memories to
pull out and savor when the inevitable loneliness overcame
her.

Their time together had grown shorter
day by day. The recording session was on schedule. Six songs were
already in the hands of the mixer, who would reunite the disjointed
tracks into the final two tracks for mastering. Seven more were
still to be recorded.

She tamped down the panic she felt
every time she thought about the final two weeks. Moving in
chronological order was like some macabre countdown to reliving the
worst nightmare of her life. Each song, each week brought her a
step closer.

When Hank knocked on her door, she was
ready and waiting for him. In honor of the holiday and bowing to
the summer heat, she’d chosen to wear blue denim shorts, a red
T-shirt, and white sneakers.

“You could be Uncle Sam’s niece,” Hank
said, pulling her close for a kiss.

“Uncle Sam doesn’t have a niece,” she
said against his lips.

“Yeah? Well, if he did, she’d look
like you—cute, and sexy as hell.”