Touching Melody (A Forever First Novel) (23 page)

And I’m about to pack them all up when I notice one with a single heart drawn
in black pen on the front.

A heart.

My heart speeds, and beats against my chest. I have to read it.

Just this one.
Then I’ll take them back. With a pair of scissors I cut off one of the short sides of the envelope, blow inside, and carefully slide the three ring binder paper out. I unfold it and read:

Dear Maddie,

I turned fourteen today.
Didn’t do much. Hung out with Evan. We saw a movie. Ate. Listened to music.

I
kept thinking about you. I never stop.

When we went to the movies
, I ordered Junior Mints because those are your favorite. When we ate lunch, I ordered a chicken sandwich instead of a cheeseburger because I knew that’s what you would’ve ordered. Evan asked what my problem was, but I ignored him.

You were everywhere today. I swear I saw you six different times. Your
brown hair tucked behind your ears. But then the girl would turn around, and it wasn’t you.

I kept looking. I won’t stop.

I wished you could’ve spent today with me. We probably would’ve done the same thing me and Evan did, but it would’ve been a lot more fun, because it would’ve been with you.

Remember the cake you made for my eleventh birthday? It was chocolate with chocolate icing. You put sprinkles on it, and eleven candles. At the time I think I acted kind of embarrassed, like I di
dn’t really like it. But I want you to know, it meant a lot to me. It still does. Every birthday since I’ve thought about your cake. You. I’m sorry if I was mean.

And Maddie, whatever
I’ve done to make you mad, I’m sorry for that too. Really sorry. Like every day I wake up and for one moment I’m happy because I haven’t remembered that you’re gone yet. But when I do, it’s a struggle to get out of bed, do what I have to, because you aren’t here. My life was so much better when you were in it.

This
may sound weird, but I think I love you. And not like best friend love. Even though I feel that way about you too, but my heart hasn’t been the same since you left.

I miss you.

Please talk to me. Write me back.

Kyle

I read it once.
Then again. And a third time. Studying each word. Each sentence. He thought he loved me. At fourteen. I hadn’t seen him in three years. I press the paper to my nose and inhale. It may just be my imagination, but I swear I can smell him.

I refold the letter and tuck it back into the envelope
, then set it on top of the pile for 2009. I stare at the letters, written by the boy I’ve missed almost as much as my parents, and I realize I can’t give these back. Not yet. I have to read each and every letter. Each and every word, sentence, and paragraph.

I pick up the one with the most recent
date stamped on it. Slice the edge with a nail file and pull out the paper. It still looks new. And before I read, I smell it. Definitely Kyle.

Dear Maddie,

This will be my
final letter. I’ve known for a couple of years you wouldn’t respond. It used to drive my father crazy that I sent you letters in the first place. After a year he told me to stop, but I couldn’t. So my cousin Evan snuck me stamps from his mom’s purse.

Anyway, I think I finally get that you aren’t a part of my life anymore. I didn’t want to believe because it hurt
too much. Writing made it easier. I would think about you reading my letters. What you might do, the way your face would light up while you read.

But it’s not meant to be. Whatever it is you’re doing with your life, I hope you’re happy. I’ve tried to be happy. Piano has helped. Evan thinks I’m
girlie for playing, and I blow it off as just a hobby, but the truth is, it means the world to me. I sit on the bench and play, and play, and play.

The music allows me to forget the hurt at losing my mom, you, and my dad. Not that he was around much
. Not that I even liked him around. He wasn’t my favorite person, not even close, but he was my family. I see how important that is. And it makes me sad. For me, and for you.

Man, I miss you.

I think about what you must look like. If you’ve grown taller. Whether your hair is long or short. You had the most beautiful legs. I’m sure they’re even better now.

I get why you went to live with your aunt and uncle. They are all the family you have left. I’m living with Evan. Him and his mom and dad have been good to me. But it isn’t the same.

Shit. I hope you’re okay.

I’ve driven to
Sugar River lots of times. I’ve even gone past your aunt and uncle's house. Once I sat in my Jeep, across the street, for hours. Your aunt finally came out and told me what I already knew. You didn’t want to see me.

But I want you to know I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped caring. And I hope with all of my heart that you are
living life to its fullest. That you are happy. That’s all I wish for you.

Always,

Kyle

Tears drip onto the page. My heart is soaked with sadness. For many reasons. Giving up on Kyle, harboring so much hate for his dad. But it’s more. I feel so badly that I wasn’t around for Kyle when his father died. And I’m not even sure how to feel about his dad being dead. I’m devastated. I guess because a part of me believed I would have my revenge. That justice would be served. The man is dead. But I still feel lost, hopeless. It doesn’t seem fair.

I wipe my eyes and steel myself. I should be happy, ecstatic.
But I’m empty. I feel nothing. I am nothing.

And I realize all my life
, everything I’ve done: piano, tattoos, college, it’s all been because of Kyle’s father. I need to know how Chief Hadley died. I need to see his grave, spit on his gravestone.

How? I can’t ask my aunt. I can almost hear her
: “Why would you want to be within a hundred feet of that evil man’s grave? Even in death he’s probably causing trouble. Just stay away. Far, far away.” What she doesn’t understand is that I can’t. I have to see for myself that he’s dead.

I wonder if she knows he’s dead. Even as I think it, I know. My aunt and uncle know he’s dead. I doubt they would’ve let me go to college otherwise. When did he die?

I’m sure I could ask Kyle, but I’d rather read his letters. They’re mine anyway, addressed to me. I bet in a court of law, the judge would declare me the owner. Never mind that I swiped them from Kyle’s apartment without his knowledge.

As I ponder my predicament, the door opens. Gina stumb
les in. Her eyes are glazed. A strange smile coats her lips. “Hey, Maddie. Maddelena. Maddie-mad-dog. How are you?” She falls onto her bed, and stares at the ceiling.

I do my best to hide the letters, but there’s a lot.
When I’m satisfied, I walk over. “Hey, Gina. How was your night with Collin?”

She rolls onto her side. “So good.
So, so good. He’s a rock star in bed. Sweet. Kind. Plus, he took me to dinner. We partied, just the two of us.” Her smile gets big.

She’s higher than a kite. It isn’t cocaine. I’ve seen what she’s like on that. Maybe pot? I’m not sure. “What are you on?” I ask, sitting next to her, taking her hand.

Gina looks at me. “Awww, Maddie. Don’t look so worried. They’re called recreational drugs for a reason. They’re fun.” She closes her eyes, inhales slowly. “I mean look at me. Do I look like I’m having a bad time?” Before I can say anything, she answers herself, “No. I feel great.” She lifts her hand and waves it slowly, mesmerized by the movement.

I try to calm down. Take deep breaths. She’s right. She doesn’t seem sad or in pain
, but mellow. “Okay.” I pat her on the arm. “I’m going to the library. I need a book for my research paper.” The truth is I want to read Kyle’s letters in peace, without interruptions.

I stand, but Gina grabs my arm, pulls me back down. “Wait. Don’t go. Tell me about Kyle.
How was he? From everything I’ve heard, you can’t still be the big V.” She makes her hands into the shape of a V in the air.

“Yeah. It almost happened, but
I…” I can’t tell her. “Soon. I just wasn’t ready.” And after I passed out and stole his letters, he may never speak to me again. It might never happen. Maybe I’ll join a convent, or a monastery. I can be known as the tattooed nun.

“Alright. I’m just going to lay here. Rest. I’m so tired.” She closes her eyes.

I grab the letters and my iPod.

28

Maddie

Return to Sender

And I run. And run. And run.

But I
don’t end up at the library. My heart leads my feet to the Fine Arts building. The place I go to exercise my religion. The place where I’m happiest.

I
edge down the steps and enter the long hallway. Immediately I’m more relaxed, more me. Our piano room, Kyle’s and mine, is at the end, and I make my way toward it. But someone’s already there. Playing. It’s a song that breaks my heart. It’s melodious, chorded. I peer in and see Kyle. Tears on his cheeks. And I wonder what he’s thinking. Why is he hurting? Are his tears for his father? I want to go in and console him, but I’m afraid.

Of rejection.
Of his answers.

What if it is about his father? I can’t be
a comforter for the loss of that man. I’m glad he’s dead. I only wish it was me who took his life. At such a violet thought, I shudder. I wonder why my aunt and uncle never told me. I wonder when it happened, how it happened.

Kyle seems to sense my presence and looks my direction. He sees me and quickly stops, wiping his eyes
with the back of his hand. I’m torn. My heart telling me one thing: go in, talk to him, and my mind: his father is bad, therefore he is bad.

Kyle makes up my mind for me. Pulls open the door.

“Hey, Freckles. What are you doing here?” His features are tight, his voice not unfriendly, but not welcoming either.

I tuck the bag of letters behind my back. “Just wanted to get in some practice. I’ll find another room.”
I need to apologize. Tell him I’m sorry for passing out, but I don’t know where to begin. If it was the other way around, and he fell asleep on me, I’d be upset. So I step back, trying to escape.

He reaches out, grabs my arm. “What are you hiding?”

I tighten my grasp on the bag full of letters. I can’t let him see them. “Nothing. It’s private.”

“Come on. Show me,” he says reaching around, grabbing for the bag.

My heart is raging like a river. I don’t know what I’m more afraid of. Him seeing the letters, or him taking them away.

He. Can’t. Have. Them. Taking them would be like stealing years of my life. That’s how it feels. I won’t let him.

“Let go, Kyle. It’s none of your business.” I twist, trying to get out of his grasp, but his hands tighten.

He gives me a strange look. One that makes me
curious about whether he knows. I shove my fist into his chest. “No, Kyle. Leave me alone.”

He reaches around and rips the bag. Letters spill to the floor.
His words to me in a scattered pile at our feet. My heart is among those letters, as is my pride.

He bends to pick up the envelopes.
Flips one over. He realizes what they are instantly. Tension rolls off him. His shoulders tense under his shirt. I think about running away, hiding the embarrassment flaming my cheeks. But I hold my ground. I want those letters. It means everything to me to read his words.

When he stands, his expression is one of surprise.

“I’m sorry, Kyle. I-I found them, and wanted to read what you had to say. I wanted to know you, know what you wrote me.”

He crum
ples the envelopes into a fist. Pain travels over his features. “Then why didn’t you read them when I wrote them? Why send them back?”

“I didn’
t know. I-I never knew.” Tears sting my lashes, but I force them away.

He kicks the bag. “So you go through my things? You steal them?”
He’s shouting. Shaking his head in disbelief. “Have you read any of them?”