CHAPTER SEVEN - MELODY
CHAPTER SEVEN
MELODY
Melody had watched the splattering of red, blue, and green light punctuating the sky through her rearview mirror as she sat in her parked car. She’d waited until the fireworks had fizzled, feeling somehow like she owed Jo at least that much. Then she wiped her tears and drove away from Sunrise Park.
Tears continued to blur her vision as she drove. Great-aunt Jo’s send-off was a firework display? Not to be disrespectful to Jo’s final wishes, but what kind of sick and twisted celebration of life was that? Melody was on her way to her father’s house, but she didn’t want to face her dad when she was this upset. Not tonight. He must have known about this. Couldn’t he have at least warned her? Couldn’t Liz have done so?
Melody changed directions, considering briefly driving over Trove Bridge and leaving town. But her bags were at her dad’s, and she would need the items inside eventually. As much as she wanted to leave Trove Isle, she wasn’t ready just yet. She needed to finish cleaning out Hidden Treasures and put it up for sale.
She drove the roads by memory, turning and navigating her way to Seagull Street until she was parked in front of Hidden Treasures along the curb. She stepped out of her car, locked it behind her, and let herself inside the thrift store. She never would have expected to find comfort here, but tonight all she wanted was to be alone. Even if she was surrounded by junk.
She didn’t flip the lights on as she walked toward the back, where she’d seen that Jo kept a fold-out cot. Melody unfolded it, holding her breath as dust plumed upward. Then she found some clean linens that she placed on the bed. When she was done, she climbed under a heavy quilt that she vaguely remembered from her childhood. It wasn’t for sale. It was located in the tiny back room, the size of a walk-in closet.
Melody lay back and stared up at the ceiling, decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars. And she thought about Jo being sent off in a firecracker and the final lines of Jo’s letter about meeting her late baby boy and Alyssa.
Melody swallowed past a sob that caught in her throat. Why was life on the isle so sentimental and sad? There were too many ghosts here, jumping out from every corner. She had no ghosts in Charlotte. There, she went about her day as an event planner, making everyone else’s precious moments memorable while she barely felt anything at all. She didn’t have family in Charlotte and she didn’t keep close friends. That was what she preferred, even if the result was a lonelier, colder life.
She swiped past one tear, then two.
“Why did you bring me back here, Jo?” she whispered into the darkness. “I am not one of your lost things.” Except she was. She’d been lost since the night Alyssa died. Maybe since seven years earlier when their mother had passed away. Like Jo’s letter had said, she’d been losing pieces of herself here and there until she didn’t even know who she was anymore.
Melody blinked up at the glow-in-the-dark stars and then shut her eyes. The next thing she knew, she was waking up to the sound of someone tapping on the storefront window.
Melody sat upright in bed, disoriented for a moment. Where am I? Then she remembered. She was in Hidden Treasures. It was Saturday morning. Last night Great-aunt Jo had been launched into the sky in a firecracker.
The knock came again.
Melody got out of the bed, her body achy from the thin, springy mattress. She peeked out of the back room, down the store, to see Liz standing outside on the sidewalk, her hands cupped to the front glass as she peered inside. Melody stiffened when Liz’s gaze latched onto hers. Too late to hide.
On an exhale, Melody walked toward the front, smoothing her hair and clothes as she approached. She must look a mess. She was still wearing last night’s clothing. She opened the door and looked at Liz.
“Here.” Liz held out a coffee cup with The Bitery’s logo on it. “I saw your car out front and figured you must have slept here last night. I thought you might appreciate this.”
“I do. Thank you.” Melody took the cup and gave Liz a sheepish look. “I’m sorry about last night.” She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, but it fell back along her cheek. “I was expecting a small raft with Jo’s ashes. Or that we would all release lanterns into the sky. Something nice.”
Liz lifted one corner of her mouth in a sideways grin. “You know Jo better than that.”
Melody nodded. “Yeah. A firework makes more sense now that I think about it. It just shocked me, I guess.”
“I get it.” Liz held out her arm. “Do you, uh, want the bracelet back?” It was draped along her wrist, the friendship charm catching the light where it lay just below the back of her hand.
“No, it’s your turn. It chose you last night,” Melody said half-jokingly. “I hope your sweater is okay.”
“It left a little snag, but it’s fine.” Liz looked at the bracelet. “If you don’t mind then, I’ll wear it for a while.”
“No, of course I don’t mind. I think that’s great.”
Liz nodded and then glanced down the street. “I have to get back to The Bitery. Rose is helping out today, but I can’t really leave her alone for too long. She burns the croissants and puts out a tip jar. We don’t accept tips at The Bitery.”
Melody sipped from her cup of coffee as she listened. “Thanks for this. I really needed it this morning.”
“You’re welcome. So are you staying overnight at the thrift store now?” Liz asked.
“No. I’ll go back to my dad’s tonight. I just couldn’t deal with things yesterday. I needed to be alone.”
“I understand.” Liz shifted from one foot to the other, looking nervous. “Well . . . I’ll see you later then?”
“Yeah.” Melody watched Liz turn to go, feeling something opposite of grief and sorrow. She hadn’t allowed herself to realize how much she’d missed her friend until now.
“You open?” a voice asked, grabbing Melody’s attention.
Melody turned to the middle-aged woman with two kids in tow. “No. I’m, um, not open this morning.”
“It’s nine o’clock though,” the woman said impatiently. “The hours say you’re open at nine. I need some shoes for these two. Jo always helped me find exactly what I needed.” The mom looked past Melody into the store. “It won’t take long.”
Melody glanced back for just a moment. Before she knew it, one of the kids ran past her.
“Chandler! Come back here! . . . Sorry!” The mom followed with the other kid trailing behind.
Melody was at a loss for what to do as she watched them run around the store. Finally, she flipped on the store lights so that the mother and kids didn’t hurt themselves. Next thing she knew, another customer walked in. “Oh, I’m not open for business,” she told the older man.
He didn’t even acknowledge her. Instead, he went straight to the rack of men’s clothing and started perusing.
After that, another man walked in. Then a woman.
“Okayyy,” Melody said to herself. “I guess I am open.” She headed to the back room of the thrift store long enough to freshen up. Then she stepped up to the counter where the mom was waiting with two pairs of shoes for her children.
“So you own the store now?” the mother asked, lying a worn wallet on the counter and pulling out cash.
“Temporarily. I inherited it,” Melody explained.
“Jo was so amazing. When I was pregnant with Chandler, she placed a hand on my belly and said that he would be a force to be reckoned with.” The mom laughed. “She wasn’t wrong.”
The rest of the morning was filled with customer after customer and story after story. Melody greeted and listened to them all. At noon, she finally flipped the sign to CLOSED. At least some of the store’s stuff was sold, which would help a little with cleaning the place out like the real estate agent had suggested. Melody really needed to stop the donations though. Every time Melody stepped back there, the donation box was full.
Melody grabbed a piece of cardboard that she’d seen in the back room and a Sharpie and wrote: NO LONGER TAKING DONATIONS! She searched through the drawers until she found some masking tape and carried the sign out back, stopping in her tracks. Since the last time she’d stepped out, she’d received even more donations. The bin was now overflowing onto the pavement. She couldn’t just leave the stuff out here to get rained on or ruined.
After taping the sign to the metal bin, Melody grabbed a few boxes and took them inside. At a glance, it was full of clothing, toys, and a small wooden jewelry box that caught Melody’s eye. It looked like one she’d had as a child with a pop-up ballerina that twirled when the lid was open. Curious, she pulled it out and sat it on the cot in front of her.
Music played as she lifted the music box’s lid. There was a ballerina lying flat that should have popped up, but it was broken. Maybe she could fix it with some superglue later. She was about to close the jewelry box when she noticed something silver wedged between the crevices of the velvety inner casings. She pried the material back with her index finger and shimmied out a thin charm shaped as a burst of fireworks.
Goose bumps fleshed on Melody’s skin. What were the odds of finding such a charm the night after Jo’s Celebration of Life? It hit too close to reality to be a coincidence, but Melody’s rational brain thought that was the only explanation. It certainly wasn’t the work of Jo or Alyssa behind the scenes.
Melody ran the tip of her finger over the smooth surface of the charm. The bracelet was with Liz right now, but when Melody got it back, she was going to attach this charm, she decided. Coincidence or not, it held meaning and it deserved a new home on one of the golden links.
Still feeling the goose bumps, Melody walked over to her purse and placed the charm into a tiny pocket for safe keeping. Then she grabbed her keys, locked up the store, and got into her car to drive back to her dad’s. Her father was asleep in his recliner when she arrived. Quietly, she closed the front door behind her and tiptoed toward her bedroom.
“Melody?” his deep voice called. He’d never been one to call her Mel like her friends.
She stopped in her tracks and turned back, halfway down the hall. “Hi, Dad. I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“It’s okay. I was up late last night,” he said. “I thought maybe you’d left town.”
She looked down at her feet. “No. I went to Hidden Treasures. I didn’t mean to worry you.” She winced because he probably hadn’t lost any sleep over where she was. Maybe he was just a night owl.
“It’s fine. Are you . . . okay?” he asked, his words stopping and starting.
“I’m not sure,” she said honestly.
“Is there anything I can do?”
The question took her off guard. “I don’t think so.”
There was a long silence.
“It was nice. Last night. Jo would have liked it,” he finally said.
Melody had already realized that he was right. Jo would have liked it. She probably did like it from wherever she was watching from. Maybe from the Isle of Lost Things. “Yes. She would have.”
“I think when I die, I want to go out the same way,” her father said, surprising her.
Melody let out a startled laugh. Her father was dry. Humorless. Boring even. She would expect nothing less than a funeral with only piano music. No singing. No guitar. Definitely not drums. “You’re kidding.”
“Absolutely.” He turned to look at her. He wasn’t smiling exactly, but there was a subtle twinkle in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s good to see you.”
She shifted back and forth on her feet, currently in the strappy black sandals she’d slipped on yesterday before the celebration of life. Her feet ached to take them off. Her body ached to climb into her childhood bed. She couldn’t quite return her father’s sentiment—not yet—but she was working on it. “Thank you,” she said instead. “That means a lot,” she added, meaning it.
To: Bri Johnson
From: Liz Dawson
Subject: Change is coming
Bri,
Sharing a house with Rose has reminded me of why I couldn’t wait to leave my parents’ place when I was eighteen. She doesn’t pick up her things or respect mine. And she’s a night owl even though she knows I wake up early to open The Bitery.
I turned down the photography job for Missy Lyons’ parents. I don’t have transportation or a responsible person to cover the bakery. Saying no took a little piece of my soul though. I wanted to say yes. Really wanted to. I’ve been thinking, ever since Jo’s letter at her celebration of life. She said something about not being afraid to follow your dreams. I know this sounds crazy, but I think she was talking directly to me. There are things I want to change about my life, but for that to happen, I need to change. I’m just not quite sure how. I guess deciding what I want is the first step. Scratch that, deciding what I don’t want is first. I don’t want to work at the bakery for the next thirty years. I don’t want to spend my whole life on Seagull Street. I don’t want to be afraid of everything. I want to chase my dreams like Jo did. I’m tired of letting my fear hold me back.
Stay tuned. Liz 2.0 is coming.
xx,
Liz
P.S. I’m coming to visit next week. It’s not as easy with my parents in Ecuador. I’ll find someone else to drive me—just not Rose because her license should be revoked.