Touching Melody (A Forever First Novel) (4 page)

I don’t tell Gina I’m leaving. I hope she doesn’t get mad, but I won’t stay a second longer. My mind is reeling with thoughts. Of him. Kyle Hadley. I knew there was a chance he’d be here. This is his hometown. It used to be mine. Part of me is glad. We were best friends and neighbors for the first eleven years of our lives. He was born a year before me. Our parents were good friends too. At least I thought so, until the night my mom and dad died.

I walk home from a friend’s house. It’s late, and I’m worried my parents will be mad. As I come around the corner heading into my backyard, I see two men leave my house by the back door. The light from the back porch is on. I hide, worried it might be my dad talking to one of his coworkers. I don’t want him to yell at me.

From my spot behind the butterfly bushes I quickly realize it isn’t my dad, but two other men. One carries a gun and whispers furiously at the other.

“We need to find her.”

“Fine. I’ll go.”

Kyle Hadley’s dad is the one holding the gun. He taps the other guy in the chest with it. “I’m counting on you.”

Hatred pinches his face.

When they are gone I run in the house. A fierce tightening clenches my chest and I don’t know why.

“Mom! Dad!
” I shout, searching for them. I pass through the kitchen and into the family room. My feet slide to a stop. Mom is on the floor, blood pooling under her. Dad is lying on the floor beside her, his arm draped over her waist. They look like they’re sleeping, except for all the blood. So much blood.

My mind shuts down. I’m not prepared for the scene in front of me. It can’t be right. Nothing’s happened. Nothing happened. It’s a mistake. I’m dreaming.

I run back to my friend’s and hide in her pool house. I tell myself everything will be fine in the morning, back to normal. After a while I fall asleep. 

I wake to the sound of barking German Shep
herds. With swollen eyes I peek through the glass walls. The police are searching around the pool and heading toward the place where I’m hiding. I open the door, and a hard whiff of chlorine stings my nose. A female police officer sees me and comes over.

“Are you Maddelena Martin?” she asks tenderly.

I nod.

“My name is Mary. I need to speak with you. It’s about your parents. Will you come with me?”

Any hope I had leaves my body. They are dead. My parents are dead. Kyle’s dad was there with a gun. He killed my parents. I feel a scream well up inside. I keep my teeth clenched in my mouth.

Two other police officers join her, as well as a lady in a gray suit. She sinks down to her knees so I can see her face. Her features are kind, filled with tenderness. “Do you go by Maddelena or something else?” There’s a light in her eyes, like she knows I hate my name and doesn’t blame me.

“Maddie,” I say, blinking rapidly.

“May I hold your hand?” she asks quietly.

I nod.

They take me to the police station, and I stay there until my aunt and uncle come.

Two distinct aromas are scorched onto my brain: chlorine and the smell of donuts. A lady at the police station gave me a custard-filled donut. I ate it, and then puked it up later.

The police say my parents were killed in a robbery. I tell them they’re wrong, that I saw Kyle Hadley’s dad leave my house. That he had a gun. Their eyes get wide. One says, “You mean Chief Hadley?”

I glance around the room. It’s obvious no one believes me. I can understand. He’s handsome and has a charming smile. I used to think he was so cool, until the first time I saw him hit Kyle. Since then I’ve steered clear. Even my parents told me never to go over to Kyle’s if his dad was home. And my parents were his friends—at least I thought so, until last night. I didn’t see him shoot my parents, but I saw the gun. I know what he did. 

My aunt
touches my arm and whispers, “Don’t say another word. Not one. You hear me?” She pats my knee and gives me a stern look.

A sick terror
races up my spine at the urgency in her voice. I give her a look. It seems so unfair. I know what I saw.

“I mean it,” she adds.

At that moment Kyle Hadley’s dad walks in, wearing his uniform. His features appear concerned. But I know the look. He’s arrogant, daring me to say something.

I want to reach over and rip the smug look off Chief Hadley’s face. But my aunt is like a second mother, so I listen.

I will not cry
, I think, even as tears leak from my eyes. And I wish there was some way I could make him pay.  

One of the officers asks, “Is this the man you saw leaving your parent’s house last night?”

I shake my head.

“Is that a no?” t
he female asks.

“No,” I say firmly. I give my aunt a sideways look. She nods. “I must’ve been mistaken
. It was dark,” I continue in a whisper.

Chief Hadley
smiles. His large black and white mustache rises into his nose, and I wish it would suffocate him. “You’ve had a rough night, kiddo. I’m so sorry.”

I cringe, pressing my body
to my aunt’s side.

A while later we leave. My aunt and uncle take me to live with them in Sugar River, Wyoming
, a small town twenty minutes from my home in Bellam Springs. We bury my parents in a cemetery about a mile from my aunt and uncle’s house.

I don’t get to tell
Kyle or my friends from school good-bye. We just pack up a few of my favorite things and leave.

Kyle
calls my aunt and uncle’s house, of course. He’s my best friend, after all. But I can’t talk to him. I don’t know how to wrap my brain around his father killing my parents and getting away with it. My aunt tells me the chief is a dangerous man. That the world is full of scary people and Daniel Hadley is one of them.

My aunt says, “Know this, Maddie. Bad men raise bad kids. It’s a fact, I tell you. Do not talk to Kyle or you’ll be sorry. That’s a promise.”

I am beyond sick with grief at losing my parents, so I accept what she says.

After I while I become angry and throw raging fits, breaking anything I get my hands on. When I shatter every piece of my aunt’s favorite china, I know for sure they’ll send me away, and that’s
what I want. A gaping crater replaces the space where my heart used to be, and I don’t care what happens.

Instead, they take me to see Abigail, my shrink, and they buy a black baby grand piano. They force me to take lessons
five days a week from Mrs. Nelson, an older woman. She was a concert pianist years ago. She loves music. Mrs. Nelson kindly and tenderly pours all of that love into me. It helps fill the hole, patches it up, and slowly I’m able to live again.

Until tonight.

Kyle doesn’t remember me. I recognized him immediately. 

It feels as though my body is being torn in half.

Seeing Kyle has brought back every
moment we shared. He’s the boy I loved. The boy I used to dream of marrying. The boy I made a pact with. First kiss. First time. And I secretly believed he’d be more. My first and only husband. I dreamed of our wedding, what I’d wear, what he’d wear. The colors. The words we’d say to each other. I used to make myself cry at how touching his words were, almost like a poem or lyrics to a beautiful song. Then he would confess his everlasting love. And kiss me.

He was all I ever wanted.

But seeing him also brings back fresh wounds, stabbing, ripping my heart to shreds. His father killed my parents. Shot them dead, and got away with it.

My hands shake and tears spill onto my cheeks. Hurriedly I wipe them away, hoping no one notices as I make my way to my room.

“This can’t be happening.” I rip off my shirt and toss the smelly thing into my hamper. My bra is stained too and I unhook it, throwing it into the hamper as well. Pulling off my jeans, I kick them near the hamper and put on an oversized t-shirt. It was my dad’s. Across the front are the words:
Bellam Sprints Police Force
.

I curl into bed, pulling my comforter around me for warmth and protection. I lay there crying for a long time, until the sun comes up and I finally sleep.

5

Maddie

Interpersonal Relationships

A door slams and I blink, sitting up. “Wha—” I rub sleep from my eyes and work to focus on Gina. She’s still wearing her slinky black dress, but her makeup is smeared and she has bed-head.

“Why did you leave the party?” she asks, gingerly sitting on the edge of her bed, grabbing a fluffy
cream teddy bear from the rumpled covers and squeezing.

I don’t answer. Warning bells are flashing
behind my eyes. Something’s wrong. “Gina,” I stand and move to sit next to her. “Are you… okay?”

She waves me away. “Yeah.” I notice her
lashes are wet. She sniffs and lies down on her side. “I asked for it.” She rolls over, facing the wall.

I stand there, unsure whether to comfort her or leave her alone. My homeschooling days haven’t prepared me for real interpersonal relationships. I’m not sure what she thinks she asked for, but I’m terrified for her.

I’ve been sheltered since I went to live with my aunt and uncle. They aren’t old-old, in their late 50’s, but they act old. “Technology is not our friend” is my aunt’s motto, while my uncle always says, “Remember the Titans.” Neither saying makes any sense to me. They own one TV and one DVD player. All they watch are sitcoms from the sixties and seventies like
I Dream of Genie, The Brady Bunch,
and
Bewitched
. Occasionally my uncle will watch old movies. His favorite is
Remember the Titans
. He says it's “Because it’s a story of true friendship combined with football, and there’s nothing better.” Sometimes I watch TV with them, but mostly I prefer to read the dusty classics tucked away in old boxes, or practice piano.

Finally I whisper
to Gina, “Can I get you something? A coffee?” I hope that sounds appropriate. I’m astonished at the gnawing worry in my gut. But it’s there, and I’m concerned. Just because I hurt doesn’t mean I want anyone else to. 

She turns over gently. I see she’s crying. “Why do you care if I’m okay?”

I realize she’s flinging my words from last night back at me. My first instinct is to agree and walk out. But she’s hugging the teddy bear so tightly I feel sorry for it.

I sigh and sit on her bed. “I think it’s because you and I are meant to be friends. And friends care about each other. If you’re
sad, I want to help.” My voice sounds more calm, more sure than I feel.

Two enormous tears drop on her pillow. “You mean it? You don’t think I’m outrageous?” I force back a snort at her choice of word. She’s the epitome of outrageous with her crazy outfits, hair, and makeup. Even her black boots scream
outrageous
. She seems to know it though, because she eases one hand from the stranglehold she has on the bear and picks up the edge of her dress.

I force myself to smile. “I think your outrageousness is going to be one of my favorite things about you.” My hands are tucked into the end of my shirt, but I feel like I need to comfort her somehow. I
grab a tissue from the table situated between our beds and hand it to her. She takes it and wipes her eyes, then blows. When she’s finished she chucks the wadded tissue toward the trash. It lands on the end of her bed. She reeks of alcohol and cigarettes.

“You
wanna talk about it?” I ask.

She takes a deep breath, yanks off her boots, and lies back down. “First I need to sleep off this hangover.” She pulls her covers up and rolls over.

“’kay,” I say softly, surprised I’m not hung over. At least I don’t think I am. I’m tired, and it feels like I have grass growing on my teeth and tongue, but it’s nothing a shower and some toothpaste won’t fix. “I’ll try to keep it down.”

Today is
the first day of classes. I feel like I should remind her about going. But she seems so broken. I can’t bring myself to speak the words.

I quietly pick up my towel and bathroom necessities, pulling on a pair of fluffy pink slippers. I grab my keycard and open the door.