Jane's Melody Read online

  As she passed familiar places, she wondered if her daughter had discovered them as well. Maybe Melody had even felt her ghost there in the old café, her head bent over school books. Or perhaps her daughter had seen her fingerprints on a shelf in the neighborhood bookstore that hadn’t changed or likely even been dusted since she was born. Or had their eyes met across twenty-years-worth of wax on the bar in the Steampipe Lounge, where a cute girl could always hustle a Friday night drink or two if she had a fake ID? God, was I young and stupid, Jane thought. But she had to admit that it had been fun, too.

  When she arrived at the apartment building, she double-checked the address, just to be sure. It was an old, run-down, three-story craftsman that had been converted long ago into walk-up apartments. But despite the peeling paint and sagging roofline, the address numbers on the curb were freshly painted and clear. So this was where her daughter had lived. This was where her daughter had died.

  The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and Jane sat in her car and looked out the water-specked window at the red, third-floor door that her daughter had entered for the last time just ten days before. Had she known, Jane wondered. Had she stopped to drink in one last view of the city? Had the clouds cleared to present one final sunset to see her off? Had she had second thoughts? Or was she bent on getting inside for her fix, seeing nothing but the waiting oblivion she so craved? Jane only half wished she could understand.

  They were the hardest steps Jane had ever climbed.

  She knocked on the door and waited.

  She knocked again.

  “Keep your damn panties on,” a female voice yelled from inside. “I’m coming, already.”

  Soon a series of locks unlatched, and the door opened six inches on its chain, revealing a girl’s pale face pressed to the narrow opening.

  “I told the lady on the phone I wasn’t agreeing to no damn inspection,” the pale face said. “Besides, I haven’t even had my kid since December, thanks to his asshole father.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jane said. “I think you have me mixed up with someone else.”

  The girl leaned closer to the opening and looked her over.

  “Oh, shit! You’re Melody’s mom. I’m sorry.”

  “I thought I’d finally come by for her things.”

  The girl’s face disappeared as she turned to look into the apartment. When she looked back, Jane assumed she’d unchain the door and invite her in, but she didn’t.

  “Wait here,” she said, instead. “I’ll get it together for you. It’ll just take a minute.”

  Then she shut the door and locked it again.

  Jane stood on the step and waited. She looked down on the street below and wondered what path her daughter had walked home that day and from where. The neighborhood reminded her of places she had lived herself once she escaped her childhood home at seventeen and set out on her own. A tomcat pawed at the contents of an overturned garbage can; a kid kicked a soccer ball down an alley and back again, deftly dodging puddles; a lowered car cruised by with bass music pumping behind tinted glass; and a couple loudly argued in the open window of an apartment across the way.

  Jane was about to head down to her car for a quick drag on a cigarette—just one to calm her nerves—when the door opened and the girl thrust a box into her arms.

  “Is this all there is?” Jane asked, a little surprised.

  The girl shrugged. She had run a comb through her hair and her breath smelled of cough drops when she spoke.

  “There was some other stuff, but we shared it. I’m sure you know how it is.”

  Jane nodded, understanding what she meant.

  “I was kinda surprised when you called,” the girl said, “because Melody never mentioned nothing about having any family around here.”

  Jane felt tears well up in her eyes. She stood holding the box while one ran down her cheek.

  “Shit,” the girl said. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”

  “Was it you who found her?” Jane asked.

  The girl shook her head.

  “Nah. I was at my boyfriend’s all weekend. Candace was the one came by that morning.” She paused to look down, and then added in a quiet voice: “Sometimes I wonder if I’d only been home, you know?”

  Jane knew the feeling all too well, but she didn’t say so. Instead, she changed the subject.

  “Is there anything you can tell me about her? I mean, what she was up to, or how she was doing?”

  The girl sighed and tossed up a hand.

  “I wish I could tell you something. But it’s not like we were close or nothing. She only moved in a few months ago.”

  “Do you have any idea where she spent her time?”

  “I dunno,” the girl said. “You might try the Devil’s Cup. They called and said they had a final check for her there.”

  “Melody had a job?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she replied. “She’d been at the Devil’s Cup on Pike since maybe a week after moving in here. Said she was gonna enroll in beauty school too, now that I think about it. Even had the forms all printed out. It wasn’t like you think. She just had a little setback, you know. Guess that’s all it takes sometimes, though. One bad day, one bad rig.Anyway, enough from my ass about that. I gotta run and get ready.”

  Jane thanked her and turned to leave. She’d made it two steps down the stairs with her box when the girl called to her.

  “Hey! I hate to mention it. You know. With everything. But Melody did owe me some rent.”

  Jane stopped and set the box down on the step and fished through her purse for her checkbook.

  “How much did she owe you?”

  “One fifty,” the girl said.

  “Who should I make the check out to?”

  “You don’t have any cash?”

  Jane opened her wallet and counted her cash.

  “I’ve only got eight-five dollars.”

  “I’ll just take that and call it even,” the girl said.

  Jane held the money out but stayed on the second step and made her come out into the light to get it. She saw the dark circles under her eyes, the red track marks on her arms, and she almost pulled the money back but didn’t. The girl snatched the bills, thanked her, then quickly retreated into the apartment again and shut the door and locked it.

  Jane drove to the Devil’s Cup and circled the block three times until she found a parking spot near enough to walk. The coffee shop was small and tight, only a few stools surrounding a window counter, and filled with eclectic neighborhood kids with their faces buried in their iPhones. Jane got in line and listened as the people in front of her ordered their caffeine fixes to go—“Cafe breve,” “Short drip,” “Latte macchiato.”

  When it was her turn, the girl behind the register pulled a pink sucker from her mouth and asked:

  “What’ll it be, lady?”

  She had red hair and a ring through her eyebrow. Face piercings must be in style, Jane thought, because her daughter had had a small diamond stud in her nose when she arrived at the mortuary. She still wondered sometimes if she had made the right decision to have them leave it in, despite her strong feelings otherwise. She guessed that she had.

  “I’m Melody McKinney’s mother,” Jane said.

  “I’m sure she’s very proud,” the girl replied, popping the sucker back into her mouth and talking with it in her cheek. “What can we craft you to drink today?”

  “Did you know Melody?”

  “Should I?” the girl asked.

  “I was told she worked here.”

  “Oh,” the girl said, looking suddenly mortified. “You’re that Melody’s mother. Sorry. I’m filling in from our Belltown location. Hold on a sec.”

  She disappeared into the backroom and came out a minute later with an envelope.

  “This is her final check,” she said. Then she looked down at the counter and quickly added: “Sorry. That sounded bad.”

  Jane tucked the envelope in her purse.

  “I w
as actually hoping that I might be able to talk with someone who worked with Melody. Someone who knew her.”

  “You should come back during the week,” the girl said. “Lewis works then and he’d be the best person to talk to.”

  “Lewis?”

  “Yeah. He’s the manager. You can’t miss him. Looks like a cross between a My Little Pony and the Statue of Liberty.”

  Jane stepped outside and took a deep breath of cool, damp air. She had felt the walls closing in on her in the small coffee shop, perhaps because she had kept picturing Melody standing behind the counter smiling at her instead of the rude redhead. If only she’d been here two weeks ago. It seemed a cruel lottery how some lives were cut short while others went on.

  As she walked up the block toward her car, she heard a lonely guitar melody carried on the breeze, accompanied by an even lonelier voice. The song was nothing she had ever heard before, but it was beautiful, and it matched her mood.

  She followed the music around the corner and found its source standing in a doorway. He was wearing a grungy ball cap and his head was bent over the guitar so as Jane couldn’t see his face. His guitar case was open on the sidewalk in front of him, sprinkled with a few dollar bills and a few coins. Jane was so moved by the song he was playing that she stopped to dig in her purse for something to leave him, but she had given the last of her money to Melody’s roommate. All she came up with was the silver dollar that the stranger had left on Melody’s grave, and she didn’t dare part with that.

  She waited for the song to finish so she might ask the man how long he’d be there if she returned with a donation, but when he finally struck the last chord and raised his head, she was struck speechless by his eyes. It was him—the man from the cemetery, the stranger in the rain. The glimpse she had seen through her windshield had been seared into her mind. She would recognize those eyes anywhere, anytime.

  Jane thought she saw a flash of recognition in his face too, but it quickly disappeared, replaced by a broad smile as he said:

  “Got any requests?”

  “That was really good,” she said, deciding on the spot not to mention having seen him before. “I mean, really good.”

  He dipped his chin.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Did you write it?”

  “Well,” he said, suddenly looking shy, “I haven’t actually written it down anywhere yet, as I’m still working on it in my head, but the melody and the words are my own, if that’s what you mean.”

  “That’s really amazing,” Jane said.

  “I’m glad you like it. Usually folks prefer the old stuff that they know. Nostalgia, I guess. But as great a song as it is, I can only sing ‘Hallelujah’ so many times in a day.”

  She studied his face while he spoke.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?”

  He took off his ball cap and clawed his hand through his long dark hair. He sighed.

  “Well, if they told me the truth about the day I was born, and if I don’t die, I’ll be twenty-five this July.”

  “You’re not yet twenty-five and you wrote a song like that? Have you been writing music your whole life?”

  “I couldn’t say for sure,” he shrugged. “I haven’t lived my whole life yet.” Then he smiled at her again and changed the subject. “Is there something you’d like to hear?”

  Jane was so drawn by the fleck of green burning in his sad eyes that she leaned in to get a closer look.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Not to be rude, lady, but this is how I make my living. Now, is there a song you’d like to hear? ’Cause if not, I’ve got to be moving on.”

  “But I want to talk with you.”

  “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

  He lifted his guitar over his head, squatted to scoop the change from its case, then closed the guitar up inside.

  “I just want to ask you a few questions.”

  “There must be fifty guys down on First and Pine who’ll talk your ear off for the price of a pint. I’m not one of them.”

  He pinched the brim of his cap as if to say goodbye and picked up his case and walked off with it.

  “I saw you at the cemetery,” Jane said to his back.

  He stopped and slowly turned around.

  “I was in the car watching you. Melody must have meant a lot to you, for you to show up in the rain like that.”

  Jane opened her purse.

  “Here. You left this coin.”

  “Was she your sister?” he asked.

  “No, I’m her mother.”

  A sad expression washed like a storm cloud across his face and his eyes flashed with grief. For a moment, Jane thought he might cry. But he dropped his gaze to the sidewalk and said:

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Then he turned and walked away.

  No explanation, no goodbye.

  Jane stood and watched him go.

  No sooner had he disappeared around the corner when a raindrop splashed on the sidewalk in front of her where he had stood, as if his shadow were still there crying.

  Alone on the sidewalk, Jane felt her own tears come.

  Then a curtain of rain fell at once and Jane slumped down in the covered doorway where he had been playing, wrapped her arms around her knees, and watched the drops beat against the pavement—his melody replaced by the lonesome splash of water beneath the tires of anonymous cars rolling past.

  Chapter 3

  “YOU NEED TO EAT.”

  Grace pointed at the bowl of chowder in front of Jane, a look of motherly concern on her face.

  “I know,” Jane said, “but I just haven’t been hungry.”

  “Here, dip some of this sourdough in there.”

  Grace pushed the plate of bread toward Jane and signaled the server, who was wiping down tables vacated by the last of the pub’s lunch crowd.

  “Can I get you two something else?” the server asked.

  “Two Mac and Jacks please.”

  “Amber or the hefeweizen?”

  “The amber’s fine,” Grace said.

  She must have seen Jane’s surprised expression because as soon as the server walked away, Grace turned to her and asked:

  “What?”

  “I’ve just never really seen you drink before,” Jane said.

  “Hey, just because my silly husband’s in recovery, and just because your family should be, doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy a beer every now and again, does it? Besides, how else are we supposed to put up with them?”

  “Good point,” Jane said, laughing.

  Not wanting to drink on an empty stomach, Jane managed a few bites of her chowder before the server came back and set the pint glasses in front of them. The beer was bold and bitter, but it tasted good going down, and after only a few sips Jane leaned back in her chair and actually began to feel a bit better. She looked at Grace and remembered the first time they had come to this pub, a week or so after they’d met when Jane sold her a life insurance policy. Hard to believe that that was fifteen years ago and that back then Grace had been her age now.

  “Have you started back to work yet?” Grace asked.

  Jane shook her head.

  “I haven’t taken a sales call in almost a month.”

  “Well, there’s no rush, I guess,” Grace offered. “I think it’s okay to remind yourself that it’s only been a few weeks since the funeral. How are you fixed for money?”

  “I’m fine,” Jane replied. “I’ve got savings.”

  She turned the beer glass in her hand and watched as the sunlight streaming through the pub’s windows cast its amber reflection on the worn table.

  “You know what I do now every night?”

  “What?” Grace asked.

  “I sit at my laptop and stalk Melody’s Facebook page.”

  “Oh, Jane,” Grace sighed. “It must be torture.”

  “It is and it isn’t,” she said. “Her wall’s open, and I’ve been scrolling
through her timeline and piecing together her life. It’s like I didn’t know anything about her. You know what her last post was? Two days before—well, before she died? She wrote: ‘Love is life and life is good.’ Can you believe that?”

  “Have you talked to any of her friends?”

  “No. I wouldn’t know where to start. But almost every day someone writes another goodbye on her wall. A few of them even post pictures. Usually with a drink in her hand, of course.”

  “Well, what about this boyfriend? The musician?”

  “He’s not on there. But Melody wrote some posts about being in love. I wish he had been willing to talk with me when I bumped into him. I still have that coin he left on her grave.”

  “Maybe you should try again,” Grace said. “Go find him and take another approach.”

  “You think so?”

  “What do you have to lose? Lord knows, you can’t spend all your time wondering, J.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’ve got to find a way to carry on.”

  Jane picked up her spoon and idly stirred her chowder, an absent gesture since she had no intention of eating more of it.

  “You think I should?” she asked. “Just go hunt him down like that?”

  Grace nudged the plate of sourdough closer to Jane.

  “Eat some bread, honey. You’re too skinny.”

  “What would I say to him?”

  “Maybe just try to get to know him first. Talk about his music or something. If there’s one thing you can count on most folks wanting to talk about, it’s themselves.”

  AS SHE DROVE HOME FROM THE PUB, Jane thought about what Grace had said. What did she have to lose, she wondered. The answer was nothing, because she’d lost everything already. She knew she wouldn’t begin to even glimpse any sort of relief until she had a better picture of what her daughter had been up to in the months before her overdose. Plus, something in the young man’s face had been haunting her—some look of hidden pain, as if he carried a burden he dared not share. Jane slowed her car and U-turned, heading toward the ferry.

  The sun was casting golden shafts of light through a break in the clouds as the ferry pulled into the city pier and docked. Jane drove to the Devil’s Cup and parked. She returned to the doorway where the young stranger had been playing his guitar, but nothing was there except an overflowing trashcan and some faded chalk drawings that warned of coming doom.