Heart Song (14 page)

I shook my head at the words resounding inside me. "No," I cried and pushed at Cary's chest. "Melody, I love you."
"Please, stop Cary," I said.
"I can't," he said. "I can't."
But he pulled back, his sex exploding on the blanket, his head against my chest, his whole body shuddering and then coming to rest.
Neither of us moved. It was as though the world revolved around us as we stayed perfectly still. Caught in a moment of time. My heartbeat started to slow and my breathing came easier. Still, neither of us moved, neither said anything. We lay there, holding each other, both equally amazed at our discoveries about ourselves and each other.
"I'm sorry," he finally said. "I'm so clumsy and inexperienced. You were right. I shouldn't have started to do this without the proper protection. You probably think I'm an idiot." He sat up quickly.
"No, I don't, Cary. I'm not very experienced at this either, no matter what you might think." I sat up, too, holding the towel around me.
"You're not?" he said skeptically.
"No, I'm not. Why?" I asked, turning on him. "Do you think I'm like my mother when she was my age? Is that it?" I asked hotly.
"No," he said.
"Maybe I am. Maybe it is in my blood," I said bitterly. "I shouldn't have let you go as far as you did, but . . ."
"But what? It's not a sin if you love me as much as I love you," he said. "You wouldn't do this with any other boy, would you?"
I shook my head.
"So? Don't you see? That means we love each other." He leaned toward me again to kiss me, but I pulled back.
"No more, Cary. I just want to get dressed and go back to the house."
"You're not mad at me, are you?"
"No. I'm just a little confused about everything. Please try to be understanding," I insisted.
"Okay," he said. He stood up and we both dressed silently in the darkness.
"I probably look as if I've been rolling around on the beach," I moaned.
"We'll stop at the boat and you can straighten up," he said, but his voice was different, strained. I knew he was displeased with my reaction, but I really was confused. I had wanted this and yet, when it started to happen, I was too afraid to continue. Was I just like my mother or was I really as in love with Cary as I imagined? Was it the fact that so many people would frown on our relationship that worried me?
He gathered the towels and we started away, carrying our wet suits. Cary walked a little faster, remaining a foot or so in front of me.
"Don't be angry at me, Cary," I said. "I have too many confusing things going on inside me right now to think clearly about anything. Do you really, truly believe that it is right for there to be love between us, when there is also blood? I want to believe that it is right Cary, but aren't you afraid of what everyone will think?"
He plodded along, not answering me.
"Cary?"
"It will be all right," he said. "I'm not angry at you. The truth is I'm just as confused. Nothing is as simple as we think, I suppose, even love."
I went into the bathroom on the boat, where there was a small wall mirror, and repaired myself the best I could. When I came out, Cary was sitting and gazing out at the ocean. I came up beside him and put my hand gently on his shoulder. He put his hand over mine and continued to look out at the water.
"The water keeps moving," he said. "It looks the same, but it never is. Everything's in a constant state of change. Trees grow new leaves. They look the same as last year's leaves, but they're different. Even the sand on the beach moves. The wind shifts it. Maybe we're changing all the time, too," he said. "Maybe I was different yesterday, even though I look the same today."
"That's what they say in science class. We're always breaking down and rebuilding cells."
"So," he said, turning quickly, "what about our feelings? Do they break down and change, too? If I love you today, will that love be different tomorrow?"
"I don't know."
"I don't think love changes. I think that it stays the same even though everything around it becomes different. I'll love you the same way when you're old and gray and I'm old and gray. No matter what anyone thinks Melody, I know it is right between us. Our love is special."
I smiled.
"You believe me, don't you?" he asked with worried eyes.
"Yes, Cary."
"Then, don't be afraid to love me too," he said. "No matter what your mother was or did. You're not your mother."
"I know," I said. "I just need a little more time to figure everything out. I want to be ready, Cary. I need to be sure.
He nodded and then turned back to the ocean. I stood by him and we both watched the waves dance with the stars until we grew tired and walked home, holding hands, silent, full of wonder.
I noticed something different about Kenneth immediately the next morning. Even Ulysses appeared changed, more subdued, as if he had been chastised just before they arrived to pick me up. Kenneth mumbled a quick good morning and pulled away with an awkward jerk that sent me back against the seat. He drove fast, the wheels squealing as he made the turn and accelerated, pulling around a slower car and going even faster. He never took his eyes off the road. I was afraid to say anything. Artists were so moody. One minute they were ecstatic, the next, they were melancholy. We bounced hard on the dune road because he took that faster than usual also. I was relieved when we finally came to a stop in his driveway.
He got out, slammed the door behind him, and then, to my surprise, instead of heading for the studio, turned and walked toward the beach. Even Ulysses looked confused, turning from Kenneth to me and then back to Kenneth.
"Aren't we going right to the studio?" I asked, running to catch up with him.
"No. I have to calm down first," he said over his shoulder, not even bothering to turn around.
"Calm down? Why? What happened?"
Instead of replying, he sped up and walked on. I followed, slowly this time, until we reached the top of the rise on the beach and he stood there gazing out at the ocean, his hands on his hips.
"What's this all about, Kenneth?" I asked, my heart thumping now. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Did you?" he snapped, spinning on me. His eyes were just as full of pain as they were of anger.
"No," I said softly, feeling shame flush my cheeks.
He smiled with disdain.
"Lying is just in the blood, is that it? It comes so quickly, so naturally to you people." He turned away again.
I couldn't keep the tears from climbing over my eyelids and sizzling down my cheeks.
"I'm not lying," I said.
"Really?" He reached down to take a handful of sand and watched it fall through his fingers. "Then you didn't go into my private storage room?" he said without looking at me.
I stopped breathing, the breath that was already caught in my throat choking me. After a moment, I found the strength to reply.
"Yes, I did," I admitted. The shame that had made me hot with embarrassment turning to cold fear.
He turned slowly, nodding.
"I noticed the hasp had been removed. Whoever broke in did a fine job, but in haste one bottom screw was left a little too far out. I wouldn't have thought anything of it, however, if, when I opened the door myself last night and entered the room, I didn't notice that the cobwebs were all broken and the canvases had been moved and not put back as neatly as they were. Got a good look at everything, did you?"
"No," I said.
"Did you take the hasp off yourself?" When I didn't answer immediately, Kenneth made the right conclusion. "No, you didn't. Who went in there with you, Cary?"
I nodded and looked down.
"I took you into my home, trusted you with my privacy, my possessions, my work. Now you can understand why I don't have many people out here," he said. "People." He spit the word as if it burned his tongue to utter it. "They always let you down."
"I'm sorry, Kenneth," I said. "I--"
"Yes? Tell me. How do you justify breaking and entering my private place? Go on," he taunted and challenged. "Let me hear your excuse."
"I was looking for the truth," I cried through my tears.
"The truth?"
"About you and me and my mother," I said. "Everyone thinks you're my father, and you told me that you couldn't tell me what you knew, so I thought . . . I thought you were ashamed of it or just didn't want to have a daughter," I wailed back at him.
He shook his head, speechless for a moment. I couldn't stop my crying. My shoulders heaved and fell and my stomach felt so weak and twisted, I had to wrap my arms around myself.
"Everyone thinks I'm your father? Who's everyone?"
"Uncle Jacob, for one. He says that's why you offered me the job. It was your way of trying to amend for your sin of never acknowledging me."
"Jacob would say something like that." He laughed. "It's nice to know how his parents treat him," he said.
"I don't understand," I said, shaking my head in confusion.
"Never mind. Look, Melody, if you were my daughter, I would tell you immediately. I thought by now you would have realized that I admire you and certainly wouldn't be ashamed to acknowledge you were mine, but it's not true. I wish it were true. You have no idea how much I wish it or how long I've wished it.
"That," he continued, "is the real reason why your mother sent me the picture of you and her and wrote 'I'm sorry' on the back of it." He took a deep breath and sat on the sand. "She wasn't just
apologizing for not living up to my hopes for her; she was apologizing for not being able to be the woman I loved. It wasn't all her fault either," he added, sighing as he closed his eyes and leaned forward, his knees up, his arms around them.
I stopped crying, sucked in my breath, and sat beside him.
"Then you loved my mother?" I asked softly. "Yes, very much."
"And those pictures of her in the room?"
"She enjoyed posing for me. She was so beautiful I wanted to capture her forever and art was a way to do it. Eventually, it became the only way to do it, and that made it both wonderful and painful for me. I got so I couldn't look at those pictures and had to keep them under lock and key, almost as if I were locking them away from myself as much as anyone else.
"As you and your boyfriend saw when you went in there," he continued, bitterly, "there were cobwebs over the door. That's how infrequently I enter to gaze upon those pictures. After you arrived, I thought about Haille constantly and I couldn't resist going in there again. That's when I made the discovery."
"I'm sorry, Kenneth," I said. He was silent, so I reached out and touched his hand. He nodded.
"Well, I can understand what you're going through, I guess. Living with Jacob, hearing his moralistic trash. He never really knew or understood your mother. He was always jealous of her affection for me, too. And when Chester came to her defense-- " He shook his head. "Did anyone tell you they actually had a fist fight on the beach?"
"Yes, Grandma Olivia mentioned it."
"Chester whipped him, of course, which helped widen the chasm between them and the whole family. Haille enjoyed having men fight over her. All that I told you about her was true," he said. "She was bedazzling, tormenting, a tease with a capital T, but all of us let her get away with it."
He smiled, remembering. Then he looked at me.
"I should have made it perfectly clear to you that I wasn't your father, that Haille and I never . . . that I never had the opportunity to be your father."
This revelation came as a shock to me, but I knew now was the time to press on for more information. "Then who is my father? Is he someone here in Provincetown?"
"I really can't say, not because I don't want to, but because I don't know." He shook his head. "It all happened so fast. She and I weren't seeing each other much at the time."
"Why not?"
"That's something very personal to me, Melody. All of us have to hold on to something. It doesn't have anything to do with what you want to know. Just like everyone else close to your family at the time, I heard that Haille was pregnant, and the next thing I heard was she had accused Samuel. I knew that was untrue. I had been at their house often enough to see that Samuel treated her the way he would treat a daughter and not a lover. He was always charming and kind and probably spoiled her. It's sort of an example of biting the hand that feeds you. When it came time to blame someone, for some reason, a reason she wouldn't reveal to me, she turned on him. He seemed the most logical, I guess."
"Why?"
"Olivia was harder on her. Anything she got, she got because of Samuel. He bought her the clothes, the jewelry. He doted on her. Olivia was the ice queen who treated her the way the evil step-mother treated Cinderella. If Olivia demanded she do a chore, Samuel would find a way to get her out of it or pay someone else to do it. If Olivia punished her for misbehavior, Samuel got her a reprieve. I suppose she played him the way she played all the men around her at the time, even me," he said.
"She wasn't very nice then, was she?"
"Well, she was like a beautiful but dangerous creature," he replied with a smile. "I think some men like being manipulated. Samuel certainly had to know she was beguiling him, using him, but he enjoyed it. He had no daughters and one of his two sons took after his wife and treated him as poorly as she did. His other son . . . his other son became jealous of him, I think."
"Jealous? My step-father? Why would he be jealous of his own father?"
"He was jealous of how Haille treated him and how he lavished gifts on her. Chester was always in love with Haille. So was Jacob, but Jacob thinks his own feelings were sinful. In his case it might be true. Jacob hated her because he loved her, if you can understand that. Chester, as I told you before, worshiped her and eventually paid a dear price for that worship: his family.
"That's really all I know about it, Melody. She named Samuel as the father of her baby. Chester either believed her or wanted to believe her and they ran off. So as I've told you, your father could be someone here or could have been someone just passing through. I'm afraid the truth died with her."
He turned to me again.
"This is why I advised you to stop the search. Stop trying to look back on the painful past and look to the future now. Take advantage of the situation, take anything you are given from that mad family, and go on to be your own person. You're bright, talented, and beautiful. You have far more than most girls your age, even the ones 'with parents."
I turned away. The ache around my heart felt like a hand closing on it, squeezing the very life from me. "It's not easy to do that," I said.
"Yes, I know, but essentially, it's what I've done, Melody."