Lost Melody (19 page)

“Hank,” she pleaded, “it’s too
much.”

“It’s the first Ravensblood cover
album to have ‘Melody’ on it. Don’t you think someone should take
notes for the occasion? I still think a coffee table book would be
great, and you could write it, easy. Use a pen name so no one knows
who you really are.”

She once thought Hank was
insane, but maybe
she
was the insane one, because she was seriously considering
doing it. It would mean being around him daily for the rest of the
summer—something she really shouldn’t do, but she had already made
up her mind to leave Willowbrook at the end of summer. She’d be
taking a big chance on the paparazzi staying away while BlackWing
was in town recording, but it would be worth taking the chance to
spend more time with Hank. She was going to leave broken hearted
anyway. How much more broken could it get?

“Okay, I’ll do it,” she said before
sanity returned.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll clear it with
the guys. They’re going to be freaked, really.”

“In a good way, I hope.”

“Yeah, in a good way.”

“Well, I’ve got to go. When do you
want me to come out?”

“How about Wednesday? Everyone will be
here, and I’ll have had a chance to tell them about you. Wait. Why
don’t you bring Sir Jonathan out to the farm on Sunday for lunch?
I’ll cook, and we can talk about your involvement some
more.”

Sanity reared its ugly head, telling
her to say no, telling her to run, but instead she just said,
“Okay.”

He smiled. “Around noon? It’ll be very
casual. Do you think Sir Jonathan would mind if Dad came,
too?”

“I think he would love to meet your
dad,” she answered honestly.

“Great. I’ll see you both on
Sunday.”

* * *

Mel tried unsuccessfully to get
Jonathan to rest, but he insisted on talking first. He wanted to
know everything about Willowbrook, and how Mel was getting on in
her new home, and he especially wanted to know about Hank
Travis.

Sitting in her cozy living room
sharing a pot of tea, she told him how she met Hank, how they each
found out whom the other was, and how he coerced her into doing the
month-long interview.

“Does he love you?”

She closed her eyes, remembering the
one magical night of lovemaking, his assurances of his love, the
song. “Yes.” Of this one thing, she had no doubt.

“Do you love him?”

She crossed to the window, staring
into the gathering darkness. “I knew you were going to ask.” As the
streetlights winked on, one by one, she turned to him, answering as
truthfully as she could. “I’m afraid to. I think I could, maybe I
do, but it scares the hell out of me.”

Jonathan took her hands in his and
their gazes locked. “He’s a good man, Mel. I know he loves you. He
told me so himself. If you love him, don’t let him go. You of all
people know how short our time can be. Don’t let this chance for
happiness pass you by.”

She threw her arms around him. He
wrapped her in his embrace, holding her close. “What if something
happens to him? I don’t think I could stand to go through that
again.”

“There aren’t any guarantees, luv.
Screw up your courage and give the man a chance.” He brushed tears
from her cheeks. “I think it may be too late to worry about the
what ifs. You’re already too close to him, aren’t you?”

She buried her face against his chest.
“Yes,” she sobbed.

* * *

Mel set aside her fears and drove Sir
Jonathan drove out to the farm on Sunday. His excitement was almost
enough to make her forget the reason he had come to Whispering
Springs in the first place.

The Travis men met them on the back
porch and introductions were made. Sir Jonathan shook hands with
Henry. “Please, call me Jonathan. The title isn’t really
me.”

“Jonathan it is. I’m
Henry.”

The two older men talked as if they’d
known each other for years instead of minutes. Mel and Hank sat
across from them at the picnic table, listening to them discuss
everything from gray hair to the world economic situation. After
lunch, they toured the house and barn, Hank proudly showing off his
recording studio.

Jonathan sat at the piano and easily
launched into one of RavensBlood’s iconic hits. Henry sang along,
never missing a beat, even if he was a little out of tune. Mel
followed Hank into the separate drum room. She watched as he
changed the drumheads in anticipation of recording later in the
week.

“How often do you change the
heads?”

“I’ll change them daily, sometimes
more often, during the recording session. On tour, we change them
before each show. I use natural skins for a warmer sound, but they
have their drawbacks. On the road, I’m constantly tuning them,
finding their sweet spot. Temperature and humidity take their toll.
The stage crews can be less than gentle when they handle them
sometimes, too.”

He quickly and expertly replaced the
heads, cleaned, polished, and reassembled the drums. He wiped
fingerprints from the cymbals, careful to handle them by their
edges only. He greased the foot pedals, wiping away
excess.

“I didn’t know how much work it was to
keep up the equipment. It must be a nightmare on the
road.”

“It can be, but it’s how I make my
living, so like any other worker, I have to take care of the tools
of my trade. On tour, the stagehands and my drum technician take
care of the initial set up. I come in several hours before
rehearsal to adjust height and distance. The audience might not
notice if something wasn’t just right, but I would. I figure
they’ve paid a hefty sum to hear us play, they deserve the best
quality sound I can give them.”

“Uncle Jonathan says I should give you
a chance,” she blurted.

Hank stilled, polishing cloth in hand,
frozen in midair. “He did?”

“Yes. He thinks you’re in love with
me.”

He turned to her. “I am.”

“I know.” She fought to control her
voice. It was important to make him understand. “I’m not in love,
Hank,” she lied. “I don’t know if I can be.”

He sat on the throne, shining the rim
of a tom-tom. He set the rag aside. “Are you going to give us a
chance? All I’m asking is for you to spend time with me, get to
know me.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, even though the older
men were still having a ridiculous sing-along in the adjacent room.
“I want you. I won’t deny it. I want all of you, but the physical
part can wait. I won’t pressure you to sleep with me
again.”

Mel glanced over her shoulder,
checking, even though Henry and Jonathan were still singing at the
top of their lungs. “I don’t know how much I can give you, Hank,
emotionally or physically.”

“I can wait. I don’t want anyone else
but you.”

She couldn’t decide if his words were
reassuring or threatening. Either way, she wasn’t any closer to
making Hank understand he was wasting his time with her. She wasn’t
going to marry him, so she changed the subject. “We’d better get
them out of here. They’ll both be hoarse tomorrow if we don’t stop
them.”

Chapter
Fifteen

Monday, Mel showed Jonathan around
Willowbrook. They had breakfast at The Donut Hole where Jonathan
graciously sipped tea from a cardboard cup and praised Cathy’s
doughnuts as the best.

After a tour of nearly every store on
Main Street, they ended up at Smitty’s for lunch where they ate
burgers and were serenaded by a RavensBlood mega-hit another diner
selected on the jukebox.

Jonathan smiled at Mel across the
table. “Cha-ching. Money in your pocket, luv.”

Mel, taken aback, asked, “Is that all
you think when you hear one of your songs? Has it all come down to
money for you?”

“No, not at all. I don’t need any more
money, and neither do you. To tell the truth, I miss it. Not the
touring so much, but the creating, discovering something new. For a
good many years after Milton died, I was grateful to be out of the
limelight. Taking care of Ravenswood for you and managing the music
library was enough. Hank approached me last year, wanting to do a
cover album, and I realized how much I’ve missed the business the
last few years.”

“You’ve never said anything to me
about wanting to get back into the business. What’s stopping you
from resuming your career? You’re certainly not too old,” she
teased.

“
I’ve been thinking about
it. I’ve written a few new songs. I thought I might trot them by
BlackWing, see what they think of them. I doubt anyone would want
to hear an old bloke like me sing, but they’d listen to these
youngsters.”

Mel laid her hand over his. “Uncle
Jonathan, you are not old. I’d love to hear you sing again. I’d be
so proud to sit in a booth, munching burgers and listening to you
on the jukebox. Don’t sell yourself short. The world still loves
you. RavensBlood fans would welcome you back with open arms, and a
whole new generation would be blown away by you.”

“It’s kind of you to say, but we’ll
see,” he said, dismissing the subject. “I had a great time
yesterday, singing like a fool with Henry. Milton and I used to do
that. Of course Milton could carry a tune.”

Mel laughed. “Henry was having a good
time, too. I think Hank gets his musical talent from his
mother.”

“He’s good for you, Mel.”

“Maybe. But could we not talk about
him, please?”

* * *

“We’re all settled in here, or at
least as settled as it’s going to get, so why don’t you and
Jonathan come out? I’ll introduce you both to the gang.”

Hank’s call wasn’t unexpected, but
still, Mel hesitated. “Can’t this wait?” she asked.

“It can,” Hank agreed, “but it’s not
going to go away. Might as well get it over with.”

It was hard to argue with his brand of
logic. Mel gave in and once again drove her Uncle out to the
farm.

Hank’s friends greeted them warmly.
Genuine smiles quickly replaced surprised expressions, and soon,
the guys wandered off together to the barn, discussing the
recording session, leaving Mel behind with the wives and children,
who closed ranks around her. Other than at college, she’d never had
a wide circle of friends, and she’d never been around so many who
knew her identity. To her surprise, they were more interested in
her relationship with Hank than anything else.

They sat on the back porch steps,
watching the kids play a game of tag with Betty Boop at the center,
dodging and darting out of their reach. Tall glasses of ice-cold
lemonade were handed out before the women got down to grilling
Mel.

“We’re so glad to meet you, Mel,”
Marci jump-started the conversation. “Hank is such a great guy, and
we’ve been hoping he would meet someone special.”

“He deserves a family. He’s a good
guy,” Stephen’s wife, Stacey, echoed the sentiment. “We all love
him.”

“You’ll be so good for him,” Erica,
the wife of bass guitarist Kevin Sanders, chimed in. “I felt so
sorry for him on the last tour. He spent way too much time
alone.”

“With your connection to RavensBlood,
you’re perfect for Hank. It must be fate. How did you two meet?”
Chad Winston’s wife, Sarah, asked.

Mel spent the next hour answering
questions. She was surprised how few after the initial inquisition
had to do with her family, or even Hank. They wanted to know her
opinion on everything from the price of groceries to what kind of
car she drove and her favorite places to shop.

They talked about their kids, fashion
trends, and the latest stupid thing their husbands had done. Mel
was entranced. They were a group of women brought together because
of their husbands’ careers, yet they’d formed their own close
friendships. Mel was welcomed into the group, without reservation,
because of her association with Hank.

Erica brought little Katie to the
porch and nursed her while the women talked. Mel’s arms ached to
hold a child of her own, but since she’d lost her heart to Hank,
the possibility of that happening was more remote than ever. She’d
never have a family with Hank, and she didn’t want it with anyone
else.

Lunch turned out to be a rowdy affair
with everyone talking over each other. They acted more like a big,
extended family than a Rock band. They shared parenting duties to
the point it was difficult to tell whose kids belonged to whom.
Hank chipped in and did his part, wiping grimy hands and faces,
refilling empty glasses, and rescuing dropped food before the dog
could get it. Even her Uncle Jonathan joined in, amusing the kids
with ridiculous stories.

Hank promised to bring Jonathan to her
house later in the day, so Mel returned to town alone. Just as she
was sitting down to eat, Hank appeared on her doorstep. As
promised, he’d brought Jonathan into town but dropped him off at
Henry’s house instead.

“What are they up to?”