Lost Melody (41 page)

The clock was ticking but there was
still time.

When he stepped off the bus in Philly,
he had a plan. If she didn’t show in the next four days he was
going after her—the tour be damned. He would quit, no matter the
consequences. He had lost interest in continuing without her
anyway.

Groveling and begging were no longer
out of the question. He would do anything, promise anything to have
Melody in his life.

The day of BlackWing’s opening in
Philadelphia dawned brilliant. Hank stood at the window of his
suite, absently counting the cars driving on the street below. The
previous night, unable to sleep, he’d sat in front of the window
and waited for dawn.

When the band left for Atlanta, he
wouldn’t be with them.

He watched the sun slant between
buildings and slowly bathe the skyline in gold. It was time to face
reality. She wasn’t coming back. After the things he said to her in
New York, he only had one choice. He had to go after her and
beg.

Melody didn’t want to live the kind of
life he had offered her. She wanted to hide from the world in a
small town, and that’s what he was going to give her. He didn’t
have to work ever again if he didn’t want to. They could live
anywhere she wanted—even Ravenswood. He would miss Willowbrook, but
without Melody, it wouldn’t be home anyway.

Numb. It was the only word he could
find to describe the way he felt. Turning his back on the sun’s
warmth, he crossed the room and fell face first onto the bed.
Exhaustion eventually won out over depression, and he
slept.

* * *

He surveyed the sold out
crowd. Tonight he would play the last set of his career and he felt
nothing. No regret. No sadness.
Nothing
. He dug deep to find the
strength to make it through each subsequent song.

She isn’t
coming.

He cursed himself at every turn for
giving her such a highhanded ultimatum. His only excuse was the
desperation he’d felt when she’d cornered Jonathan and he knew she
would be leaving.

He would find her, make her
listen.

She loves me.

That one hopeful thought became a
mantra he repeated over and over to the rhythm of each song. It was
the only thought he held on to as he faded out of the jam session
and stepped off the riser. If he allowed any other thoughts to
intrude, he wouldn’t make it through “Melody” this final
time.

Rick handed him a water bottle and
towel just as he did every night. With his back to the stage, he
drank down the water and wiped sweat from his brow and hands. He
unconsciously registered the instruments bowing out one at a time.
Soon, they would be silent, and it would be his turn.

He tried to summon the energy to cross
the stage and sing her song one more time. He would do it because
his love for Melody came from his soul and he couldn’t deny it. He
would sing of it one more time, and then he was done.

He closed his eyes and waited for the
loss of his music to register. He searched his heart and found only
the pain of losing Melody. It swamped all other emotions, all other
feelings. He was doing the right thing—the only thing he could
do.

The last guitar grew silent, and his
heart skipped into a wild rhythm. He lifted his head and took a
deep breath.

He handed the towel to Rick, and a
cultured British voice he knew well spoke into the silence. “Ladies
and gentlemen, please welcome our special guest…Ms. Melody
Ravenswood.”

The roar of the crowd echoed the blood
rushing through his head. Hank whirled to face the stage. The grand
piano sat in the darkness of center stage and striding toward it
from the opposite side of the stage, bathed in a circle of white
light, was Melody.

It crossed his mind he might be
hallucinating. The scene was a study in black-and-white. Her slim
legs were encased in black, and she wore a white shirt that could
have come from his closet, only it fit her too well. Her raven
black hair hung to her shoulders in soft waves. And gleaming in the
spotlight against the stark white of her shirt dangled the key—the
only hint of color in his surreal dream.

She took a seat at the piano with all
the grace of a concert pianist. Someone shoved him from behind. “Go
on. You have a song to do, buddy,” Rick said.

Melody sat carefully on the bench. Her
heart threatened to leap out of her chest as the seconds ticked by
in suspended time.

Come on Hank. Don’t leave
me out here alone.

The audience was on their feet. She
sensed movement across the stage. He approached slowly, as if he
was afraid she would vanish if he moved too quickly. Her fist
tightened, and the gift she had brought him dug into her
palm.

She stood to face him. Her legs
quaked.

He stopped close enough she could see
the question in his green eyes. She held out her trembling hand.
The gold skeleton key lay across her palm, the heavy gold chain
spilled through her fingers. His gaze darted to her hand and back
to her eyes.

“It’s the key to
Ravenswood. It’s yours.
I’m
yours,” she corrected, “if you want
me.”

“You came.”

“I came. I couldn’t stay away. I love
you, Hank. I want to be your wife.” She thrust her hand a fraction
closer. “It’s the key to everything I am. The key to my heart. I
want you to have it.”

He closed his hand over hers and slid
the key from her palm. Ducking his head, he slipped the chain over.
The key fell against his sweat-soaked shirt.

She was vaguely aware of people, and
cameras and lights, but all she could see was Hank. She sensed the
unspoken words passing between them—as binding as any spoken vows
could ever be.

She reached up and placed her palm
over the key. His heart beat steady against her palm. “Sing with
me?”

She took his hand and coaxed him down
beside her on the piano bench. Her skin felt real against
his.

Not a dream.

Nothing else existed outside the
bright spot of light where he sat next to Melody. Her eyes sparked
with mischief, and he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her
senseless.

“Sing what?”

She smiled.

“‘
Melody,’ of course. In
the key of love.”

She played the intro and glanced his
way. With one raised eyebrow, he questioned the arrangement. Her
simple nod confirmed what he had heard. It wasn’t a mistake. She
would play his original version—the one she had given him
permission to record. It spoke of a boy’s love of music. It spoke
of how the melody reflected his soul and inspired him. That she
played it tonight—here—spoke of her acceptance of everything he
was.

The gesture brought him low. He didn’t
deserve her. Not after the way he had pushed her.

He adjusted the microphone. She
repeated the intro, and his voice joined the notes flowing from the
piano.

Needing to touch her, he slid his arm
around her waist and pulled her closer so they sat hip to hip. The
physical contact grounded him in reality, and the essence of his
soul gave voice to the melody.

“Sing with me,” he whispered in her
ear.

On the next chorus, Melody added her
voice to his. Together, she sensed, they held the audience
spellbound.

The last note faded away, and he
raised his hands to cradle her face. With infinite tenderness, he
brought his lips down to cover hers.

The audience, released from the spell,
went wild. But Melody remained focused on Hank.

The band surrounded them,
congratulating them both and reminding Hank they had one last song
to do. He hoisted her up to sit on the piano, so she faced the drum
kit with her back to the audience.

“Stay here where I can see you,” he
ordered.

The band took the stage as though
Melody sitting atop a grand piano center stage was a regular
occurrence. He took his place on the drum riser, his eyes locked on
hers.

“One. Two. Three. Four.” He counted
out the beat, and Chad stepped to the mic.

The seductive lyrics of “One Night”
filled the auditorium.

He remembered the day he played it for
Melody. It was the day he knew music flowed through her veins as
surely as it flowed through his. He would never forget the way her
body had moved to the beat, recognized it for the erotic metaphor
it was.

He never wanted a song to be over more
in his life. She was here. She was his, and he couldn’t wait to get
his hands on her.

He launched into the drum solo at the
end of the song. Melody slid off the piano and headed toward him.
He played the final note, jumped off the riser, and pulled her into
his arms.

Rick led them through the backstage
clutter. At the stage door, Hank shoved his sticks in Rick’s hand
and yelled over the roar of the audience. “Fill in for me for the
next few days?”

Rick smiled and nodded. “No problem.
When are you coming back?”

“Tell the guys I’ll meet them in
Atlanta.”

Epilogue

Fourteen months
later
.

Melody stood on the back porch,
watching Hank with their daughter. He was so relaxed, she hated to
disturb him. The day was mild, not a cloud marred the crystal blue
Texas sky. Betty Boop lounged beside Hank’s chair, dreaming of
chasing squirrels no doubt. Her paws twitched as she chased her
imaginary quarry.

Hank made ridiculous noises and faces,
laughing at the smiles and adoring looks he earned from Gloria.
Melody wasn’t too sure how much three-month-old Gloria was actually
seeing of her father’s face, but she wasn’t going to tell Hank. He
was having too much fun to disappoint him with details regarding an
infant’s developmental stages.

She called out to him. “You’d better
bring her in. She’s going to need her nap before everyone gets
here.” She didn’t need an alarm clock to tell her Gloria would be
hungry soon either. Her full breasts sent the message, loud and
clear.

“Coming,” he said, adjusting the baby
in his arms. He’d always wanted a family of his own, but he hadn’t
expected the overwhelming love he felt for his tiny daughter. He
wanted to hold her every minute of the day and never tired of just
looking at her. She was so perfect. Named after his mother, she
would be the spitting image of Melody. He was more than okay with
that. His wife was the most beautiful woman on the planet, inside
and out.

He crossed the lawn, carrying his
precious cargo into the kitchen where her mother leaned one hip
against the counter, a glass of chocolate milk in her hand. He
faced her, his stance mirroring hers.

“I think I’m going to have to get a
heavier chain. She’s strong,” he said, pride lacing his
voice.

Gloria’s tiny fist curled around the
gold skeleton key he never removed. Her hand waved back and forth,
yanking hard against the chain.

“I’ll check into it the next time I’m
in town.” Melody sipped her chocolate milk. “Your dad called.
Jonathan and Miriam are here. They’re coming out for dinner. Stacy
called. She, Stephen, and the kids will be here this evening. Chad
and his gang are coming in tonight, too. Everyone else will arrive
tomorrow.”

“It’s going to be a full house. Are
you sure you want to have them all here?”

“I can’t wait. This house was meant to
be full of people.”

“We could find somewhere else to put
them all up. They don’t have to stay here,” he offered.

“Yes, they do. With the kids doing
some of the backup vocals on the new CD, having everyone in the
same place will be easier on all of us.

BlackWing’s new project was an album
of children’s songs. The idea had been born when Melody suggested
Jonathan, with his British accent, record “Melody” as the a
cappella lullaby it originally was. From there came the idea to do
an entire album of original children’s songs, using their own
children for the backup vocals. Soon everyone in the band admitted
to having silly songs they’d created for their own kids. From
there, the idea took on a life of its own. Melody, with Jonathan’s
help, had unearthed a few of the songs her father had written and
sang for her at Ravenswood. He had committed them to paper, after
all.

He was excited that the project would
involve their families, and children everywhere would enjoy the
songs. All the proceeds from the sale of the CD would go to the
Hamilton Earl Ravenswood Foundation, which had given out its first
musical scholarships a few weeks earlier to five deserving
students. The new CD would allow the foundation to grow and double
the number of recipients next year.

“If they get to be too much, just say
so. I’ll kick them to the curb,” Hank said.

Melody finished her milk and set the
glass in the sink. She held out her hands. “Hand her over. It’s
feeding time.”