Page 105 of The Fire We Crave

Quinn shivers next to me.

I can only imagine the feelings she must be having right now.

Got to be honest, Melody is like a ghost rising from the dead. Got no fucking clue about the stats, but I have to believe that close to a hundred percent of the people who have been missing as long as Melody are dead. I’d long since made peace with thefact she was probably gone. As opposed to those first couple of years when I kept expecting her to turn up in the bakery.

“I wanted to get out of here.” Melody turns to Quinn. “I tried to talk to Mom and Dad about a month before I left. I enjoyed baking, but it was just a hobby. It was more that I liked spending time with Mom, puttering in the bakery, but as soon as it became my job, I started to see the lather, rinse, repeat of it all.”

I scoff at that. “Everybody’s got to make a living.”

Melody shakes her head. “It wasn’t even that. I was bored. I wanted bright lights and big cities. I watched a movie about a journalist who went on tour with a band, and it was hedonistic and wild.” She sighs, as if recalling a fabulous memory, then shakes her head. “Anyway, I knew our parents wouldn’t let me leave. So, I made it look as though I was taken and disappeared.”

“You ruined us,” Quinn says, and I put my arm over her shoulder. Tugging her to me. “Why couldn’t you have just left a note? Told us you were going and not to bother coming to find you? Everything fell apart because you were gone. Mom killed herself, Mel. Killed herself, because she couldn’t live with it anymore. She gave up on me and Dad and withdrew until…”

Melody’s mouth opens wider and wider as Quinn speaks. “Oh my God. No.”

I find it hard to have sympathy for the tears that spill over her lashes, but it’s the first sign of anything emotionally real since she arrived. “Tell her all of it, sugar.”

Quinn takes a deep breath. “When you left, Mom and Dad spent the first year giving every minute of their day to finding you. Checking in with police, using social media. Surely you saw it. Did you never even check?”

Melody takes a deep breath. “I came here to ask for help. I have a daughter.”

I tense for a second, praying to God it isn’t mine.

“She’s six,” Melody says. “Her name is Liberty Ann, and she needs a stem cell transplant because she has leukemia.”

It hits me why this is relevant before it hits Quinn. “You came because you’re looking for donors since, for whatever reason, you aren’t a match. You barely acknowledged what Quinn just told you about what happened since you left. Your mom is dead because of your actions, you selfish bitch.”

Melody gasps, then faces Quinn. “Please, Quinn. I know there’s so much that I can’t fix or bring time back. But Liberty shouldn’t be a victim of it all too. The doctors suggested both me and Jack, my husband, and our families get tested. Jack and I are half-matches and could do a haploidentical transplant, but it’s better if they’re a full match. No one in Jack’s family is. Nor is anyone on the register.”

“You wanted me, Silas, Mom, and Dad to test, in case we were better matches?” Quinn says finally.

“I’m sorry,” Melody says. “What I did was reckless and foolish and irresponsible. I guess, at eighteen, I thought I had all the answers.”

“Was it worth it?” Quinn asks, and I take a hold of her hand. Her fingers are ice cold.

“The first few years were a blur. I became an addict. To be expected, really. You ask if I saw Mom and Dad’s social media, and the honest answer is I barely remember anything about those years. It felt fun. And then, I overdosed three years after I left. It was a wake-up call. I got clean. Sobered up. Got a job and met Jack.”

Melody smiles softly at that. “Here,” she says, grabbing her phone from her purse. “That’s Jack and Liberty.”

Quinn and I both lean forward a little to get a better look. A cute kid with dark hair and dark eyes like her dad.

“You ask was it worth it?” she says. “Based on those first few years, no. But if I hadn’t been going to my AA meeting, I wouldn’t have met Jack on the subway.”

I think about that movie Quinn mentioned, how the rest of your life could depend on whether you make it onto a subway train or not.

Silence blankets us all. Quinn leans back against the sofa. I keep my arm tight around her shoulders. And Melody puts her phone away.

“I understand that all this is my fault. I’m sorry I left the way I did. I’m sorry I stayed away. And Mom…” Melody starts to sob. “That’s my fault too.”

And even my ice-cold heart thaws a little. Can’t imagine having a kid, let alone one with leukemia. Can’t imagine being an addict and overdosing. Can’t imagine learning your mom killed herself because of your actions. That’s some fucking heavy shit to process.

“Mel,” I say finally, “you’ve got to get some help with that load. I know what it feels like to carry responsibility for that kind of shit.”

She huffs a sad laugh. “I’ve been in therapy for the last four years.”

I shake my head. “Then you need a better therapist.”

“I need some time to think about it,” Quinn says.

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