Page 53 of The Charmed Friends of Trove Isle
There’ll be no wine tonight. Melody is giving me a refresher course on driving. At least that’s the plan. And no matter what, I’m going to do it. Even if I have to wait out a panic attack of epic proportions or vomit outside the driver’s side door—again. At some point, I’ve got to face my fear instead of waiting for it to go away.
Wish me luck!
Liz
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
MELODY
Melody locked up Hidden Treasures after what she would call a successful Saturday Bag Sale. Truly, getting an entire brown paper bag stuffed to the brim with clothes and books was a good deal. One could buy a whole new wardrobe for the cost of a large pizza.
Melody drove back to her father’s house and parked in the driveway, prepared to go inside and freshen up before meeting Liz at her house for girls’ night part two later. She hooked her purse on her shoulder and closed the driver’s side door. As she was making her way down the driveway toward the front door, she heard a woman’s voice across the lawn.
“Excuse me? Hello?”
Melody turned and looked around, spotting an older woman with gray hair in the doorway of the house next door. She immediately turned and headed in that direction, knowing it was Mrs. West, who Christopher had said was homebound these days. Melody hadn’t asked for specifics on why, but considering that Mrs. West wasn’t cutting across the lawn to meet Melody halfway implied that she couldn’t. “Is everything okay?” she asked as she hurried to be closer.
“Oh, dear. Is that you, Alyssa?”
Melody stopped in her tracks at the sound of her sister’s name. And for a moment, before her mind had processed that Mrs. West was talking to her, some part of her lit up at the thought that Alyssa was actually here, after all this time. “Um, no. It’s, um, Melody Palmer. Alyssa’s, um, sister.”
“Oh, Melody.” Mrs. West placed a hand to her chest. “I’m sorry. My eyes aren’t as good as they once were.” Melody noted that Mrs. West’s glasses were perched on the crown of her head instead of over her eyes. “How are you, dear?” the older woman asked.
“Fine.” Melody climbed the porch steps toward Mrs. West. “I’m staying with my dad for a little while this summer.”
“Well, of course you are. Do you think you can step inside and help me with a few things?”
“Um, sure.” Melody stepped past Mrs. West’s open door into her cozy home. “What do you need help with?”
“Well . . .” Mrs. West massaged a hand to her forehead. “Let’s see. There was something. What was it?” She looked around. Then a timer went off in the kitchen. “Yes, yes, that’s right. I’m baking a cake. Can you get it out of the oven for me, dear?”
“Sure.” Melody followed Mrs. West to the kitchen where the timer was still chiming. She grabbed a mitt off the counter and opened the oven door. Instead of a cake, she saw a pie.
“Does it look done?” Mrs. West asked.
“I think it does.” Melody reached in and pulled it out, placing it on the stovetop.
“A pie.” Mrs. West furrowed her brow, looking suddenly upset. “I made a pie, not a cake. Oh, no. Why did I make a pie?”
Melody shook her head. “Pie is good. Everyone loves pie.”
“But it’s his birthday. You can’t have pie on a birthday,” Mrs. West lamented.
“Whose birthday?” Melody asked. “Christopher’s?”
Mrs. West met her gaze. “No. My husband’s. He’ll be home soon and I wanted to have a cake to celebrate.”
Melody slipped the oven mitts off. Hadn’t Christopher told her that his father died? Had Mrs. West remarried? “Oh, well, I’m sure—”
“Mom?” a man’s voice called from the front door. “It’s Christopher. The front door is open. You okay?”
Melody whirled to see Christopher heading into the kitchen. He stopped short when he spotted her. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he said. Something about his face seemed to light up as he met Melody’s eyes.
“Alyssa was just helping me get the cake out of the oven for your father’s birthday.” Mrs. West gestured toward the stove and frowned again. “Pie. Your dad doesn’t even like pie. Why did I make a pie?”
Christopher stepped over and put his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Mom. Pie is fine. I’d love a piece of pie actually.”
