Page 35 of The Charmed Friends of Trove Isle
Melody’s father wasn’t the same man who used to sing and dance and be silly in attempts to make his daughters laugh. For some reason, he had loved to sing “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” when he was cooking. Melody missed the man he’d been so much that it hurt to even entertain the brief memories. He was as gone as her mom and sister, and she was left with the lifeless shell he’d been since their passing. Even so, Melody wanted to honor Jo’s advice and at least try to have some sort of connection while she was here.
Just in case things got awkward at the table, Melody had a mental script prepared for tonight’s meal. As she’d prepared the beans, rice, and grilled chicken—the best she could find in the freezer and pantry—she’d come up with a dozen questions to get the conversation moving.
When had Aunt Jo purchased the thrift store?
How had Jo afforded it?
Did it turn a profit?
Why had Jo left it to Melody?
Then there were other questions that Melody had come up with, mostly about what her father had been doing with his time over the last few years. Melody should know the answers, but she didn’t. She’d called far too seldom. She’d run away from everything in life—and everyone. Could her father really blame her for being so standoffish though? After that fight they’d had the last night she was in Trove Isle?
The smoke detector started shrieking just about the time her father walked through the front door. Melody grabbed a dish towel and waved it frantically under the detector’s vents. “Shh-shh!”
“Melody?” Her father headed into the kitchen. “What’s all this?” he asked, standing rooted in the entryway for a moment as he observed Melody’s frantic waving of the dish cloth at the plume of smoke coming from one of the dishes.
“Dinner,” she said over the alarm. “Unless I burn your house down first.”
He grabbed a towel from a nearby cabinet and together they fanned the smoke until the detectors abruptly stopped shrieking. “You cooked for me?” he finally asked.
“Well, I’ve got to eat and so do you,” she told him with a nervous shrug. “We might as well do it together, right?” To this point, dinners had been a box of S’mores Pop Tarts that she’d packed in her suitcase before arriving on the isle.
Her father gave her a long look and then assessed the food on the range, lifting his face as he seemed to sniff the air. “It smells delicious.”
“Well, don’t expect too much. I don’t cook very often. I usually get take-out or eat cereal.” She didn’t explain that it was most often the latter because she couldn’t afford the drive-through more than once or twice a week.
Her father looked serious. “A cereal dinner isn’t healthy.”
“Well, tonight we have a nutritious meal.” She forced a smile that felt a little nervous and wobbly. She hoped he didn’t notice. “Are you hungry? It’s ready when you are.”
“I’m starving actually.” He tipped his head to gesture down the hall. “I’ll just go wash up and be right out.”
Nervous butterflies fluttered around in her chest as she waited. She had a lot of questions for her father, but some part of her also just wanted to spend time with him. She was getting used to being okay with the awkwardness and the silence that happened with people you were supposed to know, but didn’t anymore.
She prepared them both a dish and brought it to the table. She didn’t know his tastes or if he even liked ketchup. But ketchup covered many culinary sins, which she’d likely committed with this meal so she placed it in the center of the table just in case.
A minute later, her father stepped back into the kitchen and looked at the dinner. “This is nice.”
She placed a pitcher of sweet tea down and then pulled out her chair. They both sat for a quiet moment.
“I’ll say grace,” her father finally said, surprising her. Melody’s mother had never placed a morsel of food in her mouth without first blessing the food. Once her mother had died though, saying grace had gone to the wayside.
“Oh, okay.” Melody watched her father close his eyes. As he began to speak, she did the same.
“Dear Lord, thank you for this food. And for Melody returning home. Amen.”
They both opened their eyes and looked at each other. Apparently, he was a man of few words with God too. Good to know it wasn’t just her.
He picked up his fork and stabbed at a few beans. Melody did the same. Since he wasn’t initiating any conversation, she brought up her mental list of questions.
“So, I wanted to ask you about Jo.”
He lifted his gaze as he forked some beans into his mouth. “What about her?”
“Well, where did the store come from? I mean, why did she open it? When?” That was technically three questions all in one, but Melody was eager for answers.
Her father picked up his fork and knife. He expertly cut his chicken and forked a piece into his mouth, chewing quietly and for so long that Melody wondered if he wasn’t going to respond. “Jo was a hoarder of sorts. Sometimes people take their dysfunction and make it functional. I suppose that’s what she did.”
