Chapter Thirty-Three (Part One)

Melody was in the kitchen, helping her mother clean up after the guests left. "What kind of books were they this time?" Wanda teased playfully.
Melody shrugged. "Children's stories," she replied.
"I'm trying to remember when YOU actually read kids' books." Wanda laughed. "It seemed like, by the time you started kindergarten you were in the adult stacks. You curled up with dictionaries and encyclopedias, not kids' books."
Just then Harmony, with two puffed ponytails, gaily skipped into the living room, wearing a pastel yellow and pink dress. She was anxious to start school for the first time. Melody stole a glance at her and couldn't believe it. Who was this stranger and what had happened to her cute little kid sister?
"Melody, sweetheart, I'm going to take Harmony to school and meet her teachers. Be back soon." Wanda leaned over and gave Melody a kiss before taking Harmony out.
Melody could hardly believe what her mother was saying. Her kid sister was starting school. The baby that needed so much was now an able-bodied schoolgirl who could mostly care for herself.
Harmony grabbed Wanda's hand, and the pair of them disappeared out the front door.
Meanwhile, Melody suddenly felt lightheaded and dizzy, so she took a nap on the living room sofa. When she woke up, though, she thought she saw Stephen, white robes and all, in all his glory, standing in front of her.
Melody rubbed her eyes. It was a comforting sight, seeing him standing there. But then she thought about it. It couldn't be, right? Her eyes were playing tricks with her. But she looked again and the apparition was still standing there.
"Daddy?" she called, searching around, waiting for someone to answer. But all she heard was an echo of her own voice. Thinking she was losing her mind, she burst into tears.

A few moments later, Melody decided to take her first official steps out into Bluewater -- the first since her infamous outburst at the Christmas party. Was she nervous? Hell yes. She didn't know what to expect........... who she'd bump into...or what kind of reception she'd get. But her feet took her along a well trodden, familiar route.....
...... straight to J'Adore Bakery, where the delicious aroma of sweet pastries brought back memories and made her mouth water. They were happy times indeed. Swallowing hard, she decided to give the bakery a miss. After all, she DID publicly humiliate Gilbert.....
... even though he DID deserve it.
Dropping her head down, she walked away, so deep in thought that she never heard the sound of hasty footfall speedily approaching
"Melody?" a soft, breathless voice called out.
The accent was all too familiar, a husky, unmistakable French undertone.
It could be all too easy to walk on and ignore it but her instincts told her to stop.
She halted, turning around and coming face to face with Denise Jacquet.
The years had been hard on this woman, but there was no mistaking the gentleness and laughter that still remained in her eyes.
Hesitantly, Denise touched Melody's upper arm, the creases in her already lined face deepening slightly with an uncertain smile.
"Melody?" she asked, finally catching her breath, "is that you?.... Oh my..... how you've grown."
Yes, it was an inane observation, but Denise hoped that it would be enough to break the uneasy tension between them
Denise stepped back. Before her was a tall young woman, a far cry from the small girl who followed her around in the bakery.
"Please, have a seat," she said. "I've got some teas going and your favorite blueberry pie in the oven."
Melody took a deep breath as she sat in Denise's spacious living room. It was just as she'd remembered it, cozy and warm, forever with the scent of something cooking.
"You used to love blueberry pie. You came every day after school and on Saturdays too."
Denise returned from the kitchen with a slice of blueberry pie and a ceramic pitcher, filled with the scent of flavorful lemon tea.
"I remember this," Melody said, unable to suppress a grin. "Your pies were the best."
Melody was surprised at this hospitality. But there again, she'd always known how hospitable Mrs Jacquet was. Freshly baked pies and cakes at the ready and a softly cushioned chair - Melody's favorite by far - to snuggle into as she listened to Mrs Jacquet's culinary stories --
how, at her first lessson in cookery school, she'd had a sneezing session from using too much flour and almost set the classroom oven alight.
Melody broke the ice by telling her own story, about how she'd tried -- and failed miserably -- to bake a pie for Hanover's fall festival.
She remembered that growing up in Bluewater Village wasn't all bad. No matter how she tried, she just couldn't tear herself completely away from this place -- it was home.
Denise took her seat right next to Melody. "How's school?" she asked. "I hear you got into Academie Le Tour on scholarship. I always knew you had a good head on your shoulders."
Melody took a deep breath. She dreaded this question and dreaded its answer too. "Um, well, I'm taking some time off."
"Really, sweetheart? Why?"
Melody hesitated before answering. "Well, um, you know last fall my dad died, and my mom has been running the shop by herself all this time --"
"She's suffered so much since he's been gone," Denise noted. "They truly were soulmates. Reminded me of me and my dear sweet Yves."
Nodding in agreement, Melody took a sip of her tea. "This is delicious, you really put your foot into it!" exclaimed Melody.
"Well, I had to do something special for my favorite customer."
Melody couldn't suppress a grin. "Nothing's changed after all these years," she mused.
"Well, some things have changed," Denise replied. "In fact, a lot of things have changed. Last Christmas, at the party --"
Melody dreaded this. She didn't want to hear about what happened. She had said her piece and she was done with it.
"I know about what happened last Christmas. And I understand. You were frustrated and upset. I couldn't say anything then, everyone was just so dumbfounded by what happened -- I mean, you hadn't uttered a syllable in ages and now suddenly you just lashed out at everybody." Denise shook her head and let out a heavy sigh. "Well, you know, since the party, Gilbert's completely changed his life around. He got a job at an art gallery and he's engaged."
Melody stopped herself. "Um, really?" she asked. "Wow, when did this happen?"
"Last month, to his girlfriend, Sandy Miller. They've moved to an apartment downtown, so now it's just me."
Melody nodded. "I see."
"Oh, and the bakery --"
Leaping forward, Melody asked, "What about the bakery?"
"Malcolm Landgraab tried to buy it from Gilbert."
"It always boils down to HIM, doesn't it?" The words felt like bile in her throat, angry and festering. But they didn't begin to explain the disdain she felt for him.
"I know how much you don't like him, dear. I'm indifferent toward him myself. But Gilbert is actually friends with him."
Melody tried hard to suppress tears. "You can't let him sell the bakery, Mrs. Jacquet! You just can't!"
"I'm getting old, dear," Denise said, "and Gilbert is starting his new life. He's decided to follow a different life path. I did some thinking and I realized that you're right about me holding on to him. I'm not going to hold him back any longer."
Melody couldn't help but shed tears herself. "This can't be happening!" she screamed. "You sound like you've given up!"
"Life is too short for petty squabbles, dear, you'll learn that when you're older." Denise forced a wan smile. "I know I don't have much time before the Reaper comes for me. All I want to do is live out the remainder of my life as peacefully as possible."

Out the corner of her eye, Wanda spied a striking brunette woman in a low-cut red dress, walking toward the backyard workshop. She knew, from previous experience, that she was Elise Livingston, who wrote the consumer column for the Times, and that she was a spy for Malcolm Landgraab. She didn't want Melody to have to deal with her this soon after returning, so she went back to see what Elise wanted.
When Wanda got there, she found Elise had started scribbling some information. When she tried to find out what she was writing, Elise turned her back to hide her note pad. Malcolm sent her back here, she thought.
"Elise Livingston?" asked Wanda, eyeing her cautiously.
"You must be Mrs. Tinker," Elise replied with her sugary smile as she extended her hand. "How do you do?"
Elise proceeded to walk around the workshop as Wanda watched. "I must say, Mrs. Tinker, you've done a commendable job with the shop since your husband's passing. The operation is streamlined like a well-oiled machine."
"Well, I kinda can't take the credit," Wanda admitted, "the multiple employees working was my daughter's idea."
"Your daughter?" asked Elise.
"Yes, my oldest daughter, she's at ALT."
Closing her notepad, Elise picked up a fire truck and examined it. "These fire trucks are exceptionally well made."
"Thanks, well, we don't consider Tinker Toys a business or a company -- for us, it's a labor of love." For the cynical, Wanda's statement could have easily been taken as rehearsed or a public relations stunt, but in her case she really meant it.

Harmony skipped gaily into the front door, carrying a notebook in hand and having brought a friend home. Arms folded, she stared at her older sister sitting off to herself in a corner. "What's the matter with you?" Harmony asked.
Melody, meanwhile, had contented herself with a stack of papers she had found in Stephen's file cabinet. "Mom?" she asked Wanda while she was in the kitchen preparing a feast. "Did you know Dad was writing children's stories?"
Wanda looked up from her chopping board. "Children's stories?"
"Yeah, I found this stack of papers in his file cabinet. They were supposed to be a collection of children's stories."
"Really? May I see them?"
"Sure, mom, when I'm done."
What's this business about children's stories? Wanda muttered to herself as she returned to chopping onions for the afternoon meal. It occurred to Wanda that even though she knew her husband well, there was a lot about him that she didn't know.

The death of Mortimer Goth, the lion of Pleasantview, came as a surprise to no one. After all, he'd been ill for awhile and had come to an advanced age. And to no one's surprise, he accepted his fate with grace and aplomb.

His widow, Dina, cried buckets of tears in her son's bedroom.

"Just look at him!" hissed a very pregnant Cassandra at the Goth mansion, pointing her bony finger at the blond haired, grey eyed child, "THAT'S no Goth child."

Little Manuel, Dina's son, flailed his arms in the air in obvious distress.
"Mama!" he wailed, a distinct aroma emanating from his diaper.
Dina ignored him, standing face to face with her step daughter.
"You can keep your nose out of my business young lady," she snarled through clenched teeth, "I got what your father wanted.... a son."
"Young lady?" Cassandra scoffed, "who are you to call ME young lady? I'm not an errant teenager any more. And for your information, we're practically the same age......"
"Besides..." she pursed her lips and looked down at the distressed child, ".... aren't you going to change his diaper?"
Dina grumbled under her breath, pulling disgusted faces as she bent down to scoop Manuel up into her arms.
"I was hoping the nanny would have intervened by now," she said, partly to herself, "it's her job NOT mine."
She coughed and spluttered as she dusted Manuel a little too heavily with baby powder, some of it getting onto her expensive silk top. Her perfectly manicured nails shredded through the first diaper as she struggled to make it fit.
Cassandra stood watching her, amused at the performance.
This was a golden opportunity, she had Dina where she wanted her, and it was too good to miss.
"Oh," she began nonchalantly, "as we're on the topic...."
Dina was too preoccupied with a struggling, squalling Manuel to pick up on Cassandra's trap.
"Who is the father?"

Dina shot Cassandra a look that could melt steel. "None of your damned business!"

"It's not Father, is it?"

"Like I said, it's none of your business. Now leave me the hell alone!"

Cassandra straightened up. "Get out!" she shouted with all the authority she could muster.

Dina grimaced in disbelief. "What?" she asked.

"You heard me. I said get out. Take your kid and get out of my father's house before I get the cops to escort you out."

"What am I going to do about the furniture?"

"We'll figure it out. But right now, get your stuff and get out! NOW!"