Melodee: A Song for Nora

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination, or they are used fictitiously and are definitely fictionalized. Any trademarks or pictures herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks or pictures used are specifically in a descriptive capacity. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 Bluff City Publishing, L.L.C.

Edited by Leanore Elliott

Cover Art by Fiona Jayde Media

All rights reserved.

ISBN-10: 0-9863137-8-5

ISBN-13: 978-0-9863137-8-3

No portion of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form (electronic or printed) or by any means without permission. Please do not participate in piracy or violating the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For information, address: Bluff City Publishing, L.L.C., P.O. Box 300934, Memphis, TN 38130

DEDICATION

Mom.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

When you lose the people who are most important to you, how do you begin again? I’ve walked in Melodee’s shoes, and it is a hard journey. Many times I thought that I would stumble and fall, and never be able to stand again.

I want those who have supported me to know that I would not have survived without their love and support. I love each of you for all that you have given to me. Thank you!

CHAPTER ONE

Melodee King closed her eyes and let her fingers run over the strings of her precious—her guitar. As she fingered the strings, she didn’t flinch at the sting against her fingertips. The callus from years of playing for hours at a time in her mother’s basement numbed the pain. Each note she played had become a part of her soul. She’d written every chord and every lyric. When she opened her eyes, she wanted—hoped—to see something…what she didn’t know, but something. Nothing was different.

The lights beaming out into the pit of people jammed onto the dance floor stopped her from making out the details of each face, but she didn’t care. It didn’t matter, because what she could see was the same ole same ole. People bopped and swayed to the drums and her guitar, but nobody listened to the words. If they listened, they would grab the closest person they could find and make love until the sun rose. She glanced around the room. Maybe some of them would.

As Lucille’s voice took over the lead, she softened her own. How long had she known Lucille? She didn’t really remember. Forever. When Lucille sang, the heavens listened. The people in the pit in front of the stage had no clue how wonderful the woman was or how magnificent her voice.

They were all probably too high or drunk to appreciate and understand Lucille’s voice.

Melodee closed her eyes and listened.

No fear, honey. No fear.

Melodee needed to hear those words. When Lucille’s voice quieted, Melodee opened her eyes and she screamed.

The voices of the people who filled the small venue just for her and her band exploded. They joined in and sang the words.

She stopped strumming her guitar, and motioned for everybody on the stage to stop. They’d all been together long enough for her to signal her band in the middle of any part of any song and they could read her. Wrapping her fingers around her mic, she damn near kissed the microphone.

The audience waited.

She could feel them hold their breath. They wanted to know what she would do next. Opening her mouth as wide as she could, she screamed.

The audience screamed, too.

The stage below her feet rattled from the vibration.

The music crawled across her skin and for a moment…just one moment, she felt alive!

Her band cranked back up, and Lucille’s voice joined hers.

Lucille’s voice soothed her. Just like my mom’s.

She remembered the days when Lucille and her mother would sing to her. She couldn’t remember ever knowing anything more beautiful than the combination of their voices. If there truly was magic in the word, it had to come from that kind of power. The power to create emotion—love—with a simple twist of words and melodies.

While Lucille’s voice calmed her, her own voice riled up the people listening. If she wanted, she knew the right combination of music and words to make the people listening break down the walls around them or to make them find the nearest person and make love all night.

Softening her voice, she slowed the tempo. Swaying her hips, she slid her guitar to one side, and held onto the mic with two hands.

The audience moved with her.

Some nights it was almost hypnotic. Glancing toward the rear of the crowd, she saw a familiar figure of a man.

He leaned against a wall with his one leg crossing the other.

She couldn’t make out his face, but she knew he watched her.

He didn’t move with her words, her music, like the others.

* * * *

Riley Walker listened and watched. He’d seen her perform before. Several times. Since they were kids. They sang a few times together, but he had no time to chase after a career in music. He had a business to run and family depending on him. That was his mother on the stage behind her, not hers. Damn. That’s how you do it, man. Remind yourself that her mother was no longer able to be on that stage with her. Because of me.

No matter how he saw at it, it didn’t matter because Melodee and his mother, Lucille, both thought differently. What was he supposed to have done? How could he honor Nora’s wishes without doing what he did? Nora had been a second mother to him. When he agreed to help her, he didn’t know it would rip his family apart, including losing the woman he loved.

He closed his eyes and let Melodee’s voice wash over him. He didn’t have to open his eyes, when an unwelcomed stranger rubbed her butt against him, but he did.

The gorgeous brunette smiled at him, and he nodded his head at her.

He placed a hand on her hip and whispered, Thanks, but I’m taken.

She smiled as she swayed her head to glance around the room. Is she here with you?

Yes. He glanced at the woman on the stage. I’m probably wasting my time, but hell, I’ve already lost everything once. Yeah, and she’s the jealous type.

The woman walked away.

A man who’d obviously been watching and waiting grabbed her by the hand, and she didn’t disagree. Not picky.

Melodee, his mother, and the band would only be in town for a week, maybe a few days longer. He’d checked their schedule on their website, and he knew they’d be headed to Georgia next. He didn’t have a lot of time, but that was his mother and his woman on that stage.

He might not deserve their forgiveness, but damn he wanted it.

CHAPTER TWO

Melodee woke in her old bedroom and for a brief second she forgot. If that was truly possible. Life seemed normal. Kicking her legs over the side of the bed, she blindly used her feet to search for her flip flops. Scratching one hip in the unsexiest of ways, she stood tugged at the side of her pajama pants and walked toward one of the windows. She pulled back the curtain and raised the window.

With a deep inhale, she glanced out of the window at Memphis. It was pretty early and the neighborhood was still asleep. She listened, but heard absolutely nothing. Wrapping her arms around herself, she took another deep breath. The placed smelled like Nora. She didn’t think that should be possible. She inhaled again. Pancakes. Bacon.

Disregarding the thought to grab a robe, she opened the door and nearly ran toward the stairs. They never had much time for pancakes and bacon on the road. But, when they came to Memphis they always stayed a little longer than they would in other cities.

The old wooden stairs creaked beneath her feet. Maybe one day I’ll fix that. At the landing below the stairs, she avoided the picture on the wall. It’d been there for years. She didn’t need to actually look at it because she knew every detail of the image.

When she entered into the kitchen, Lucille greeted her with a big hug and smile. I didn’t think you’d ever wake up, she said.

She’d glanced at her phone before she came downstairs.

Only Lucille would think that nine o’clock was late. Most of the free-world was probably still sleeping, plus they’d played a long set the night before. How did the woman who was nearly twice her age have so much energy?

Have you already done your morning walk and everything?

Yoga. Walk, and now breakfast. She laughed. Young people. You take life for granted. Lucille’s body tensed with her last statement.

She had to admit there was definitely truth to those words. Until March, she’d taken everything for granted. But, she wouldn’t do that again. Lucille, you know you need rest, too. She smiled as she sipped black coffee.

Oh, darling…I will rest, but not today.

She knew what Lucille meant. It’s what all their family said. I’ll rest when I’m dead. Her mother said it all the time.

She and Lucille sat out on the patio and enjoyed the crisp fall weather. The cold cushions of the wicker patio furniture alerted her more to the change in seasons. She probably should’ve rethought sitting outside in her pajamas, but what better way to wake up. Summers in Memphis were crazy. Hot as hell! However, nothing was more beautiful than fall in Memphis. Her family’s home was just outside of the city in Mississippi. Quiet. Simple. Home.

Hey, baby…did you see Riley last night?

She didn’t see him, but she always knew when he was in the room. Somehow, she always knew. No, ma’am I didn’t see him.

He didn’t say anything to me, but I saw him leave when we finished the last set. She stuffed a forkful of syrupy pancakes into her mouth. But, maybe…maybe we should speak with him.

Lucille was Riley’s mom, not hers. She had no right to high-jack his mom from him. Lucille, I think you should see him. He’s your son. She slid her hand across the table and patted Lucille’s forearm.

Lucille looked at her in a classic way.

She’d seen that stare a million times before. No, really. You should call him and set up some time to get together. I won’t. I thought maybe all of us would get together for dinner or something.

Lucille and her mom had been best friends since they were kids. She knew Lucille missed her mom as much as she did. The only family she had left was Lucille, but Lucille had a son. A son who should still be a part of her life. She shouldn’t be the reason he wasn’t.

I’ll think about it. She would. It didn’t mean that it would change her mind about anything.

* * * *

Riley walked through the restaurant flipping on lights. The mix-matched table and chairs jumped out at him. When he first saw the décor, he didn’t know what on earth his mother had been thinking; however, the eclectic thing had taken off. Patrons commented on it in every online review. Homey.

He didn’t open on Sundays. Usually, he reserved Sundays for special events. He had no shortage of them. People loved his restaurant, and he was booked for months, but today was one of those rare days, when he had the place to himself. He walked into the kitchen, and gazed around. There was no reason for him to be there, he just didn’t want to be at home.

His mother had called and promised that they would do dinner before she and Melodee left town.

He knew the date of their last show, but didn’t know if they planned to be packed and head out right away, or if they would hang around for a few days. He hoped they would stay, but Melodee had no reason to stay in Memphis.

Searching the shelves, he found a few French loaves. Starting at the heel, he sliced the loaves along the scores. Then, heating butter in a skillet, he took his time, and dipped each slice in a mixture of egg, vanilla and milk before he placed each thick slice into the butter. He loved the smell. It reminded him of his mother. She loved breakfast. He checked his watch, it was well past breakfast-time, but as he flipped his toast over and admired the beautiful toasting of the bread, he didn’t care.

Plating his slices, he dusted them with cinnamon and sprinkled fresh berries over his plate. He grabbed some maple syrup he had warming on the stove and walked into the dining area of the restaurant. Siting at the bar, he stared out of the window at South Main Street. Some people stopped and tugged at the locked door, others stared through the glass windows at him. He kept eating because there was no reason not to finish the food in front of him.

The knock on the glass door slightly annoyed him.

The woman on the other side of the door didn’t; however, he knew