Heartsong (Logan 2)

"What surprise, Melody?" he asked.

"The meat loaf's getting cold, Cary."

Reluctantly, he picked up the Bible. I lifted my eyes toward May and saw her looking small and frightened. It amazed me how although she was deaf, she could still pick up on the tone of conversations. Years of silence had made her perceptive when it came to a turn of the head, a movement in the eyes, a twist of the lips. She could read people's moods better than most people who had no trouble hearing.

"Luke, Chapter 6," Cary began. There was a bookmark stuck at the pages his father wanted read. Cary opened to them and then, in his father's voice, he read, "For a good tree bringeth not forth corrupt fruit; neither does a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit.

"For every tree is known by his own fruit . "

He read to the end of the chapter and then put the Bible down without another word. I began to serve the meat loaf, thinking that Uncle Jacob was always with us at this table as long as he chose the Bible selections to be read.

"You have some new secret?" Cary asked after he took his first forkful. When I didn't reply, he added, "I kind of thought we weren't keeping secrets from each other."

"It's not a secret, Cary." I glanced at May. She watched me with question marks in her eyes, too. I turned to Cary. "I already told you what Judge Childs told me."

"So?"

"So since Judge Childs is really my

grandfather, Kenneth is my true uncle."

"What does that mean?"

"It means he could be my guardian," I blurted. Cary stared at me, his fork frozen in the air. Then his eyes darkened with the realization.

"You mean, you're thinking about going to live with him?"

"Maybe," I said. "At the moment he's my closest true relative," I added.

He continued to stare at me instead of eating. "Your food's getting cold, Cary."

"I'm not hungry."

"Look, this might even be better for now, considering the way your father is," I said.

"How could it be better?"

"He doesn't want me here. It's only irritating him and he has to recuperate."

"Do what you want," Cary snapped and pushed his plate away. "Everybody should just go and do what they want!" he cried and rose from the table.

"Cary!"

He marched out of the dining room and out of the house. I heard the front door slam.

May's hands were going like birds chasing each other.

"He's just upset about your father," I signed, "and your mother. He'll be all right. Could you clear the table when you're finished? I'll go after him."

She nodded and I hurried down the hall and out of the house. He hadn't gone far. He was leaning against the truck, his arms folded across his chest, his head down. The sky had changed to a dark plum color streaked with crimson that looked like freshly spilled blood and the ocean had an inky-gray sheen. I saw no boats, and with no traffic on our street and no other people about, I felt smaller, alone, like the two of us were the last people on earth.

I put my hand on his shoulder. He didn't look up. "First Laura and then you," he said.

"If I move in with my uncle, I won't be leaving you for good, Cary. I'll still be in Provincetown. We'll still see each other whenever we want to see each other."

"Will we?"

He raised his head. His green eyes were darker and strangely haunted.