Narrowing his eyes first, Bart answered sharply, "So now I'm going to be accused of causing Jory's accident--and deliberately ruining the best time I've had until he was hurt. Why, it's just like it used to be when I was nine and ten. My fault, everything was always my fault. When Clover died, you both presumed I was the one to wrap the wire about his neck, never giving me the benefit of a doubt. When Apple was killed, again you thought it was me, when you knew I loved both Clover and Apple. I've never killed anything. Even when you found out later it was John Amos, you put me through hell before you said you were sorry. Well, say you're sorry now, for damned if I'll take the blame for Jory's broken back!"
I wanted to believe him so much tears came to my eyes. "But who wet the sand, Bart?" I asked, leaning forward and reaching for his hand "Somebody did."
His dark eyes went bleak. "Several of the workhands disliked me for being too bossy . . . but I don't really think they would do anything to hurt Jory. After all, it wasn't me up there."
For some reason I believed him. He didn't know anything about the wet sand, and when I met Chris's eyes, I knew he was convinced as well. But in asking, we'd alienated Bart . . . again.
He sat silently now, not smiling as he finished his meal. In the garden I glimpsed Joel in the shadows of dense shrubbery as if he'd been eavesdropping on our conversation while pretending to admire the flowers in bloom.
"Forgive us if we hurt you, Bart. Please, do what you can to help us find out who did wet the sand. But for that, Jory would have the use of his legs."
Wisely Cindy had kept very quiet during all of this.
Bart started to reply, but at that moment Trevor stepped from the house and began serving us. Quickly I swallowed a light breakfast, then rose to go. I had to do something to bring back Melodie's sense of responsibility. "Excuse me, Chris, Cindy. Take your time and finish your breakfast. I'll join you later."
Joel slipped out of the shadows of the dense shrubbery and seated himself beside Bart. As I turned to glance back over my shoulder, I saw Joel lean toward Bart, whispering something I couldn't make out.
Feeling heavy of heart, I headed for the room that Melodie now used.
Face down on the bed she and Jory had shared, Melodie was crying. I perched on the side of her bed, thinking about all the right words to say--but where were the right words? "He's alive, Melodie, and that counts, doesn't it? He's still with us. With you. You can reach out and touch him, talk to him, say all the things I wish I'd said to his father. Go to the hospital. Every day you stay away, he dies a bit more. If you don't go, if you just stay here and feel sorry for yourself, you'll live to regret it. Jory can still hear you, Melodie. Don't leave him now. He needs you now more than he's ever needed you before."
Wild and hysterical, she turned to beat at me with small fists. I caught her wrists to keep from being injured.
"But I can't face him, Cathy! I've known he lies there, silent and alone where I can't reach him. He doesn't answer when you speak, so why would he respond to me? If I kissed him and he said or did nothing, I'd die inside. Besides, you don't really know him, not like I do. You're his mother, not his wife. You don't realize just how important his sexual life is to him. Now he won't have any. Do you have any idea of what that one thing is doing to him? To say nothing of losing the use of his legs, and giving up his career. He so wanted to prove himself for his father's sake-- his real father's sake. And you kid yourself to think he's alive. He isn't. He's already left you, Cathy. Left me, too. He doesn't have to die. He's already dead while he's still alive."
How her impassioned words stung me. Maybe because they were all too true.
I panicked inside, realizing that Jory could very well do as Julian had done--find a way to end his life. I tried to console myself. Jory was not like his father, he was like Chris. Eventually Jory would come around and make the best of what he had left.
I sat on that bed, staring at my daughter-in-law, and realized I didn't know her. Didn't know the girl I'd seen off and on since she was eleven. I'd seen the facade of a pretty, graceful girl who'd always seemed to adore Jory. "What kind of woman are you, Melodie? Just what kind?"
She flipped over on her back and glared angrily at me.
"Not your kind, Cathy!" she almost screamed. "You're made of special rugged stuff. I'm not. I was spoiled like you spoil your dear little Cindy. I was an only child and was given everything I wanted. I found out when I was small that life isn't all pretty picture book fables. And I didn't want it that way. When I was old enough, I ran to hide in the ballet. I told myself only in the world of fantasy could I find happiness. When I met Jory he seemed the prince I needed. Princes don't fall and injure their spinal cords, Cathy. They are never crippled. How can I live with Jory when I don't see him as a prince anymore? How, Cathy? Tell me how I can blind my eyes, and numb my senses, so I won't feel revulsion when he touches me. "
I stood up.
I stared down at her reddened eyes, her face made puffy from so much crying and felt all my admiration for her fade away. Weak, that's what she was. What a fool to believe that Jory wasn't made of the same flesh and blood as any other man. "Suppose the injury had been yours, Melodie. Would you want Jory to desert you?"
She met my eyes squarely. "Yes, I would."
I left Melodie still crying on her bed.
Chris was waiting for me downstairs. "I thought if you went this morning, I'd visit him this afternoon, and Melodic can go to him tonight with Cindy. I'm sure you convinced her to go."
"Yes, she'll go, but not today," I said without meeting his eyes. "She wants to wait until he opens his eyes and speaks--so that's my plan, to somehow reach him and make him respond.'
"If anyone can do that, it will be you," Chris murmured in my hair.
Jory lay supine on his hospital bed. The fracture was so low on his back that one fine day in the far future he might even gain back his potency. There were certain exercises he could do later on.
I'd bought two huge long boxes of mixed bouquets that I'd put into tall vases.
"Good morning, darling," I said brightly as I entered his small, sterile room.
Jory didn't turn his head to look my way. He lay as I'd seen him last, staring straight up at the ceiling.
Kissing his faintly chilled face, I began to arrange the flowers.