I picked up the creamy sheets; always bad news on cream-colored paper came from Foxworth Hall.

My dearest darling Jory,

I'm a coward. I've always known that, and hoped you'd never find out. You were always the one with all the strength. I love you, and no doubt will always love you, but I can't live with a man who can never make love to me again.

I look at you in that horrible chair that you've grown to accept, when I cannot accept it, or your handicap. Your parents came to my room and confronted me and urged me to face up to you and say everything I feel. I'm unable to do that, for if I do, you might say or do something that would change my mind, and I've got to leave, or lose my mind.

You see, my love, I already feel half insane from being in this house, this horrible, hateful house with all its deceiving beauty. I lie on my lonely bed and dream of the ballet. I hear the music playing even when it isn't. I've got to go back to where I can hear it play, and if that is ugly and selfish, as I know it is, forgive me, if you can.

Say kind things about me to our children when they are old enough to ask questions about their mother. Say those nice words even if they aren't true, for I know I've failed you just as much as I've failed them. I've given you every reason to hate me, but please don't remember me with hate. Remember me as I used to be when we were younger, and very much in control of our lives.

Don't blame yourself for anything, or blame anyone else for what I have to do. Everything is my own fault. You see, I'm not real, I never was, and I never will be. I can't face up to the kind of cruel reality that destroys lives and leaves behind broken dreams. Then, too, remember this: I'm the fantasy you helped create out of your desire and my own.

So farewell, my love, my first and sweetest love, and sadly perhaps my only true love. Find someone rare like your mother who can take my place. She's the one who gave you the ability to cope with reality, no matter how harsh.

God would have been kind if he had given me your kind of mother.

Yours regretfully, Mel

The note fell from my hand, fluttering its pathetic certain way to the carpet. Both Jory and I stared at it lying there, so sad--and so final.

"It's over, Mom," he said tonelessly, his voice deep and gruff. "What began when I was twelve and she was eleven, all over. I built my life around her, thinking she'd last until we were old. I gave her the best I had to offer, and still it wasn't enough once the glamour was gone."

How could I tell him that Melodie wouldn't have lasted even if he was still on stage dancing. Something in her resented his strength, his innate ability to cope with situations beyond her ability to comprehend.

I shook my head. No. I was being unfair. "I'm sorry, Jory, so terribly sorry." I didn't say, perhaps you'll be better off without her.

"I'm sorry, too," he whispered, refusing to meet my eyes. "What woman will want me now?"

Perhaps he would never perform sexually again in the normal way, and I knew he needed someone in the bed with him during all those long, lonely nights. I could tell from his morning face that the nights were the worst part of his life, leaving him feeling isolated, vulnerable emotionally, as well as physically helpless. He was like me, needing arms to hold me safe during the darkness, wanting kisses on my face to put me to sleep, to wake me up, to put over me a safe parasol of love.

"Last night I heard the wind blowing," he confided to me as the twins sat in their highchairs and smeared their faces with warm, mushy cereal. "I woke up. I thought I heard Mel breathing beside me, but there was nothing. I saw the birds happily building their nests, heard them chirping to greet the new day, and then I saw her note. I knew without reading what was inside, and I went on thinking about the birds, and all their love songs suddenly turned into only territorial rights." His voice broke again as he lowered his head to hide his face. "I've heard that geese, once mated, never mate again, and I keep seeing Melodie as the swan, loyal forever, no matter what the circumstances."

"Darling, I know, I know," I soothed, stroking his dark curls. "But love can come again, you hold onto that--and you're not alone."

He nodded, saying, "Thanks for always being here when I need you. Thank Dad for me, too . . ."

Brusquely, fearing I'd cry as well, I put my arms about him. "Jory, Melodie is gone, but she's left you with a son and a daughter, be grateful for that. Because she did leave you, that makes them all yours now. She walked out not only on you, but also on her own children. You can divorce her and use your strength to help your children develop your own kind of courage and determination. You'll manage without her, Jory, and as long as you need us, you have your parents' willing help."

And all the time I was thinking that Melodie had deliberately withdrawn from her own children in order to make the break easier; she hadn't allowed herself to love them, or them to love her. Her parting gift of love to her childhood sweetheart was his own children.

Jory brushed the tears from his eyes and tried to grin. When he did it was full of irony.

BOOK THREE The Summer Of Cindy

.All of a sudden Bart was taking business trips, flying off to return in a few days, never staying away more than two or three days, as if afraid that during his absence as he wheeled and dealed we would run away with his fortune. As he put it, "I have to keep on top of things. Can't trust anyone more than I trust myself."

He had just happened to be gone the day that Melodie slipped out of Foxworth Hall and left that pitiful note for Jory to find on his night table. Bart's expression didn't change when he came home and found Melodie's chair at the dining table empty. "Upstairs moping again?" he asked indifferently, indicating her chair, which was a constant reminder of her absence.

"No, Bart," I answered when Jory refused to look his way or even answer. "Melodie decided she wanted to resume her career, and she left, leaving Jory a note."

His left eyebrow quirked upward cynically; then he flashed Jory a glance, but not one word to say he was sorry to find her gone, or one word of condolence to his brother.

Later, when Jory was upstairs and I was changing diapers, Bart came in and stood at my side. "Too bad I was in New York at the time. I would have enjoyed seeing Jory's expression when he read her note. By the way, where is it? I'd like to read what she had to say."

I turned to stare at him For the first time it occurred to me that Melodie might have arranged to meet him in New York. "No, Bart, you will never read that note and I hope to God you had nothing to do with her decision to go."

Angry, his face reddened. "I went on a business trip! I haven't said two words to Melodie since Christmas. And as far as I'm concerned, it's good riddance."

Tags: V.C. Andrews Dollanganger Horror
Source: readsnovelonline.net