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He nodded. "I understand how you feel." "Do you?" I snapped, the skin on my face feeling hot and sunburnt. "Yes," he replied firmly. His green eyes grew dark, but held me with their sincerity. "I do, Melody. When I first realized you didn't know the whole truth about your parents, I was shocked. Even before today, I thought about telling you because I was tired of hearing you complain about how my father treated your mother and your father, but--"

"But what, Cary Logan?" He looked away, swallowed, and then turned back. "I didn't want to happen just what is happening now," he blurted.

"And what's that?" I demanded, hands on my hips. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw May watching us, confusion on her face. "Well?" I demanded.

"I didn't want you hating me," he confessed. My heart continued to thump, but the steel in my shoulders and back softened. I relaxed and looked back at the ocean.

"I don't know what you mean," I muttered. "I don't remember the story, but I remember the lesson the teacher taught," he continued. "It was some-thing about how, we always hate the messenger who brings us bad news. That's why we hate to deliver it."

"I don't hate you for telling me the truth," I said. "But I am angry, mostly at my mother. She should have told me everything before she brought me here and dumped me on the family that hates the sight of me."

"No one hates the sight of you. How could anyone blame you? But you're right: your parents should have told you," he said, nodding. "They should have trusted you with the truth about their past and all that had happened. I guess my father hit the nail on the head: they were ashamed of themselves. That's why they ran from here to live in West Virginia after they had gotten secretly married."

"But. . . I just don't understand it all." I shook my head. "Why did Grandpa Samuel and Grandma Olivia take my mother into their home and adopt her if they considered her inferior? And even though my parents lived like brother and sister, they weren't brother and sister. Why was it so terrible, terrible enough to disown my father, to hate him so much that none of you even mourns his death?"

"Look, I don't know details. As I said, no one likes to talk about it. Maybe now your mother will tell you everything," he concluded. "You can ask her."

"Yes, I will ask her," I moaned, "if she ever calls me or comes for me."

"I'm sorry, Melody," he said. "It all stinks like a rotten fish."

I gazed into his now softened emerald eyes and saw how deeply he felt my pain.

"Thank you for caring," I said. His eyes brightened and a small smile formed on his lips.

May stared up at me, waiting for an

explanation. My outbursts and anger had frightened her. Why should someone so innocent and sweet be hurt by my miserable mood? I thought.

"Everything's all right," I signed and reached for her hand. She grinned from ear to ear.

"We better go back inside now," Cary said. "They'll be looking for us." He told May to be sure her shoes were clean before we all re-entered the house.

"There are the children," Aunt Sara said as we appeared in the living room doorway. "I was just going to call you. Where did you go, Cary?"

"We took a walk on the beach."

"Find any interesting seashells?" she asked me. "Laura always found the most unusual ones, didn't she, Jacob?"

He grunted.

It was so hard looking at them all, now that I knew more of the truth. Grandma Olivia sat in the oversized high-back chair, her arms on the arms of the chair, her back straight. She looked furious when she gazed at me. I felt her eyes burning through me. I don't care what Cary says, I thought. She hates me. She hates the sight of me because she can't look at me without seeing my mother. I couldn't wait to leave.

On the other hand, Grandpa Samuel's face was softer, a small smile on his lips. "You take your cousin sailing yet, Cary?" he asked.

"No sir."

"There's no hurry," Aunt Sara said, her voice fluttering with fear.

"I can't think of anyone I would trust more in a sailboat than Cary," Grandpa Samuel said, his eyes still fixed on me. Cary blushed. "He's the best sailor the family's ever had, eh Jacob?"

"Aye," Uncle Jacob said. "That he is." He slapped his hands on his knees and stood. "Well, I guess we had better be moving on." He glanced at Aunt Sara and she rose quickly. Then he looked at Cary.

"Thank you for the brunch, Grandma," Cary said quickly, prodded by his father's look of expectation. Uncle Jacob's gaze moved to me.

"Thank you,." I said, my lungs so hot I didn't think I could make sounds. I wanted to add

sarcastically, "Thank you for keeping my mother and father's pictures buried in a carton in the basement. Thank you for hating your own son so much that you won't even mention his name, much less mourn his death. Thank you for blaming me for anything and everything they did." But I swallowed back the thoughts and turned to watch May signing her thank you. They barely acknowledged her. Maybe that was their way of pretending she didn't have a handicap, I thought. Another lie was being added to the piles buried in the Logans's sea chests and dark closets.