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"That's his way of saying he's glad we're back safely," Cary explained.

"Well, why can't he just say so? Doesn't he ever show any emotion beside anger? I've never seen him laugh or cry."

"The only time I ever saw my father cry was when he heard Laura was missing. He went off toward the cranberry bog and stood on the hill, sobbing. Then, and at the memorial service. He's not a man to show emotion."

"Except his anger," I reminded him.

"That's just--"

"I know," I said smiling, "his bark not his bite." Cary smiled.

I had to admit the sight of the soft mattress and comforter was a wonderful sight. I didn't even bother to get undressed. I just plopped onto the bed, hugged the fluffy pillow, embraced my stuffed cat, and fell asleep. I didn't waken until late in the afternoon. Vaguely, I recalled, as if it were a dream, Aunt Sara coming into the room and standing by the bed, gazing down at me, even stroking my hair. I may have groaned and turned over, but I didn't speak, and after a moment, she left.

My bones creaked when I sat up. I felt so scuzzy it was as if I had cobwebs under my arms. A hot shower had never been so marvelous. I washed my hair and brushed my teeth and then got dressed in a pair of jeans and a clean blouse. I smelled the aroma of something delicious even before I came down the stairs.

"You're up! How are you feeling, dear?" Aunt Sara asked.

"I'm fine, Aunt Sara. I'm so sorry," I said quickly.

"Nothing to be sorry about my dear, now that you're home safe again. I have a fish stew cooking and ready for you. I bet you're hungry."

"Starving," I admitted. My stomach churned in anticipation of the good food, the Portuguese bread.

"Just sit at the table and I'll bring it. It's not supper time, but you've got to get something warm in your stomach."

"Where's Cary?" I asked. "Is he still asleep?"

"Cary? Oh no. He was up to take May to school and then return to school himself."

"He must be exhausted," I said.

"It isn't the first time he was up most of the night and I'm sure it won't be the last. That's a fisherman's life, dear. Cary's used to it."

"Do you know why I left like that, Aunt Sara?"

"No dear." She quickly walked away to demonstrate that she didn't care to know, either. Aunt Sara was definitely the clam in the family, ready to slam shut her shell and ignore anything unpleasant. It seemed almost cruel to make her listen or see what she didn't want to see.

I said nothing. I ate and waited for Cary, May, and Uncle Jacob to return. But before they did, Aunt Sara and I had a surprise visitor. My aunt came running into the dining room as I was finishing my stew.

"She's here!" she cried. "Oh dear, dear, the house is a mess, too," she said, wringing her hands with an invisible dish towel of worry.

"Who's here, Aunt Sara?"

"Olivia," she announced. "She hasn't been here since--since . . I can't remember." She went rushing about, picking up anything and everything that looked out of place.

Moments later Grandma Olivia came to the front door. Aunt Sara shouted for me to let Grandma Olivia in and I rose, trembling a bit myself. When I opened the door, she stormed past me and walked into the living room.

"Hello Olivia," Aunt Sara said. "It's so nice to see you."

"I want to talk with Melody alone," she snapped.

"Oh, of course." Aunt Sara smiled at me and retreated. Grandma Olivia peeled off her black velvet gloves and sat in Uncle Jacob's chair. She gazed at me with her eyes dark and small. "Sit," she ordered, and I went to the settee. "What did you think you would accomplish with this dramatic gesture--running off like that?"

"It wasn't a dramatic gesture. I wanted to go home."

"Home." She spit the word out as if it filled her mouth with an ugly, bitter taste. She looked away. "Home is here," she said, pointing to her temple, "and here," she added, pointing to her heart.

"I was going to go live with people who don't lie," I said.