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"That's all I've been doing lately," I admitted.

"Okay, Thursday," he promised.

My heart was pounding in anticipation.

The night before, I sat at the desk and, after stuffing the envelope with the money Alice had given me, wrap-ping it carefully so no one would know what it was, I wrote her a letter.

Dear Alice,

You'll be surprised to learn that I didn't go to Los Angeles after all. My cousin Cary was sent by Grandma Olivia to bring me back to Provincetown and he found me at the bus station in Richmond. I agreed to return when he told me he thought he knew who my real father is. He's an artist who lives in Provincetown. Tomorrow, Cary is taking me to his house and studio and for the first time in my life, I will set eyes on the man who could be my father. I have seen pictures of him when he was younger, but seeing pictures is one thing. Standing before him in the flesh will he another.

I am rehearsing what I will say and how I will say it. You'd laugh if you saw how I pose before the mirror in my room and pretend I'm seeing him. Everything I can think to say sounds silly. I'm afraid he will just look at me and shake his head and maybe shut the door in my face. I don't know how I would feel if that happened.

Apparently, he is a man who keeps to himself so that just might happen. I'll write to tell you all about it afterward.

Speaking of rehearsals, you won't believe this, but I've been talked into performing at the school's annual scholarship variety show. I'll be playing my fiddle--two tunes. I practice and have played for the family. They all seemed impressed, but I'm terrified.

I'm returning all the money you lent me. It was nice of you to do it and I know now that you are my one true friend. I hope we will always remain friends, no matter how many miles apart we might be.

I still haven't heard from Mommy. When I asked her why she lied to me the last time she called, she sounded frantic and very distant and I have this fear she won't call again. There is a lot she and I have to discuss now, now that I'm old enough to

understand. I have heard unpleasant things about her when she was younger--my age and a little older. It saddens and sickens me, but I try not to think about it.

My grandmother has told me that I'm an heiress and that someday I'll have a lot of money. How's that for a surprise? Me, someday rich? Right now, I don't even think about it. It really doesn't seem important.

What's important is that I might be on the verge of learning the whole truth about myself and my family. It frightens me and yet, I know how much I want to know everything.

As I write this letter, I am looking at the watch Papa George gave me. Inside, I placed a blade of grass from Daddy's grave. Even though I was just there, I feel so far away, not only in miles but in time. It makes me feel that I'm about to become someone else, as if I lived a different life, a life that will soon end. After all, this and a few of the things I was able to bring with me are all that I have from my former life. Of course, I have memories, but they're burning down like candles. I'm afraid of being left in the dark.

As soon as I finish this letter, I'm going to practice my fiddle and then I'm going to go to sleep and dream of a new tomorrow, where lies crumble like fallen autumn leaves beneath my feet and where promises of happiness and hope sprout rich and green like our mountains and hills in spring.

Say a prayer for me. And thanks for being my truest friend in all the world.

Love, Melody

I put the letter in the envelope. I played my fiddle and then I crawled into bed and had the dream I told Alice I would have.

Tomorrow would be a new day.

19

Lost and Found

.

The way to Race Point was along a road so

narrow and hidden between two hills of sand, it could easily be overlooked. Cary explained that at Kenneth Childs's request, no sign was posted to designate the road. He was the only one who lived on it and it had become known as Childs Road. After its entrance, protected by the two hills, the road was covered with sand that was six to eight inches deep in spots.

"The best way to navigate this is to let air out of my tires," Cary explained and stopped the truck to do just that.

It was late afternoon and the powder blue sky was streaked with flat, soft clouds that looked like vanilla icing smeared across it in odd shapes. Cary said it meant it was very windy in the upper atmosphere. We went in about three quarters of a mile before we reached the peak of the incline and were able to see the ocean. It looked a darker metallic blue, making its whitecaps whiter. The beach here was cluttered with twisted seaweed that lay in clumps combed by the fingers of the waves. Terns walked gingerly around and through the seaweed as if they were part of some bird ballet entitled Searching for Food.

"This is one of the best places to find driftwood," Cary said. "Laura and I spent hours gathering strangely shaped pieces. Local artists will buy them from you. Seashells too," he added.

"Where's Kenneth's home?"

"Just to the right here," he explained and we made a turn. Ahead was a smoke-gray cedar saltbox house. The sea air, sun, and rain had faded its black shutters to a light charcoal. Behind the house was another small structure that looked like a barn.