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"I know that, Mommy."

"You know that even though I love you, I always thought it was a mistake for me to have had a child so early in my life. I want to warn you about that," she said sternly. "Don't have children until you're at least thirty-five."

"Thirty-five!"

"Yes. If you're smart, you'll remember that. Anyway, you know that I've tried to be a good mother. I know I'm not the best mother."

"I'm not complaining, Mommy," I said. There were burning tears coming to my eyes now, too. "We'll be all right."

"Oh, I know we will, honey, but first I have to do things. I have to try, don't I? You wouldn't want me to feel I never tried when I had the chance. You wouldn't want me frustrated and shut up in another place like Sewell, would you? Because if I'm not happy, Melody, I can't make you happy, can I? Can I?" she repeated.

"No," I said. I tried to take a deep breath, but my lungs felt as if ice had entered them and shriveled them with constricting pain.

"Good. So yo

u understand why I've got to go places and meet people and do auditions and learn things," she said.

"You already told me all this, Mommy."

"I know, but. . . well, it's not the kind of life I can put you through right now. You're still in school and you need stability. You need friends and boyfriends and to go to parties and--"

"So, why can't I do that wherever we are, Mommy?"

"Because I'm not going to be anyplace for a while, maybe a long while. I'll have to travel around. If I get an opportunity, I have to pick right up and go. You can't turn down good opportunities, not at my age," she emphasized. "And what would life be like for you under such circumstances, huh?"

"But Mommy--"

"Listen, honey. Imagine just having made some new friends or starting out with a new boyfriend, and me coming home and saying, we're leaving tomorrow. You know now how hard that was this time, how terrible you felt? How would it be feeling that all the time? And then having to sleep in cheap motels and eat on the road and. . . everything. After a while you're just going to hate me, and then I would hate myself, and then I wouldn't try to be someone," she explained. "We would both be unhappy."

She smiled. "I don't want you to be unhappy, honey."

"What are we going to do, Mommy?" I asked and held my breath.

"Well, now here's where everything worked out for us. After your daddy died, I called Uncle Jacob and Aunt Sara and told them, of course, and then explained what I was going to do with my life now. It was Aunt Sara who suggested it."

"Suggested what, Mommy?"

"Suggested you stay here while I'm off making a career change," she said. "She's very happy to have you and this is a wonderful place to live. You'll make so many new and interesting friends, I'm sure."

"You can't leave me here." I shook my head.

"Just for a while, honey. call constantly and I'll come back for you as soon as I'm established some place. But for now I've got to go off with Archie and I know you're not crazy about traveling with us."

"You mean Richard," I said dryly. "And I know he's not happy about having me travel with you."

"It's not because of Richard."

"Are you going to marry him, Mommy?"

"Of course not," she said, but not with a great deal of firmness. "Anyway," she said, gesturing toward the house, "this will be fine for a while. You'll be staying with family."

"I don't want to stay here, Mommy. I don't want to be away from you," I moaned.

"Oh, you won't be, not for long anyway. I promise." She stroked my hair and smiled and then kissed my forehead. "I just need this chance, honey, and I can't go off and get it worrying about you, too. It wouldn't be fair to you. I'd neglect you even worse than I have in the past. And you're so very smart. You understand, don't you? I have no fear that you'll do well here, too. Everyone likes you, Melody."

I lowered iffy head slowly like a flag of defeat and stared at my feet. A southern breeze blew, caressing my cheek, making strands of my hair dance around my face. I heard the cry of nearby terns and the roar of the ocean.

Daddy was the glue that had held our little family together. Now that he was gone, we were corning apart.