chapter 4
We pulled up to my parents’ house at about seven o’clock. Peter’s car was a big black Mercedes with a powerful engine and comfortable leather seats. It also had a backseat big enough to hold my folded up wheelchair, if only just.
It had taken a lot of courage to ask him to come with me. I was shocked when he accepted. He seemed pleased, like it was an honor or something. I would have laughed if he hadn’t been so touched.
He parked the car out front, behind my father’s Lincoln, and I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the fun to come. Peter looked at me in concern. “Are you afraid they won’t like me?”
I laughed. “Oh, they won’t like you.” He gave me a surprised look, a little bit of hurt in his eyes, and I rushed on to explain. “They wouldn’t like you if you were Jesus.” I sighed, puffing my bangs out of my eyes. “You’re a guy. And I’m just their little mentally impaired and completely vulnerable little girl.”
He nodded slowly. “I see.” He gave my hand a squeeze before going around to get my chair. The curtains in the front window twitched and I knew Mom was watching. I had no doubt she was giving my dad and sister the play by play, interjecting any number of crazy hypotheses about Peter’s origins and intentions- not to mention my lack of good judgment. Peter opened my door for me and I waited for him to bring my chair close so I could transfer in myself. Instead, he stooped and slid an arm behind my back and under my knees. He cradled me in his arms and lifted me slowly, masking just how effortless the maneuver really was. He gently placed me in my chair, and I felt bereft without his touch.
Mom greeted us at the door, looking Peter up and down before taking him in to introduce him to Dad and Chelsea. I could hear the unvoiced judgments, and it made me want to shout at her, but I restrained myself. She held me back for a moment with a hand on my wheelchair. “He’s kind of old for you isn’t he?” Her voice was pleasant, unaware that she was being judgmental.
“He’s the same age I am, Mom,” I said patiently. He could be, if he wasn’t immortal. But no need to bring that up. I wheeled into the living room to find Peter obliviously flipping through a Time magazine while Dad glared at him, and Chelsea drooled. He was dressed up tonight, wearing a pair of pants that fit him well and a grey silk shirt that made his dark green eyes stand out. I didn’t blame my sister a bit.
Chelsea was one of those girls you want to hate, but just can’t. She was a senior in college with a perfect grade point average. Every aspect of her appearance was perfect, from her meticulously straightened and highlighted blond hair- tucked artfully behind an ear- to her shiny red leather ballet flats. Peter looked up from his magazine when I entered the room, and she took the opportunity to flash him a dazzling smile. He was far too attractive and successful to be with me. Obviously, he had the wrong sister.
Dinner was an awkward affair as Mom and Dad tried to appear warm and welcoming, while being nothing of the sort. Mom considered Peter, her fork poised in her hand. “So, Melody tells me she met you on the subway?” The tone said it all. You picked her up on the subway.
Peter nodded and flashed her a brilliant smile. “Yes. I was running late and she held the door for me.” He turned the smile on me. “Melody is very considerate.”
My dad snorted. “And gullible,” he said shortly. Mom shot him a scandalized glance, though she was obviously thinking the same thing.
I glared at them both. “Knock it off,” I warned under my breath. Chelsea sniggered at me and asked me to pass the mashed potatoes.
They quizzed Peter about what he did for a living, his family, his religious beliefs, his education, and how we had met. “What do your parents do for a living,” Dad asked, at one point. I chewed slowly, watching Peter to see how he would handle the question.
Peter took a sip of his wine, and his expression softened. “My mom was a homemaker,” he said with a smile. “She took care of my sister and me, and did a lot of volunteer work in the community.” I took another bite of my pot roast, amazed at how seamlessly he did it. He told the truth, he just didn’t elaborate on the details. For example, the fact that his mother had volunteered at the hospital during an outbreak of influenza in the early 1900’s, and had ultimately lost her life because of it.
“My father was a jeweler,” he continued softly. I lost both of them years ago. His hand dipped into his pocket where I knew he kept his father’s old watch. He had shown it to me once, and I knew that its surface was worn smooth on one side from years of his using it like a worry stone. He fielded all of their questions with a calm politeness that I couldn’t have managed in his place, and I gave him a warm smile of gratitude when his eyes met mine over the pot roast. I knew he didn’t usually eat human food, but he somehow managed two servings of Mom’s odd vegetable casserole.
Chelsea told us all about school and her plans to pursue a medical degree. Mom and Dad were beaming. I studied them objectively for a moment. They both looked older than they should. Mom had deep lines creasing the corners of her blue eyes, and she had lost weight since I was a teenager, not plumped out the way most people do as they age. Her meticulously styled hair would have grey streaks if it wasn’t colored that perfectly civilized dark blond. Dad was balding and his blood pressure was always too high. He had a pinched look around his mouth when no one was watching, but he had learned to turn it into a bland smile when he was under scrutiny.
Mom brought out a pie for dessert and the conversation turned to Chelsea’s most recent presentation on the dangers of overeating and the national obesity epidemic. I spooned an extra helping of whipped cream onto my plate and gave her a bland look. My mind wandered as I tuned out the conversation. I had been planning to start college when the accident happened. I was an honor roll student with a bright future. Afterward, my parents had thought their first-born was going to die at any moment. They spent weeks not knowing if I would ever wake up. And when I did, I was impaired, disabled, permanently changed. Chelsea was now their hope for their future, their golden child. They hung on her every move, beamed over her every accomplishment as if it were their own. I couldn’t blame them. I would never be anything more than a wheelchair-bound library assistant. I probably wouldn’t ever get married and have children. I would never advance or grow. And they saw no reason Peter would be here with me tonight unless he had some sort of ulterior motive.
They were right, I realized, he was probably only humoring me. Maybe feeling sorry for me. That was probably it. Despite his not being, uh….human, he seemed to be a genuinely caring man. I pushed my broccoli around on my plate while Mom told Peter about Chelsea’s year of study abroad. She had spent time in Switzerland learning about the latest advances in medicine. She also went to Costa Rica for several weeks to help out with the mission there. I had never been out of the state.
Peter gradually steered the discussion toward me whenever he could, and his efforts were not lost on me, though my family didn’t seem to notice. “Have you visited Melody’s new reading program at the library?” His eyes sparkled with pride. “She has such a way with the children. There were at least ten kids there last week, and they all adore her.”
Mom patted my hand like a child. “Well isn’t that something.” Peter frowned.
When the evening was over, I all but rushed to the door, desperate to just get home to the shelter of my nice, quiet apartment and a four-legged best friend who would be thrilled to see me whether I was a rocket scientist or a cucumber.
Peter turned to my parents at the last moment. “Thank you for the interesting evening Mr. and Mrs. Westcott,” he said politely. “I hope that someday you realize how lucky you are to have such an intelligent, beautiful, and strong daughter as Melody.” He turned and pushed my wheelchair out the door without a backward glance, leaving my mom and dad on the steps, looking perplexed, not sure if they should be proud or insulted.
We were mostly silent during the short drive back to my apartment, each of us lost in our thoughts. I hoped the evening wouldn’t scare him off. I studied his face in the meager light of the passing streetlights. He seemed less angry than when we were at my parents’ house, so I supposed that was a good sign. He helped me up to my place and I said good night, hesitating on the threshold. I wasn’t anxious for him to be gone, but I had to get up early for work. He brushed a hand lightly over my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear and fondly caressing my cheek.
I sighed and closed my eyes, some of the tension from dinner leaving me. “Thank you for what you said. It was nice of you to stick up for me.”
He knelt down in front of me so that he could look me in the eyes. “I meant every word of it,” he said intently. “They treat you like a disappointment. They should be ashamed.” His tone was short, irritated.
I shrugged. “I’ve put them through a lot in the last five years,” I said, fighting a nagging headache. “I am a disappointment. I’ll never go to college- I can’t keep up and I wouldn’t be able to handle the stress. I’ll never be a lawyer or a doctor.” I gestured at my wheelchair. “And I’m not really in the position to give them a lot of grandkids. I’m a dead-end.” I clenched my teeth, surprised that I had just said all that.
Peter leaned forward and kissed me gently, his soft lips full of promise. I met him urgently, soaking in the feeling of being wanted and accepted. He leaned back for a moment and I saw that his eyes had gone all silvery.
“Don’t buy into their disenchantment,” he said seriously. He held up a hand to forestall my protests. “I can imagine your parents have been through a lot of heartache, and fear, and pain. I know they love you. I don’t think they hurt you on purpose… but they do hurt you. I saw it in your eyes tonight. I hear it in your words every day.”
I looked down at my hands. He placed a finger under my chin and raised my head, forcing me to look into those chilling silver eyes. “And more than that, I see it in everything you do. Some part of you believes you aren’t good enough- that you don’t measure up to whatever it is you call normal. Don’t do that to yourself, Melody. And don’t let others make you feel that way. You’re perfect, just as you are. I wouldn’t change you for anything in the world.”
He kissed me again, and I tangled my hands in his silky hair as his tongue dipped into my mouth. His fangs elongated and I felt their hard smoothness beneath his skin. A shiver of need stabbed through me and I sighed against his lips, wanting more. He drew away at last, leaving me reeling.
“I love you.” He said softly. Then he stood and was gone faster than thought.
I made my way slowly into my apartment and shut the door. Then I burst into tears. If he truly felt that way, then why did he leave? Even though he said I was special- went so far as to say that he loved me- even he treated me as less than normal. If I were a normal woman, he would be here with me right now, making love to me, maybe even sinking his teeth into me.
Instead, I was here alone. I knew that it stemmed more from his need to protect me than complete disinterest - I had pulled his darker instincts into play after all- but that was the very thing I detested. He wouldn’t feel that he needed to be careful not to take advantage of me if he didn’t think I was impaired. Even with Peter, I was disabled.