Melissa, Pass It On

By Alice L. Hawley

Melissa, Pass It On is the story of a rich but neglected 13 year old girl from Manhattan who longs to be reunited with her mother after three years of separation. Instead, she is forced to spend the summer with her weirdo, backwoods grandmother in a house with no electricity. Not only that, Grandma makes her collect the eggs from the smelly barn, and Melissa's first attempt at riding a horse ends in a pile of manure! Melissa's anger grows until she makes an unexpected friend and gets a new set of paints. But when a dark haired boy walks into her yard, the summer really starts to look up. Melissa doesn't notice that she has changed, but everyone else does. Without knowing it, the new Melissa brings about the thing she wants most in the world. This humorous story has great appeal for young teens. It gives an honest look into one girl's first experience with family, prayer, nature, friendship, art and loving others.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 31, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257340712

Book preview

Melissa, Pass It On

by

Alice L. Hawley

For my family

For my students

For the silvery-white ball of traveling light

Copyright 2009 by Alice Landis Hawley

Cover photos copyright 2009 www.dreamstime.com

eISBN: 978-1-25734-071-2

Reunion

Melissa leaned against the soft leather seat of the Cadillac, and wondered what it would be like to see her mother again. Why had her mother sent for her now? It had been a year since she'd seen her, and three years since she'd lived with her.

For three whole years she'd been stuck at her aunt and uncle's apartment in New York City. Her parents had parked her there while they sailed around the world for two years. At the end of the trip, Daddy had made an instant exit. He'd been run over by a drunk driver in London. Two weeks later, Mommy was coughing up blood in violent, hacking fits.

Aunt Eva had packed her mother up and shipped her out to San Francisco, to the famous Morgan Pierpoint Hospital. Her mother wouldn’t even let Melissa hug her goodbye, afraid she might catch tuberculosis. When the taxicab whisked her mother away, Melissa had to dig her nails into her palms to keep from crying. She didn’t cry, but it was harder this time than at Daddy’s funeral.

But maybe the bad times are over. Hope fluttered inside her. Maybe Mommy's cured. Maybe we'll get an apartment, here in San Francisco. We’ll take walks and watch the sunlight sparkle like sequins on the water. We’ll go shopping together in Ghiradelli Square, eat egg rolls in Chinatown, stroll through the art museum. Like old times.

The Cadillac slid into the parking lot of the Morgan Pierpoint Hospital. The driver--a sleek, smooth secretary, the lawyer's secretary, turned to face Melissa. The secretary smiled showing perfect white teeth. She held the smile for a long time. It never sagged. She probably practices it in front of a mirror. Like a Miss America contestant.

I'll wait here for you, the secretary said. It's been so-o-o long since you've seen your mother. I know you'll want to see her alone, she cooed, her voice carefully modulated to express sympathy.

I bet they just adore her in the lawyer's office. Does she practice her little speeches too? Aloud she said, Thanks, and slammed the car door. She crossed the parking lot.

Swoosh. The monogrammed glass door of the Morgan Pierpoint Hospital slid open automatically. Melissa put on her haughty, public face and entered the spacious lobby, enjoying the click of her heels across the polished floor. The sound reminded her to walk tall: she drew her slender body into a straight line, and held her head high.

As she approached the receptionist’s desk, Melissa moved her new leather purse so it would show. With a toss of her head, Melissa swung her silky blonde hair out of her eyes and tried to look worldly. She looked down at the receptionist. In her most sophisticated voice she asked, What is the room number of Helen Mayfield, please?

The receptionist smiled. Room 436. But no one under fourteen is admitted without an adult.

For a moment, Melissa faltered. She was only thirteen. But then she drew herself up even taller. Of course, she answered in her snobbiest voice. Years of living with Uncle Morris and Aunt Eva had taught her the power of a wealthy attitude. She held her head high and marched off, giving the receptionist no chance to question her.

She clicked across the floor to the elevator and pressed number four. But when she stepped off, her stomach lurched. It was that smell, that disgusting, cloying mixture of medicine and disinfectant to cover up the stench of sickness. And those putrid green walls. Welcome to the House of Death. She wanted to run away.

But she forced herself to walk quietly down the hall, as though clicking her heels would be disrespectful to the dying. Outside Room 436, she stopped short. Which mother would be in there? The mother of her memories, who taught her funny songs and curled her hair? Or the untouchable woman, torn by grief, doubled over, hacking up blood? Melissa’s stomach knotted.

I can’t go in there. I can’t!

Yes you can. Maybe she’ll be wearing that blue silk bathrobe you sent her from Bloomingdale’s. She counted to ten and forced herself to turn the knob. When she opened the door, she stood on the threshold, frozen.

Her mother lay in her bed, pale and gaunt. Her ugly hospital-green gown clashed with the uglier green walls. The new thinness of her face seemed to enlarge her gray-green eyes. Her hair, once blonde, lay brown and matted on the pillow. The knot in Melissa’s stomach pulled tighter.

Come in, dear. Her mother smiled, looking weak. Let me get a good look at you.

Melissa walked stiffly to the foot of her mother’s bed and forced a smile.

Oh, you look so grown-up! That burgundy jacket is the perfect color for you, her mother added nervously as though searching for a compliment. She pressed a button to raise her bed to a sitting position. Did you have any trouble getting here?

No. Uncle Morris took me to the airport in New York, and Mr. Milton’s secretary picked me up at the San Francisco airport and drove me here.

Good. I’ve arranged for you to stay at her house tonight. It’s safer than a motel. Helen massaged her forehead and sighed. Melissa, Uncle Morris and Aunt Eva treat you well, don’t they? It was more a statement than a question.

Yeah. Like a social obligation. They buy me stuff so they don't have to deal with me. Aloud Melissa answered, Oh, fine.

I knew they would. It’s lucky you can stay with them and get the chance to go to the Lawton School. It has an excellent reputation.

Yeah … I guess so, Melissa mumbled. She moved a plastic molded chair to her mother’s side, sat down, and studied her face. Are you getting better, Mom?

I don’t know, dear. I don’t like to talk about it. Helen looked away to avoid Melissa’s eyes. Let’s talk about you instead.

Melissa leaned back and sighed. Okay, she said in a quiet voice. How come I’m not going to Camp Nikomis this summer?

That’s what I wanted to tell you. This summer you’re going to stay with …

With you? Melissa blurted. Stubborn hope was stronger than logic. She leaned forward to grasp her mother’s hand, but stopped. She sensed that her mother didn’t want to be touched. Can we get an apartment in San Francisco?

Well no, Melissa, not exactly. You know I’m not well. Her mother evaded Melissa’s eyes; she cleared her throat. You’ll be staying with Gramma. She’ll pick you up tomorrow at the secretary’s house.

Gramma! Melissa stood up abruptly. Gramma? Her voice grew shrill. "For the whole summer? I can’t even stand her for ten minutes."

Lower your voice, dear. You hardly know her. You have to give her a chance.

I know her enough to hate her.

Don’t use that word, Melissa. It shows poor taste.

I don’t care! She’s awful!

I certainly hope you don’t talk like this to Morris and Eva. Don’t they teach you better manners at Lawton?

Is that all you want – manners? Then you shouldn’t send me to Gramma’s! She’s totally obnoxious. She has no style at all, and she’s mean. She could hear Gramma’s grating voice bragging about her prize chickens. Fun at the Farm with Gramma.

Melissa sank back into the chair. She remembered that day. It was three years ago. Gramma had showed up for one of her rare visits. She looked like a scarecrow in her baggy gray dress with fat pearl buttons. She had argued for an hour with Melissa's mother in the bedroom. Melissa could catch only snatches of the conversation: Gramma’s gravelly voice saying, She’s too young …not good for her …important for her education …two years is too long … When her mother finally appeared, her eyes were red and puffy. The next day, her mother had broken the news about traveling around the world for two years with Daddy – without Melissa. They would leave her with Morris and Eva, for her sake, to give her the opportunity to receive an excellent education at the Lawton School, the finest school in New York City. It must have been Gramma's idea to leave Melissa behind. Her mother would never have abandoned her. They had been so close. Someone else had convinced her to do it.

Melissa stared at her mother. Mom, how could you do this to me? Melissa was mad at herself. Why had she allowed herself to imagine that she was about to get her mother back?

Helen didn’t answer. She put her hand to her mouth and began to cough quietly. Repeatedly. Finally she spoke in a monotone, like a child reciting lines in a play. I’m sorry you don’t like my mother. But she’s your grandmother, and she wants to take care of you for the summer. Melissa, I can’t talk about this any more. Helen covered her eyes, hiding.

Why is my own mother handing me over to my worst enemy? There has to be a way out. Why can’t I stay with Morris and Eva? I'd much rather stay with them, Melissa argued.

You know they’re going on a tour of China. But that’s not the point. Gramma wants you. Melissa glared. Melissa, you’re being rude and immature. I’m disappointed in you.

"Well I’m disappointed in you! Melissa felt herself coming apart. Anger spurted out instead of tears; she was almost shouting. You planned the whole thing behind my back. Everybody knew about it – you, Gramma, Aunt Eva, Uncle Morris. Even the secretary! They all kept The Big Secret from me because you told them to. Nobody cared that I got my hopes up."

Helen didn’t speak. Instead she coughed persistently, deliberately, like someone clearing her throat.

In a gesture familiar to Melissa, Helen reached out to press a wall button, as if she were ringing for Room Service, or the maid. Melissa remembered when that hand was deeply tanned, and glittered with rings. Now it was thin, white, and shaky.

Melissa spoke quietly. You should have asked me, Mom. I’d much rather go to camp. Any camp.

Melissa’s mother was silent. She stared at the blanket and continued to cough delicately.

Without warning, the door swung open. A plump, starched nurse marched in and announced, When the patient rings for the nurse, visiting time is over. You’ll have to go now, Miss.

Melissa glared at the nurse, and then ignored her. She reached out to touch her mother, but she let her hand fall to her side. She pressed her nails into her palms.

Goodbye Mom,