The funny thing was, she was telling the truth. I'd seen my aunt with strippers, mine mostly. When they did their thing, she was like April on steroids.
Desperately, I tried to explain. "Yeah, but I'mnotyou." I took a deep breath. "It's really, really nice of you. And I know you mean well, but I don't want that kind of attention."
"You mean from guys?" She paused. "Want me to send a girl next time?" She perked up. "Because they've got those, too."
Oh, God.As if theregularnews stories weren't bad enough. "No. That's not it. I just don't like everyone looking at me."
"But that's silly."
I made a sound of frustration. "Why is it silly?"
"Because everyonealwayslooks at you."
Sadly, I couldn't even argue. I took a subtle look around. Technically, only a few people were looking, but they were strangers, touristy types mostly. As far as the locals, they treated me just like they treated everyone else.
And I loved them for it.
I considered myself one of them, even if my life was freakishly different than most of theirs.
It was a nice setup, and I had my parents to thank for it. In spite of their apparent wealth, they'd made a genuine effort to have me grow up as – in their words – a normal kid.
That's why they'd settled here, instead of New York or Chicago. And that's why I went to public school, had regular chores, and regular friends. It was why – thank God – I didn't mind working for a living or cleaning my own house.
Aunt Gina smiled. "So, if they're gonna stare anyway, you might as well embrace it, right? You know, have some fun with it."
Fun?My gaze landed on a far table, where an older couple was whispering and pointing – at me, of course. I didn't need to hear them to know what they were saying.See that girl at the far table? She's the daughter of that rich artist who flew his plane into Lake Michigan.
The rest of the conversation was equally predictable.
I hear she inherited a ton of money.
Do you think he killed himself?
I hear his wife was screwing their lawyer.
I gave the couple an annoyed look. Far from being deterred, the woman pulled out her cell phone and held it out in front of her. As I watched, she pretended to check her messages or whatever.
Nice try, lady.I'd seen that trick before.
Sure enough, the telltale flash came a moment later. As I watched, she and her companion studied the photo. Soon, she was holding up her phone again in the same exact way.
Another flash, another look, another urge – from me, to rip that thing out of her hands and shove it where the sun didn't shine.
Aunt Gina said, "Did you hear what I just said?"
I blinked. "Sorry. What?"
"Isaid, you alwaysweremore like your mom."
Instantly, I felt that familiar pang. My mom was Aunt Gina's sister. But where Aunt Gina was crazy and flamboyant, my mom had been the introverted type. She played the piano and the flute, and sang beautifully from what I recalled.
As if reading my mind, Aunt Gina said, "You know why they named you Melody, don't you?"
I did know. I'd been told a hundred times. But it was a story I loved to hear, so all I said was, "Because my mom loved music, right?"
My aunt got that familiar faraway look in her eyes. "Oh yeah. She loved music. And your dad loved her. They were so crazy together. I never saw anything like it." Her voice grew quiet. "I really miss her, you know." She smiled. "Your dad, too."
She reached across the table and gave my hand a tender squeeze. "But at least I have you."
