"What did you do?" I asked him.

"I let her chop up the water until she was exhausted and red in the face and then I calmly stood up and said, "Grandma, it was all your fault. "

"You did?"

We boarded the bus and took our seats.

"Aye, I did."

"What did she do?"

"She flopped back in her seat, so shocked by my accusation and courage, she could only move her mouth. Nothing came out. Then it was my turn.

"'How dare you just lay all that misery on Melody like that,' I told her. 'What did you expect would happen if you made someone feel less than nothing, if you took away years and years of belief, of the only life she's ever known? She loved Uncle Chester like a father,' I said.

"'Well . . . well,' she stuttered, 'the girl wanted to hear the truth and so I gave it to her.'

"'How would you like someone to give it to you right between the eyes like that, Grandma?' I demanded. Then she just stared at me for a moment."

"What did she say?" I asked.

"She said that was exactly what had happened to her. First, with her sister and then, nineteen years later, with your mother, Haille. I told her she should have known better, then. She should have known how it would feel. Then I sat across from her and watched her. She stared at the floor for the longest time without speaking. Finally, she said, 'You're right, Cary. You're a lot older and wiser than I thought. In some ways you're the smartest of all of us.' She straightened up in her chair the way she does, you know, and in that regal voice of hers demanded I go find you and bring you back. She told me she would give me the money and she wanted me on the road immediately. She said she would take care of my father, not to worry.

"So," he said smiling, "here I am."

The bus started away.

"But I thought you told me you knew who my father was. I thought you said she told you more."

"I was getting to that. I didn't just jump up to do her bidding, you know," he said proudly. It amused me to see how proud he was that he had stood up to his grandmother. "I just sat there and stared at her until she said, 'Are you going after her or not?'

"I thought a moment and said, 'I can't bring her back unless you tell me the truth, Grandma.

Otherwise, why would she want to come back?' Well, Grandma Olivia deflated like a punctured blowfish and nodded.

"'It was your father,' she began, 'who came to me one day after Haille and Chester had left. Even though he had had this terrible fight with Chester- and gotten the worst of it, I might add-he felt very low, very bad that he had lost his brother. The three of them had been inseparable. But not always, Jacob hinted, indicating he knew something more. I pursued this, and he told me that many of the nights Haille was supposed to be spending with a girlfriend, she had been spending at the Childs': "

"The Childs'? You mean she was with the judge's family?" I asked.

"Yes, specifically Kenneth. During that last year, Kenneth was in Provincetown a lot," Cary said.

"He was going to Boston University undergraduate school. He was supposed to go on to become a lawyer, but he was also heavily into his sculpture and the judge had a studio built for him at their home.

Your mother was there almost every weekend Kenneth was there."

"Kenneth Childs is my real father?" I asked.

"It's very likely, from what Grandma said. I didn't get the opportunity to talk about it with my father. I took the money and went off to fetch you, leaving Grandma Olivia to explain it to him."

"But why didn't my mother just tell the truth?

Why would she blame Grandpa Samuel?"

"That's something you're going to have to ask her, Melody. She was either protecting Kenneth or herself Of-"

"Or what?"

He shrugged.

I sat back, digesting the story. If what he told me was true, then my real father was back in Truro and I was going to the right place.

"Have you ever spoken to Kenneth Childs?" I asked.

"I've said hello when I've seen him, but it's not easy to see him. He lives like a hermit on the Point.

It's like the judge said the other night: all he does is work."

"He doesn't have a wife or other children?"

"No. Everyone thinks he's strange, but as I told you, they accept it because he's an artist."

"Some artistic hermit living in a beach house away from people-that's my father?" I muttered, stunned with each and every revelation Cary uttered.

"Anyway, at least you'll get a chance to find out the truth now," he said.

I shook my head. Maybe I shouldn't, I thought.

Maybe I should live with the lies.

"What am I going to do?" I asked, the reality dropping all around me and over me. "Walk up to him and ask, 'Are you my real father?'"

"I'm not sure. We'll have to talk to my father about it, perhaps," he said.

"Your father?" I started to laugh. "You think he would talk to me about this?"

"Yes," Cary said, his eyes small. "He will or I'll tell my grandmother and she'll wring his neck."

I laughed, just thinking about Grandma Olivia chewing into Uncle Jacob.

Cary smiled. "I'm glad I found you so quickly, Melody."

I nodded and then sighed deeply, the sadness in my heart sprouting its dark flowers again.

"Papa George died," I told him. "There was no one there when I arrived yesterday. Mama Arlene had already moved away to live with her sister. The trailer home was closed, and my old home had nothing in it."

"I know. Alice told me. I'm sorry."

"Alice helped me a lot, but I spent last night in the trailer, sleeping on the floor. I have no idea where my things are. I didn't even think about them. I went to the cemetery, too. It felt so strange. I was angry and sad and. . . confused. Mommy didn't call while I was away, did she?"

"Not when I was home," he said. "How did you ever hope to find her just by going to Los Angeles?

It's huge. I hear that even people who live there get lost."

"I "I didn't know what else to do. I was alone," I said mournfully.

"You're not alone. You'll never be alone.

Remember that," he declared, his eyes firm and determined and full of sincerity.

"Thank you, Cary."

He smiled warmly, his eyes soft, loving. Then, he changed expression and took a breath. "Now I'll tell you the truth," he said. "I was shaking in my boots when I snapped at Grandma. I was afraid she would throw me out and call my father and that would be that."

"I thought you said her bark was worse than her bite."

"I did, but that doesn't mean her bite doesn't hurt, too."

The bus rolled on to Boston. I was like a ball in a pinball machine, rolling back and forth, but it wasn't for nothing, I thought. After all, I was unraveling those lies that had been spun so tightly around me, and soon, soon, I would reach the truth. It should have made me happy to realize that, but all it did was make my heart thump and make me tremble inside.

Since I hadn't slept much in the trailer, I dozed for most of the trip, my head on Cary's shoulder.

When we arrived in Boston, we had something to eat and then we got into his truck and started for Provincetown. It was nearly morning by the time we saw the town with Pilgrim's Monument ahead of us.

The rim of the sun was just peeking over the eastern horizon, turning the sky violet and orange, its bright gold edged with all those heavenly colors. The darkness retreated from the ocean, rising away like a blanket being peeled from a silver sheet. A tanker was silhouetted against the orange sky. It was breathtaking.

The beauty of the Cape, the promise of revelation and truth, the return after my desperate flight-it all made me dizzy with emotion. I was nervous, afraid, elated, and excited, happy and sad. I didn't know whether to cry or sigh with pleasure, to feel relief or more tension.

"Lucky I was suspended, huh?" Cary said, smiling, as we entered the city limits.

"Lucky?"

"Sure. I wouldn't have been free to go find you.

Actually, I would have left anyway and then I might have been suspended because of that."

"Let this be the end of all that, Cary. You've got to graduate."

"Aye, aye, Captain," he said, saluting. We cruised through town and made the turn toward his house. How would we be greeted? Would anyone be awake?

"Maybe I should just sleep on the beach," I said.

He looked at me with a wry smile. "It's time you got a good rest," he said. "You've got a lot to do during the next few weeks. For one thing, you've got to get me through ray finals and take finals of your own."

How right he was, I thought. Maybe he was the smartest and wisest of all of us after all.

It was deadly quiet when we entered the house.

A small hall light had been left on. We looked at each other and then, as silently as we could, started up the stairs, but the steps creaked like tattletales. By the time we reached the landing, Uncle Jacob, standing in his long nightshirt, was at his bedroom door. We paused. He stared at us a moment and then nodded.

"Get some sleep. We'll talk tomorrow." He retreated to his bedroom, softly closing the door.

"That's his way of saying he's glad we're back safely," Cary explained.

"Well, why can't he just say so? Doesn't he ever show any emotion beside anger? I've never seen him laugh or cry."

"The only time I ever saw my father cry was when he heard Laura was missing. He went off toward the cranberry bog and stood on the hill, sobbing. Then, and at the memorial service. He's not a man to show emotion."

"Except his anger," I reminded him.

"That's just-"

"I know," I said smiling, "his bark not his bite."

Cary smiled.

I had to admit the sight of the soft mattress and comforter was a wonderful sight. I didn't even bother to get undressed. I just plopped onto the bed, hugged the fluffy pillow, embraced my stuffed cat, and fell asleep. I didn't waken until late in the afternoon.

Vaguely, I recalled, as if it were a dream, Aunt Sara coming into the room and standing by the bed, gazing down at me, even stroking my hair. I may have groaned and turned over, but I didn't speak, and after a moment, she left.

My bones creaked when I sat up. I felt so scuzzy it was as if I had cobwebs under my arms. A hot shower had never been so marvelous. I washed my hair and brushed my teeth and then got dressed in a pair of jeans and a clean blouse. I smelled the aroma of something delicious even before I came down the stairs.

"You're up! How are you feeling, dear?" Aunt Sara asked.

"I'm fine, Aunt Sara. I'm so sorry," I said quickly.

"Nothing to be sorry about my dear, now that you're home safe again. I have a fish stew cooking and ready for you. I bet you're hungry."

"Starving," I admitted. My stomach churned in anticipation of the good food, the Portuguese bread.

"Just sit at the table and I'll bring it. It's not supper time, but you've got to get something warm in your stomach."

"Where's Cary?" I asked. "Is he still asleep?"

"Cary? Oh no. He was up to take May to school and then return to school himself."

"He must be exhausted," I said.

"It isn't the first time he was up most of the night and I'm sure it won't be the last. That's a fisherman's life, dear. Cary's used to it."

"Do you know why I left like that, Aunt Sara?"

"No dear." She quickly walked away to demonstrate that she didn't care to know, either. Aunt Sara was definitely the clam in the family, ready to slam shut her shell and ignore anything unpleasant. It seemed almost cruel to make her listen or see what she didn't want to see.

I said nothing. I ate and waited for Cary, May, and Uncle Jacob to return. But before they did, Aunt Sara and I had a surprise visitor. My aunt came running into the dining room as I was finishing my stew.

"She's here!" she cried. "Oh dear, dear, the house is a mess, too," she said, wringing her hands with an invisible dish towel of worry.

"Who's here, Aunt Sara?"