All She Ever Wanted Ch. 02

For the first couple of days after sending Daniel the email Melissa kept her email program up and checked it constantly. Nothing. She consoled herself with the thought that at least she hadn't gotten a notice saying it couldn't be delivered.

She did get the copy of Daniel's CD that she'd ordered. And began to play it constantly. "Other Plans" was still her favorite but she liked a couple of the other songs almost as much.

As the days passed her sense of anticipation flagged. After two weeks she was back to her regular routine of checking her email only once a day.

DANIEL HAD GOTTEN out of the habit of reading his email on a regular basis. He hardly turned on his computer at all anymore. He wasn't trying to write. He'd lost interest in the music business. There didn't seem to be much point.

But today he'd happened to wander into his office for something and remembered that he probably should take a look. There wasn't much. It had been months since he'd sent anyone an email and the spam filtering software he'd installed took care of most of the junk. There were a few things. He opened one from someone named Melissa Fleming.

Hello Daniel Burnham,

I found your email address online and decided I really wanted to write you.

I love your song "Other Plans". The idea of someone caring enough to want to unselfishly heal another's heart means a lot to me. And it was wonderful how the person who was healed was then able to love again. It's a great song. Thank you for writing it.

By the way, we're neighbors! I live in Cedar City too. Maybe we'll meet one day.

All the best,

Melissa

He wasn't sure what it was about this short letter that caught his attention but as the days passed every now and then the thought of it would enter his mind. He even went back and reread it a couple of times. But every time he considered sending her a reply all he could think of were the potential complications. And that thought made him feel tired and drained.

ON A QUIET SUNDAY afternoon, almost a month later, Melissa came to the conclusion that he wasn't going to respond. In the meantime she'd looked in the phone book and obtained his number. But she didn't have the courage to call him. So, not knowing what else to do, she went online and used the Gogol search engine again. To her delight she was directed to a notice for a personal appearance Daniel would be making at Strange Brew, a local club with a microbrewery that featured live entertainment, the following Friday.

The days seemed to go by exceedingly slowly but at last Friday evening arrived and she was crossing the threshold into Strange Brew with her stomach fluttering with nervousness. The first thing she noticed was that it was a young crowd, mostly University students. Sitting down at one of the small circular tables with an enclosed candle flickering in the center, she saw that the small stage was filled with a drum kit, keyboard, and a couple of electric guitars on stands. In front there was a stool, microphones, and an acoustic guitar.

When the waitress came around to her table she ordered one of the beers brewed in-house. Sipping it she waited, glancing at her watch in the dim light. Just as she was beginning to wonder if Daniel was actually going to appear a tall gangly man with a shock of black hair made his way to the stage.

"Good evening folks," he said into one of the microphones. "I'm James Russell, the owner of Strange Brew. And I want you all to welcome an amazing songwriter who lives right here in Cedar City. He's just had his first number one record but I know there will be more to come. Please welcome Cedar City's own... Daniel Burnham." Melissa joined the crowd in applauding enthusiastically. A man of medium height with short sand colored hair and round eye glasses in wire frames rose from one of the tables near the stage.

"Thanks," he said into the microphone after he'd picked up the acoustic guitar and settled himself on the stool. She noticed, as he introduced the first song, that he seemed quite comfortable being in the spotlight although there was an odd strained quality in his manner, as if he were pushing himself through this by sheer will power. Once, however, he lost himself in playing the song, it was as if a switch had been flipped; there was a passionate intensity that made her sit on the edge of her seat. She knew all but two of the eight songs he played, since they'd been on the CD she'd ordered. One of them was "Other Plans".

When he was finished he carried his guitar offstage to tumultuous applause. Standing by the table he'd vacated earlier he acknowledged the crowd's response with a forced smile and half bows. As soon as the clapping died down he bent over to place his guitar in a case that had been leaning on the table. It was as if he'd wrapped himself in a force-field of reserve. Melissa saw several people begin to approach him and then back away. He didn't even seem to notice. He picked up the guitar case and began walking rapidly toward the back of the room. Melissa quickly drank the last of her beer and hurried after him.

Fearful that he'd left already she moved towards the door while searching the room. Then she caught sight of him standing by the end of the bar. He and James Russell were talking. Melissa walked towards them, feeling awkward. James handed him an envelope, patted his shoulder, and turned to speak to one of his bartenders.

"Mr. Burnham," she said. She hated hearing the quaver in her voice.

He turned to look at her.

"Hi. I'm Melissa Fleming. I wanted you to know that I really love your songs, especially 'Other Plans'." It came out in a torrent.

"Thanks," he said. Still looking at her, a bit vacantly she thought.

Close up, seeing his eyes, she had a sense of profound weariness. Out of the corner of her eye she saw James conclude the conversation with his employee, glance at her, glance at Daniel, and then move away.

"You're the one who sent me the email," Daniel said.

It startled her. She felt her heart begin to hammer against her ribs and her breath shorten. "Yes," she replied.

"I apologize for not getting back to you but... I don't know how much you know about my circumstances..."

"I know about your wife," she said. It made her cringe to see the look of deep pain flash across his face.

"Yeah, well, I don't have too much energy these days. Even for my friends." He put up his hand as if shooing away a troublesome fly. At that moment James introduced the band that had been setting up and they launched into a wall shaking rock and roll number. "Would you mind if we went outside," Daniel yelled over the sound. She shook her head and turned to lead the way. "The only reason I'm doing this every Friday is because Jimmy asked me and I owe him a few," he continued after they'd reached the relative quiet of the sidewalk outside. "He thinks having a famous songwriter perform will sell more of his beer." He said "famous" in such a way that it included the quotation marks. "Plus he's concerned about me and thinks I should get out more," he added with a smile that looked more like a grimace.

They were standing face to face on the sidewalk as people moved past them. With a slight inviting jerk of his head he began to walk to the parking lot. Neither of them spoke as, side by side, they moved between the rows of cars. He stopped beside a small late-model pickup truck, opened the door, and carefully placed the guitar case on the passenger's side. With his hands free he stood next to the open door and faced her.

"It was nice to meet you Melissa," he said, extending his hand. "I did like your letter."

She felt a current run up her arm and her body respond as her hand was enveloped in his. His clasp was warm and firm.

"Goodnight Daniel," she said. Using his first name gave her a feeling of intimacy.

Without another word he got into his truck and with a quick wave and half smile he was gone.

As she drove home she tried to analyze her feelings. In some ways the meeting was more successful than she'd anticipated. She hadn't expected him to mention the email. And he seemed willing to talk to her. But, on the other hand, he hadn't shown any real interest in learning anything about her. Mostly he'd talked about himself and hadn't made any attempt to find out how to contact her or suggest that they meet again. But since she now knew that he was scheduled to play at Strange Brew every Friday that wouldn't be a problem. The main question, she concluded as she drove into her space at the apartment complex, was whether or not she wanted to see him again. Putting it that way made her laugh with more than a little chagrin. And brought to mind the old joke about bears in the woods.

The next Friday, with Cynthia and Walter in tow, she was back at Strange Brew. The scene was much the same as it was the week before. But this time she recognized Daniel sitting at the table in front. His hands rested on his thighs and he was gazing at the flickering candle as if mesmerized, seemingly oblivious to the activity around him.

"Does he have a band?" Cynthia asked after they'd settled down at one of the small tables. Melissa could see that she was looking at all the instruments on stage.

"No, there's a band that comes on after he's done," she replied. "That's him at that table next to the stage." Both Cynthia and Walter turned to look.

"Doesn't appear to be very sociable," Cynthia observed.

"He's probably preparing himself for performing," Melissa said. She was surprised to hear the sharpness in her voice and smiled abashedly at Cynthia's look of mock dismay, realizing she felt protective of Daniel.

A short time later James Russell made his introduction and Daniel took his place on stage. Melissa watched her two friends carefully and was gratified to see that they both seemed impressed.

"He's very good," Walter said once between songs. The rest of the crowd seemed to feel the same way because they clapped and cheered loudly at the end of each song.

Melissa felt a little let down when Daniel played the same songs he'd done the week before. Once again, upon finishing his set, after acknowledging the appreciation of the audience, he packed his guitar and headed towards the back of the room. With an apologetic glance at her friends she sprang up to follow him, trusting that they could manage by themselves. This time his back was to her as he received his pay envelope. James saw her coming and said something to him she couldn't hear. Daniel turned.

"Hi Daniel," she said.

"Hi," he responded. She wasn't even sure he recognized her. He had the same look of profound fatigue.

"I'd like you to meet my friends Walter and Cynthia Liguori," she said as they approached. He reached out to shake hands.

"And this is my friend James Russell," he said. "This is Melissa, the woman I was telling you about," he added, turning to James. James lifted his hand in a greeting.

There was a moment of awkwardness and then Daniel picked up his guitar case and said good night to James. When he started for the door Melissa followed with her two friends behind her. He stopped on the sidewalk and looked at her.

"I'm not sure what you want. I'm not very good company these days," he said softly. Cynthia and Walter glanced at each other uncomfortably.

Melissa didn't know what to say. "Maybe we could all go for coffee or something," she said after a long moment of silence.

"We've got to be going, Mel," Cynthia said. "We told the sitter we'd only be gone a couple of hours. It was nice to meet you Daniel." Walter smiled at him. Daniel nodded. Melissa, feeling a little hurt, said goodnight as her friends walked away.

"Can you take a rain check on that coffee?" He asked. "I'm really not up to it tonight. Maybe next week?"

"Okay," she said. She was sure he could hear the disappointment in her voice. And yet, at the same time, the realization that he assumed she would be coming again next Friday made her heart beat a little faster.

He nodded again, turned, and walked toward the parking lot. She waited for a minute and then slowly moved in the same direction. As she was unlocking her car she saw his truck turn into the street and drive away.

As she expected, Cynthia called her the next morning. They chatted for awhile and then Cynthia broached the primary reason for her call. "Mel, that man doesn't have anything to give you. All that's left is a burned out shell."

"But he's written such wonderful songs," Melissa protested. "There's got to be more."

"Oh Mel," her friend said, "Can't you see? He's choosing not to live. Walter thinks he wants to join his wife. This world doesn't mean a thing to him."

"You sure got a lot out of a ten minute meeting," Melissa said angrily. "Of course he's grieving. His wife died six months ago."

"Mel, I've seen you do this before," Cynthia said. "You feel safe when a man keeps you at a distance. But that's never going to give you a satisfying relationship."

"Oh, thanks a lot for the dime store psychology," Melissa snarled. "I can see he's hurting and I want to help. When did I ever say anything about a relationship with him?" Her friend was silent.

Aware of the explosive nature of the subject they both made an effort to steer the conversation into calmer waters so that by the time they hung up their earlier disagreement was almost forgotten. But Melissa found herself feeling depressed as she spent a couple of hours working on medical transcription. She quit earlier than she was scheduled to and, after pacing around the apartment for awhile, went to lie down. PC hopped up on the bed with her and snuggled against her back. She felt that he was aware of her upset and was trying to comfort her.

For some reason she found herself thinking of her father. Dear old dad. The lovable Prof. Fleming. Everyone thought so highly of the warm-hearted Professor: his students, fellow faculty members, those in the administration. But Professor Fleming's dirty little secret was that he gave so much of himself away at school that he didn't have much left for his family. Especially, it seemed, his brown-skinned girl child. Home, for him, was a place to hide and drink his gin and tonics.

His first wife had died of a pulmonary embolism and left him with two young sons. He'd hired one of his ex-students, Maria Sanchez, to take care of them. And then married her. Melissa had been born less than nine months after the ceremony.

Melissa sometimes had the image of her dad as a man in a parade, sitting in an open convertible, throwing candy to the crowd. But no matter how fast she scrambled she never could seem to catch a piece. And the sight of all these people around her tearing off the bright colored wrapper and filling their mouths made her so hungry. And so sad.

She felt the tears slide down her cheeks. She pulled herself tighter into a fetal position, protecting her belly with her arms. It hurt so much. It always did.