Read A Road to Let Go (Fallen Tuesday #4) for Free Online

Tuesday concert. She sat and put her head
back, letting the sun rush across her face. Her feet dangling off the car hit
over and over, following the beat of the music.
    That was one thing Mel definitely
regretted. She had played violin for a year in grade school but ditched it. She
sometimes wished she would have stuck it out with the music thing. She had
inherited her mother ’ s
ability to paint, but after surviving the kind of life she did with her mother
and the constant struggle, the idea of painting didn ’ t seem all that interesting. Plus, in the back of
Mel ’ s mind, she still believed
that she would find her biological father and reconnect. It would be a
beautiful story or something … he ’ d take in, they ’ d get to know each other, and he
would have an opportunity for her. After all, it was her father, and her father
certainly didn ’ t mean to
miss her life on purpose. Right?
    These were the frail ends of the
strings of reality Mel hoped to someday find. She knew most of it sounded like
garbage and was crazy - evident enough of her roommate cursing her out more
than once for leaving North Carolina on a weekend ’ s
notice - but Mel had to follow her heart.
    Whatever that meant, she wasn ’ t really sure. It just sounded
nice in her mind and sounded even better to say to people who dared to ask
common questions to her like ‘ where
are you from? ’ ‘ what are you doing here? ’ ‘ what do you do for a living? ’ .
    Most of the time it was easier to
just say that her mother had recently passed away from an illness and that Mel
was sort of taking a break from life. A chance to unwind, reset, relax. Nobody objected
to that.
    The song in the distance came to an
end and the music was quickly replaced by the cheering of the crowd. Mel looked
in the general direction but couldn ’ t
see anything.
    One thing Mel always regretted
about her mother's art, and maybe even her own, was that there was so much
emotion involved, but it was never seen. It was meant to be observed and
experienced in a way that gave each person their own theory. The same could be
said about music.  
    Mel ran a hand through her hair and
sighed.
    “ That ’ s enough, ” she whispered and slid from the roof of her car.
    The crowd couldn't stop cheering.
What an amazing feeling that must be for the band.
    Mel got behind the wheel of her car
and started the engine. She quickly turned off the radio and waited to see if
another Fallen Tuesday song was going to start. A few moments later the back
door - the employees only entrance and exit - opened and Harry came
rushing out. He held a clipboard in one hand, a pen in his mouth, and stared at
his watch before waving his hands at Mel.
    For an absolute split second Mel
considered driving forward and seeing how much of a good scare she could give
Harry. Of course she would never run over her boss and hurt him, or kill him,
even if most of the staff in the hotel would probably worship her for the rest
of her life.
    Instead, Mel simply held the
steering wheel as though she were trapped in a white out snowstorm on a busy
interstate and prepared herself for yet another wonderful and uncomfortable
conversation with Harry.
    When Harry got to her car, she
looked at him and smiled.
    “ You
don ’ t need to sell me
anything, ” she said.
    “ What? ”
    “ Just
tell me what you need, ” Mel
said.
    “ There ’ s a couple shifts tonight. ”
    “ Tonight? ”
    “ I
was thinking you could scoot home and get a nap in …”
    Mel shook her head. She hated when
he tried to act like he really cared about how tired she was.
    “ I
got it, ” she whispered.
    “ You ’ ll be here? ”
    “ Of
course, ” Mel said.
    She had no interest in working
extra shifts, but there was money to be made. Jon would come looking for more
and Mel needed to pay some bills to keep the lights on and the landlord happy.
    This was life.
    This was her life.
    In the distance, music began again
and Mel sighed.
    She