Melody Harbor: Reflections of the Past

By Richard Weirich

In the quaint Melody Harbor, disgraced news anchor Eddie Morrison and spirited artist Sophie Martin find love and purpose, embarking on a journey to confront corruption and reclaim their lives, anchored by the town's serene beauty and their deepening bond.<

• Language: English
• Publisher: amz publishers house
• Release date: Jun 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9798330263639

Book preview

Dedication

To my wife, Janet, the love of my life: You are as beautiful now as the moment we first met, and your spirit is woven into every part of this project. Your stunning oil painting on the cover is just one of the many ways you've contributed. You remind me of Sophie Martin from Melody Harbor—like her, you put your dreams on hold to support our family with incredible strength and resilience. I am so grateful and proud to see you embracing your artistic passions once again. This book is for you.

Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1 Swan Song

Chapter 2 Face the Music

Chapter 3 A Sad Song

Chapter 4 Grace Notes

Chapter 5 Amazing Grace

Chapter 6 Name that Tune

Chapter 7 Melancholy Melody

Chapter 8 Déjà Vu Vamp

Chapter 9 Blues in the Night

Chapter 10 Ode to the Governor

Chapter 11 Sweet Ride

Chapter 12 B&B Flat

Chapter 13 Becky's Tune

Chapter 14 Sophie's Jive

Chapter 15 Henry's Improv

Chapter 16 The Show Must Go On

Chapter 17 Sweet Harmony

Chapter 18 Hail to the Chief

Chapter 19 An Old Love Song

Chapter 20 Sophie's Lament

Chapter 21 Dig It

Chapter 22 The Twist

Chapter 23 Harmony Rising

Chapter 24 Solo Performance

Chapter 25 The Great Entertainer

Chapter 26 Devious Melody

Chapter 27 Melodic Reflections

Chapter 28 Artistic Expression

Chapter 29 The Song of Yavenky

Chapter 30 Poco a Poco

Chapter 31 Dinner Music

Chapter 32 Having a Ball

Chapter 33 Festival Music

Chapter 34 War Drums

Chapter 35 Crescendo of Healing

Chapter 36 Fading Echoes of Home

Chapter 37 Ancestral Rhythm

Chapter 38 Dissonant Melody

Chapter 39 Song of Hope

Chapter 40 Finale

About the Author

Chapter 1

Swan Song

An unsettling anxiety flooded veteran news anchor Eddie Morrison as he prepared for the nightly broadcast. Though his meticulous show prep checked every box, and the rundown meeting unfolded with clockwork precision, Eddie couldn’t tune out the darkness nagging his thoughts.

In mere minutes, he would guide millions through scandal, politics, and Hurricane Grace’s looming landfall. He had anchored countless prior newscasts, but as showtime neared on this otherwise ordinary September night, Eddie struggled to steady his rattled nerves.

GNN News Director Greg Anderson swung open the studio door, forcing a smile as his news anchor passed. We’re leading with Grace.

I always lead with grace, Eddie declared, a chuckle undercutting his feigned solemnity. He thrust his arm forward, aiming for their customary pre-show fist bump. Greg, however, sidestepped the offer with a fluid motion, disappearing into the control room without a word.

Greg? Eddie asked, attempting to catch Greg's eye. Everything okay?

30 seconds, called out the producer, amplifying his voice for the anchor's benefit.

Whatever had unsettled, Greg would have to wait; the camera was about to roll. Ever the professional, Eddie dashed to the anchor desk, sparing a second to assess his appearance on a nearby monitor. A staff assistant clipped on his studio mic as the final countdown commenced.

5 seconds.

Eddie, his smile as charismatic as ever – the one that clinched his title as the nation's second-highest-paid news anchor, pondered the upcoming contract talks with GNN executives. His boss's recent evasion, coupled with a subtle yet noticeable downturn in his monthly ratings, cast a shadow over his thoughts. As he watched the newsroom buzz with the latest updates on the Melody Harbor storm, a dilemma churned within him. Was it wrong to hope that this coverage might be the turning point for his overnight ratings?

The orchestral news theme sounded, and the producer's arm swung forward, propelling Eddie into the limelight. You're live!

Good evening. I'm Eddie Morrison. Tonight, our attention is on the Alabama Gulf Coast, where state and emergency officials prepare for a horrific storm. Hurricane Grace is expected to make landfall in just about four hours. For the very latest, we turn to GNN meteorologist Buddy Ware reporting to us live from Melody Harbor, Alabama.

Thanks, Eddie. As you can see, conditions are already deteriorating. Grace is giving us a taste of what's to come, unleashing wind gusts at 100 miles per hour. In the crosshairs of Grace is this quaint inlet town of Melody Harbor.

Buddy Ware was no stranger to the perils of Mother Nature. He had faced down tornadoes, snowstorms, and even hurricanes. For Hurricane Grace, Buddy adopted a new dramatic tactic.  Tethered to a tree, holding fast to his ball cap, and his clothing flapping like flags on a ship, Buddy stood against the storm.

The TV split screen showed Eddie at the anchor desk on one side and the unfolding mayhem surrounding Buddy on Melody Harbor's beach on the other. Do we have an update on the senior citizens who chose not to evacuate?

Just before we came on the air, I talked to the remaining staff member who plans to ride out the storm with the Beachside Manor Senior Care residents.

The camera panned to a stately Greek Revival building, its lights peeking through bent palm trees and flying debris. Lightning illuminated the night sky like a vintage flash camera, snapping a shot of a splendid old structure.  Its walls were painted in ocean blue. Its trim was white like the usual moon that blanketed the nighttime harbor.

A closer shot frames a parking lot where departing emergency vehicles avoided a fallen tree.  The camera then revealed Buddy standing on the front porch, holding out his microphone for a response from a young woman standing inside the doorway.

May I have your name, please? Asked Buddy, as a blast of wind caused him to grab the door facing for support.

His subject squirmed under the spotlight's glare. The woman's eyes darted aside, shunning the lens as though fearing the camera might peer into her soul. She murmured, Sophie. Sophie Martin, her voice muffled by distant thunder.

How many people are inside the home?

Twenty-one.

Why did they refuse to evacuate?

Sophie’s eyes, tinted with apprehension, darted to the room behind her and then back. This is a bad time.

"Governor Dunwoody said, ‘Those who refuse to evacuate are stubborn fools.’ Do you agree with that statement?’

Sophie cast a blank stare, her expression colored with subtle disapproval.

Why did you decide to stay? Buddy inquired, his words punctuated by another gust of wind, and before he could regain his footing, the door slammed shut.

The live feed switched back to Buddy, his tone saturated with unmistakable compassion. According to the latest from the National Hurricane Center, Grace is anticipated to escalate into a Category 3 or 4 storm. With winds up to 150 miles per hour and a staggering 30-foot storm surge, nothing will be left standing in its wake. Buddy glanced back to Beachside Manor. Nothing at all—Eddie, back to you.

Eddie found himself at a loss for words as he faced the camera. In that instant, his recent woes felt inconsequential. What about those vulnerable people and that young nurse? Why had they chosen to stay? Would they make it through? We're going to take a quick break, he announced, grateful for the pause in broadcasting.

The image stayed with him, imprinted on his thoughts. Perhaps he could fathom the stubbornness of determined seniors; his own grandmother had epitomized such willfulness. But the young woman—her eyes conveyed so much, yet the meaning eluded him. Was it terror? Or something more elusive, like sorrow.

During the ad break, Eddie opened a line to Buddy. Is what we're seeing on camera the full story? he asked, a note of doubt coloring his voice. He had long been critical of the network's drift towards sensationalism over journalistic ethics.

It's as bad as it looks, Buddy assured him, now in the relative safety of the moving news van. Come sunrise, this place will look like ground zero.

Following the newscast, Eddie retreated to his dressing room, weighed down by the haunting images from Melody Harbor. Eddie's vulnerability lay in his inability to separate himself from the human suffering he featured in his reporting. His friend and news director, Greg Anderson, always advocated for emotional neutrality. Disengage from your feelings, Greg would counsel, concentrate on style and delivery. Yet for Eddie, such a coping strategy remained elusive despite its efficacy for his co-workers.

As Eddie wiped away the on-camera makeup that hid each imperfection, he couldn't help but ponder the gap between his polished external image and his inner turmoil—rife with doubts and the ever-present dread of falling short. He yearned for the bygone era when he had the autonomy to make his own decisions. Now, he felt more like a puppet, manipulated by corporate bigwigs and data-driven focus groups. They dictated his hairstyle, his tone, and even the boundaries of his thoughts. If only he possessed the moral fortitude shown by the nurse in his segment tonight. He'd break free from the overseers who micromanaged his life and maybe find peace in a tight-knit community like his Oklahoma hometown, where privacy was sparse but compassion was abundant. Perhaps that's what drove Sophie Martin to stick by the elderly residents of Beachside Manor: genuine care.

A chime from his smartphone snapped Eddie out of his introspective haze. It was a text from Greg. Ratings are out. Your time slot's down 5 points. You're now third in the race. We need to talk.

Greg had never been one for sugarcoating, and his message was as direct as ever. But this wasn't just disappointing—it was devastating.

Chapter 2

Face the Music

Eddie Morrison took the long way to work to avoid the inevitable. The humiliation and shock from yesterday’s dismal ratings report consumed his every thought. He had served with distinction for three years at the Global News Network, but the latest report had shown the lowest numbers he’d seen in his entire career. At 10:00 AM, he was due to meet with Greg Anderson, the Washington bureau chief, to discuss a new contract. The timing couldn't be worse.

Greg and Eddie had been friends since they started covering the local news in Harrisonburg, Virginia, 15 years ago. Greg gave Eddie his first job, and they moved up the corporate ladder together. But Greg was a professional first and foremost, and he never let their friendship get in the way of work responsibility. Eddie expected no less, and he hoped Greg and the board of directors would see this ratings slump as a fluke or the result of recent programming changes. Yet in his heart of hearts, Eddie knew the real reason. He received bad press when his competitors learned of his divorce, and the resulting feeding frenzy of lies and distortions tarnished his good reputation.

The breakup with Emily was amicable but painful. They would still be together if not for her irksome pessimism. Emily Morrison, a former TV meteorologist and now the Climatology Department chair at George Washington University, had become consumed with the notion that Mother Earth is doomed. She refused to entertain the thought of bringing children into a world that would soon become unlivable due to the tumultuous effects of climate change. Eddie wanted children and believed that man would find a way to adapt to whatever challenges the future might bring.

Much to Eddie's dismay, Emily had already become a media darling at the time of their divorce. She was intelligent, articulate, and beautiful, the go-to authority on global warming. As a leading climate scientist, she frequently appeared on television and was profiled glowingly in magazines and newspapers. Eddie felt invisible next to her rising star.

When asked on a competing network if Eddie shared her views on the climate emergency, Emily expressed a definitive no. From then on, Eddie was portrayed as a climate change denier, which escalated into many other false assumptions about his beliefs. It also raised alarms with his employer, resulting in requests for him to set the record straight with his viewers. Thus far, Eddie had not given in to those demands, yet another red flag as he considered his future with GNN.

There was another issue, maybe one that could be an insurmountable obstacle to a successful contract negotiation. Like all on-air personalities on the network, Eddie's existing contract contained a moral turpitude clause covering any act or behavior that violates the community's accepted standards. On the night of the finalization of Eddie's divorce, he was caught on video staggering out of a famous Washington, DC bar. The incident went viral, leading to another smear, claiming that the divorce resulted from his excessive drinking.

The drive-thru traffic at Bari's Gourmet Coffee was long and impatient, like every weekday morning in the bustling Nation's Capital. Today, however, a slow wait was a welcome site. More time to contemplate a strategy and consider the dreadful what-ifs. What if they fail to renew his contract? What if he is fired? What if this volcano of suppressed anxiety and frustration erupts in his meeting?

Maybe...just maybe, a job loss would be a blessing. In the divorce settlement, Emily's lawyer ripped off seventy-five percent of his $500,000 annual salary, the condo, half the furniture, and the SUV. A job loss would mean zero income. Three-quarters of nothing is nothing. But Eddie doesn’t hate Emily. In his mind, she’ll always be the love of his life. However, her weasel attorney. That’s another story.

As Eddie inched closer to the window, he glanced across the street at a disturbing spectacle of shabby tents, sleeping bags, and homeless refugees. This common site in the capital of the wealthiest nation on earth was incomprehensible. How could the elected officials who live and work just a few miles away allow this to happen?

Morning, Eddie! Your signature blend? the barista greeted with a grin, his neon purple mohawk shimmering under the lights. The intricate rose bush tattoo weaving down his forearms created an enthralling dance of color against his pale skin, punctuated by the flash of his diamond-studded nose ring.

Indeed. Though, could you make my coffee extra dark? Eddie responded, his voice smooth like silk. In the tailored suit he wore, he resembled the polished news anchor everyone knew from prime-time television. But as Eddie glanced at the barista, a pang of envy tugged at him. The freedom, the courage to wear one's heart and eccentricities on the sleeve—how liberating it must feel compared to the cautious facade he wore daily.

Extra dark and intense, coming up, the barista chuckled, his movement behind the counter swift and fluid. Same order for the muffins? We only have blueberry left today.

That's just fine, Eddie replied, his gaze lingering on the barista's infectious smile. It seemed to radiate genuine warmth, something Eddie needed on this challenging day.

By the way, the barista began, handing over a large white bag, his eyes gleaming with mischief, caught your ex ranting on TV. Do you really believe global warming's a joke?

Eddie sighed, giving a dramatic roll of his eyes. Of course not, he quipped.

The barista laughed and leaned in closer, She had some choice words, didn’t she? Called you a 'Pollyanna' and then said—get this—'Eddie Morrison should wake up and smell the coffee.' Irony at its finest, huh?

Eddie painted a smile on his face, taking a moment to secure his coffee in its holder and placing the bag of muffins beside him. As he waved a subtle goodbye to the barista, still chuckling behind the window, a surge of frustration drove him to press a bit too hard on the accelerator. His tires screamed against the asphalt, giving voice to the annoyance he felt.

Living under the limelight meant mastering the art of discretion. He'd learned the hard way that people often chose to hear their own versions of stories, molding them to fit their biases. Every time he’d tried to defend his stance or correct misconceptions, his words fell on deaf ears, if not twisted further. Where had the days of healthy discourse and mutual respect gone? Wasn’t everyone allowed their own perspectives in this vast, varied world?

Eddie approached the familiar spot where Sister Mary Elizabeth stood, her presence a stark contrast to the bustling city around her. Dressed in a pure white habit, she looked ethereal, the sunlight illuminating her features, making her look almost celestial. Her sign, Help the Homeless. Donate Here! was a testament to her dedication.

Pulling up beside her, Eddie rolled down his window, I hope I'm not too late.

She bent to meet his gaze, her blue eyes deep and insightful, You're right on time. We've been keeping you in our prayers.

There was an inexplicable warmth in her eyes that pulled Eddie in. It felt like they held an ocean of understanding, and for a moment, he felt seen in a way few ever saw him. The thought of the nuns praying for him somehow brought solace. If anyone had a hotline to the divine, it was them.

Your donation to our counseling center has made such a difference, Sister Mary Elizabeth continued, accepting the bag of muffins. The furniture is already changing lives.

Eddie hesitated for a moment, thinking of the past. It was the least I could do, he said, the weight of his recent divorce and memories of Emily heavy on his mind. The emotional toll of their separation had deepened the lines on his face, a testament to their tumultuous journey together.

Sensing his introspection, Sister Mary Elizabeth asked, Is everything alright, Eddie?

He had grown accustomed to that question as of late, but coming from her, it felt different. Just one of those days, he sighed, contemplating opening up about his upcoming meeting.

However, the reality of city life jolted him back. The cacophony of honks and irritated voices grew louder. Sister Mary Elizabeth, with a strength that belied her delicate appearance, shouted, Have some patience! Chuckling, she took a step back and waved him on, her silhouette bathed in sunlight.

Broadway Avenue lay bathed in the soft glow of the morning, but as Eddie neared the Global News Network office complex, shadows seemed to deepen. An isolated cloud lingered above his penthouse office, and while Eddie shrugged off superstitions, the foreboding sight gnawed at him.

Eddie exhaled and steered his sleek black sedan into what the employees dubbed the GNN Caverns. The name was apt, given the parking garage’s dank, cave-like ambiance. Dim lights flickered, piercing the pervasive gloom, making navigation feel like an expedition in a labyrinthine grotto. The air was thick with the scent of old oil, mildew, and stray cat markings. The notorious elevators, known for their spontaneous breakdowns, often forced occupants to brave the chilly, moisture-slicked stairs. There were whispers among the staff about making a behind-the-scenes documentary, The Underbelly of GNN.

Amidst all the garage's quirks, Eddie found a small comfort: his designated parking space was untouched. In a place where a parking spot was a symbol of status, its presence was a subtle reminder – he still belonged.

The soft chime of the elevator echoed in the marble hallway, and as Eddie stepped inside, he noticed the 4th-floor button already illuminated. It seemed the universe was anticipating his next move. Glancing at his reflection in the gleaming chrome doors, he realized he had overlooked a critical part of his morning routine – combing his rich, luxurious hair. He fumbled in his coat pocket for a comb and worked it through the layers. Flashing a practiced, confident smile, he ensured his teeth were their usual camera-ready hue. A cursory look downward confirmed his shoes were polished and impeccable.

As the elevator signaled his arrival with a gentle ping, a wave of anxiousness overtook him, prompting discreet action to dry his hands on his coat.

The doors slid open to reveal Juanita Young, his formidable manager. Juanita was a vision with her long, wavy hair and her posture that spoke of countless sun-soaked voyages. While her ethereal beauty often stole the show, insiders knew her real weapon was her razor-sharp wit and negotiating prowess.

Eddie glanced at his wristwatch, retorting with a hint of amusement, 9:59.

"Her voice held a hint of reproach as she spoke, 'You should have been here sooner.' Yet, in her eyes, a softness tempered the scolding.

A soft sound from behind her caught his attention – the familiar creak of an office door. His chest tightened; the year had already thrown two curveballs his way – his mother's demise and his crumbling marriage. Would today deliver the third blow? A saying from his childhood whispered in his mind: Trials come in threes.

Greg Anderson's greeting barely eased the knots in Eddie's stomach. The man strained to string words into an intelligible sentence, finally settling on, Good, you could join us. Greg's open, ruddy face seemed closed, almost flushed. His eyes darted around the room, failing to focus. Eddie's unease grew, like the onset of nausea. He had known Greg long enough to sense when things were not right.

As they walked into the conference room, Eddie was met with an unsettling déjà vu. The crisp chill in the room, the overpowering scent of flowers, and most alarmingly, the presence of Kelly Whistler, the Global News Network's top HR executive. Every instinct told Eddie this meeting would be one he'd remember.

Chapter 3

A Sad Song

Eddie had scant familiarity with Kelly Whistler. While her presence was occasionally noted in the office or during corporate gatherings, their direct exchanges were infrequent. His dealings with HR typically involved working with her team. Eddie surmised that her role primarily revolved around overseeing disciplinary matters, labor disputes, employee grievances, and the hiring and termination of staff.

The office gossip painted her as a power-hungry micro-manager, strict and uptight with a penchant for control. Her hair was a mix of blonde streaked with dark roots, tightly pulled into a bun that mirrored the bulging fabric of her pink pantsuit.

Greg's deep voice resonated in the silent room, Please, have a seat. He gestured towards a plush leather chair next to Kelly.

Kelly seemed engrossed in her laptop, eyes darting over the screen shielded by half-moon spectacles. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, seemingly undisturbed by the atmosphere thick with anticipation.

Eddie's glance at Juanita was fraught with urgency, willing her to act. He remembered the force of her words at yesterday's lunch, how she had hailed him as the heartbeat of GNN's evening news. He is a charismatic force irreplaceable in his role

Before Juanita could muster a response, Greg cleared his throat, shattering the heavy silence. With a deep sigh, he leaned back, intertwining his fingers. Let's not dance around the topic. We're not renewing your contract.

Juanita had always cautioned Eddie about GNN's negotiation tactics, emphasizing their penchant for initial underwhelming offers. Was this their strategy unfolding? Eddie's gaze darted to Juanita, yearning for a sign, a glimmer of hope. But he certainly hadn't anticipated the bold laughter that erupted from her.

Oh, Greg, Juanita chuckled, her tone dripping with playful sarcasm, you always know how to lighten the mood. How about this counter: three years guaranteed, performance-based bonuses tied to ratings, and let's add a little sweetener—a thirty percent increase in base salary. Sounds fair?

Kelly's fingers froze