Barefoot Summer (15 page)
Maybe she should have him over for supper. They could run lines. Heaven knew she needed the practice. She looked around the house, trying to envision him here in her space.
Newspapers littered the antique coffee table, this morning’s coffee mug still sat on the oak end table, and across from her, the sofa pillows were in a jumbled pile on the recliner. She hadn’t noticed how much tidying Jade had done around here until she’d left.
The wall clock ticked off the time, and the refrigerator hummed. She dug for her script under the newspaper and worked on memorizing her lines for an hour. When she was finished, she turned on the TV, longing for noise to fill the quiet. An old sitcom appeared on the screen, filling the room with chatter and fake laughter. But inside, that familiar hollow spot refused to be soothed by the noise.
B
ECKETT SCREWED THE LEG OF THE ASSEMBLY JIG TO THE
transom, pressing the drill with more force than necessary. His neighbors probably weren’t happy about the noise. He’d tried to sleep. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Madison, looking up at him, hopeful. Thankful.
He drove the screw home and reached for the next leg. If she only knew.
The memory haunted him still. Followed him like an ominous shadow, creeping up behind him when he least expected it. Like tonight. He tried to push it away, but it came upon him, consuming him.
He’d been swimming at Turner’s Bend as he often did on sweltering Saturdays. Shaded by the jagged cliff wall, the river was moving slow and lazy as it curled through the bend, the water clear and refreshing.
He had to get home and shower for work soon, but he was reluctant to leave. He plunged underwater and stayed down until his lungs felt like bursting.
He surfaced to find Michael McKinley kicking off his Nikes onshore. Beckett scanned the area, hoping Madison had tagged along, but Michael was alone. Probably for the best. Ever since he’d kissed her at the dance last year, he’d done his best to ignore
her, which had become pretty easy since he’d graduated. But that didn’t keep him from thinking about her.
Michael beamed his trademark smile. “Hey, O’Reilly.”
Beckett nodded and went under again. He wasn’t up for company, had come here to get away from everyone. His dad had started drinking at nine this morning. His grandpa and sister were gone for the day, and Beckett had no desire to hang around and watch him get drunker by the hour.
He surfaced as Michael was splashing in. A basketball player, Michael had been the star of the team last season, even though he’d only been a junior. He had a tall athletic build and eyes the same color and shape as Madison’s.
Beckett pushed off toward the cliff wall with long, punishing strides. Madison again. Why couldn’t he forget about her? Even after all the girls he’d been with since, she hovered around his mind like a pesky mosquito.
When he came up for air, Michael was nearby in the shade of the cliff wall.
“Man, this feels good,” Michael said. “Gotta be ninety-five today.”
“Or hotter.” Beckett kicked to stay afloat, one hand on the jagged cliff wall.
“Makes me wonder how bad August will be. Should be working on my boat, but the barn’s too hot. Not a breeze to be found today.”
“Our air conditioner’s broke.”
“Bummer.” Michael looked up the fifteen-foot cliff where a blue jay squawked from a high branch. “They say it’s too shallow to dive off, but I’ve often wondered.”
Beckett looked up the wall. “I did it once.” He’d practically
been on a death mission, his dad just arrested the night before on the corner of Main and Oak for driving through a red light, drunk.
“I don’t believe you.”
If anybody else had said it, Beckett might’ve put a fist into his face, but Michael had a way about him. Besides, he was Madison’s brother.
“Last summer. River was lower than it is now.”
“No way.”
Beckett studied him a minute. “I’ll show you.” He swam toward the bank, pulled up onto the shore, then started up the steep path to the side of the cliff, water running down his legs in rivulets. Weeds tickled his calves even as roots and stones cut into the soles of his feet.
“Hey, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Michael said as Beckett reached the top and approached the ledge.
“Anchors aweigh.” Beckett pushed off, diving, sailing down. He broke the surface and went under. He turned up sharply and kicked to the surface.
When he came up he drew a breath and slung his wet hair from his eyes. “See? Plenty deep.”
“Wow, you had me worried.”
“Your turn.”
Michael chuckled. “I don’t know. Maybe later.”
Beckett laughed and messed with him a bit before leaving Michael to swim laps along the shoreline.
Beckett floated down the river for a while, then headed back to shore where he shook off and draped a towel around his neck.
“See ya,” Michael called.
Beckett lifted his hand, not looking back. Not seeing the last
smile Michael McKinley ever gave. When he heard the sirens later, he hadn’t known who they were for. But when he’d heard Michael had been found dead, he hadn’t needed the autopsy report to confirm how he’d died.
That night he’d wept in his dad’s arms for the first time, the only time he could remember, guilt making words spill from him like water bursting through a dam. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to attend the funeral.
Now he drove the screw until it sank deeply into the wood. Only then did he stop to wipe the beads of sweat from his brow.
No, he had no right to touch Madison, no right to care for her, no right even to think of her. But if she needed to win the regatta for Michael, he was going to do everything in his power to help her. It was the least he could do.
“I’
M
OFF TO MEET
S
TEWIE FOR SUPPER
,” C
ASSIDY SAID FROM
the office doorway.
Madison looked up from the paperwork. “Have fun. Don’t forget the new printer’s coming between eight and nine.”
“I’ll be here, and I’ll get those reminder cards out in the mail tomorrow. You have a date with Drew tonight, right?”
“A picnic at Riverside Park. Mom’s packing us a feast.”
“Good ol’ Momma Jo. You have the best family.”
“Don’t I know it. They’re helping me with the boat too. Between them and Beckett, it doesn’t look like the same boat anymore—and that’s a good thing.”
Cassidy cocked her head. “Beckett’s helping with the boat?”
“The sanding and stuff.” Madison bent back over her paperwork.
“You still have a thing for him.”
“Do not.”
“Do too. I remember that kiss . . .”
Cassidy’s memory was far too good. Helpful on the job, not so much in Madison’s personal life. “One kiss. I was practically a baby, and he doesn’t even remember it.”
“Really?”
Madison hiked her chin. “Really. I’d practically forgotten it myself until you just mentioned it.” She wrote a series of nonsensical numbers.
“Uh-huh. That would explain the sudden flush in your cheeks.”
Madison gave a mock glare. “Didn’t you say you had somewhere to be?”
Cassidy gave an innocent shrug. “Don’t shoot the messenger. If you have the hots for him, you can hardly blame—”
“I do not have—” Madison cleared her throat. “He’s helping me learn to race. That’s all.”
“And fixing up your boat.”
“Very gracious of him.”
“Gracious.”
“I’m dating Drew, not Beckett. Remember Drew? The guy you begged me to go out with?”
Cassidy’s hands flew up. “Drew’s great. I like Drew. And if you like Drew too, we’re all good.”
“I like Drew.”
“Perfect.” Cassidy straightened, gave Madison that look that said she wasn’t one bit fooled. “See you Monday.”
Madison packed the last of the picnic while Drew struggled to fold the blanket as it whipped in the wind. The two families who’d been in the park earlier had gone home when the sun had set.
She stifled a yawn and hoped Drew didn’t notice. Sleep had been elusive enough lately, but the night before, Cappy Winters had called at midnight. His Saint Bernard had gotten into his neighbor’s garage and eaten rat poison. She’d met him at the clinic, induced the dog to vomit, and started him on a vitamin K regimen. Thankfully, Cappy had caught it early, so she expected a full recovery.
The next yawn sneaked up on her.
“Am I boring you?” Drew asked.
“Sorry. Middle-of-the-night canine emergency.” The wind kicked up, and she smelled rain. “I hope a storm’s not coming in. I need my sailing lesson tomorrow.” The regatta was only two weeks away.
“Stew told me you were sailing in the regatta. I hear there’s a nice cash prize.”
Madison stood and brushed the grass from her knees. “There is, but that’s not why I’m going to win.”
He dropped the folded blanket on top of the basket. “I like your confidence. So why are you going to win?” His eyes teased.
She wished she hadn’t brought it up. “I had a twin brother who died at seventeen. I’m kind of doing this for him—it was his dream.”
Drew’s countenance fell. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
She waved off his concern. “It was a long time ago. It’s just something I have to do.”
“I hope you win. Do you need any help? I’ve never sailed, but maybe I could lend some muscle power.”
“That’s sweet. Thanks, but I have a partner. He’s won the last two years, so I actually have a good shot. He’s amazing.”
He tossed a smile over his shoulder as he walked toward the swing set. “Should I be worried?”
Madison laughed, following. “He’s married with three kids, so probably not.”
“I’m more a fisherman than a sailor,” Drew said. “I’ve got that O’Reilly guy working on some boat plans for me. He’s pricey, but his work is spectacular. I sold my old boat before I left Chicago, and I miss being on the water.”
“You’ll find the river a lot different than Lake Michigan, but the fishing’s good.”
“No doubt.” Drew held out a swing. “Come here.”
The sun had set over the hills, and a streetlamp nearby kicked on. She sank onto the U-shaped seat. The chunky metal links were cool against her palms, and the seat pressed her knees together.
He pulled back and gave her a gentle push, and she angled her feet outward.
“You know how long it’s been since I’ve been in a swing?”
“Know how long it’s been since I’ve been in a park?”
The wind in her hair, the sensation of floating through air, felt good. “I should do this more often.”
With her busy schedule, she didn’t factor in much downtime. She’d found that time spent doing nothing usually resulted in self-reflection, which tended to spiral down into discontent.
Drew’s pager went off. He gave her an apologetic smile. “Excuse me a minute . . .”
“Sure.”
He walked away, dialing.
Madison pumped, the motion carrying her higher and higher. At the peak she could see the river over the park’s thick hedge. The last light of the day shimmered over the surface.
She wondered where Beckett was, if he and Rigsby were curled up in front of the TV or if he was working on his next boat, maybe even Drew’s.
A short distance away, Drew paced as he spoke on the phone. She wondered if he’d have to go to the hospital and found herself indifferent at the thought. Lulu had been cooped up all day, and
Madison felt bad for neglecting her. She’d almost brought her to the park, but Drew had seemed less than enthusiastic.
A few minutes later Drew approached, pocketing his phone.“Good news. It’s not appendicitis.”
“That is good news. PJ had appendicitis when she was fourteen.”
“PJ . . .”
“My sister. The one who’s in culinary school in Indianapolis.”
“Oh, right. You mentioned her.” He sat on the swing beside her. His long legs hampering him, he shuffled back and forth.
Madison tucked her legs, coasting. “Must be hard having your plans interrupted so often.”
He twisted toward her. “You get used to it. There are a lot of perks to that one drawback.”
“What do you like the most about your work?”
“Helping people,” he said without hesitation. “Finding the problem and fixing it.”
“What if you can’t fix it?”
“Then it’s hard, but I try not to dwell on those.”
She drifted in silence for a few minutes while he drew in the wood chips with the toe of his Top-Siders.
“Rehearsal went pretty well last night,” he said. “I’m really enjoying the theater here. Nice people, all of them. I love that they include Elliot.”
“He’s great.” Elliot was in his early twenties and was mentally impaired. He helped with the lighting.
“Are you getting excited for opening night?”
It was only a month away, but she had her lines memorized and most of the blocking down.
“I’m good with most of it, but I’m struggling with the final scene. Once I get that down, I’ll be okay.”
“I thought you did pretty good. We’ll get there.”
“I had it down, then Dottie added the blocking, and now I’m having trouble thinking about what I’m saying, how I’m saying it, where I’m standing, and where my hands are supposed to be.”