Barefoot Summer (19 page)

Rehearsal was rough that night. Madison forgot her lines twice, and Drew had to cue her. She found it difficult to look him in the eyes, play the part of a besotted woman when she’d been in someone else’s arms the night before.

As eager as she was to get to Beckett’s house, she’d asked Drew for a private word after rehearsal and waited now by his white Saab in the empty parking lot. Dottie had kept him after to review the new blocking. Rehearsals were about to become very awkward, but she didn’t feel right about proceeding with Beckett until the conversation was had.

When Drew came out, approaching with that confident stride of his, she stirred up a smile. “Congratulations. You made it through the whole night without being paged.”

“Wonders never cease.” As he neared, she saw guardedness in the rigid line of his shoulders, in the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She’d tried to act normal, but he was discerning. The lone parking light hummed above them and cut harsh shadows across his face.

“Thanks for sticking around a few minutes.” She fought for the right words. She hated this. Maybe if they sat down, had a conversation. “Want to sit in my car or something?” she asked.

His lips turned up, not quite a smile. “Just break my heart right here, Madison.”

She winced. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’re not great at hiding your feelings.”

“I’m sorry. It’s not you—”

“—It’s me.” He touched her arm, softening his response. “Is there someone else?”

There was no point in lying. “Yeah. We haven’t gone out yet or anything, but . . .” She shrugged, hoping he wouldn’t ask who. There was no delicate way to admit it was the guy who’d decked him.

Drew looked across the empty parking lot toward the river. The humid day had given way to a mild evening. Above, the stars were out in force, creating a twinkling canvas.

“It’s okay, I get it.” He looked back at her and seemed to smile with effort. “If things don’t work out with this other guy, give me a call. You’re a nice girl, Madison.”

And he was a classy guy. Just not the right one for her. “You’re very gracious.”

He gave her a hug and a parting wave, then she made her way to her car, relieved to have that over.

She forced the conversation behind her and shifted her thoughts to Beckett on the short ride to his house.

A few minutes later the gravel popped under her tires as she
pulled into his drive. His white bungalow sported black peeling shutters, a generous picture window, and a crooked stoop. There was a patch of well-groomed lawn and bushes edging the front of the house. But the best feature of the property was the thick oak tree, perfect for climbing with low, thick branches that forked out in all directions. She’d bet he’d spent a fair share of his childhood up there.

He answered the door wearing a pair of faded jeans and a time-softened black T-shirt. Rigsby wiggled between them, nudging her hand until she gave him his due.

“Sorry I’m late.”

He kissed her hand, then drew her into the kitchen. “Just in time. Pizza just got here.”

The scent of garlic and oregano filled the small space. The box sat on an old drop-leaf table set to accommodate two. Standard salt and pepper shakers served as the centerpiece.

“Mmm. Cappy’s.”

The fridge door bumped the table when he opened it. “Coke? Sprite? Water?”

“Water would be great.” She squeezed past him and served up the pizza on the plates he’d laid out.

“I thought we’d eat in the living room. More room in there.”

“Sounds great.”

The living room glowed under the light of two lamps. An old Foreigner song played from a radio under the TV.

She followed him to the sofa, taking the center. He pulled a scarred coffee table closer, and she set down her water. As she settled back in the seat, he took her hand and said grace.

She was used to grace at the McKinley house, but not on a
date. As his words rumbled in her ear, she decided she liked it. And she especially liked it when he squeezed her hand and smiled afterward.

She caught him up on rehearsals, then told him about last year’s play in which they’d raised a record amount of money for the animal shelter. He told her about finding Rigsby there as a pup. The dog had taken a playful bow when Beckett had walked into the room, his rump sticking in the air, tail wagging. Beckett had been sold at first sight.

Madison shared how her heart had broken each month when the shelter put out its flyer of available animals and how she’d decided to start bringing them as part of her nursing home visits.

When “Desperado” came on the radio, they talked about their favorite classic songs and discovered they both listened to the same oldies station.

Then the conversation turned to church. “So I’ve been wondering . . . how exactly did you go from Bad Boy Beckett into the paragon of virtue you are today?”

“First of all, paragon of virtue—no. But the summer I was twenty was a turning point. I’d made some . . . bad choices. One night a friend and I were trying to hotwire a car that had been sitting at the Gas ’n Go for days. The cops showed up and I took off. I’d already been in a lot of trouble and knew this would put me in jail. It was Rick’s first offense. He’d get off easy—that’s what I told myself.

“I ran all the way home, but I didn’t go in. I knew my grandpa would see right through me. I ran straight to the shed and sat there in the dark, feeling like a pig. I mean, I’d done bad things before, but I thought I was basically a good person. Not the kind
who’d desert a friend like that. I saw myself the way I really was, and it wasn’t pretty.”

He paused then. The pizza was long gone, their plates on the coffee table. She hardly remembered finishing it.

“What happened next?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I started remembering all those Sunday school lessons I’d sat through, all those conversations with my grandpa, and it suddenly made sense. That faith wasn’t something I could just read about and understand. Leaving my friend behind was a lightbulb moment. I knew I was a sinner, that I needed God.”

Michael had had a similar story, minus the felony. He’d shared it with her only once, but he’d been so excited. She’d never forget that fervent look in his eyes. His knowing he’d done something important. A part of her had been jealous. Even now, she envied Beckett. For all the rotten circumstances in his family life, he’d still managed to find peace.

“What happened after that?” she asked. “Did your friend go to jail?”

“He didn’t—I did.”

“You turned yourself in?” She hadn’t heard about Beckett going to jail. It would’ve been sometime after Michael died though, and the world had disappeared for a while.

“It was the right thing. I still keep in touch with Rick. He’s married now and living in Tennessee. That was the beginning and end of his career as a car thief.”

A car rumbled outside, its headlights cutting through the room. Beckett jumped up and looked out the window, tension obvious in his hurried movements.

He hit the window frame with his open palm.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s my dad. I told him to stay out until eleven.”

“He’s back?”

“As of last night.” Somehow that one had escaped her ears today, probably because she’d had her head in the clouds.

A car door slammed.

“Great,” Beckett said a few seconds later. He stepped to the front door.

Madison wondered if she should leave. But before she decided, his dad shuffled through the door. He stumbled over Rigsby, muttering a curse word Madison hadn’t heard in a while.

Beckett caught his arm. The hard muscles of his jaw twitched. “Let’s go, Dad.” Beckett pulled him toward a hall.

Mr. O’Reilly spotted Madison. “Heeeyyyyy . . .”

She nodded. “Mr. O’Reilly. Nice to see you.” She didn’t know if he’d remember her, even sober. “I’m Madison.”

“A ’Kinley girl.”

“That’s right.”

“Live in that big ol’ fanshy house up on the hill . . .”

“That’s enough, Dad.” He tugged his dad’s arm.

Rigsby got underfoot, nearly tripping Mr. O’Reilly again.

“Move!” Beckett told the dog.

Rigsby lowered his head and trotted to Madison, sitting at her feet. She scratched behind the dog’s ears, trying to ignore the noises from down the hall. Mr. O’Reilly’s slurred words, Beckett’s short tone.

Beckett tossed his dad’s shoes in the corner, clamping his teeth down on the words he wanted to say. Words that would be
forgotten by morning anyway. He glanced at his dad, eyes closed, a bit of drool at the corner of his mouth, and wanted to shake the man. Instead he shut off the light and closed the door, whispered a prayer he’d stay put until Madison was gone.

He entered the living room and found Madison perched hesitantly on the couch. She looked at him with wide, unsure eyes, and he realized the scene she’d witnessed, so familiar to him, was completely foreign to her.

His face burned as he stopped by the recliner. “Sorry about that.”

She waved his apology away. “No, it’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. It wasn’t fine at all. He’d known she’d get a glimpse of his world eventually, but he hadn’t wanted it to be so soon.

She stood, hitching her purse on her shoulder. “I should go anyway. It’s getting late.”

He was torn between wanting relief from the tension and wanting to be with her. But the easy camaraderie was gone, and there was no saving this night.

“I’m sorry,” he said again at the door when she turned.

She reached up and set her hand on his cheek, and he read the pity in her eyes before she kissed him.

There was no voice mail at home the next night, and Madison chided herself for being one of those women. She considered calling Beckett herself, but it had only been one day, and they were busy people. The awkwardness of the night before had lingered in her mind all day. She felt bad for Beckett. Was that what he’d dealt with his whole childhood?

She was settling in bed with Lulu and her favorite trade journal when the phone rang. She smiled when she saw Beckett’s name on the screen.

“Is it too late?” The low timbre of his voice was heaven in her ear.

“Not at all. Just settling in with a copy of
JAVMA
.”

“Come again?”

“
Journal of the American Veterinary Medical Association
. Fascinating reading, I assure you.”

“Sounds like the perfect sedative.”

“You aren’t curious about the risk factors for urate uroliths in cats?”

“What does that even mean?”

“If you’ve lived this long without knowing, you probably don’t need to know.” She snuggled down deeper into her pillow, getting comfy, relieved the tension from the night before had evaporated.

“Especially since I don’t have a cat. How was your day?”

“Busy. We were booked, then I had rehearsal. I just got home not long ago. Hardly time to breathe. How was yours?”

“Long. I missed you.”

Her gut tightened at his honesty. Something warm and pleasant set up camp inside, put a goofy smile on her face.

“That so?”

“You sound awful pleased with yourself.”

“It’s nice to be missed.” And there would be plenty of opportunity for that. Saturday felt like forever away. “What did you do tonight?”

“Went to see Grandpa.”

“How’s he doing?”

“He recognized me, for a while anyway.”

“That’s great. Those moments must be precious. Maybe they’ll come out with a better med soon. Something to slow things down more.”

“At least he’s at peace with God. That’s a comfort. Can’t imagine losing someone to Alzheimer’s, not knowing that. Knowing every lucid moment may be his last chance.”

She thought of Michael, the last moment she’d had with him. If she’d known it would be her last, she would’ve done things differently. She’d hardly looked up from her book when he’d said he was going for a swim at Turner’s Bend.

She was grateful when Beckett shifted the topic to sailing. When they exhausted that subject, there was a comfortable pause. It was getting late, but she wasn’t ready to hang up yet.

“When can I see you again?” he asked.

She loved his directness, and she especially loved that he was eager to see her.