Barefoot Summer (33 page)

Beckett turned his back to the crowd and scanned the photo boards someone had tacked up, the cast and crew during play rehearsals. His greedy eyes soaked up photo after photo. Madison gesturing. Madison smiling. Madison laughing. He remembered that melodic sound and wondered if he’d ever hear it again.

A few minutes later he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and found Layla. Only then did he realize how much he’d been hoping it was Madison.

Layla reclaimed her punch and pointed at one of the pictures. “Oh, that’s hilarious.” A few of the crew had joined her.

Jessie Brooks, who’d designed the sets, came up on his other side. “Long time no see, Beckett.”

He’d gone out with her a few times over the winter. She lived a couple streets over from him and taught French and art at the high school.

He nodded her way. “Jessie. Nice job on the set.”

Her rosy lips curled upward and her green eyes sparkled. “Thanks! It’s been pretty crazy this last week, getting everything ready.” She pointed out some of the photos and launched into a story of how she’d salvaged the sunset background.

She was a nice woman. Patient, pretty, kindhearted. There wasn’t a thing wrong with her.

Except that she wasn’t Madison.

“I don’t suppose you’d want to grab a bite somewhere?” Jessie was saying. “I missed dinner, and popcorn isn’t going to cut it.”

A commotion sounded across the room, and applause began slowly, picking up until it drowned out the music. Beckett turned and faced the incoming party just as Madison and Drew emerged, smiling as the fans clapped and whistled.

Even the crowd seemed to recognize them as a couple. Their
hair was the exact same shade of brown with a bit of wave. They were both slender, similar in height, and attractive in their trendy jeans. They’d make beautiful kids.

The thought put a knot in his throat. He swallowed hard, but it didn’t budge. He wished he could move far away, where he wouldn’t have to watch her falling for someone else. But he had his grandpa to look after, not to mention his dad to keep out of trouble.

He took in the sight of her, realizing there was something different about her. And then he figured it out. She didn’t look tired. The dark circles had faded. Even her color looked better.

Having you out of her life has been good for her. See how happy and well rested she looks?

He told himself that was stupid. That the changes were a result of time, of rest, of coming to terms with God. But his heart refused to believe it ended there.

She was beautiful, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her eyes sparkling. Madison’s eyes caught his across the room. She stopped, her smile wilting.

Yes, she was better off without him. If he’d doubted it before now, he didn’t doubt it any longer.

Her lips curved up a little, just for him, and his heart gave an extra beat.

Drew set his hand on Madison’s shoulder and leaned close to whisper something in her ear.

Beckett frowned. What was he doing? He was supposed to be letting her go. Instead he was gazing at her like a lovesick puppy.

He pulled his eyes from Madison and locked onto the first thing he saw. Jessie.

“So what do you say?” the woman asked. “Are you hungry?”

The thought of food turned his stomach, but the thought of escape—that held appeal.

“Ah, sure. Sounds good.”

“Cappy’s is still open. Let me grab my bag.” She walked a few tables over.

Beckett got Layla’s attention. “You don’t mind if I take off, do you?”

“I guess not. The party just started though.”

“You’re in good hands.”

“Beck, maybe you should hang around, talk to Madison.”

A short distance away, Jessie shouldered her purse and smiled at Beckett, waiting.

“I don’t think so. You have fun though.” He started for Jessie, but before he took a step, Layla grabbed his arm.

Her eyes swung to Jessie and back to him. Her brows drew together. “What are you doing?”

He gathered his courage, looked her in the eye. “The right thing.”

Madison watched Beckett escort Jessie Brooks from the party, the air leaving her lungs in a rush. She hadn’t realized he’d be here, had frozen in her tracks when she’d seen him.

Then his face had softened. The music had faded and everyone else in the room disappeared. She’d felt a pull so strong it propelled her forward. She’d taken a step in his direction when he’d turned away. Toward cute little Jessie Brooks. Moments later he was leaving with the woman.

If there was any doubt before, after their last conversation, it
was all cleared up now. He couldn’t get far enough away from the mess that was her life.

“You okay?” Drew said in her ear.

She swallowed hard and put on a smile. “I’m fine.”

Her family waved from a nearby table.

“Have fun,” she told Drew, knowing she’d never be able to follow her own advice.

She kept the smile plastered to her face as she walked toward her family, dreading the long evening ahead. She’d just pretend her heart wasn’t twisting like a wrung-out washcloth. She could pretend. Hadn’t she just done so onstage in front of all Chapel Springs?

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

T
ODAY WAS THE DAY
. B
ECKETT ROLLED FROM BED AND
headed for the shower, staying under the spray for an extra ten minutes, working the plan in his mind.

He’d tossed and turned the night before, despite an early night. He and Jessie had gone to Cappy’s but he hadn’t been into it, into her. He’d tried to hold up his end of the conversation, but she was no fool.

“You’re still hung up on Madison McKinley,” she said, halfway through the pizza.

He opened his mouth but closed it again. What could he say?

“It’s okay. I mean, I’d hoped, but . . .” She shrugged.

He hadn’t meant to lead her on. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”

She gave a soft sigh and dredged up a smile. “Let’s just be two friends eating a meal, all right?”

The night had gotten better after that, less awkward. They’d parted as friends, but Beckett had no intention of repeating the experience.

After drying off, he dressed and spent the rest of his morning doing research on the computer while his dad slept off last night’s overindulgence. By the time Dad slinked from his room, holding his head, Beckett had finished the research and made a dozen phone calls. He’d called Layla when he’d found a place.

“I’m coming over,” she said.

“No, let me handle this. He’s going to get upset, things might get physical. I’ll feel better if you’re not in the line of fire.”

She’d put up a fight but had finally backed down.

Now all he had to do was wait for his dad to down some ibuprofen and finish a cup of coffee. Beckett was determined, but he wasn’t stupid.

He snapped open the newspaper, and the headline, big and bold, caught his eye: T
HEATER
F
IRE
C
AUSED BY
F
AULTY
W
IRING
.

Beckett read the article, his heart pounding. When he was finished he set the paper aside, let out a deep sigh. The investigation was complete, and the results were a reprieve.

But that didn’t change his mind about what he was going to do.

When Dad settled in the living room and snatched up the sports section, Beckett took a deep breath. “We need to talk, Dad.”

“Later. My head’s splitting.”

“Later you’ll be buzzed, then wasted. We need to talk now.”

The paper rattled as his dad closed it and flung it onto the coffee table, muttering something about a man finding no rest in his own house. His eye caught the headline on the main section.

“Ah, now lookie there. What’d I tell you? It wasn’t my fault after all, was it?”

Dad looked older all of a sudden. Bags under his eyes, permanent lines etched by years of hard living.

“Not this time.”

His dad huffed.

“Things are going to change around here, Dad. I’m not doing this anymore. I made a few phone calls this morning, and I found a place that can help you.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Here’s the deal, Dad. You have a choice. Either I can take you to this facility where you can get help, or you can leave on your own. One way or another, you’re out of here today.”

His dad laughed, no humor evident. “You can’t kick me out of my own home.”

“It’s
my
home. And I’m done sitting by while you ruin your health, risk lives—”

“It wasn’t me!”

“Two choices, Dad. Which will it be?”

“You’d kick your old man out? I don’t even have a job! How am I supposed to eat? Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“You have a problem, and I’m trying to get you help.”

“I don’t have a problem! When are you going to get that through your head? You were always the stubborn one!”

Beckett got up, plucked a suitcase from the hall closet, and headed toward his dad’s room.

He’d begun emptying the first drawer when Dad entered the room and grabbed his arm. “Put that back!”

He shook his father off and faced him. Beckett had four inches and considerable mass on him. He didn’t want to use it, but he wasn’t doing this anymore.

He shot Dad a look of warning, then continued packing until the suitcase was full, ignoring his father’s loud protests. When he was finished, he zipped the case.

“What kind of son are you?” Dad’s voice shook. “I’ll go to Layla’s, stay with her. She won’t turn me away!”

Over his dead body. “I have your car keys, and Layla won’t let you in her house. I’ll call the police if I have to and have you removed. Or you can get in my truck quietly and get yourself some help.”

Dad’s hair was spiked in every direction as if he’d run his fingers through it a dozen times. Fear lit his onyx eyes.

Beckett softened. “It’s a good facility, Dad. I was on the phone with the director for an hour. You’ll get good care, and it’s not very far away.”

“How can you do this to me? I’m your dad . . . I raised you alone after your mom left.” His voice cracked as his eyes glassed over.

Beckett ached inside, but he was going to speak the truth. “Grandpa raised us, Dad.”

His dad walked from the room, hitting the door frame on the way out. Beckett followed him with the suitcase.

Dad stopped in the living room, his hands on the back of the recliner, squeezing the cushioned back until his knuckles went white.

Beckett gave him a moment. It was a big decision. Life altering.

Please, God. Let him decide to get help. For his own sake. He has a lot of life ahead of him, but he’ll never find his way like this.

He could hear his dad’s shallow breaths, see the rise and fall of shoulders that used to seem much broader. He was Beckett’s dad, but for too many years Beckett had been the caretaker. He was still taking care of him, doing the hard thing. Sometimes love meant letting go. He was learning all about that.

“What’s it gonna be, Dad?” he said quietly.

His dad lowered his head, pinched his nose. It was the same gesture Layla teased Beckett about. He prayed that’s where the genes stopped.

“You don’t leave me a choice.” His words were coated in bitterness. Beckett didn’t care if they were coated in horse manure as long as Dad went to the treatment facility.

“Let’s go then.”

“I need a drink first.” Dad turned toward the kitchen.

Beckett grabbed his arm. “No. We’re leaving.”

“Just one more,” Dad said, his eyes frantic. “I need it.”

“Now, Dad.” He turned the man toward the door and grabbed the suitcase. It was going to be a long ride.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

T
HE OTHER SHOWS HAD GONE AS WELL AS OPENING NIGHT
, but Madison was relieved to have the production behind her. She’d heard from the Kneeling Nanas that Beckett’s dad had been admitted to a rehab somewhere in Kentucky. The women lifted him in prayer each morning, and Madison had added him to her own growing list. She was glad for Beckett’s family. It would be a long road, but it was a good start.

The aroma of brewed coffee perked up Madison’s senses as she entered the Coachlight Coffeehouse. A jazz tune played quietly through the speakers. Only a few patrons were scattered throughout the room. She spotted her honorary brother hunched over a tablet at a nearby table. Sometimes Daniel used the shop as his office away from home, though she hadn’t seen him here lately.

She headed toward him. “It’s not the same place without our girl, is it?”

He looked up, smiling, his dark hair falling into his eyes. “Hi, Madison.” His eyes darted toward the corner stage where Jade had played her guitar for hours on end. “No, it’s not. Have you heard from her lately?”

“No, but Mom did last week. She said she seemed okay. You want her number?”

“Ah, sure, if you have it.”

He scrawled it on his tablet, then pushed out the other chair with his foot. “Have a seat.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I’m meeting Cassidy.” She noticed he was writing in his journal and gestured to it. “I love mine, by the way. I’ve been using it a lot.”

He laid his hand flat on the binding and tore the top sheet along the perforated edge. “Just finishing a note to my folks. They like letters—the old-fashioned kind.” He folded the paper in thirds, making sharp creases with his thumb.