Barefoot Summer (34 page)

The neat folds flagged something in her memory. Or was it the perforated edges? She stared at the paper. The dimensions . . . the off-white coloring, gray lines. Just like her own journal, but there was something else . . .

An image flashed in her mind. A typed poem centered on that same paper. She should’ve recognized the paper before—it was just like her own journal—but she’d had her mind on other things.

She watched Daniel finish the folds and tuck the letter into the journal. Not an ordinary journal, the kind that could be snagged from the local shelves of the Book Nook, but a special-order item from Chicago.

Could it have been Daniel all along? She could hardly fathom it.

He was looking at her, his brow quirked, and she realized she’d been staring.

“It was you . . . ?”

She watched confusion flitter over his features, humor lighting his eyes. He shook his head. “What?”

“The paper is the same. The lines, the folding, everything. It was you . . . the rose, the cards, the notes . . .”

Gravity pulled at the corners of his lips, the humor fleeing. He grew somber. A thread of panic laced his eyes.

He’d been like a brother for so long, it was hard to imagine him thinking of Jade that way. He called her “squirt” and mussed her hair. He’d taught Jade her first guitar chords and defended her at school. Like a brother. Or like . . .

“Madison, I—”

“Sorry I’m late!” Cassidy threw her arm around Madison’s shoulders. “Hello, Mr. Mayor.”

“Ah, hi, Cassidy.” His eyes never left Madison’s.

“Have you ordered?” Cassidy squinted at the menu. “I’m seriously considering that new Peppermint Pattie thing. Probably has a zillion calories, but you only live once, right?”

She gave Madison’s shoulders a squeeze and headed toward the counter.

Madison turned to follow. “Uh, I guess I’ll see you later, Daniel.”

“Madison . . .”

She turned at his worried tone and met his blue eyes. When had he grown from scrawny, awkward teenager to grown man with broad shoulders and a clean-shaven face? Into a man who was infatuated with her little sister? How long had he been fighting these feelings?

“Please,” he said. “Don’t . . .”

She felt a stab of pity. Jade had no clue how he felt. His name hadn’t once come up in all their speculations.

She tried for an encouraging smile. “I won’t.”

The worry lines stretching across his forehead remained, as did the fear lighting his eyes, the tension in his shoulders.

“I promise,” she said.

He swallowed and nodded once.

Madison joined Cassidy in line, ordering when it was her turn, her mind still reeling. “Venti decaf, please.”

“Decaf?” Cassidy said. “You feeling all right?”

“I’m cutting back. Doctor’s orders.”

“Have you heard anything yet?”

Drew’s friend, the pathologist, reread the slides from Michael’s autopsy. Two years ago Michael’s metabolic disease had been identified. She’d made a doctor’s appointment the day she’d found out.

“Haven’t gotten the results back yet,” Madison said.

“PJ and Jade and Ryan are getting tested too?”

“Yeah. We should know soon.”

When she and Cassidy had their coffee, they settled into a booth in the back corner of the shop, Madison’s mind still on Daniel and his feelings for Jade. His table was empty now.

Cassidy caught Madison up on the goings-on at work, chattering a mile a minute. “You look good,” she said when she came up for air. “Maybe you needed the break.”

“That and a little interior work.” She’d already told Cassidy about her step of faith. “I’ve been journaling about Michael and meeting with the Kneeling Nanas twice a week for their prayer circle. I’m sleeping better, thinking more clearly, and focusing better.”

Cassidy tilted her head, her eyebrows raised. “But . . .”

“What makes you think there’s a but?”

“We’ve been friends a long time. I know when my best bud’s nursing a broken heart.”

Madison sipped her coffee. She didn’t want to think about Beckett. Every time she did, she remembered him leaving with
Jessie Brooks and felt that terrible ache in her middle, the sting of tears behind her eyes.

“What happened between you two anyway?” Cassidy asked, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.

“I told you already.”

“I know, but it doesn’t make sense. I know a lot’s happened the past couple weeks, but there’s no reason for him to lose interest just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“I’m telling you, I scared him off. You weren’t there the night of my birthday. I was a blubbering psychopath.”

“You were hurting. And he was fine after that, if you’ll remember. He didn’t get all weird till after he told you about being with Michael the day he died.”

“Yeah, but he was wrong about all that.” Madison finished her coffee and folded her arms over her stomach, trying to press the ache away. “The
why
doesn’t really matter, does it? He’s obviously done. He’s going out with Jessie now.”

Cassidy shook her head. “Uh-uh.”

Madison shot her a look.

“Jessie brought Coco in today for her checkup. Something she said gave me the impression Beckett isn’t over you. She seemed kinda bitter about it, so I didn’t press for details.”

Madison’s heart gave an extra kick, and she told it to settle down. No sense getting her hopes up. “What did she say?”

“I told her I’d heard she was going out with Beckett—thought I’d do a little digging on your behalf—”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And she said, ‘We’re just friends. I guess he’s still hung up on Madison.’”

She sucked in a breath. “He said that? That’s he’s still hung up on me? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you. Did you see today’s paper?”

“Today’s—no, why?”

“There’s an article—
someone
donated fifteen hundred to the sailing club for a scholarship in Michael’s name.” Cassidy raised her brows expectantly.

“Who?”

“It was anonymous. It wasn’t your family?”

“No, I don’t think so. They would’ve told me.”

“Fifteen hundred . . . wasn’t that—”

“The amount of the prize money. But he’s using that to get his business off the ground.” It couldn’t be him, could it? That was a lot of money. He wouldn’t just give it up. Would he?

Cassidy shrugged. “Who else could it be?”

Madison’s head reeled. “Maybe he did it a couple weeks ago when he thought he was to blame for Michael’s death. A guilt thing.”

Cassidy shook her head, then scanned the coffee shop. She popped up, retrieved a paper from an empty table, and handed the section to Madison. “Right there.”

It was just a paragraph buried in the metro section. Madison read it. “Monday, it says. Someone donated the money yesterday.” She folded the paper and set it down. “I don’t understand.”

“See what I mean? You should talk to him, Madison. You said you arrived at the party with Drew Friday. Do you think the whole Jessie thing was to make you jealous? He did have to sit through that play, which, I might add, had a pretty steamy scene between you and Dr. Delight. Maybe he was jealous, and he just went all stupid.”

Madison shook her head. “He’s not like that. Besides, he was acting distant before.” But if Jessie said he still had feelings for her, why else . . . ?

Cassidy gave a thoughtful frown. “Maybe . . .”

“Maybe what?”

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t, but, honey, you have to straighten this out. You love him, and he apparently still has feelings for you.”

She remembered the way he’d pulled his hand from hers. The lack of emotion in his eyes. “You’d never know it.”

“He remembers what you wore at some little high school dance eons ago. He’s had a thing for you forever. Why do you think he waited so long to act on it?”

“I don’t know. We never got around to discussing it.”

“There’s got to be more here we don’t know.”

Maybe Cassidy was right. She felt the stir of hope and squelched the desire to press it down.

“The question is, are you going to sit around nursing your broken heart or do something about it?”

Her heart was beating so fast, she wondered if she’d been given caffeinated coffee. But no, it was just nerves. She should confront Beckett. She’d taken the coward’s way out since the night she’d told him how Michael had really died. He’d pulled away from her, and she’d been too afraid of rejection to ask why.

And then she’d felt discarded at the party . . .

Her mom’s words from earlier in the summer came back. “
You’ve always been afraid of feeling, Madison. Sometimes those negative feelings are so strong, they’re overwhelming, and it’s easier to just not deal with them.”

That’s what she was doing now, had been doing since Beckett
had pulled away. She was learning to face her feelings about Michael’s death; she supposed she could find the courage to face Beckett—even if it only meant more heartache.

“I have to go.” Madison stood and gathered her purse.

“Good luck,” Cassidy called.

Madison’s legs trembled as she left the coffee shop. She squinted against the bright evening light, got in her car, and headed toward Beckett’s place.

Help me, God. I don’t even know what I’m going to say. I just know I love him, and I have to know if he loves me too
. She couldn’t formulate more than that. But God knew her heart. He would answer her prayer one way or another.

A few minutes later she turned onto his street, her heart fluttering when she saw his truck.

You can do this, Madison. Be brave.

At the sound of her vehicle, Rigsby appeared in the window. Madison got out of her car, mounted the porch steps, and knocked. The dog gave an excited bark. She didn’t see any lights through the picture window, but it was still daylight out. She knocked again.

Fear sucked the moisture from her mouth and made her hands shake. She stuffed them into her khaki pockets and told herself she’d live through this.

After a third unanswered knock she walked around back. Maybe he was working on the boat. But when she reached the backyard she saw that the outbuilding was closed up tight.

She strolled back to her car, a hollow spot opening up inside, spreading quickly. Where could he be? If he’d gone for a walk, he’d have taken Rigsby.

Think, Madison
. Was it Wednesday, his Bible study night?
She’d had trouble keeping track of days since she’d been off work. But no, it was Tuesday. Where would he be?

She remembered something he’d said once and increased her pace. She hopped in her car, drove two blocks, and pulled into a diagonal slot. The park was empty, the swings swaying in the warm breeze. She headed past the slide, past the basketball court, and toward the wooded hillside.

It was where he liked to go when he needed to think or pray, up on the rock tower where he had a God’s-eye view of the valley. She strode across the plush lawn, feeling the grass tickle the tops of her feet through her sandals.

She was going to do this no matter how hard it might be. No matter how much the truth—whatever it was—might hurt. Maybe she was afraid, but she was going to feel the fear and do it anyway.

Give me courage, God.

At the base of the hill, she kicked off her sandals and started up the path. The dirt was hard under her feet. Sticks poked at her soles and stones scraped the tender flesh. She still didn’t like the way it felt, that hadn’t changed. Life was full of discomfort and hurt. But pain wasn’t fatal.

Her calf muscles ached at the steep parts. The darkness of the woods closed in around her. Her breaths grew shallow as she ascended, her mouth drying. Still she climbed.

When she neared the top, she spotted the tower of rock through the woods and climbed toward it. She stopped at the base, catching her breath, pulling in the scent of pine and earth. A bird gave a warbled call, and another tweeted in response.

She faced the tower, remembering the daunting climb. She opened her mouth, Beckett’s name on her tongue, then closed it again. He was up there. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t hear him,
but she knew he was there. She felt it clear down to her bare toes. She wanted to see his face when he heard her voice. Maybe it would tell her all she needed to know.

She began the climb, taking the first difficult steps. It was harder without Beckett’s help, but she’d manage. Halfway up, she stretched for a hold and pulled herself up, her bare toes curling on a shallow ledge.

A breeze came and ruffled her hair, rewarding her effort, but by the time she neared the top, sweat beaded on the back of her neck. She eased herself up over the top, catching the most glorious sight.

Beckett, stretched out on the flat rock, arms folded under his head, eyes closed, Bible propped open on his stomach. The wires of earbuds dangled from his ears to his jeans pocket. She took a moment just to appreciate the view.

His lips were moving, and she wondered if he was praying or mouthing the words of a song. He sported a couple days’ stubble, and his lashes, so dark, fanned his upper cheeks. She’d missed that face, those lips.

As if sensing her, his eyes opened and settled on her. There was something more than surprise in the look. Or was that only wishful thinking?

He sprang upright, pulling out the earbuds, catching his Bible as it fell. “Madison.”

She shifted under his direct gaze. Her chest rose and fell as she caught her breath. “Hi. I was, uh, in the neighborhood.”

Maybe she shouldn’t have come, invaded his private time. Too late now.

He stared back, his expression an unsolved puzzle. “Have a seat.”

She lowered herself to the flat rock, stretching out her legs.

“Where are your shoes?”

“Long story.”

Her pulse raced, and her heart fought a losing battle with her ribs. Now that she was here, what did she say? She hadn’t thought that far ahead. She pulled in her knees and clasped her arms around them. The sun had disappeared behind wispy clouds, turning the evening sky pink.

“Why are you here, Madison?”

Maybe she should pretend she didn’t know he’d be here. That she’d just wanted to get away and remembered his hiding spot. But that wasn’t true.