Barefoot Summer (24 page)
“Yeah, it’s great. I haven’t found a place to play guitar though.”
“How is Izzy?”
“She’s fine. She lost her job, but I’m sure she’ll find something soon.”
“That’s got to be tough, with a child and all. Tell me about your apartment. It must be kind of crowded.”
“It’s not so bad. Izzy and her son share a room, and mine’s the size of a shoe box, but we have two bathrooms and a decent kitchen. It’s in Cicero, real close to the El.”
“El?”
“The elevated train. Listen, I have to go. My boss needs to lock up for the night, but I wanted to hear how your big day went.”
“It was great to hear from you. Call the family soon, okay? Daniel too. He asks about you every time I see him.”
“Okay. I gotta run. Love you.”
“Love you too,” Madison said.
And then Jade was gone, but Madison was still smiling as her head hit the pillow.
Madison had no sooner sat in the circle at Countryside Manor than the ladies started.
“Aren’t you going to fill us in?” Mrs. Geiger petted the beagle Madison had brought.
“You saw it yourself.” Mrs. Marquart edged away from the dog.
“She beat my own grandson! Imagine the nerve.” Mrs. Etter gave Madison a mock scowl.
“What I want to know is, how did the O’Reilly boy come into the picture?” Mrs. Geiger waggled her penciled-in brows.
If anyone deserved the details of Saturday’s events, it was these ladies. They’d been there for her when she’d been desperate.
“I can’t thank you enough for your prayers. Not only did the regatta work out, but Evan’s dad is better. He had to have surgery, but he’s on the mend, and they’re hoping for a full recovery.”
“Don’t that beat all.” Mrs. Marquart tugged her auburn wig into place.
“We want all the details.” Mrs. Stuckey took the beagle from Mrs. Geiger and cradled him in her lap.
Madison filled them in, from the moment she learned Evan wouldn’t make it back to the moment Beckett joined her crew.
Mrs. Marquart pressed her hands together. “He saved the day. How romantic!”
A smug smile perched on Mrs. Geiger’s face. “Two birds with one stone,” she muttered.
“What?” Madison asked.
“Oh, never mind, dear. We’re just so delighted everything worked out. How does it feel . . . as wonderful as you’d hoped?”
“I’m thrilled, of course,” Madison said. She smiled past the feelings that had begun slowly surfacing over the past couple of days. There was something bubbling under the joy of the win that didn’t feel right. Something that felt all too familiar. She pushed the thought away.
“Well, you worked so hard. We couldn’t be happier for you,” Mrs. Stuckey said.
When she’d finished visiting the Kneeling Nanas, she made her rounds. She was in such a good mood, not even Mrs. Doolittle’s scowl dampened her spirits.
After returning the pup to the shelter, she realized she had one more errand. She felt for the check in her pocket as she drove down Spruce Street in the waning light. She couldn’t deny she was eager to see Beckett. She hadn’t seen him since the night of the
regatta, and she was planning to invite him to her parents’ house Friday. They were celebrating her birthday and the regatta win.
He’d been with her through it all. Through the fear, through the mistakes, through every obstacle. Nobody understood what she’d gone through to get here like Beckett did. And he’d sacrificed his own goal to help her. A celebration wouldn’t be complete without him. Still, inviting him to a family event implied a certain level of intimacy. How would he feel about that?
And would her dad behave himself? Would he lay down the rumors of the past long enough to see the person Beckett had become? They’d just have to work through any rough spots.
A light shone through the picture window, but she heard noises coming from the backyard. She followed the curve of the drive behind the house. The night was warm and humid, making her hair cling to the back of her neck. Pine and freshly mowed grass fragranced the air. A radio played softly, intermingling with the occasional whir of a drill.
An outbuilding came into view as she rounded the corner of the house. Just inside the overhead door, a shirtless Beckett stooped over the skeletal hull of a boat, frowning in concentration as he drilled.
Her movement must’ve caught his attention because he looked her way, a smile curving his lips as he shut off the drill.
“Hey.” The word conveyed a tone of surprise. He lowered the drill and dragged his forearm across his forehead.
Rigsby came to greet her.
Beckett glanced at the house. “Did you knock on the door?”
She remembered his dad was home from jail, remembered the scene last time she was here. “No, I heard you back here.”
He offered a smile. “Just working on a boat.”
Madison tsk-tsked as she approached. “No goggles, no mask . . . what am I going to do with you, O’Reilly?”
Something flickered in his eyes, and his lips twitched. He blew away a tiny pile of shavings from the wood.
The light draped over the ridges of his shoulders like a sculpted cape. She turned her attention to Rigsby, squatting down. “Hey there, fella. Is Daddy giving you your heartworm pill?”
“Yes, he is.” His eyes darted toward the house.
She gave the dog a final rub behind the ears and stood. “Brought you something.” She pulled the folded check from her pocket and handed it to Beckett.
He opened it, then his face went slack. He handed it back. “No. This is yours.”
She pocketed her hands. “I didn’t do it for the money, you know that.”
He came closer, extending the check. “Neither did I.”
Maybe he hadn’t helped her for the money, but it was the money he’d been after from the start, the money he’d sacrificed to help her win.
She shook her head. “I want you to have it.”
He tilted his head, frowning. “Madison.”
“Please. Invest it in your business. Nothing would make me happier.”
Slowly, his hand fell. He let out a sigh. “Split it with me then.”
“I don’t want it. You have a good thing going here. It’ll make me feel good to know I had a tiny part in it. Besides, we both know you would’ve won if you hadn’t been helping me.”
He considered her until she squirmed. Then he pocketed the check, pursing his lips, letting her know he wasn’t comfortable with it.
She ran her fingers along the skeleton of the boat. “Is this Drew’s?”
“No, I haven’t sold this one yet. Drew never called me back—guess the moral of the story is don’t beat up your customers.”
“Maybe you can make that your new slogan. Put it on those fancy business cards you order.”
“Funny.”
“Too bad I didn’t take a picture of you in action—would’ve made a nice visual for your new website.”
He gave her a look. “All right, now.”
Teasing him felt good. Suddenly, inviting him to the celebration Friday felt like the most natural thing in the world.
“What are you doing Friday night?”
His brows lifted at the shift in conversation. He set his palm on the rough-edged rim of the boat. “Why do you ask?”
“My folks are having a barbecue to celebrate the win. And you
are
half of the winning team.”
He shrugged. “Sure. I’ll come. What time?”
“Sixish. I’ll have to meet you there. You’re welcome to bring your dad if you want.”
His smile fell. “Oh. Thanks, but he—uh, he probably has plans. Can I bring anything?”
“Just your appetite. And your A game.”
He hiked a brow.
“Backyard ball.” She faked a free throw. It was only a couple weeks ago she’d seen him practicing layups in the park. “There’s always B-ball when we get together. You any good?”
“I’ve put up my share of blocks.”
She smiled. “You’re on my team then.”
“How do I know
you’re
any good?”
She pressed her fingertips to her chest. “I’m a McKinley. Of course I’m good.”
He smiled at that, a mesmerizing smile with teeth and everything. The light cast shadows over the planes of his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw.
She watched the smile fall from his face and forced her eyes away.
“Well,” she said, backing toward the door, “I should go. It’s a work night.”
He reached into his pocket. “Are you sure you won’t take—”
She gave a mock glare. “
Stop.
”
He mumbled something as she walked away.
“I heard that.”
“Good,” he said.
She was smiling as she returned to her car. She got in, started the engine, and pulled from the drive, casting a look at the house, watching the TV light flicker against the walls, and wondering about Beckett’s dad.
M
ADISON WOKE IN A COLD SWEAT, THE REMNANTS OF THE
nightmare hanging on tight. She lay still, her heart pounding her ribs. Darkness pressed in around her, smothering her with its heaviness.
No. No, it couldn’t be. She shook her head, willing it to be untrue, trying to shake the lingering panic away. The nightmares were supposed to be gone. She’d won the regatta. Replaced the bad dream with the good one.
Only she hadn’t.
Make it go away, God!
She shoved off the covers and sat up, shaking. She ran her palms over her face, brushing her hair back at the temples where it was damp with sweat.
The clock read 4:17, but sleep was only a finger beckoning her to torture.
“I smell rain,” Grandpa said before he took the last bite of his burger.
“Maybe it’ll hold off,” Ryan said.
Madison smothered a yawn, the lack of sleep catching up with
her. She leaned into Beckett’s arm, loving the solid feel of him next to her.
Grandpa engaged Ryan and Daniel in a conversation about weather patterns that Madison knew would probably lead to his story about the worst storm he’d ever lived through. The tornado of ’67. They’d heard it a hundred times.
They’d enjoyed an exciting game of three-on-three before supper. She, Beckett, and Ryan had beaten Dad, Daniel, and PJ, though it had been a close game. Her dad seemed to be giving Beckett a chance, though there was no missing the caution in his eyes.
“You could’ve told me it was your birthday,” Beckett whispered in Madison’s ear as he set his napkin on his empty plate.
“It’s really more a celebration of the regatta,” she whispered back after Mom excused herself to fetch the birthday cake.
“Uh-huh.”
Fact was, every year Madison wished they’d forget her birthday. She couldn’t celebrate it without remembering that her twin wasn’t here.
She’d hoped that with the regatta win, it would feel different this time. That she would feel happy and . . . released or something. But as birthday wishes flew across the backyard and gifts were shoved into her arms, she’d found herself feeling the same as always. Like she’d rather be in Dr. Gallagher’s office awaiting a root canal.
She’d hoped the celebration of the regatta win would overshadow her birthday, but her family was having none of that. Crepe paper was strung across the yard, balloons bobbed in colorful clusters here and there, and of course the cake awaited her.
She felt a drop of rain on the back of her hand, then another.
“We’d better move the party inside,” Dad said.
“Tried to tell you,” Grandpa said.
Madison and Beckett gathered the dishes. Dad grabbed the gifts, PJ and Daniel collected the balloons, and Ryan was pulling the tablecloth just as the rain turned to a deluge.
They ducked into the house, sliding off their shoes near the front door so they didn’t dirty Mom’s shiny wood floor or muddy her antique rugs.
They settled in the living room, loud and boisterous. Beckett was next to her on the sofa, his warm thigh stretched out next to hers the only comfort she felt. Knowing what was coming, the cake, the presents, the memories, she wanted nothing more than to go home and curl up on the couch with Lulu.
She tried to tell herself she was only missing Jade, but it was more than that. It was Michael. Why did she still feel this way? She’d won the regatta before their twenty-seventh birthday. She’d fulfilled his dream. She was supposed to feel better now. It’d been almost ten years. When would she be free of this? At peace? Her eyes found the regatta cup on the mantel, propping up a sign that read
Congrats, Madison and Beckett!
in PJ’s lovely script.
