Saving Maddie (13 page)

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“You’re not as bad a dancer as you think you are,”

Madeline said when we left the dance floor a few songs later. “Your body has a natural rhythm—if you allow it to be taken over by the music.”

We headed to one of the booths along the far edge of the club. Madeline hesitated as we passed the bar, but didn’t stop.

We slipped into the booth. This time, she didn’t have to ask me to sit by her. “How’d you learn to dance like that?” I asked.

“I used to take classes. Dad made me stop, though. He said my movements sent ‘mixed messages.’”

“That sounds like something my dad would say.”

Madeline shook her head. “Your dad is a good, kind man. He’s nothing like my father.” Her eyes glowed with sadness. “Let’s talk about something else. I don’t like getting depressed when I drink.”

“Your dad…” I stopped, letting my words disappear into the pounding music and flashing lights. Now wasn’t the time to discuss her father, but then again, it never seemed like a good time.

What had he done to her? Why didn’t she ever want to talk about it?

I just wanted her to talk to me. Then maybe I could
help her. I could show her how beautiful and perfect she really was.

We sat there, friends and strangers at the same time. After a while, an old guy walked by with a container of roses. “Want to buy a rose for the pretty girl?” He looked like he hadn’t shaved in years, and he smelled like wet newspaper. “Only three dollars.”

I reached for my wallet. “I’ll take a red one.”

Madeline grabbed my wrist, her fingers sticky and damp. “Joshua, what are you doing?”

With my free hand, I pulled three crisp dollar bills from my wallet. “What do you think?”

“Have you looked at those roses? They look like he pulled them from the bottom of a ditch.” She let go of my wrist. “If you really want to buy something, get me another drink, not a rose.”

I laughed, even though I knew she wasn’t joking.

I handed the guy my money. Maybe he was annoyed at Madeline, or maybe he was upset that I didn’t give him a tip, because he bypassed all the decent roses and handed me the most god-awful-looking one, yellow with torn petals and a crooked, thorny stem.

Madeline turned toward the man, who had already moved on. “Hey, what the hell is this supposed to be?” she yelled. “This is a damn rip-off.”

“Madeline, calm down.” Trying not to prick myself, I gently peeled off the worn outer layers. I held it in front of me to inspect, and sure enough, I caught my thumb on one of the thorns.

“Take it back and get another one,” she said. “You deserve better for your money.”

I broke off the top three thorns and then broke off the stem below that. I extended the rose to her. “There you go, good as new.”

Madeline stared at the flower for a few seconds, her hand hovering in the space between me and her. “Thank you,” she said, finally taking the rose. She brought it to her nose and took in its scent. “It’s beautiful.”

I scooted closer to her so that her thigh pressed against mine. “I don’t know what happened between you and your dad, but I think—”

“Shhh.” Madeline put her fingers to my mouth. “You know, most guys would have tried to kiss me by this point in the date.” She tucked the rose behind her ear and smiled that beautiful smile of hers. “I’m starting to wonder what’s taking you so long.”

I tried to think of something charming or witty or romantic to say, but instead I just said, “I thought this wasn’t a date?”

Madeline paused, her lips floating in front of me. In my head, a big red neon sign flashed:
Stupid, Stupid, Stupid!
She laughed. “Shut up, you big saint, and kiss me.”

And, being the good obedient boy I was, I did.

chapter 11

A
lthough it’s not stated as such in the Bible, most people think that lust is one of the seven deadly sins. After that first kiss with Madeline, I had to agree.

As I pulled up to her aunt’s house, many hours and kisses later, my whole body hungered for her, quivering and tingling. I turned to her and she obliged, sliding her hand behind my head and pulling me to her face. I tasted the tequila and lime on her lips, on her tongue, but I ignored it. Once you got used to the taste, it wasn’t that bad. After a few minutes, she pulled away and took a breath. “You’re quite the kisser, aren’t you?”

I shrugged. How was I supposed to answer that?

She took my hand and pecked my fingertips. “I like kissing you,” she said. “I like being with you. It’s so…I don’t know. Simple. Easy.”

We sat in silence, my hand cradled in hers, her fingers soft against my skin. I watched her—studied her—as she looked out of her window toward the house. None of the lights were on inside.

It’s funny, but the more I sat there, taking in Madeline’s shape, the more I thought about what Jenn and Tony had said to me earlier that night. To them, I was a saint. A prude. A guy who lived for everyone else, not for himself.

I didn’t want to be that guy. Not tonight. Not with Madeline.

But before I could summon the courage to do anything, Madeline released my hand. “I should go.” Her breath fogged the window. “Tequila always gives me a hangover in the morning.”

“Can’t we hang out a little more?” Good Lord, I was practically begging.

“Just being curious, if we did hang out, what would you do? What would
we
do?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

She leaned over and kissed me quickly, saving me from the shame that was no doubt etched on my face. “Come on. It’s getting late.” She touched her rose, still perched behind her ear. “Plus, I want to get this in some water.”

We got out of the car and headed up the steps. I tried not to focus on her body as she swayed in front of me.

She stuck her key into the doorknob, but didn’t unlock
the door. “What if…” She let her hands fall to her sides, her purse bouncing against her thigh. “What if I called Frank tomorrow and told him I didn’t want to see him anymore? Would you be okay with that?”

I nodded, even though she wasn’t looking at me. “I’d like that a lot,” I said. I fought the urge to say more.

Madeline turned around then, her purple lips beckoning to me in the darkness, and kissed me. I breathed her in, savoring the taste of tequila and lime.

With a light thud, her purse fell to the wooden porch. I slid my hand to her stomach, then around her waist. My fingers ached to touch her.

Madeline pushed herself even further into me; her tongue danced circles with mine. She ran her fingers along the back of my neck. Her thumb pressed hard against the vein throbbing underneath my skin.

A sigh escaped from her lips—or perhaps I was the one who sighed. I wasn’t sure anymore; the lines between our bodies and mouths and skin had blurred to the point where I couldn’t tell where I ended and Madeline began.

I moved my hand to her face, her cheek sticky and warm. My hand slid lower, and I hesitated for a half second as my fingers brushed against the silver cross hanging from her neck.

I could do this.

I was not a saint.

I was not a prude.

My hand floated lower and lower, until my fingers cupped her breast. I squeezed.

She breathed in hard, and the kissing intensified. I
drowned in the wetness and warmth of her mouth. I pushed against her, sandwiching her between me and the reddish orange brick of her aunt’s house.

I squeezed harder, kissed harder. I wanted her so badly. I wanted…

Wait.

Something was wrong.

Her hands lay frozen on the back of my neck. Her lips remained still against mine; her breaths were non-existent.

I opened my eyes and she stared back at me, her gaze a mixture of sadness and surprise.

“Joshua…” She pushed me away, firmly but not forcefully. “We can’t…I can’t—”

“I’m sorry,” I said, retreating from her. “I don’t know what came over me—”

“No, it isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have led you on.” She swooped down and grabbed her purse from the porch. “You’d better go.”

“Madeline, I’m so sorry—”

“Joshua.” She placed her hand on my chest, her finger-nails almost invisible against my black shirt. “I had a really good time tonight. Let’s not ruin it, okay?”

I nodded, and she leaned in and gave me another kiss. “Thank you for the rose,” she whispered.

She disappeared into the house, and I drove back home. The silence that filled the car did nothing to soothe my guilt.

Madeline had said that I hadn’t done anything wrong, but that wasn’t true. I had wanted her.
Lusted
after her. I
was supposed to be a good guy. A gentleman. A preacher’s kid. Instead, I had tried to—actually, I didn’t even know what I had been doing. I didn’t really want to sleep with her, did I? I just wanted…
more.
More than a few passionate kisses. But how much more, I wasn’t sure.

Maybe I just wanted her to look at me the same way Charlotte looked at Tony. And she had, for a second. Then I had to go and mess everything up.

By the time I got home, my lower half had relaxed enough to allow me to walk in a somewhat normal fashion, which was a good thing, being that Dad was still awake. He sat at the kitchen table, his Bible open, a white pad full of notes in front of him.

“You have a good time tonight?” he asked, scribbling on his notepad.

“Yeah, it was okay.” I tried to make my voice sound as flat as possible.

“Good. I think your mother was starting to get worried, but I reckon that’s just her nature.” He put his pencil down and looked up. “No mother wants to see…”

Dad paused, his eyes narrowing and focusing in on me. Did I look that guilty?

He cleared his throat. “As I was saying, no mother wants to see her baby grow up.”

I nodded, unsure how to respond, and inched toward the hallway. “Well, I’m going to bed.”

“Joshua.” He looked back down at his Bible. “I thought you were supposed to help her recommit to God. I thought you were strong enough…”

Dad’s voice was so low that it was barely audible, yet it still cut into me like a dull knife. How could he know? How could he possibly know?

I stepped toward him. “Dad—”

“Just go to bed, Joshua.” Dad sounded tired. Defeated. “We’ll deal with this tomorrow.” He flipped a page in his Bible. “And be sure to stop by the bathroom on the way to bed. You look like you were attacked by a box of crayons.”

I tried to walk calmly, smoothly, out of the kitchen, but as soon as I was a safe distance away, I flew to the bathroom.

My mouth dropped open as I stared at myself in the mirror. I did look like I had been attacked by crayons.

Purple, lip-shaped crayons.

chapter 12

I
t was barely six o’clock when Dad opened my bedroom door the next morning. “I’m going to the driving range,” he said, his gaze focused on the floor. “Be ready by the time I get back.”

Then he shut the door, and a few minutes later, I heard him pulling out of the garage.

If Dad had taken a second to look at me, he would have seen that I was awake and fully dressed. I had spent most of the night tossing and turning, thinking about how I had managed to disappoint both Madeline and my father. I couldn’t be the guy either one of them wanted me to be.

Dad returned about an hour later, and we headed to
Bea’s Diner for breakfast. We remained silent for most of our meal, with nothing but the occasional clink of our forks against our plates to break the silence. He spent most of his time staring at his plate, but every so often he’d glance at me, the dark circles under his eyes heavy and sad.

“It’s not what you think,” I finally said.

Dad settled into the cushions on his side of the booth.

“So tell me, Joshua, what am I supposed to think? If your son snuck into the house at almost midnight with lipstick smeared across his face, what would you think?”

“I wasn’t sneaking into the house.”

“Oh, I see. So that makes it better.” He took a sip of his coffee, and I did the same. This stuff was crap compared to what Madeline usually served.

“Nothing happened. We just kissed a little.” I dumped more sugar into my coffee. “I should have told you and Mom that I was taking Madeline to the party. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure that nothing did happen, but that’s not the point. The Bible says to abstain from the
appearance
of all sin. You can’t just do what you want to do, whenever you want to do it. You’re a role model—not only to the youth in the church, but to the kids at your school, the kids in the community. Even a lot of adults look up to you.”

“But I never asked for anyone to look up to me.”

“Neither did Moses. Or Abraham,” he said. “I know it’s not fair, but you have to set the example. The church needs you to be strong.
I
need you to be strong.”

Dad had been saying the same thing since I could
walk—how I was called to lead, to be an example of God’s glory. But that was easy for Dad to say—he didn’t have to pretend to be friends with all these people who supposedly looked up to me. He didn’t have to struggle to find things to talk about with the youth group.

“You keep talking about what everyone else needs, but what about Madeline?” I asked. “What about what she needs?”

Dad poured cream into his coffee and slowly stirred. “Over the past few days, I’ve made a few calls—done some checking up on Madeline’s father like you asked. And there’s no hint of him abusing her in any way. I also called him this morning and asked him outright. Of course, he denied everything, and was understandably upset when I broached the subject.”

“But that doesn’t mean he didn’t do anything.”

Dad drank some coffee. “Did Madeline ever tell you why her father refused to pay her tuition to Brown?”

“He hates her, that’s why.”

He shook his head. “Madeline got
kicked
out of her prep school. She was caught with a boy and with drugs in her dorm room.”

I shifted in my seat. “Everyone makes mistakes—”

“The drugs were in plain sight on her dresser, she and the boy were drunk, and they were…in a very compromising position.”