Saving Maddie (7 page)

Madeline’s repeated jabs made it hard to concentrate. “It—it doesn’t matter what I think,” I stammered. “The Bible is my moral blueprint. It’s what I have to live by.”

“What is that—some line you heard from your father?” She jabbed me one last time, then moved away. “For your information, the Bible doesn’t even say that premarital sex is wrong. All it talks about is sexual immorality.”

“But clearly sexual immorality includes premarital sex.”

“Again, why? Because some preacher told you so?” She grabbed a black plastic bin from the counter and began busing one of the nearby tables. “Listen, if you want to say that premarital sex or drinking or cursing—or whatever—is wrong, that’s fine by me. But right now, you sound like all the other mindless sheep in the church, willing to follow their pastor anywhere, even if it’s off a goddamn cliff.”

“First of all, I’m not some mindless sheep. Second, it’s
a pastor’s
job
to lead parishioners—to help them to interpret the Bible. In the book of Jeremiah—”

“You don’t have to quote the verse, Joshua.” The way she was throwing plates on top of one another, I was sure one of them was going to break. “All I’m saying is, preachers are just men, just like anyone else. They can make mistakes. They can be wrong.”

I paused a few feet away from Madeline. I wanted to be angry, to continue arguing with her, but it wasn’t me she was mad at—that much I could tell.

“Madeline, does this have to do with why you stopped going to church? Was your father …
wrong
about something?”

“How about wrong about
everything.”
She placed another plate in the bin, this time much more softly. “Sorry for yelling at you. I tend to get really riled up sometimes.”

“It’s okay.” I took a step toward her; she took two steps farther away. “Hey, I can stick around a little longer, if you want to talk,” I said.

“Not much to talk about.”

“Are you sure—”

“I hate to be rude, but I’m going to be late if I don’t get this place cleaned up.” She walked to the farthest corner of the room. “You’d better go home.”

I watched Madeline bus another table. “Um, okay. I guess I’ll see you later.” The only response I got was the clanking of coffee cups.

I headed toward the door.
Maybe Mom was right. Maybe Madeline wasn’t ready to—

“Joshua,” she said, so soft that I almost didn’t hear her.

I stopped and turned. She had moved by the window—there was just enough yellow moonlight filtering through that I could catch her face. “I’m really glad you liked the book,” she said. “Come by the shop later on this week, and we’ll talk more. Okay?”

I nodded. She had invited me back. For tonight, maybe that was good enough.

chapter 5

T
he last thing I wanted to do was pull myself out of bed the next morning. For the first time in months, I’d gone a full night without dreaming about Jenn.

Unfortunately, my dreams were now frequented by a girl even more unattainable than my ex-girlfriend.

I glanced at the leather-bound Bible sitting on my desk. I hadn’t even made it through my nightly prayers before my mind had drifted to thoughts of Madeline. Thoughts of vanilla-scented hair, dark purple lips, and low, throaty moans. Thoughts of her warm, freckled flesh pressed against my skin.

But it wasn’t just Madeline’s body that I kept thinking
about. I kept playing her words over and over in my head, in cadence to the imaginary jab of her finger into my chest.

Why do you think it’s so wrong to have premarital sex?

It was a question I had never really thought about before. Until Madeline asked, I had never
had
to think about it. It was wrong. End of discussion.

But still, even though I knew it was wrong and that I couldn’t, wouldn’t do it, I found myself starting to wonder: Why
did
I think premarital sex was so wrong? Not that I knew a bunch of teens who were having sex, but I did know a few. And so far, none of them had fallen into a chasm of death and destruction. Most of them were pretty normal. Most of them were like me—except they were having sex and I wasn’t.

After my alarm clock went off for the third time, I knew I had to get out of bed if I had any intention of getting to church by the time the service started. I hurriedly showered, dressed, and rushed out the door.

I was still fifteen minutes late by the time I slipped into the sanctuary. Dad flashed me a small smile as one of the white-gloved ushers led me to a pew. Just as I squeezed into a seat beside big-boned Bobby Taylor, my phone vibrated in my coat pocket. I flipped open the phone; I had been text-messaged.

Where r u? MMS

It took a second for the initials to register.
MMS
—Madeline Marie Smith.

My fingers tensed around the phone, my thumbs eager
to reply. I sank lower into my seat and tried to duck behind Mrs. Williams and her peacock-feathered hat.

At church. Call you back later?

I was about to hit Send, but then changed my mind. I erased the last sentence and added a new message.

At church. What’s up?

What’s up
—that sounded cool. More relaxed. That was the type of language I was supposed to be using, right?

Bobby Taylor shifted in his seat and grunted in my direction, but I didn’t peel my eyes away from the screen. A few seconds later:

I’m at church 2.

I glanced around the sanctuary. I didn’t see her anywhere. I wiped my hands on my slacks, then typed another message.

Where? I don’t see you.

I stared at the phone for what seemed like hours, waiting for her to respond. Finally, her reply popped onto the screen.

Outside. U know where.

By this time, Bobby Taylor was about to cough up a lung, he was grunting and clearing his throat so hard. I shut my phone and pushed past him. “Excuse me,” I mumbled.

As I stepped out of the pew, I caught Dad’s gaze again. But this time, I pretended I didn’t see him.

It had been years since I had gone out there, but I still remembered the way.

Past the new asphalt parking lot. Down the dirt path to the old wooden fence.

Except I didn’t have to jump over the fence this time. Whole sections of it lay on its side, almost obscured by tall prairie grass.

I had never wanted to run as much as I did right then. But I restrained myself. I didn’t want to look too eager. I didn’t want to get my hopes up.

The grove was as I remembered it, dark green and overrun with thorny shrubs and dead tree trunks. Brown vines and mysterious-looking splotches covered the old shed.

And just like before, the blackberry bush was there, covered in fruit.

Madeline sat on a weathered yellow blanket to the side of the shed. I wasn’t sure how long she had been there, but the blanket looked like it had been purposely showered with dead leaves. Unless I was mistaken, she wore the same clothes she had on yesterday.

“This place hasn’t changed at all, has it?” she said as I neared her.

“Mrs. Watson died a few years ago. She willed the land to her son, but I don’t think he makes it out here very often.”

“She died, huh. Thank God for small miracles.”

“Madeline, you can’t say—”

“She was a bitch. No one liked her. Not even you.” Madeline plucked a stray leaf from her jeans. “What did your dad end up doing to you that night, after he found out we had snuck out of church? Was he angry?”

“No, he wasn’t angry at all. He just reminded me that as his son, there were some things I couldn’t do.”

“He talked to you? That’s it? That’s all?

“Yeah.” I cautiously approached her, my feet crunching over long-dead leaves. “What did your father do?”

She snorted. “A hell of a lot more than talking.”

Although the grove was almost entirely surrounded by trees, a gust of wind somehow found its way through the branches and blew past us. Madeline wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

I took off my suit coat. “Here, take this.”

“No, I shouldn’t …,” she said, but she was already taking the coat. She slipped it over her arms; the sleeves went down to her palms. “Thanks,” she said. “I hope your coat doesn’t end up smelling like smoke.”

I sat down beside her. “You smoke?”

“Not me. Frank.” She shot me a crooked grin. “Smoking cigarettes is just about the only thing I don’t do.”

The wind blew through the trees again, and she pulled the coat tighter around her. I tried not to shake, even though the breeze cut through my shirt like water through a cheese grater. “I guess you’re wondering what I’m doing here,” she said. “And I guess you’re wondering why I’m wearing the same clothes I wore last night.”

I shrugged. “I figured you just liked blackberries a lot.”

“I wish.” She traced a path on the back of her hand, connecting freckle to freckle. “After Frank dropped me off this morning …” She paused for a second, maybe because of
the way I stiffened up. “After he dropped me off, I felt like talking to someone. I thought about calling you, but it was six o’clock in the morning. And Aunt Gwen was asleep.” Madeline tugged at the sleeves of the coat. “So I decided to call Mom. Unfortunately, Dad answered the phone.”

“What happened? What did y’all talk about?”

Her gaze floated back to her hands. “Let’s just say I’m not his favorite person in the world right now.”

I scooted closer to her. Her hair smelled like a mix of smoke and vanilla. “I’m sure he cares about you. You’re his daughter.”

“You didn’t hear what he said.”

I reached out and linked Madeline’s pinky finger in mine, like I used to when we were kids. Like I used to when she was just Maddie, not this purple-lipped stranger. “Well, I think you’re great.”

Her finger twitched. “You don’t even know me.”

“People don’t change on the inside.” I took her entire hand in mine. “You’re still the same girl you used to be five years ago, no matter how much you’ve grown.”

Her face shone in the yellow morning sun. “Thanks, but you shouldn’t lie like that. You’re a preacher’s kid.”

“You’re a PK as well.”

She smiled as she ran her thumb along the inside of my palm. It tickled, but only a little. Then she pulled away from me. “I think you should head back to church.” She started to slip out of my coat. “I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

I placed my hands on her shoulders. “I can stick
around for a little bit longer. What’s a few more minutes going to hurt?” I made it a point to avoid catching a glimpse of my watch.

“But …” She nibbled on her bottom lip. “Well, maybe for a few more minutes. I kind of like the company.”

I helped Madeline reposition the coat on her shoulders. She turned the collar up so that the fabric rested against her cheek.

I liked the way she looked in my coat. It was much too big for her, but she looked safe in the oversized sleeves.

“I was actually surprised when you returned my text message,” she said. “I figured you’d have your phone off during service.”

“If it had been off, you could have always come into the sanctuary.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Madeline looked down at her jeans. “Those folks would’ve chased me out if I had come in wearing this. I’m surprised they didn’t try to kick me out last week.”

“Madeline, I know we can be a little conservative—”

“Conservative? How about downright mean?” She pointed at me, hard and angry. “You people are quick to ask for forgiveness, but won’t think twice about condemning others for the same mistakes.” She shook her head. “If I was God, I’d be pretty damn ashamed of how fucked up the church has gotten.”

Madeline paused to take a breath. I wanted to argue with her, but honestly, I didn’t know where to start. Just like last night, she had gone from playful to fuming in a
matter of seconds—and I had no idea why. Did she really think all Christians were that bad?

“Not all of us think like that, you know.”

She sighed. “I know.” She placed her hand on my arm, close to my elbow. The cold from her fingers seeped through my white cotton shirt, chilling my skin. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you last night. You’re not … you’re not like everyone else. And neither is your dad—he actually cares about his congregation.”

“But I’m sure your dad—”

“He’s an asshole.” Her fingers dug into my flesh. “He’s got all of Sunset Valley Baptist Church convinced he’s damn near the second coming of Christ, but he doesn’t give two shits about those people.” Any second now, I thought she was going to puncture one of the veins in my arm. “He’s a phony, and he’s an asshole. A big, fat asshole.”

She looked down, like she finally realized it was
my
skin she was digging into. “Sorry about that,” she said, removing her hand.

The outline of her hand still showed on my shirtsleeve. “Madeline, what happened between—”

“Let’s not talk about my dad, okay? I’ve wasted too much of my life thinking about him.”

I nodded. “You know, my dad has his faults, too. He won’t let us start a praise-dance team.”

Her lips turned up a little. It wasn’t a smile, but it was close. “You’re thinking about starting a praise-dance ministry?”

“Well, some of the girls in the youth group want to start a praise-dance team. Dad doesn’t think the congregation will go for it.”

“He’s probably right. But don’t give up on the idea. I think it could really work.”

I hated to admit it, but I wondered if I had already given up on the idea.

“I tried to get my father to start a praise-dance ministry; I hope you have better success than I did.” She placed her hand on mine. “Programs like that may not get people into heaven, but it keeps them out of trouble. At least, it’s supposed to keep them out of trouble.”

“I’m sure my father would
love
to hear that.”

“Just because he doesn’t want to hear it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t say it.” She stared at me; the weight of her brown eyes shook me to the very foundations of my soul. “If the girls in your youth group really want to start a praise-dance ministry, you should do it.”