Barefoot Summer (14 page)

“You take good care of him. Don’t they do laundry here?”

“Sure.”

“Mrs. Doolittle said you washed his socks.”

“They’re his favorites—his feet get cold—and they kept disappearing.” He shrugged.

“He’s lucky to have you. Some of the residents are so lonely. It’s sad.”

“Is that why you come?” His eyes shifted to hers, locked on, and didn’t let go.

“Animals make people happy. Besides, I like the folks here. Older people are storehouses of wisdom. It’s too bad people forget that.” She stroked the cat, and he purred in his sleep. “You and your grandpa must’ve been close.”

“I was just ten when we moved in with him.”

“You and your sister and your dad?”

He nodded. His dad had been in and out of jail a lot through his teen years. She hadn’t thought about what had happened to Beckett and Layla when he was away.

“What about your mom?”

He folded his arms on the table, looked at his hands.

“Sorry, I’m being nosy.”

“She left when we were young. I saw her off and on. She’s somewhere in California now, remarried.”

She thought of her own tight-knit family. Sure, they were sometimes in each other’s business, they could be a pain in the patootie, but she couldn’t imagine life without them.

“Grandpa practically raised us. He was the one who took us to church. Rain, sleet, snow, didn’t matter. Nine o’clock on Sunday morning, we were out the door, driving to church in his big brown Oldsmobile whether we wanted to or not.”

Madison smiled. “It was the same in our family. If you wanted to skip, you’d better have a fever.”

“Know all about that. A thermometer and a glass of warm water will do the trick. Put a little soap in your eyes to make them nice and bloodshot, and it’ll get you out of just about anything.”

Madison laughed. “You naughty boy.”

“He caught on when I was thirteen. Turns out the trick is not using it too often.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“I gave him a run for his money, but he never backed down. I’m grateful he made me go now. He did it because he loved me.”

“You go to church with my friend Cassidy, I think.”

“Riverview Community. Good people. The ladies’ group sends cards and homemade goodies to my grandpa, and the men’s group visits him.”

And Beckett worked on cars for widows and mowed the church lawn. “You’ve changed a lot since high school.”

He smirked. “Go ahead and say it. I was an idiot.”

Madison smiled. “You were misguided.”

And so had she been, about Beckett. She looked into his eyes and realized she hadn’t given him a fair shake. People grew up. Life happened, people changed.

She’d based her belief of what had happened to Jade on ancient history, and that hadn’t been fair. Whatever went down that night wasn’t his fault—she was sure of it.

“Tell me about your boats. How did you get into that?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Initially I just wanted to build one for myself. Something cheap and serviceable. Once I got going, cheap and serviceable went out the window. I enjoyed
the process and decided to build another. Sold it to a tourist, and it just kind of grew from there.”

Madison liked watching the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his boats.

“It’s just a hobby at this point,” he added.

“You should grow it into a business. Start a website and stuff.”

“I plan to, but that takes money. If I win the regatta this year, that’s what I’m doing with the prize money, get my business off the ground. Someday I hope to build boats full-time.”

They each had their goals for winning the regatta, then. It was too bad they both couldn’t win. “Who’s on your crew?”

“No crew. I sail alone.”

“No one else to mess things up?”

“It’s cost me the cup twice. Too much at stake this year.”

The conversation turned from sailing to Madison’s boat. They talked and laughed, and she lost all track of time until Mrs. Doolittle stopped in the doorway, eyeing them over her bifocals, lips pursed.

“What are you two doing? It’s way past visiting hours.” She crossed her arms, waiting, like they were four-year-olds caught raiding the cookie jar.

Beckett checked his watch, his brows shooting up.

“Whoops.” Madison stood, cradling the cat, and pushed in her chair under Mrs. Doolittle’s watchful eyes.

“Good night,” Beckett told the nurse on their way out.

She could feel Mrs. Doolittle’s eyes on her back as they walked down the quiet hall.

“You’re a bad influence,” Madison whispered.

Beckett spared her a glance, and Madison couldn’t hold it back any longer. Their laughter echoed down the hall. She could almost see Mrs. Doolittle’s look of disapproval.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

B
ECKETT FOLLOWED
M
ADISON INTO HER HOUSE
. A
FTER HER
sailing lesson, they’d worked on her boat, and when she’d offered popcorn and soda, he’d seen no reason to turn her down. Their relationship was more comfortable since their chat at the nursing home the week before.

Madison was an astute student, even outside the classroom. She’d had a couple of lessons with Evan since he’d been out with her last. Beckett was amazed at how quickly she’d picked up sailing terms and racing techniques. Looked like she wasn’t going to be an Achilles’ heel for Evan after all. Beckett had better bring his A game on racing day.

He was enjoying Madison’s company and found himself hoping Evan had to work every Saturday. She had an ability to laugh at herself that he found surprising and admirable. Just today she’d tripped over her own feet on the way to her car, landing facedown in the grass before he could catch her. He thought she’d be embarrassed, but she’d laughed until she had tears in her eyes. She still had that same melodic laugh. He could listen to it all day.

“Coke or Sprite?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Coke. I’ll get it.” He joined her in the kitchen where she handed him the two-liter and two glasses.

“I’ll get the popcorn started. I use an air popper. None of those microwave bags for me.”

He filled the glasses with ice. “Didn’t think they made those anymore.”

“It belonged to my parents. They went the microwave route.”

“Along with the rest of America.”

“Say what you like, air popping is faster and cheaper. Plus, there’s no oil.”

“We’re eating it dry?”

She laughed at the look on his face. “Oh no, I drown it in melted butter. It’s much better than oil.”

“Had me scared.” He poured the soda and waited for the foam to die down.

They’d finished the sanding tonight. Both of them had dust and paint chips in their hair and on their clothes, despite their efforts to brush off at the door.

“What color will you paint the boat?”

Madison entered the pantry. “Dark blue. I’ll pick it up on Monday. What kind should I buy?”

“A good metallic primer. Don’t waste your money on marine paint. House paint enamel works fine. Get a roller and a good brush. If we work together, we should be able to get a good finish. Soon as she dries up, we’ll see what kind of shape she’s in mechanically.”

“Sounds good.”

“Have a name picked out?”

A clatter sounded. “Uh-oh.”

He turned to see Madison on tiptoe, the popcorn machine teetering in her outstretched fingertips.

He was behind her in a flash, taking the machine. She fell back on her heels, and he caught her around the middle with his free arm.

She seemed to freeze there, her body all soft and curvy against his. His throat went dry. He caught a whiff of her honeysuckle shampoo, and his grip tightened on the machine.

“Thanks,” she whispered, turning in his arms. Her eyes caught and held his. Her bangs fell into her eyes, tangling with her eyelashes. He knew a moment of wanting so intense he felt powerless against it.

Her lips parted. “Michael’s Dream.”

Her words caught him off guard. “What?”

“The boat—that’s what I’m naming her.”

Michael’s Dream . . .

“He wanted to be the youngest Regatta winner ever—before his twenty-seventh birthday. That’s coming up, but I’m going to make it happen in time, thanks to you and Evan.”

That’s what this was all about? The lessons, the boat, the regatta? He’d assumed it was the competition or the cash prize—same as him, same as many others who turned out for the race.

It wasn’t the money at all, but her dead brother’s dream. The dream Beckett had stolen.

Thanks to him,
she’d said. Beckett had no right to be here with his arm around her. Had no right to be here at all, thinking about the way she smelled, the way she felt against him. Why did he keep forgetting that?

He stepped away. “I’m sorry, I—I need a rain check.”

She blinked, her eyes clouding. “But . . . the popcorn will only take a minute.”

She wanted to be friends, but he’d been stupid to think that was going to work. Stupid to think he could settle for that. Not with Madison. Not ever.

He set the machine on the nearest countertop. “Sorry. Another
time.” He didn’t even look at her again. One look in those confused brown eyes, and he’d only be tempted to stay.

The room went quiet after Beckett left. Coke sizzled in the half-full glasses, the ice cubes crackled. What had happened? One minute things were friendly, they were pouring soda, making plans. The next he was hightailing it out the door. Hadn’t something similar happened just a couple weeks ago? She’d thought they’d made big strides since then.

Apparently not.

When she’d felt his hand at her waist, the heat of his body against her back, she’d remembered in a hurry why friendship was so difficult. There were enough sparks between them to start a fire.

At least for her. But he hadn’t exactly acted on it, had he?

That’s the problem, Madison.
Didn’t he back away at every turn? When she’d tried to touch him, when she’d stumbled into him in the pantry. Maybe he’d even thought she’d contrived the incident just hoping to wind up in his arms. Was that why he’d practically run for the door?

Her mood at an all-time low, Madison put the popcorn machine on a low shelf and poured the Coke into one glass. She sank onto the sofa, the long night stretching ahead. The house was too quiet.

The thought of facing him again made her face burn.
When are you going to get it through your head, Madison? He’s not interested. Not. Interested. So just keep your hands to yourself.

Besides, she had Jade to consider. Her sister had been happier the night of her date with Beckett than she’d been in months. And
Beckett must have feelings for Jade too. Hadn’t he sent those letters? Taken her to the banquet? He
had
sent those letters, right?

She got up and went to Jade’s room. The space still carried a hint of Jade’s favorite perfume, a soft oriental fragrance. Her sister had shown her the notes as she’d received them. She kept them in her nightstand drawer.

Madison pulled it open, surprised to see Jade had left them.

She pulled out the thin stack and settled on Jade’s bed. A pressed pink rose lay on top, its edges brittle. Jade had found the flower on the seat of her car after church one Sunday.

The next was a poem, “She Walks in Beauty” by Lord Byron. She remembered scrutinizing the paper with Jade, looking for clues. It wasn’t ordinary notebook paper. The dimensions were smaller, the edges perforated. It was off-white with fine gray lines.

The words were typed on a beige square of paper and centered on the sheet. The entire thing had been folded into neat thirds. She read the lovely verses now and had trouble imagining Beckett choosing the poem. Jade must bring out the romantic in him. No wonder he kept running away from Madison.

Next was a short note that Jade had found on her car after work, handwritten in neat print on the same type of paper, folded the same way. “Your music makes my heart sing.” It was one of two handwritten items, but they hadn’t recognized the printing. It was easy enough to disguise one’s handwriting though.

She opened a red card with a pink heart centered on the front. “Happy Valentine’s Day from your secret admirer. XXXOOO.”

The others were much the same, giving away nothing about the man who’d written them. Had Jade been as clueless about her admirer’s identity as she’d claimed? Had she truly been in the dark until Beckett had shown up on their doorstep?

Madison put the items back in the drawer. What did it matter? The date had been a disaster, and now Jade was gone.

Madison needed to forget about Beckett, just get through the rest of her lessons, and she wouldn’t have to see him anymore. The thought should’ve buoyed her spirits. Instead, they sank even lower.

What was wrong with her? Was she that lonely, that she anticipated time with an uninterested man? A man who was apparently pining for her sister?

Had Madison actually begun to have feelings for Beckett?

She shook her head. It was only chemistry. The memory of that kiss so long ago—so forgotten by him—was toying with her emotions. She needed to forget about it, focus on the regatta and the play. She had plenty to keep her busy, including Drew.