Barefoot Summer (29 page)

By the fourth page, tears streaked her face and kept coming as she articulated her anger at her loss and the pain of missing Michael. At the injustice of his death, of being cheated of years together. She wrote of her anger at Beckett for his role in the death.

She knew God was real. Knew He was omnipotent, ever-present, all that. Of course He knew her thoughts. Spilling them onto the page didn’t make them any more real, but somehow doing so was a release.

You see all this, God? I’m a wreck, You know.

But He knew that too, of course. After writing almost an hour,
she rested her hand on the journal. Her fingers hurt from clutching the pen, her eyes ached. Her heart felt bruised and battered.

I’m at the bottom here, God. I can’t sleep, I can barely function, I’m losing my job. What do You want from me?

Just you.

The words fell quietly, a feather lighting softly upon her heart. Her eyes burned
. I’m not sure You want me, God. I haven’t been very . . .

A thought niggled in her mind until the memory surfaced. She’d been in the ninth grade, and Michael had found her after school, stretched facedown across her bed, crying.

The mattress sank as he perched on the edge. “What’s wrong, Madders?”

She sat up, wiping her face. She could tell Michael anything. Even this, and he wouldn’t feel any differently about her. That was the best thing about having him for a brother.

Nonetheless, heat filled her cheeks. “I got caught cheating today in biology.”

He tilted his head. “You’re the smartest girl in the class.”

“I was helping Tricia Blevins cheat.” Tricia was the It Girl, and Madison had only wanted her friendship. “I got a detention! Mom and Dad are going to find out, and they’ll be so disappointed.”

He gave a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, that’ll stink.” He nudged her shoulder. “But they’ll know you’re sorry.”

“I can’t believe I did that. For stupid Tricia Blevins!” She dashed the tears away.

Michael was quiet for a minute. “Everybody makes mistakes, Madders. But they’ll forgive you, and so will God.”

“What good’ll that do? I’ll still get grounded.”

“Yeah, probably. But He’ll take the guilt away. That’s the worst part, I think.”

He had a point. The guilt had eaten at her all afternoon. Her stomach was in knots. Michael wasn’t like her though. He never would’ve done something so foolish.

“I don’t think God wants to hear from me. I’m not like you, Michael.”

“God takes us just like we are. He wants a relationship with us. Isn’t that cool?”

Madison didn’t know what that meant. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but how did a person have a relationship with an invisible God? He wasn’t here to hold her, to talk to her, to laugh or cry with her. Sometimes she didn’t understand Michael at all.

Now the mantel clock chimed the hour, drawing Madison from the memory. Did God really want a relationship with her? What did that look like, exactly? She thought of her parents. They led ordinary lives, but she couldn’t deny they had something she lacked. Was that the kind of relationship Michael had meant?

Madison began writing again.
I don’t understand all this, God, but I want what they have. I’ve made a mess of everything, and I can’t do this alone anymore. Take my anger, and help me through this. Forgive my sins and come into my life and show me what to do.

Something began loosening inside of her, working free from a tight, tangled knot. She began writing again. By the time she set down the pen, pages of the journal were filled with words, and her heart was filled with a quiet peace.

The smell of garlic and oregano turned Beckett’s stomach. Cappy’s was almost full, chairs turned toward the various TVs,
blaring the Reds and Cubs pregame. In the billiard room, a noisy game of pool was under way.

Beckett ordered drinks and settled into his seat. What a terrible day. He hadn’t heard from Madison—not that he’d expected to. He felt like a jerk for telling her, felt like a jerk for
waiting
to tell her.

He’d thought it was the right thing. He should’ve done it long ago, but it was too late to fix that. Too late to fix a lot of things.

Across the restaurant, Layla was entering, her long-legged stride eating up the distance. She greeted friends on the way, then slid into the booth, the smile dropping from her face as she looked at him.

“Have you been watching
Old Yeller
again? ’Cause you can’t say I didn’t warn you about that.”

He looked away, toward the TV, where a commentator was waxing eloquent about tonight’s pitching lineup.

She touched his arm. “Hey, you okay? Is it Dad? Grandpa?”

“No.”

“You and Madison have a fight?”

He had no desire to get into it. “Something like that.” His thoughts went back to the night before. He remembered the look in Madison’s eyes, couldn’t seem to scour it from his mind. She’d felt betrayed, and could he blame her?

Layla tilted her head, studying him. “You really love her. It’s written all over your face—and that’s saying a lot.”

He met her gaze, the truth of her words hitting him hard. He clenched his jaw. He did love her. So much. For so long. And yet look what he’d done. He’d hurt her. The weight of it pressed on his shoulders.

“Does she feel the same?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know.” They hadn’t
gotten that far yet, and maybe that was for the best. Bad enough his own heart was broken.

He pictured the look on Madison’s face, the hurt in her eyes. No, he wasn’t the only one nursing a broken heart.

“I’m no good for her, Layla.”

“That’s not true.”

He shook his head. He’d only hurt her. He’d been the cause of her greatest pain. She would never look at him again without remembering he was to blame for Michael’s death. That he’d kept it to himself all these years.

Her family wouldn’t forget either. Mr. McKinley would realize he’d been right about Beckett all along. He could see it now at the next family barbecue. “
What did I tell you? That O’Reilly boy is bad news. You’re better off without him, Madison.”

Layla grabbed his arm. “Stop it right now.”

“What?”

“You know what. You’re telling yourself you’re not good enough again, and I won’t have it.”

“Let it go, Layla.”

She shoved his arm. “You let it go.”

She saw him through the rosy glasses of a little sister. He couldn’t blame her for that. He hoped she never took them off, but
he
knew better. He knew what he’d done, and so did Madison. Her whole family probably knew by now.

“You’re a good man, Beck. You’ll make a great husband someday, a terrific father.”

He gave a wry smile. “Because I had such a great example? Don’t you ever wonder how many of Dad’s genes we got? Even Mom’s. Let’s face it, we got gypped in the genetics department.”

“We still have choices. We can choose to be the kind of people
we want to be. You’ve always been there for me, Beckett. Even when we were kids. You’d show up at my volleyball games and track meets like you were my parent or something. You deserve someone special. If that’s Madison, don’t let her go.”

He couldn’t deny how much he wanted to believe those words. But Layla didn’t know what he’d done. Didn’t know the secret that had eaten at him all these years. Didn’t know the pain he’d just caused the woman he loved.

He stuck the menu in the holder. “I’m sorry. I’m not hungry. I can’t do this.”

She grabbed his arm. “Beckett.”

“I should get home. Make sure Dad doesn’t pass out on the bathroom floor.”

“Talk to her, Beck. Couples fight, it’s a normal part of relationships. Don’t stew on it—that only makes it worse.”

There was nothing normal about this. He forced a smile as he stood, dropping a twenty on the table. “Get yourself the Whole Shebang. You can take home the leftovers—if there are any.”

She frowned at him. “You’re a stubborn man, Beckett.”

“Only when I’m right.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

M
ADISON PULLED INTO HER PARENTS
’
DRIVE, HER THOUGHTS
heavy. She’d called her mom that afternoon and told her about the journaling, about her decision. Madison also told her she wanted to talk to Pastor Adams about being baptized soon. She’d heard the tears in her voice when Mom responded.

The other piece of news had to be delivered in person though. If tears were shed tonight, they wouldn’t be happy ones. She had an hour before the final dress rehearsal, time enough, she hoped, to break the news and leave them to digest it.

She wound her way up the winding gravel drive, taking the familiar turns without thought. It would be hard for her parents to hear how Michael had died. She hated to reopen old wounds, but they had a right to know.

Beckett.

Anger and hurt flooded through her in equal parts, followed by a trickle of sympathy. The look on his face, the quiver in his voice as he’d explained. She pushed back the memory and let the others rise high and fast. Anger was easier, more familiar, less vulnerable.

She pulled up to the house and spotted her parents on the porch swing, enjoying the last days of summer.

A moment later she climbed the wooden steps, searching for
words to soften the blow. After they greeted each other, Madison sank into an Adirondack chair. The familiar squeak of the swing comforted her.

“Beautiful evening, isn’t it?” Dad said.

“It’s perfect. Corn looks real good, Daddy. Getting high.”

“It’s been a prosperous year so far, thank the Lord. I love a good harvest.” He gave her a smile. “Speaking of harvest . . .”

“Mom told you.”

“I’m so happy for you, honey,” he said.

“We both are.”

“It was a long time coming.” She knew she still had work to do. But she had God and the love of a supportive family. She had a lot working in her favor.

“I owe you an apology about Beckett,” Dad said. “I was watching him with you when you were here the other night. I guess I misjudged him.”

Madison sighed. He was going to feel differently in a few minutes. “Thanks, Dad.”

“You hungry?” Mom asked. “There’s pulled pork and sweet corn left over.”

Her stomach turned at the mention of food. “Not hungry, but thanks.”

Her parents, snuggled up on the swing, had obviously been enjoying a moment. They’d taken to the empty nest so naturally, Madison and her siblings had joked with them about being offended.

“I heard from Jade today,” Mom said.

“You did?” Madison hadn’t spoken with her since the regatta.

“She called the store. Sounded pretty good, I thought. It was so nice to hear her voice.”

“Is she still working at the café?”

“That’s what she said. I guess she’s making good tips.”

Dad curled his arm around Mom’s shoulder. “I hope so, what with those city prices.”

“She’s still sharing a place with her friend, and they finally got a phone.”

Madison took out her cell and plugged in the number as Mom cited it. “Makes me feel better knowing I can reach her.”

“I know what you mean,” Mom said. “She’ll be fine.”

“I miss her. The house feels so empty.”

The swing continued its rhythmic creak. The wind rustled the leaves and made a shushing sound as it swept through the distant cornfields. A sound so familiar she could hear it in her sleep.

“Might as well spit it out, whatever it is,” Dad said.

“Thomas.”

“Well, something’s eating at her.”

“He’s right, Mom.” Madison picked at a fleck of paint on the chair’s arm. “I just don’t know where to start.”

“Take your time, honey. We’ve got all night.”

Madison looked them over. Her mom’s small frame curled into her dad’s side. Was she going to shatter their peace? She didn’t want to hurt them. They’d been through so much.

She just had to say it. They were strong. Stronger than she’d ever been. And they had God to depend on. A priceless comfort, she was beginning to realize.

“I—I found out something recently that I have to tell you. It has to do with Michael. With his death.”

Dad’s lips fell to a straight line. The crinkles at the corners of Mom’s eyes softened.

“I was talking with Beckett, and he told me he was there that day. Swimming in the river. With Michael.”

Mom looked at Dad, and he squeezed her shoulder.

“I always wondered what made him jump. He wasn’t a risk taker, you know? But now . . . now it all makes sense.” She looked between them. “Beckett told me he dived from the cliff that day. He told me he—” This was the hardest part. “He told me he teased Michael because he wouldn’t jump. I don’t think in a mean way, just, you know . . .” Why was she making excuses for him? She snapped her mouth shut.

“Oh, honey . . .”

“Obviously I was very upset with him. I basically ended our relationship. I can’t believe he never told us. Never told me.”

“Jo . . . ,” Dad said.

“I hate thinking of it, Michael there, all alone trying to prove something to himself, and just the sheer pointlessness of it all. All that’s bad enough, but knowing Beckett knew, that he kept it from all of us, and kept it from me even when I was starting to . . .”
Fall in love with him.