Saving Maddie (3 page)

I took a quick sip of water to wash away the dry, chalky taste in my throat. “Did you know she was back in town?”

He nodded. “Her father told me she’d be spending the summer with her aunt Gwendolyn. I made a few calls and was able to get her a job down at Yvonne Brockington’s coffee shop.”

That explained the coffee smell.

“I would have said something earlier, but first I wanted to see if she’d actually come to service,” he said. “Greg warned me that she’d probably be more interested in making a scene than recommitting herself to her faith.”

I pushed around a few grains of rice with my fork. “Do you know what happened to her? She’s so … different now.”

Dad swallowed the last of his roast beef. “Supposedly she got involved with some boy at that fancy boarding school her father sent her to, and things went downhill from there. She got accepted to Brown—even got a partial scholarship—but Greg refused to pay the rest of her
tuition.” Dad pushed his empty plate away from him. “According to Greg, he wasn’t about to spend his hard-earned money on Maddie’s schooling just to have her prancing around campus, wasting his money on tight skirts and black lipstick.”

“Her dress wasn’t that tight,” I said. “And her lipstick is purple, not black.”

“Purple, black, blue—it doesn’t really matter,” Mom said. “It breaks my heart every time I talk to Greg or Paulette—that girl seems to cause them more grief than any parent should have to bear.” Mom shook her head. “We just have to keep praying for Maddie and hope she eventually gets all this nonsense out of her system.”

Mom returned to eating her salad, but Dad just stared at me. “Maybe we should do more than just pray for her,” he said.

“You want me to speak to her?” Mom asked. “I can probably find some time next—”

“Actually, I think Joshua should talk to her.”

You would have thought I was born mute, as speechless as I was right then.

Mom placed her fork on her plate. “Isaiah, don’t you think I’d be better suited to talk to her? I’ve been counseling young women for quite a few years.”

“She and Joshua used to be best friends,” Dad said. “If anyone could get through to her, he could. Maybe he could stop by the coffee shop one day and strike up a conversation.”

Yeah, I could do that. I’d be happy to do that.

“And then what is he supposed to do? Tie her up and beat her over the head with a Bible?” Mom’s voice was a controlled shout. “Joshua’s only seventeen, Isaiah. He’s not—”

“Joshua’s a good kid, Lily. It’ll take a lot more than a simple conversation to sway him off his path.” Dad rose from the table. “I’ve got to run. I’ve got a meeting at the church in less than an hour, and I still have to finish preparing my notes. We can talk about this more tonight.”

Mom watched Dad disappear down the hallway, the frown on her face deepening as each second passed. “I think I’m finished with dinner,” she said after a few moments. “You want anything else to eat?”

I looked at the mountain of meat sitting on my plate. “Thanks, but I’m okay.”

Mom rose from her chair but didn’t move away from the table. “I know you want to impress your father, but you don’t have to talk to Madeline if you don’t want to. He’s putting you in an uncomfortable situation.”

“Really, I don’t mind.” I did my best to keep my voice cool and calm, to try to hide the fireworks popping off in my chest.

“Maybe I should rephrase that.
I
don’t want you seeing Madeline.” Mom squeezed the back of her chair, her fingers disappearing in its plush cream cushioning. “Madeline used to be one of the smartest, sweetest girls I knew, but that was a long time ago. There’s no telling what type of person she is now.”

I stared at Mom’s hands, wondering if they would leave
a permanent imprint in the chair. “I just want to talk to her,” I said. “We’re Christians. It’s our job to help people, right?”

She released her grip on the chair, then picked up her half-full plate. “That sounds like something your father would say.” She headed toward the kitchen but paused at the doorway. “Fine, go talk to the girl if you want to. But remember—you can’t save people who don’t want to be saved.”

A few seconds later, I heard glasses clinking in the sink and the rush of water from the faucet. I plopped my elbows onto the table and buried my head in my hands.

I probably should have been thinking about what I was going to say to Madeline—how I was going to lead her back to the path of the righteous—but all I could do was think about her lips. Their color. Their … taste.

I had no doubt that Madeline Smith needed saving. I just wasn’t quite sure if I was interested in being her savior.

chapter 2

I
t had been four months since Jenn and I broke up—or rather, since she dumped me—but I still felt strange visiting the nursing home without her. Although it was
my
high school, not hers, that had adopted the Faith Nursing Home, she often came out and visited with me during the school year. Now that school was out, I was probably the only student who still came by during the summer months. Not that I minded—I really liked visiting the senior citizens. I just missed having someone to come visit them with me.

It wasn’t just our trips to the nursing home that I missed. I missed playing Scrabble and watching old
movies with her. I missed the way she laughed at my bad jokes. I missed seeing her at youth group meetings. I missed the way my parents would smile when she came over to visit.

Of course, I also missed all the making out, but I wasn’t supposed to be focusing on the physical parts of the relationship, right? She wasn’t a piece of meat. She was my girlfriend. My perfect girlfriend.

My perfect
ex
-girlfriend.

Even now, I could still hear her sweet, high-pitched voice as she gave me the news.

I’m sorry, Joshua, but I think we should break up. I want a boyfriend, not a saint.

Truthfully, I was a little surprised, but I assumed it’d be like any of our other arguments. She’d be mad for a few days, but she’d eventually get over it. I mean, yeah, compared to other guys, maybe I was a “good guy.” But so what? She was a good girl. Good girls belonged with good guys.

But then three days without her calling turned into three weeks. Jenn even stopped coming to church, instead attending Catholic Mass with her father.

Charlotte, Tony’s girlfriend, attended the same school as Jenn, so I constantly prodded her for information. All Charlotte would do was change the subject.

Finally, I broke down and called Jenn. And it was then that she told me she was seeing someone else.

Later, Tony and Charlotte told me that not only was Jenn dating her lab partner (who, incidentally, was a stud
football player with hands big enough to rip a phone book in half), but she had
slept
with him.

Jennifer Anne Dowling—my perfect ex-girlfriend—had lost her virginity to someone else.

Of course, I was mad. No, not mad—livid. No, not livid—
incensed.
So what did I do?

I prayed for her soul.

And what’s worse, I prayed for her new boyfriend’s soul as well.

Why? Because the Bible said that premarital sex was wrong. Because I was supposed to forgive her for her transgressions. Because that was what my parents would have wanted me to do.

But even now, as I walked into the nursing home, all I wanted to do was find this new boyfriend of hers and smash my fist into his face. Then I wanted to find a new girlfriend and catch up on all the kissing and making out that I’d been missing out on.

Part of me even wanted to do more than make out.

But that wasn’t going to happen, because I was Joshua Wynn, the preacher’s son. I was supposed to be a shining example of what was good and righteous and wholesome in the world.

“Joshua, you okay?” Becca, the receptionist, asked as I signed in. “You look mad.”

I took a deep breath and forced a smile. “I’m okay.” I nodded toward the rec room. “Are they in there?”

“Of course. Where else would they be?”

I took a few more deep, calming breaths, then entered
the rec room. Leonard King and Mr. Rollins sat at a table in the corner, deep in a chess game. I hovered over Leonard’s shoulder but didn’t say anything. I had been visiting them long enough to know I should never interrupt them when they were playing chess.

Leonard scratched the stubble on his chin and leaned back. He muttered something under his breath and tapped his cane against the linoleum floor.

“Leonard, I’ma be dead by the time you make a move,” Mr. Rollins grumbled from across the table. He took off his felt hat and fanned himself. “Just move your damn piece so we can get this game over with.”

Leonard moved his leathery, wrinkled hand to the board and slid one of the black pieces to an adjoining square. “Your move,” he said. “But just so you know, there ain’t no way you can win.”

I stared at the board. It was still full of black and white chess pieces.

Mr. Rollins popped the brake on his wheelchair and inched closer to the table. The wrinkles on his forehead intensified as he studied the board. After a few seconds, he scowled and threw his hat to the ground. “I’ll be a sonofabitch….”

As Mr. Rollins continued to curse to himself, I grabbed a chair from a nearby table and sat down. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around more. Church stuff has been keeping me pretty busy.”

Leonard waved off my apology. “You ain’t missin’ nothin’ here,” he said. “Rollins still hasn’t won a game.”

“I woulda won last week, if Beatrice hadn’t knocked the board over,” Mr. Rollins said. “You’d think she woulda found a way to lose some of that weight after all these years.”

“I heard that, Carl Rollins,” Ms. Beatrice yelled from across the room. For an eighty-something-year-old woman, she had very good hearing.

“What’s a youngun like you doing here on a nice summer day like this?” Leonard asked. “You should be out courtin’.”

I picked up one of the chess pieces—the bishop. “I don’t have much time for dating.”

“What happened to that girl you used to bring over here?” Leonard asked.

“Jenn?” I shook my head. “We broke up. But I thought I told you that before.”

“Leonard can’t remember to wipe his own ass, much less what you told him a few months ago,” Mr. Rollins said.

Leonard chuckled. “Well, I still remember how to whup your butt playing chess.” He turned to me. “Sorry to hear about the girl. She seemed nice.”

Mr. Rollins elbowed me. “Don’t worry ’bout it. I’ve had four wives, and none of ’em were worth the trouble it took to keep ’em happy. You’re better off being by yourself.” Mr. Rollins opened his mouth like he was going to continue, but instead erupted into a series of harsh, wheezing coughs.

Everyone in the room held their breath. Mr. Rollins
had lung cancer, and ever since he had stopped his chemo treatments, his coughing fits had dramatically intensified to the point where it was almost painful to watch.

Mr. Rollins finally stopped struggling long enough to suck in a few breaths. “What the hell are y’all staring at?” he mumbled. “Why don’t one of y’all get me a cup of water or somethin’?”

Just then, one of the nurses walked in holding a paper cup. Mr. Rollins extended his trembling hand, took the cup, and then swallowed a gulp of water.

“You’d better lie down for a while, Rollins,” Leonard said. “You’re liable to cough up your last good lung if you don’t take it easy.”

Mr. Rollins shook his head. “Admit it—you’re just scared to play another game.”

The nurse placed her hand on Mr. Rollins’s shoulder. “I should take you to your room. You need your medicine.”

Mr. Rollins narrowed his eyes at the nurse before looking at me. “See what I mean? These women won’t do anything but ruin your life. Always trying to tell you what to do and where to go.”

The nurse began to wheel Mr. Rollins away. “Do you need anything?” I asked him.

“Naw, I’m good, but thanks for offering.” Then he winked. “But I wouldn’t be opposed to the nurse here givin’ me one of them sponge baths.”

The nurse swatted him on the arm. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” she said, although she was laughing. “You’re too old to be so bad.”

He grunted. “What the hell’s the point of living if you can’t be bad?”

*    *    *

My trip to the nursing home was the only part of my day that went according to plan. Choir practice ran almost an hour longer than I had anticipated, forcing me to cancel my committee meeting, which meant
I’d
be the one up late tonight working on the agenda for the Youth Revival. I was supposed to shoot hoops with Tony tomorrow, but I needed to stop by Foot Locker to buy a new pair of wristbands. And though I had a truckload of books to read for my advanced English class, I hadn’t come close to setting foot inside the library.

So if I had so many things to do, why did I suddenly have a hankering for a cup of coffee?

I ignored the time on my cell phone as I switched off the ringer and walked into Yvonne’s Coffee Shop. An older woman stood behind a counter filled with cakes and cookies. “What can I get for you?” she asked.

“I’m actually looking for Madeline,” I said. “Is she working tonight?”

The woman squinted at me for a second before turning toward the rear of the shop. “Madeline, come on out. The Wynn boy is here to see you.”

The Wynn boy?
I looked down at my chest to see if somehow I had been walking around with my name attached to the front of my shirt.

“Hey, Joshua,” Madeline said as she exited the back of the store. Just like a few days ago, her lips and fingernails
were painted dark purple. She had traded in her dress for jeans and a tank top, although one could argue that the tank top was more revealing than the dress. “What are you doing here?”

“I figured I’d drop by for a cup of coffee on my way home.”

“Then what can I get you?”

Good question.
I looked over the menu. I hated coffee. I couldn’t understand why someone would want to drink something so bitter.

All that being said, I was a guy—a man.
A manly man.
I couldn’t order one of those fluffy iced latte-type drinks. Not in front of Madeline.