CHAPTER NINE
“HOW ARE THE SAILING LESSONS COMING?” MOM PASSED THE platter of burgers to Madison.
Twilight had draped the backyard in shadows, and a breeze wafted though the yard, rustling the canopy of leaves and cooling the air.
Beside her, Grandpa heaped a spoonful of corn onto his plate, then pushed his glasses into place. “Sailing lessons?”
“She’s going to sail the regatta this year,” PJ said, massaging her temple.
“I’ll bring the boat over later tonight if you want,” Ryan said.
“Sure. I need to get started on it.” Madison looked at Mom. “I’m actually working on swimming right now.”
“Swimming?” Dad said. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
Mom was staring at her, eyes seeing everything. “You okay, hon? You still look tired.”
“I’m fine.”
“She’s probably afraid to fall asleep,” Dad said. “Recurrent nightmares from when she was a baby.” He winked at Mom.
At the mention of nightmares, her gaze bounced off Ryan’s.
Mom tipped her chin up. “How was I to know she’d pick the one time I laid her on the couch to learn to roll over? Besides, it wasn’t a long drop.” The oft-repeated defense was useless. Dad would never let her live it down.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” PJ said, still rubbing her temples. “You only left Madison with a few scars. I’m the one you should feel guilty about. By the time I came along, playing with fire was an acceptable after-school activity. And where are all those pictures of me again?”
“Poor baby,” Ryan said. “I wasn’t allowed out of the house until I was eighteen.”
“You have a headache, hon?” Mom asked PJ.
“For three days in a row.”
“Want some aspirin?”
“I already took some. I’m starting to think something’s wrong.”
On her other side, Daniel rolled his eyes. Their surrogate brother knew what they all did: PJ was always thinking something was wrong.
“Must be a brain tumor,” Ryan said.
Mom swatted his arm. “That’s not funny.”
PJ made a face at Ryan. “You’ll feel bad if it really is.”
“Didn’t you say you were giving up caffeine again?” Madison asked.
“Well, yeah, since Tuesday. But come to think of it, I have been feeling kind of woozy. Maybe I should Google my symptoms.”
“You are such a hypochondriac,” Ryan said.
“Speaking of caffeine,” Mom said. “There’s a pot brewing if anyone wants some.”
“Oooh.” PJ bit her lip, looking at Madison. “You want some, don’t you? Then you could give me just a tiny little sip.”
“Who’d you say is teaching you to swim, Madison?” Grandpa asked, turning the topic on a dime.
“Um, Beckett O’Reilly.” She slathered mayo on her burger, wishing they could go back to the safer topic of brain tumors.
“O’Reilly?” Daniel frowned. “Isn’t he the one who chased Jade away?”
Mom set her hand on his arm. “Now, honey, we don’t know that.”
“I’ve heard things about him too,” Dad said. “I don’t know if I like this, Madison.”
Madison met her mom’s gaze and saw a flicker of understanding in her blue eyes. “People change, Thomas. He’s grown up now.”
Her dad’s frown hadn’t softened.
Madison looked away. “He won’t teach me to sail until I learn to swim.”
“Well, that sounds smart to me,” Grandpa said. “Why, in my day, your daddy took you to the swimming hole and tossed you in. You learned to swim soon enough.”
Reason number one why Grandpa wasn’t teaching her to swim.
“I thought it was Evan Higgins,” Mom said.
“It’s going to be a team effort—Evan’s work schedule picked up.”
“Did he ever tell you what happened with Jade that night?” Daniel asked, concern in his eyes. He had always taken to Jade especially, calling her “squirt” and tugging her hair.
“No, but I plan to get it out of him eventually.”
“You be careful,” Dad said. “I might do a little checking around . . .”
“Dad.”
Ryan took a huge bite of his burger just as his pager went off, followed by Daniel’s seconds later.
Volunteer firemen, they were on their feet in an instant, burgers in hand. The family wished them luck as they strode toward their cars. Madison watched her mom’s eyes close, watched her lips move in a silent prayer.
Two hours later Madison was directing Ryan as he backed the boat trailer into her drive. The fire run had been a minor car accident, freeing him up pretty quickly.
“Left a little . . . a little more . . . three feet. Okay, that’s good.”
Ryan got out of the truck and bent down to unhook the trailer. “Good thing you have a long driveway.”
When Lulu stuck her wet nose in his face, he ruffled her black and white fur.
Madison turned to stare at Michael’s old boat. It looked mammoth in her driveway and old under the naked bulbs at the side of her house. Just looking at it overwhelmed her. Aesthetically, the boat was an eyesore, but Michael had said she had good bones, and Michael had surely been right. She hoped.
Madison followed Ryan back to his truck. “Thanks for bringing her over,” she said at the window.
“Hope you know what you’re doing.”
She gave him a wry grin. “Not really.”
“Well, if I know you, you’ll figure it out. Let me know if I can help.”
“Thanks.” She leaned her elbows on the window frame. “How’s work going? You’re not in a hurry, are you?”
“I don’t have a date, if that’s what you’re asking.” He gave his charming half grin.
“Who, me?” She’d set Ryan up with a few of her friends. They all thought he hung the moon, but he’d been ambivalent at best. Truth be told, Madison didn’t think he’d ever gotten over his ex-wife. Abby had been his high school sweetheart. Sometimes Madison had wondered if their divorce had left his heart broken beyond repair.
His gaze went to her house. He wasn’t noticing the newly washed butter yellow siding or the freshly painted blue shutters, but the darkened windows and deafening quiet hovering over the yard.
Twin commas formed between his brows as he looked back to her. “You doing okay?”
She knew her mom’s comment about her looking tired wouldn’t go unnoticed. She also knew her makeup didn’t quite cover the dark circles under her eyes anymore.
“The dreams are coming more often.” Somehow calling it a dream softened the effect.
“Same one?”
She nodded. Jade had known she had an occasional nightmare. You couldn’t hide something like that from someone who slept in the next room. But Ryan was the only one she’d confided in.
“He’s gone, Mad,” Ryan said softly. “I know you loved him, we all did, but you’ve got to let him go.”
“Don’t you think I’ve tried? If I could just understand why. It’s always bothered me that we don’t know how he died.”
“He jumped off the cliff, got a concussion. Drowned. It was all in the autopsy report, hon.”
“But that wasn’t Michael. He was sensible. Can you imagine him doing something so crazy? It’s never made sense to me.”
“Maybe you should talk to someone, Mad.”
“I’m talking to you.”
“You know what I mean. Pastor Adams, maybe. He’s helped me through a rough time or two.”
A pastor was the last person she wanted to talk to, but she’d never tell Ryan that. Besides, the nightmares would end soon. Just as soon as she won the regatta.
“We used to have the same dreams,” she said. “Did you know that?”
“You and Michael?”
“Yeah.” She smiled. “We’d both dream of flying across a snowy field the same week, or even dream of the same thing on the same night. Once we both dreamed we were wearing
purple shoes. It was uncanny.”
“A twin thing, I guess. Did you guys ever have this dream you’ve been having lately?”
She shook her head. “It didn’t start until after he was gone.”
Ryan settled his elbow on the window frame. “Maybe the stress of Jade leaving is causing it to come more frequently.”
“Maybe. I’m worried about her.”
“I know. She’s a big girl though.”
“I never dreamed she’d go off on her own. I mean, where’s she sleeping? She must be running out of money. She didn’t have much in the bank.”
“I’ve been praying for her. Hope she comes back soon—I can tell it’s taking its toll on Mom. Dad too, he just hides it better.”
“I wish she’d call me.”
“At least she called Mom, so we know she’s okay.”
Or was a month ago. She knew Ryan was thinking the same thing, but neither of them wanted to say it.
“You be careful too, with O’Reilly. Mom and Dad have enough to worry about without you getting hurt.”
“Not you too. I can handle myself just fine.” It would be nice if her family gave her a little credit. She backed away from the truck. “Well, I should probably let you go home and shower.”
“Is that a hint?”
She shrugged. “I thought it was pretty direct.” She teased, but the fact was, he was a great brother, even if he did underestimate her.
“See ya, baby girl. Let me know if I can help with the boat.”
“Will do.” She thumped the door of his truck and watched his taillights disappear into the darkening night.
CHAPTER TEN
MADISON WAS WAIST-DEEP AND NOT HYPERVENTILATING. The two trips she’d made to the creek this week had paid off. Beckett, her cruel taskmaster, had still challenged her. She’d spent so much time blowing bubbles underwater in the past twenty minutes, her face was probably as wrinkled as one of her nursing home friends’.
“Okay, let’s move on.” Beckett disappeared underwater and came up dripping.
“So soon?” She watched a droplet make a trail from his shoulder down to the ridges of his stomach.
“How do you feel about floating?”
“About as good as I feel about diving off the courthouse roof onto the front lawn.”
“Just lie back. I’ll support you.”
She looked at the fluid water and frowned. “Sure you will,” she mumbled.
“What was that?”
“I have a chill.” She rubbed her arms. She actually did. It had come on about the time he’d mentioned the word float.
She knew the science—her body was less dense than the water, so theoretically, she should float. Her brain believed it, but looking at the liquid around her, her heart wasn’t buying in.
“Just lie back. I got you.” He held his arms at water level.
Sure, she’d just lie back and trust him to keep her from drowning—trust Beckett O’Reilly, bad boy of Jefferson County.
You can reach the bottom, Madison. Nothing to fear. Deep breaths. She sank into the water, raised one leg.
Beckett supported her thigh, her back. She stiffened, poised in pike position, clutching his bicep. She was in his arms, against his stomach. It didn’t take a genius to see he was doing all the work.
“Lie back. Relax.”
Her heart punished her ribs. She glared at him. “Easy for you to say.”
“I won’t let you drown. Close your eyes. Let your muscles relax.”
She loosened her grip on his arm. She wasn’t sure which was worse. The insidious fear or the humiliation.
Relax. Breathe.
“Pretend you’re in bed. Sink back into the mattress.”
“My mattress isn’t made of water.”
“You can do it.” His dark eyes said he believed it. She locked onto them, tried to soak in some of his confidence, but she got distracted by his wet, spiky lashes. Long, dark lashes.
She closed her eyes and forced her muscles to relax, starting with her stomach. Slowly she unfolded, and a moment later water entered her ears, gurgling.
She stiffened as her eyes flew open.
“I got you.”
She felt his arms under her back, under her legs, tried to focus on that. She lay back, anticipating the feel of water rushing up to her hairline. Straighten out, Madison. Come on, you can do this. Children do this every day. You’re lying in a grassy meadow. The sun is shining. You can feel the wind cooling your skin. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Beckett said something, but the water absorbed the words like a greedy sponge.
She let her legs go limp in the water, starting at the hips, working down to her knees, her ankles. Her arms stretched out limply, her elbow brushing his stomach.
She was almost floating. She could feel his arms under her still, but just for extra support. The water tickled her cheeks, her chin.
Stay relaxed. Bodies float. Breathe in. Breathe out.
He said something again, encouragement probably. She was doing good. She was doing great.
The water kissed the corners of her mouth. She locked her lips shut, breathed through her nose. Her breaths became shallow, the rush of oxygen drying her throat.
He was talking again, his tone soothing.
Relax. Relax. Relax. Breathe. In. Out. Think limp.
Loose.
Light.
He’s right here, holding you up—
Wait, where were his hands? She didn’t feel his hands.
She was floating on her own.
And then she wasn’t.
He reached for her, but not before water closed over her face, not before she sucked in a mouthful of creek.
She grabbed for him, coughing. Her feet sought firm ground.
“You’re okay. You’re fine.”
Standing now, she pushed at him, hacking. “You’re not the one with a lungful of creek water.”
“You were floating though. You did it.”
“You let go!”
“And you did it. All by yourself.”
“Yeah, right before I drowned.”
“You didn’t drown. You aren’t going to drown. Trust me.”
She gave a final cough, glaring at him. Trust. She thought of Jade, of all the stunts he’d pulled in the past.
“Well, I don’t trust you, okay?” She made eye contact long enough to make her point.
Something flickered in his eyes, and she steeled herself against it.
She was blowing this out of proportion. She knew that. But she didn’t like being at his mercy. It wasn’t a safe place to be.
“I need a minute.” She waded away a few feet, coughed, wiped her face dry. She studied a wispy cloud drifting slowly across the blue sky. A blue jay cried out. Somewhere upstream, water rippled over mossy rocks. She pulled in a lungful of pine-scented air. She could feel Beckett’s eyes burning into her back.
She would trust him—maybe—if he’d just tell her what happened with Jade.
She remembered her conversation with Ryan, her resolve to find out what happened. If Madison knew the truth, maybe she could reason with her sister, talk her into coming home—if Jade ever called.
She turned and found him looking at her. “When are you going to tell me what happened with Jade?”
His brows went taut, his lips flattened. “If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you herself.”
“Well, she isn’t here.”
“She’s an adult, Madison.”
Didn’t he know how fragile Jade was? Had Beckett only been toying with her feelings? Were those secret admirer notes some kind of game to him? That he could be so careless with Jade’s heart made heat flood her cheeks.
“What did you do to her?” Madison asked.
“I didn’t do anything.” Beckett clenched his jaw, locked it down tight before he said something he regretted.
He’d gladly tell her if the truth weren’t so revealing. If he didn’t have something personal at stake.
&nb
sp; “You did something. She wouldn’t have left otherwise, Beckett. She was happy when you left for the banquet, and then she was gone. If you don’t have anything to hide, just tell me.”
He turned away. Did she think it didn’t kill him to know he’d hurt Jade? He’d prayed for her every day since she left.
“I didn’t hurt her.” Not the way Madison thought anyway.
“Then what happened?” Her voice was closer. “Just tell me.”
He turned, took in her beautiful face. The way her eyes shimmered. The way her elfin chin lifted. A bead of water trickled down her temple, down the planes of her cheek like a teardrop. He barely stopped himself from brushing it away.
“We should get back to work,” he said softly. “I have someplace to be in an hour.”
Something flashed in her eyes. A shadow moved over her jaw. Then all emotion was gone, shut down, a proprietor flipping over the Closed sign.
“I’m going to find out. She’ll tell me.”
The warning hit its mark, but not for any of the reasons she suspected.
And then she was walking away, the water closing in behind her.
He turned and dived into the center, swimming underwater until his lungs burned. He came up on the other side, near the cliff wall. The shoreline was empty, and a few minutes later he heard the sound of her car starting.
He dived back in, surfaced, and treaded toward the shoreline, needing to burn off energy. The last thing he’d ever meant to do was hurt Jade. She’d always reminded him of a wounded bird, though he was sure she wouldn’t like the comparison. She went out of her way to dress “different”: gypsy skirts, bandannas, rings on every finger. Sometimes her dark hair sported a colorful streak. Someone like that had either a fashion flair, a rebellious streak, or deep-rooted insecurities. With Jade, he’d never been sure which it was.
Beckett came to his feet in the water and slogged the rest of the way to shore. He sat on the grassy bank and toweled off.
Everything about that night made him cringe. The way she’d talked on the way to the dance, excited but shy; the way she’d smiled up at him after they’d entered the town hall, eyes bright like a child’s on Christmas morning.
He’d never been to the Spring Sowers Banquet. Wasn’t really his thing: the suits, the soft music and fancy tables. But he had to admit the committee had transformed the town hall. White linens covered the circular tables, soft lighting glowed from the wall sconces, and swags of some frothy material were draped artfully from the ceiling. Gone were the usual popcorn and coffee smells, replaced by something sweet and subtle.
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