Saving Maddie, page 3
“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.
“Let me have a regular coffee.” I pulled a few dollars from my pocket and handed them to her.
“No charge.” The older woman walked up to the counter and pushed my money back toward me. “After everything Pastor Wynn’s done for me, the least I can do is give you a free cup of coffee.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled. I tried to come up with a name to match her face, but my mind was blank. She wasn’t Yvonne, that much I knew.
“I bet you’re gonna be just like your daddy,” she continued. “Only a matter of time before you’re up in that pulpit, preaching the word.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know if preaching’s what I’m supposed to do—”
“Nonsense,” she said. “You’re made to be a preacher. It’s in your blood.”
“Carla, maybe you’re getting a little ahead of yourself. Joshua hasn’t even finished high school.” Madeline winked at me as she grabbed one of the extra-large paper cups. “Why don’t you find a seat? I’ll bring your drink to you.”
I nodded and escaped from the counter. As I headed to a table in the corner of the café, I made a mental note of Carla’s face. Mount Calvary had grown in recent years, almost to the point where Dad was thinking about starting another Sunday morning service. Growth was a good thing—not knowing all the parishioners just happened to be a bad side effect.
A few minutes after I sat down, Madeline approached the table with a black book bag hanging from her shoulder and a small tray firmly in her grasp. Her top had worked its way up slightly, so her pierced belly button was exposed. And I was sure her jeans would fall from her hips at any second, on account of how low they sat on her waist.
“I was about to take my break when you walked in,” she said. “Mind if I join you?”
“Of course not.” I rose from the table and pulled out a chair for her. “Now, who exactly is Carla?”
“Yvonne’s sister,” she said. “She’s been attending your church for almost six months. Don’t you recognize her?”
I slumped back into my seat. “We have so many members now, it’s hard to keep track of everyone.”
Madeline placed two cups, a few packets of sugar and cream, and a slice of carrot cake on the table, then melted into the chair across from me. “It gets old, doesn’t it? All the opinions on the type of person you’re supposed to be, the type of life you’re supposed to live?”
I nodded and wondered if she was talking about me or her.
She pushed the carrot cake to the center of the table. “I didn’t know if you liked cream or sugar, so I brought both. And feel free to have some of my cake, as long as you don’t mind eating fat-free. I could stand to lose some weight.”
I looked into my steaming cup of muck-colored coffee. “I think you’re perfect just like you are.”
“I wish you’d been around to tell that to my old gym teacher. Or better yet, some of my past boyfriends.” Madeline paused as she bowed her head and whispered a few words. As she prayed, I noticed a small silver cross hanging around her neck.
I didn’t even realize she had finished praying until she cleared her throat. “Hey, I know they’re nice to look at, but I do have a face.”
My body temperature skyrocketed as I quickly averted my gaze from her chest. “I’m sorry, I know how that looked. I happened to notice the cross around your neck as you were praying—wait a minute, why were you praying? I didn’t think you believed in God.”
She rolled her eyes. “Joshua, were you even listening to me last Sunday? I’m not very religious, but I’m extremely spiritual,” she said. “I’m still a Christian. I just don’t go to church.”
“Why not?”
“Most of the people who go to church are hypocrites. Plus, like Emily Dickinson said, why have the Sabbath at church when I can have it at home?”
“Well, I don’t know about Emily Dickinson, but according to God, it’s our duty to fellowship with other Christians.”
“Hebrews, chapter ten, verse twenty-five.” Madeline broke off a piece of carrot cake and popped it into her mouth. “You should drink your coffee. It’s getting cold.”
I took a timid sip and almost died from the bitterness. “This is the best coffee I’ve had in years.”
Technically, that wasn’t a lie, being that I hadn’t had any in almost two years.
“So who was your friend in the choir stand?” she asked. “The one who kept whispering to you and looking in my direction.”
I dumped four packets of sugar into my cup. “Noticed that, huh?”
“Kind of hard not to notice when almost every male in the choir stand is staring at you.” She swiped some icing onto her finger. “But I probably asked for it. I shouldn’t have worn something so …”
“Tight-fitting?”
“I was going to say slutty, but your word sounds a lot better.” She smiled, and one hundred goose bumps exploded on my arm. “You were the only guy up there not staring at me. I don’t know whether I should be upset or flattered.”
“Thanks, I think.” I took another sip of my coffee. “The guy sitting next to me was my friend Tony. He moved here a few years after you left.” I nodded toward her book bag, eager to change the subject. “What classes are you taking this summer?”
“English literature and Latin.”
“English lit,” I said. “Maybe I should have you write some of my essays for me. I should be at the library now.”
Madeline smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re playing hooky. What would your mom say if she knew you were hanging out with me?”
“You don’t even want to know.”
I had meant for my words to come off light and funny, but I could hear the dark undertones to my voice. I was afraid Madeline could hear the same thing.
She reached into her book bag. “Maybe I can save you a trip.” She pulled out a book and handed it to me.
“Maus?” I flipped open the book. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“What’s wrong?”
I pointed to the page I was on. “This is a comic book.”
“That comic book won a Pulitzer Prize. And it’s called a graphic novel, not a comic book.”
“Looks like a comic book to me.”
She shook her head and threw her hands up. “Art Spiegelman did something that had never been done before—he used a supposedly ‘simple’ art form to successfully convey the horrors of the Holocaust.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed hard. “It’s ground-breaking. It’s revolutionary. And to be honest, it’s a fucking awesome piece of literature.” Madeline took a quick breath. “This is only the first book. You really need to pick up the second one as well.”
Madeline continued to rant about the wonders of the book, but I had long ago stopped listening. My mind was stuck on one word—one very distinct word—that I wasn’t expecting to hear.
Finally, she stopped and looked at me, her eyebrows bunched tight on her forehead. “What’s wrong?” She brought her hands to her face. “Do I have icing on my mouth or something?”
“Since when did you start cursing?”
“What?”
“You cursed. You said the f word.”
She laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard the word fuck before.”
I gritted my teeth. “I’ve heard it plenty of times. I just never heard it from you.”
She shrugged. “Sorry.”
“You used to say that people only cursed because they couldn’t find any other way to express themselves.”
“I used to say a lot of things,” she said. “Things change. People change.”
“Apparently so.”
We were silent for a few seconds as Madeline drank her tea and I struggled with another sip of coffee. I had known Madeline for years, but now a complete stranger sat across from me.
Madeline finished her drink and leaned closer to me. “Why are you really here? And don’t say it’s for the coffee. I’ve seen people more eager to drink bleach.” I could smell the sweetness of the carrot cake on her breath. “You trying to save me?”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t lie,” she said. “Your dad sent you down here, didn’t he?”
I shook my head. “It’s not like that. I’m worried about you, that’s all. I heard things weren’t going so easy for you.”
She crossed her arms. “What exactly have you heard about me?”
“My dad said you had some boy troubles. And that you weren’t going to Brown anymore.”
“And …?”
“That’s it. Is there more?”
Madeline’s grimace melted into a melancholy smile. “It’s not anything you’d want to hear about.”
I studied her face, hoping for something that would clue me in to the mystery her life had become. “Just tell me what’s wrong. What made you stop going to church? Why aren’t you going to Brown?”
Madeline began stacking the cups on her tray. “Joshua, thanks for coming by, but I don’t think we should hang out,” she said. “I’m not some damsel in distress that needs saving. I like me just the way I am.” She rose from the table. “Plus, I have the feeling that I’m probably not a good influence on you. Our worlds don’t really mesh anymore.”
“But—”
“No buts, no exceptions.” She picked up her tray. “Read the book. I promise you’ll like it.”
“When do you want me to return it?”
“Keep it. I’ve already read it four times.” She started toward the counter. “Good night, Joshua,” she called over her shoulder.
I stared at Madeline for a few more minutes as she cleaned up the counter and did an outstanding job of avoiding eye contact with me. After a few moments, I finally left.
I didn’t bother looking at my watch as I walked to my car, her book in my hand. I knew it was late, and I was sure Mom was freaking out.
I started the car and glanced at my phone. Three messages, all from home.
Yep, Mom was worried, all right. But that made me wonder: Did Madeline have someone who worried about her as much as my mother worried about me?
chapter 3
“So you left?”
I took the basketball from Tony and dribbled it a few times. Even though our pitiful season was over, Tony and I still liked to shoot hoops whenever we had the time. “What else was I supposed to do? Madeline made it pretty clear she wasn’t interested in carrying on the conversation.”
Tony planted himself in front of me and stuck his hand in my face. I blew past him and streaked toward the goal. As I leapt into the air, the basketball elevated out of my fingers and floated through the rim.
It should be a sin to score a basket so easily.
Tony grabbed the ball. “Show-off.”
As soon as Tony’s father had found out the church was starting a basketball team, he ran out and purchased one of those high-priced, NBA-endorsed goals. Tony practiced every day for two months, and sure enough, he made the team.
Of course, everyone who tried out made the team. We were supposed to have twelve players on the roster, but only ten guys showed up for tryouts.
Rachel, Tony’s younger sister, had practiced even more than him, and unlike her brother, she became a pretty good basketball player. She would have definitely made the team if we had had enough girls to form one.
Tony attempted to dribble the ball a few times. “So when are you going back to Yvonne’s?” he asked. “I sure wouldn’t mind tagging along.”
I posted myself in front of Tony. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”
“Hey, there ain’t no law against window-shopping.” Tony shot the ball over me and hit nothing but air. “If it was me, I’d be at that coffee shop every day. With a body like that, that girl’s made to be admired.”
“She’s got a name, you know.” I retrieved the ball before it rolled into the street. “And don’t talk about her like that. Madeline can’t help the way she’s built. It doesn’t make her a slut or anything.” I threw the ball at him, a little harder than I anticipated. He barely had enough time to get his hands up to catch it.
