Saving Maddie, page 6
I was still fifteen minutes late by the time I slipped into the sanctuary. Dad flashed me a small smile as one of the white-gloved ushers led me to a pew. Just as I squeezed into a seat beside big-boned Bobby Taylor, my phone vibrated in my coat pocket. I flipped open the phone; I had been text-messaged.
Where r u? MMS
It took a second for the initials to register. MMS—Madeline Marie Smith.
My fingers tensed around the phone, my thumbs eager to reply. I sank lower into my seat and tried to duck behind Mrs. Williams and her peacock-feathered hat.
At church. Call you back later?
I was about to hit Send, but then changed my mind. I erased the last sentence and added a new message.
At church. What’s up?
What’s up—that sounded cool. More relaxed. That was the type of language I was supposed to be using, right?
Bobby Taylor shifted in his seat and grunted in my direction, but I didn’t peel my eyes away from the screen. A few seconds later:
I’m at church 2.
I glanced around the sanctuary. I didn’t see her anywhere. I wiped my hands on my slacks, then typed another message.
Where? I don’t see you.
I stared at the phone for what seemed like hours, waiting for her to respond. Finally, her reply popped onto the screen.
Outside. U know where.
By this time, Bobby Taylor was about to cough up a lung, he was grunting and clearing his throat so hard. I shut my phone and pushed past him. “Excuse me,” I mumbled.
As I stepped out of the pew, I caught Dad’s gaze again. But this time, I pretended I didn’t see him.
It had been years since I had gone out there, but I still remembered the way.
Past the new asphalt parking lot. Down the dirt path to the old wooden fence.
Except I didn’t have to jump over the fence this time. Whole sections of it lay on its side, almost obscured by tall prairie grass.
I had never wanted to run as much as I did right then. But I restrained myself. I didn’t want to look too eager. I didn’t want to get my hopes up.
The grove was as I remembered it, dark green and overrun with thorny shrubs and dead tree trunks. Brown vines and mysterious-looking splotches covered the old shed.
And just like before, the blackberry bush was there, covered in fruit.
Madeline sat on a weathered yellow blanket to the side of the shed. I wasn’t sure how long she had been there, but the blanket looked like it had been purposely showered with dead leaves. Unless I was mistaken, she wore the same clothes she had on yesterday.
“This place hasn’t changed at all, has it?” she said as I neared her.
“Mrs. Watson died a few years ago. She willed the land to her son, but I don’t think he makes it out here very often.”
“She died, huh. Thank God for small miracles.”
“Madeline, you can’t say—”
“She was a bitch. No one liked her. Not even you.” Madeline plucked a stray leaf from her jeans. “What did your dad end up doing to you that night, after he found out we had snuck out of church? Was he angry?”
“No, he wasn’t angry at all. He just reminded me that as his son, there were some things I couldn’t do.”
“He talked to you? That’s it? That’s all?
“Yeah.” I cautiously approached her, my feet crunching over long-dead leaves. “What did your father do?”
She snorted. “A hell of a lot more than talking.”
Although the grove was almost entirely surrounded by trees, a gust of wind somehow found its way through the branches and blew past us. Madeline wrapped her arms around her shoulders.
I took off my suit coat. “Here, take this.”
“No, I shouldn’t …,” she said, but she was already taking the coat. She slipped it over her arms; the sleeves went down to her palms. “Thanks,” she said. “I hope your coat doesn’t end up smelling like smoke.”
I sat down beside her. “You smoke?”
“Not me. Frank.” She shot me a crooked grin. “Smoking cigarettes is just about the only thing I don’t do.”
The wind blew through the trees again, and she pulled the coat tighter around her. I tried not to shake, even though the breeze cut through my shirt like water through a cheese grater. “I guess you’re wondering what I’m doing here,” she said. “And I guess you’re wondering why I’m wearing the same clothes I wore last night.”
I shrugged. “I figured you just liked blackberries a lot.”
“I wish.” She traced a path on the back of her hand, connecting freckle to freckle. “After Frank dropped me off this morning …” She paused for a second, maybe because of the way I stiffened up. “After he dropped me off, I felt like talking to someone. I thought about calling you, but it was six o’clock in the morning. And Aunt Gwen was asleep.” Madeline tugged at the sleeves of the coat. “So I decided to call Mom. Unfortunately, Dad answered the phone.”
“What happened? What did y’all talk about?”
Her gaze floated back to her hands. “Let’s just say I’m not his favorite person in the world right now.”
I scooted closer to her. Her hair smelled like a mix of smoke and vanilla. “I’m sure he cares about you. You’re his daughter.”
“You didn’t hear what he said.”
I reached out and linked Madeline’s pinky finger in mine, like I used to when we were kids. Like I used to when she was just Maddie, not this purple-lipped stranger. “Well, I think you’re great.”
Her finger twitched. “You don’t even know me.”
“People don’t change on the inside.” I took her entire hand in mine. “You’re still the same girl you used to be five years ago, no matter how much you’ve grown.”
Her face shone in the yellow morning sun. “Thanks, but you shouldn’t lie like that. You’re a preacher’s kid.”
“You’re a PK as well.”
She smiled as she ran her thumb along the inside of my palm. It tickled, but only a little. Then she pulled away from me. “I think you should head back to church.” She started to slip out of my coat. “I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
I placed my hands on her shoulders. “I can stick around for a little bit longer. What’s a few more minutes going to hurt?” I made it a point to avoid catching a glimpse of my watch.
“But …” She nibbled on her bottom lip. “Well, maybe for a few more minutes. I kind of like the company.”
I helped Madeline reposition the coat on her shoulders. She turned the collar up so that the fabric rested against her cheek.
I liked the way she looked in my coat. It was much too big for her, but she looked safe in the oversized sleeves.
“I was actually surprised when you returned my text message,” she said. “I figured you’d have your phone off during service.”
“If it had been off, you could have always come into the sanctuary.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Madeline looked down at her jeans. “Those folks would’ve chased me out if I had come in wearing this. I’m surprised they didn’t try to kick me out last week.”
“Madeline, I know we can be a little conservative—”
“Conservative? How about downright mean?” She pointed at me, hard and angry. “You people are quick to ask for forgiveness, but won’t think twice about condemning others for the same mistakes.” She shook her head. “If I was God, I’d be pretty damn ashamed of how fucked up the church has gotten.”
Madeline paused to take a breath. I wanted to argue with her, but honestly, I didn’t know where to start. Just like last night, she had gone from playful to fuming in a matter of seconds—and I had no idea why. Did she really think all Christians were that bad?
“Not all of us think like that, you know.”
She sighed. “I know.” She placed her hand on my arm, close to my elbow. The cold from her fingers seeped through my white cotton shirt, chilling my skin. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you last night. You’re not … you’re not like everyone else. And neither is your dad—he actually cares about his congregation.”
“But I’m sure your dad—”
“He’s an asshole.” Her fingers dug into my flesh. “He’s got all of Sunset Valley Baptist Church convinced he’s damn near the second coming of Christ, but he doesn’t give two shits about those people.” Any second now, I thought she was going to puncture one of the veins in my arm. “He’s a phony, and he’s an asshole. A big, fat asshole.”
She looked down, like she finally realized it was my skin she was digging into. “Sorry about that,” she said, removing her hand.
The outline of her hand still showed on my shirtsleeve. “Madeline, what happened between—”
“Let’s not talk about my dad, okay? I’ve wasted too much of my life thinking about him.”
I nodded. “You know, my dad has his faults, too. He won’t let us start a praise-dance team.”
Her lips turned up a little. It wasn’t a smile, but it was close. “You’re thinking about starting a praise-dance ministry?”
“Well, some of the girls in the youth group want to start a praise-dance team. Dad doesn’t think the congregation will go for it.”
“He’s probably right. But don’t give up on the idea. I think it could really work.”
I hated to admit it, but I wondered if I had already given up on the idea.
“I tried to get my father to start a praise-dance ministry; I hope you have better success than I did.” She placed her hand on mine. “Programs like that may not get people into heaven, but it keeps them out of trouble. At least, it’s supposed to keep them out of trouble.”
“I’m sure my father would love to hear that.”
“Just because he doesn’t want to hear it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t say it.” She stared at me; the weight of her brown eyes shook me to the very foundations of my soul. “If the girls in your youth group really want to start a praise-dance ministry, you should do it.”
“But I—but my dad—”
“Like I said last night, he’s just a man, Joshua. Just because he’s a preacher doesn’t mean he’s always right.”
I focused on Madeline’s face, the way her mouth formed a straight, hard line, neither frowning nor smiling. She seemed so sure of herself. Just like Dad. Just like everyone—except me.
“Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out,” she said as if she was reading my mind. “You just need to think about it some more.” Then she sucked in a deep breath and looked up at the trees. “I miss this. The quiet and the beauty. I always felt closer to God out here than I did in any sanctuary.” She squeezed my hand, her fingers finally warm. “I could never find any place like this in Virginia.”
It was amazing how Madeline could be barreling headfirst down one course of thought and then come full stop and start talking about something else.
“It is pretty, isn’t it?” I looked up; the pines stretched into forever. “I tried to come out here a few times, but I always felt weird. This was your place. I always felt like I was intruding.”
“You never brought Jenn out here?”
I shook my head. “She wouldn’t have liked it. She isn’t into nature.” I stared at Madeline as she leaned back, her face to the sky. I wanted to run my fingers along her cheek, down her neck.
“Frank wouldn’t like this place either. Not enough noise.” I couldn’t stop looking at her neck. I suddenly wanted to know just how much of her body was covered in freckles.
I took a deep breath. “Maybe you need a new boyfriend. One that’ll appreciate things like this.”
“First of all, Frank’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a guy I like hanging out with.” She angled her gaze toward the shed—away from me—and slid her hand away from mine. “I don’t even like him that much. Intellectualism isn’t his strong suit.”
My fingers were cold without Madeline’s hand on mine. “Then why go out with him?”
She shrugged. “All Frank knows about me is that I’m eighteen, I live with my aunt, and I work at a coffee shop. He doesn’t know that my father pastors the fourth-largest Baptist church in Norfolk. He doesn’t know I can quote almost any verse from the Bible. He doesn’t know I’d hoped to attend an Ivy League school in the fall.” She glanced at me. “To him, I’m just a girl who likes to drink a little beer, watch mindless teen comedies, and fool around.”
“Don’t you want more?”
“Like what? Clever conversation?” She nudged me with her elbow. “That’s what I have you for, right?”
I turned away from her, my jaw stiff. Clever conversation. That was all she wanted from me. That was all I was good for.
“You got quiet all of a sudden,” she said. “You okay?”
I shrugged in response. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Madeline staring at me, but I refused to look back at her.
We remained like that for a while, her staring at me and me staring at the back of my hands. First Jenn, now Madeline. The curse of the good guy strikes again.
“Hey, I want to tell you something,” she said. She pushed my knee, forcing me to turn toward her. Then she repositioned herself in front of me, cross-legged. She brought her warm hands to my face and cupped my cold cheeks.
It would have been so easy for me to lean my face toward hers for a kiss. All I needed was a sign—any sign.
Madeline didn’t look interested in kissing me, though. Her lips were pursed together, almost in a frown. She didn’t start talking until I had locked eyes with her.
“There’s nothing wrong with being a good guy, you know.” Her blackberry-sweet breath floated across my face and tickled my nose. “Good guys like you don’t belong with cynical, bitter bitches like me.”
“You’re not a …” I cleared my throat. “You’re not like that.”
Madeline laughed. “See, you can’t even curse,” she said as she patted my cheek. “I know it sucks, always being the good guy while everyone else is doing God-knows-what. But you have to be true to yourself. You’re a good, kind person, and there’s nothing wrong with that.” Then she released my face. “Something tells me I’m going to regret this, but what the hell. Maybe I’ll go to that party with you after all.”
It took me a second to focus on her words. “You … you’ll go to the party with me? But I thought … but you said—”
“We’re friends, right? Friends are allowed to go to parties together.” She crossed her arms. “But just to be clear, we’re going as just friends.”
I rolled my eyes. “You don’t have to keep saying stuff like that. I get the message.”
She tilted her head to the side, making her smile look slightly crooked. “Joshua, when are you going to realize, when I say things like that, I’m not saying it for your benefit. Sometimes I need to remind myself.”
chapter 6
By the time I got back to church, the service was over. A few people tried to chat with me, but I was too caught up in my own thoughts to have a decent conversation.
What made Madeline walk away from the church? What had happened to her in the five years since she left Conway? Why did she hate her father so much? I was beginning to worry that he took “spare the rod, spoil the child” a little too literally.
And Lord forbid, maybe Madeline’s father didn’t physically abuse her. Maybe he did something worse.
I shuddered and tried to ignore the cold, clammy sensation seeping into my skin. I couldn’t focus on this now—I had a youth group meeting in five minutes, and I still needed to look over my notes.
I headed toward the educational wing of the church, but halfway across the parking lot, Deacon Briggs ambushed me. “Your daddy wants to see you,” he said, his eyes fixed on my collar.
I wondered if he could smell her scent on my coat. I could.
“Can you tell him I’ll be there in a few minutes? I have a youth group meeting and—”
“Don’t think he’s in the mood to wait, son.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and guided me to the church.
Deacon Briggs didn’t release his grip until we were at Dad’s office. Mrs. O’Neal, the church secretary, pointed to Dad’s study. “He’s waiting for you,” she said. “Go on in.”
I took a few deep breaths and slowly cracked open the door. Dad looked up. “Come in, Joshua. And close the door behind you.”
I inched into his office. Dad’s desk was like him—big, strong, sturdy, unyielding. I sank into the chair across from him and offered up a silent prayer for mercy.
Dad peered at me over the top of his glasses. “I noticed that you skipped out on the service today. Are my sermons that boring?” He might have been making a joke, but he wasn’t laughing.
“I’m sorry. I planned to come back in, but I lost track of time and—”
“Do you know how it looks for the pastor’s son not only to show up late for service, but then to sneak out a few moments later?” He took his glasses from his nose and placed them on the desk next to a golf-ball-shaped paperweight. “You’re my son. You have to set a good example.”
I squeezed my hands into fists. “I had a good reason for skipping out. Madeline came to church today.”
Dad frowned and sat back. “I didn’t see her in the sanctuary.”
“Well … she didn’t quite make it inside.”
“You’re telling me that she came to church, but she didn’t come for the service?”
“She wasn’t really dressed appropriately…. She got into an argument with her father and …” I shook my head. “It’s kind of hard to explain.”
“Hmm. I see.” Dad placed his hands together, his fingertips barely touching. “I still don’t see what this has to do with you. Unless I’m mistaken, your mother instructed you to leave her be.”
“You were the one who suggested I talk to Madeline in the first place!” I knew my voice was borderline insubordinate, so I tried to tone it down. “You guys can’t have it both ways. You can’t tell me to try to help her, just for Mom to tell me otherwise.”
Dad sighed. “I agree, your mother and I haven’t done a very good job of communicating with each other concerning the Madeline situation. However, that doesn’t change the fact that two days ago your mother told you to stop seeing Madeline.”
