Saving Maddie (21 page)

It wasn’t until I was halfway into my story about one of our basketball games that I noticed her slow breathing. I paused and listened. Her entire body seemed to sigh with each deep breath.

“Madeline?”

She responded by snuggling against me. Her breaths hit the tip of my nose, making me want to sneeze. Her elbow jutted into my side.

“Madeline?” I repeated. “Are you asleep?”

“Um …” Her eyelids moved but didn’t open. “I’m awake. We still … have to …”

Then she started snoring.

I chuckled. This was not what I had in mind when I climbed into bed with her.

I wanted to wake her. I mean, I
really
wanted to wake her. A slight nudge was all it would take.

It would have been easy. So easy.

She wouldn’t have even been upset. She probably never expected the night to end like this, either.

But I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t do it.

Not because I was a preacher’s son. Not because my parents wouldn’t have approved. Not because the Bible said it was wrong.

I let her sleep because she was my friend, I loved her, and she deserved to have one good night of rest.

So I stared at the ceiling, trying my best not to be miserable while Madeline snored beside me. My back hurt, my neck hurt … my entire body hurt.

But I didn’t move for the rest of the night. And Madeline slept like a baby.

*    *    *

I woke up the next morning in an empty bed. I jumped up from the mattress, the blood thundering in my ears. Then I saw her two overstuffed bags leaning against the wall.

I sighed.
She was still here.

Once I realized Madeline hadn’t run off in the middle of the night, my body remembered how tired it was. It had been well after four o’clock when I finally fell asleep.

I thought about going back to sleep, but instead I decided to take a shower, in the hope that that would wake me up. By the time I got out, Madeline had returned. She wore a yellow T-shirt that reminded me of lemonade and sunshine. And like last night, she was without makeup.

“Sorry I was gone for so long.” She held up a paper bag and a Styrofoam cup. “To make up for it, I got us some doughnuts and coffee.” She took a sip from the cup. “I think we’ve kissed enough to make it okay for us to share a cup of coffee.”

“Thanks.” I sat down beside her. “I didn’t hear you get up this morning.”

“I tread lightly.”

My fingers brushed against hers as I took the doughnuts. I reached into the bag and started to grab the plain one, but picked chocolate-covered instead.

“I’m glad you took the chocolate one,” she said as she fished out the remaining doughnut. “I’m trying to watch my weight, remember.”

“And like I said before, you’re perfect like you are.” I licked my chocolate-smudged fingertips. “Where did you go, by the way? Just to get breakfast?”

“To pay for the room.” She took a bite of her doughnut and chewed slowly. “And to go see my aunt.” With her free
hand, she reached into her purse and pulled out my keys. “Thanks for letting me borrow your car, by the way.”

“Um … you’re welcome?” I gulped down some coffee while she swallowed the last of her doughnut. “What did you and your aunt talk about?”

“I needed some information,” she said. “It took a few hours, but she finally gave me what I was looking for. It’s not much, but it’s a name, a number, and an address. More than I ever had before.”

I thought for a few minutes, the coffee warm and soothing in my stomach. “Your birth mother?”

Madeline nodded. “I always had the feeling Aunt Gwen knew who she was, but would never tell me,” she said. “She lives in Texas now. I’ve decided I want to meet her—face to face.”

Fear clutched at my throat. “You’re going to Texas!” I jumped from the bed and in the process spilled coffee on the floor. “You’ve never even met the woman before!”

“Joshua, she’s my mother. I want to know her.” She nodded toward the phone. “While you were in the shower, I called Greyhound and bought my ticket. My bus leaves at a quarter after ten.”

I glanced at my watch. “But that’s in an hour! That’s too soon!”

“It’s the only bus leaving today,” she said, her voice calm. “Plus, I have to catch the bus in Myrtle Beach. Conway’s too small to have a terminal.”

I looked into her eyes, hoping to see the slightest hint of hesitation. Of worry. Of self-doubt.

Unfortunately, all I saw was resolve.

“You’re really going, aren’t you?” I collapsed back into the bed. “I guess I always thought … I just figured …” I turned away from her. I didn’t want her to see the tears collecting in my eyes.

This was all wrong!
She wasn’t supposed to be going. She wasn’t supposed to be running away. I was supposed to stop her.

I was supposed to save her.

“Joshua? Please, say something.”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m happy?”

“Actually, that’s exactly what I had hoped you’d say.” She patted my thigh. “I’m going to meet my mother. My
real
mother.”

I scooted farther away from her. “Your real mother lives in Virginia.”

She didn’t respond. It took a second, but I finally realized she was crying. I turned around to see her fighting back tears. Like me.

“I talked to Mom this morning. I’m not … welcome there anymore. Dad decided it was best if I stay away.” She sniffed. “Apparently, I’m not worth saving.”

I took her hand, wet from where her tears had splashed against her skin. “Don’t listen to your father. He’s a—”

“Dick. Jackass. Bastard.” She shrugged. “But he’s also right. I don’t belong there.”

“Then stay here!” I could hear the desperation pouring out of my voice. “What about your aunt? She’ll be worried sick if you leave,” I said, but what I was really thinking was: What about me?

“She’ll be okay.” She touched my cheek. “Please. Just be happy for me.”

I wanted to smile for her, I really did. But my body was too busy trying to stop my heart from cracking in two.

*    *    *

Even though Myrtle Beach was about a half hour away from Conway, the drive to the Greyhound terminal seemed to pass instantaneously. I had prayed for a flood, a swarm of locusts, anything to slow us down, but we weren’t so lucky.

“You don’t have to wait,” she said as I pulled into the terminal. “If you want, you can drop me off.”

I was already heading to the parking lot. “I’m going in with you.”

For once, she didn’t argue.

We parked and I popped open the trunk. She grabbed one bag, I grabbed the other, and we headed to the terminal. Hundreds of reasons for her to stay jumped into my head, but no words made it past my lips.

Once inside the building, she dropped her bag beside a bench. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a second.”

I watched Madeline march toward the ticket booth. She seemed to be swallowed up by the sheer emptiness of the room. After spending a few minutes talking to a woman behind the counter, Madeline reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet.

I wondered how long her trip would take. I wondered if my parents would ever forgive me if I went with her.

I felt like I should run across the room, fling my arms
around her, and ask her to stay. Not ask.
Beg. Plead.
She couldn’t go. I wanted her. I
needed
her. And she needed me.

I swear, I almost did run across that room, but by the time I had made up my mind to do it, Madeline was walking back toward me. “The bus should be boarding in a few minutes.” She took my hand and pulled me onto the bench with her. Her fingers drummed a steady beat on the back of my hand.

“Nervous?” I asked.

“Is it that noticeable?” She laughed. “Yeah, I’m nervous. Scared, even. But not about the trip.” She squeezed my hand. “I need to ask you something. And I need you to be honest with me. Okay?”

I nodded, unable to read Madeline’s expression. “Okay.”

She took a deep breath. “Last night … why didn’t you wake me up? Did I do something wrong?”

I quickly shook my head. “No. Of course not. You were perfect.”

“Then what was it?” She looked toward the ticket booth, away from me. “What made you change your mind? Do you find me … I don’t know. Dirty? Tainted?”

“You know I could never think anything like that about you.” I released her hand and turned her so that we were facing each other. “I wanted to wake you, but I know how hard it is for you to go to sleep. And you just looked so peaceful.” I smiled. “I guess as much as I wanted to have sex, you seemed like you needed sleep more.”

Madeline stared at me as her eyes grew moist. Finally, she placed her hand on my cheek and kissed me softly on the lips. “You really are one of the good guys, Joshua Wynn.”

“And so are you,” I whispered back.

Madeline wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me tightly, rubbing her wet cheek against my dry skin. “You smell nice,” she said after a minute. “Is that cologne?”

“It must be your shampoo. I used it this morning.”

“Really?” She sniffed above my ear. “Funny, it smells different on you than it does on me.” Then Madeline pulled away from me. “I’ve been waiting for the right time to give you something, but I guess it’s either now or never.” She reached into her backpack, and after fumbling around in it for a few moments, she pulled out a spiral-bound notebook.

“I kept my promise. I wrote to you, just like I said I would.” She placed the notebook in my lap and flipped it open. “I just never got around to mailing any of the letters.”

I ran my fingers across the page. “This whole notebook is full of letters to me?”

She nodded. “It’s a mix of letters and poems.” She closed the notebook. “I want you to have it.”

“No, I can’t—”

“I wrote them for you.” She smiled. “I always knew I’d give them to you. This way, I get to save on postage.”

I stared at the cover of the notebook for a few seconds,
then flipped it back open. Her words, of course, were penned in purple ink.

She placed her hand over the page. Save it for later. After I’m gone.”

I nodded. “Is this supposed to keep me warm in the middle of the night?”

She laughed, but stopped when the intercom announced the final boarding of her bus.

We both stood, but neither of us made a move toward the door.

She shrugged. “Well, I guess I should—”

I pulled her to me, stifling her words, not wanting to let her go. The scent of vanilla and coffee filled my soul once again, but this time, I couldn’t tell if the smell came from her or from me.

Her hands settled at the base of my neck. “Thank you,” she whispered into my ear. “Thank you for giving a damn about me. Thank you for … trying.”

I pulled back, but just a little, and tried to take a snapshot of this girl in the yellow T-shirt, her face full of freckles and pain and beauty and laughter. Then I kissed her again.

And again. And again.

As she slipped her hands under my shirt, her palms red-hot against my cool back, I realized that I had no idea what the next hour would lead to. And I surely had no idea what the next few days, weeks, and months would lead to.

All I knew was that I had done what I was supposed to do. I had tried.

For Madeline’s sake, I prayed that would be enough.

*    *    *

Dear Madeline
,

I know I haven’t written you in a few weeks, but life’s been pretty busy, with school starting back up and everything.

Mom and Dad finally lifted their punishment—I think they just got tired of me hovering around the house all the time. Tony and I got in a game of hoops yesterday, although he spent more time asking about you than focusing on the game. He’s convinced that we did “the deed.”

My response: A gentleman never tells.

The one good thing about being confined to the house for so long was that I had the chance to read—and reread—all your letters.

Let me tell you, those were not easy reads.

I’m not quite sure I have the capacity to hate someone, but if I do, your father would be at the top of my list. He’s the type of person who gives preachers a bad name. Actually, he’s the type of person who gives human beings in general a bad name.

But I know you don’t like discussing your father, so I won’t say anything else on that matter.

The old-timers at the nursing home wanted me to tell you hello. Mr. Rollins is still waiting for a sponge bath you supposedly promised to give him.

The biggest news since my last letter is that I resigned as president of the youth group. I thought Mom and Dad were going to have a fit when I told them, but they were pretty cool about it. I think they understand that I’m trying to figure some things out, and I just can’t do it while being the head of the group.

That being said, according to Rachel, half the members have dropped out since Donna took over as president. Last Sunday, Mrs. Anderson cornered me in the sanctuary and strongly encouraged me to start coming back to meetings. I declined.

Speaking of church, guess who was there last Sunday? Your aunt! We talked for a bit after service. Of course, the conversation was mainly about you.

You’re quite a hard person to get ahold of, you know. Your aunt tried to call you a few times, but your mom’s phone is disconnected. And every letter she tried to mail got sent back by the post office.

It did make her feel better to know that I got a postcard from you last week, but like always, you neglected to include a return address. Why is that? Are you worried your aunt or I would hightail it to you as soon as we knew where you were?