I won the regatta, Michael. We achieved your dream. That was supposed to fix it. Why do I still feel like this?
She pounded her fist on the steering wheel. She was so angry. So tired. Why couldn’t she move on? Everyone else seemed to be able to.
A few minutes later she turned into her drive, shut off the engine, and ran into the house. The sky wept, droplets falling onto her head, trickling down her face. She opened the door and pushed it shut behind her. Her breaths came shallow and loud. Sweat beaded on the back of her neck. Her fingers gripped the keys until their serrated edges cut into her palm.
She nudged Lulu aside and sank onto the rug in front of the sofa, not even bothering to turn on the light. She heard the quiet patter of rain on the roof, felt a breeze from the open window. The rain was probably coming in, but she didn’t care.
Her cell phone rang, and she turned it off without looking.
The pressure inside built, getting heavier, louder, stronger. It was too big, too powerful to be let out. She didn’t want to cry. Didn’t want to open the floodgate.
She gulped deep breaths of air, pushing, pushing it down. But the pressure refused to be put back in its place. It rose, choking her throat, filling her face with heat. A wave of nausea passed over her. The backs of her eyes burned. She blinked against the pain, but they filled with tears anyway, spilling over.
Why, God? Why did You take him? She pounded the floor with her fist and clamped her lips, afraid to go any further.
She thought of her parents’ gift and let loose a crazed laugh that turned to tears. A prayer journal. What would she say to God? She could fill every page with her thoughts, but they weren’t things He’d want to hear. Her parents would be appalled if they knew what she’d say.
The tears flowed like rivulets of rain. She tried to choke back a sob, but it was coming out whether she wanted it to or not. The sobs broke forth in wrenching waves, making it hard to catch her breath.
It’s not fair. She sniffed back the tears, sucked in a gulp of oxygen. He was my brother, my twin, a part of me. If You’re so good, why did You take him? He didn’t deserve it!
A tap on the front door made her jump. She stilled, the sob catching in her throat like a lump of wet coal. If she were quiet, they’d go away, whoever they were.
A knock sounded again. “Madison?”
Beckett.
She closed her eyes and felt more tears squeeze out. She just wanted to be alone. Was that too much to ask?
He knocked again, louder. “I know you’re in there, Madison.”
She should’ve shut the window when she’d had the chance. Couldn’t a person fall apart in private anymore?
“Go away, Beckett.”
“Not until I know you’re okay.”
She wasn’t okay. Anyone could see that. She couldn’t even pull it together enough to defend herself.
The door squeaked open, and his darkened form filled the doorway.
“I want to be alone.” She hoped he couldn’t see her in the dark. Then she realized the lights of his truck streamed through her window. How had she missed the headlights?
“You forgot this.” He set something on the end table. The journal, she thought.
An involuntary sniffle wracked her. “Thanks.”
He came closer, and she turned away. “Go away, Beckett.” She meant to sound firm, but her voice wobbled and cracked.
He slid down to the floor beside her, his knee brushing hers, his body making the space seem tight.
She felt his eyes on her as her teeth began to chatter with the effort of holding back her emotions.
She knew how she looked when she cried—it wasn’t pretty. The last thing she wanted was company. This big, ugly thing was coming out whether she wanted it to or not, and she didn’t need an audience.
“What is it?” he asked. “Tell me what I can do.”
“Go away—that’s what you can do.”
He touched her shoulder. “Not till I know you’re okay.”
She brushed his hand away. “I’m not okay! I haven’t been okay for a long time, and I don’t see an end to that, so unless you want to move in here and wait it out, you may as well leave now.”
The burst of anger loosened everything up inside. It bubbled up from someplace deep and dark, dredging the bottom of her soul, and spilled out in violent sobs.
She drew her knees close and covered her face, wracked with pain built up over years. “Go away! Just go away.”
Beckett drew her into his arms. She pushed against him, fighting, but he wouldn’t let go. Finally she gave in.
Beckett held Madison tight, stroking her arm, pushing the hair from her face. Her sobs broke his heart, scared him. Was she ill? Was there some awful secret she was keeping? She buried her face into his shirt and let it all out, while he murmured words she probably didn’t hear.
It was awhile before she let up. Finally her sobs slowed, her breaths coming in involuntary shudders. Still he held her, stroked her arm, kissed the top of her head.
“Talk to me,” he whispered after a minute of silence.
“I thought—” Her breath stuttered. “I thought it’d be better. I thought winning would fix it.”
“Fix what?”
“All this—this pain—inside. About Michael, his dying. I don’t understand why—I never did and I never will. He was so good. So good! Why did God take him like that—why did God take him instead of me?”
“You?”
“He should’ve taken me!” She thumped her fist against his chest where a jagged rock had settled.
“No, honey.”
“Yes, He should’ve! What did Michael ever do? He was the good one. How could God take him instead of me?”
Words, God. I need words.
“I’m so tired of this, so tired of the nightmares, so tired of being tired all the time. It was all supposed to go away when I won, but it didn’t, and now I’m going to feel like this forever.”
“Like what?” he asked, not sure he even wanted to know.
“Like I have a gaping hole inside me. It hurts as much now as it did then, and I can’t live this way anymore. I’m too tired.”
Beckett closed his eyes, set his chin on her head. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry.” In more ways than she could know. It was all his fault. Michael wouldn’t be dead if it weren’t for him.
Madison gave an involuntary shudder.
He had to put aside his guilt and help her. But how? Help me say the right things, God.
“I can’t sleep for the nightmares.”
He tightened his hold, wishing he could somehow protect her from the pain. “God loves you, Maddy. He wants you to have peace, to give this to Him.”
“What does that even mean?” she cried, thumping her fist again.
He was messing this up. He didn’t want to give her platitudes. He kissed her temple, thumbed away the tears on her cheek. “I don’t know exactly how you’re feeling, and I’ve never lost a twin. I don’t think there are any easy answers. I don’t know why Michael died—” He swallowed his own remorse, which was welling up hard and fast. “But when something awful happens, it helps to know there’s a God and that He knows what He’s doing. That He has a purpose we might not see, might never understand.”
He realized he was talking to himself as much as to her. He hoped the words were soothing her wounded spirits more than they were soothing his guilt.
“I think it helps, too, to know our loved one is in a better place. Michael wouldn’t come back now even if he could. And someday you’ll be with him again.”
She burrowed deeper into his chest. He threaded his fingers through her silky hair, cupping the back of her head.
“I know you miss him. I know you’re hurting.”
“Our birthday is always hard, but I thought the nightmares would go away if I just won the regatta for him.”
He brushed her hair back from her face. “Tell me about them.”
She paused so long, he wondered i
f they were too hard to talk about. Then she started talking, describing the dream and the panic she felt when she woke. How she’d stay up as late as she could to avoid sleeping for fear of its return. His heart ached for her. No wonder she was tired all the time, popping those coffee beans like candy.
“I wish I could fix it,” he said numbly, the weight of his guilt pressing hard.
If only he hadn’t gone swimming that day. If only he hadn’t felt the need to show off. If only he hadn’t left Michael alone at the river.
But he had. And look at the pain he’d caused.
Help her, God. Help her where I can’t. Heal her heart, make the nightmares go away. Give her the peace she needs.
“Just hold me,” she said.
He pulled her onto his lap, cradling her like a small child, feeling like he was betraying her. He didn’t deserve to hold her. She’d suffered all these years because of him, was still suffering. He’d had no idea the extent of it, but he knew now. He was holding the proof in his arms.
How could he keep his secret now? He couldn’t. He had to tell her. She deserved to know what had happened that day, and so did her family. He’d been a coward for keeping it from them all these years.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “I feel better when you’re holding me.”
He winced. How could they have any kind of relationship with this between them? And yet, how could he tell her when it would only hurt her more? He couldn’t bear the thought.
The two thoughts circled in his mind until he was dizzy with indecision. There was no good answer. Either way led to pain and loss on both sides.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he realized she’d gone limp in his arms. Her breaths were deep, her hand slipping down his chest until it rested in her lap.
He held her awhile longer, relishing the weight of her, the feel of her hair brushing his bare arm. It was getting late, but he didn’t want to waken her.
He adjusted her weight in his arms, stood, then found her bedroom down a short hall, past a nightlight. Lulu followed, her nails clicking quietly on the wood floor.
Madison’s bed was made, so he laid her on the quilt. She barely stirred, poor thing. Just worn out. He slipped off her sandals and covered her with a blanket from the foot of the bed.
He stared down at her moonlit face. Sweet dreams, Maddy. He left quietly, locking the front door, wondering if love was strong enough to survive the kind of secret he held.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE NIGHTMARE CAME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. Madison flew upright in bed, her heart pounding, her pajamas damp. She crawled from bed, wandered into the living room, and flipped on the TV. Around four, after an hour of infomercials, she broke out the new tub of butter pecan and ate until she felt sick.
She was relieved when seven o’clock rolled around and she could get ready for work. On her way there she popped coffee beans to combat her fuzzy brain and tired body, her thoughts going back four nights to when she’d broken down in Beckett’s arms. She’d been embarrassed when she woke the next morning. She’d completely lost it in front of Beckett. But then she’d realized he’d tucked her into bed, and the knowledge soothed her.
That had been her best night of sleep in weeks, and she hoped that, somehow, the breakdown had healed the broken part of her. But obviously not.
It didn’t help, either, that Beckett had seemed different since that night. They’d talked on the phone twice, and he’d come over the night before. He was still attentive, still affectionate. But there was a distance or something . . . she couldn’t put her finger on it.
She’d asked twice if everything was all right. He’d said it was, offering her a smile and apologizing for being distracted. She wondered if it had to do with his dad. It had to be stressful, living with an alcoholic father.
Once at the clinic, Madison fell into the routine of her workday as the caffeine perked her up. Her full schedule became jammed when Mrs. Tackett’s toy poodle decided to break into the woman’s chocolate stash. Madison induced vomiting, and once the dog was on the mend, she returned to her scheduled appointments.
She tried to make up ground, but the clients, the human ones, were irritable from a long wait, and their pets responded with anxiety.
She skipped lunch in favor of a handful of coffee beans, but by three o’clock the beans were gone and so was her energy. And she was still behind. Cassidy was also busy and stressed from dealing with impatient owners, and Madison was beyond ready to call it a day when she entered the room of her next-to-last patient.
She pasted a smile onto her face and gave Opus, a basset hound, a scratch behind the ears. “Sorry about the wait, Mr. Campbell.”
As Madison read the chart, he complained about the wait and having to bring his wife’s dog into the vet. Her eyes blurred with fatigue, her mind muddled as she tried to listen to the man and read the chart simultaneously.
When she finished, she questioned Mr. Campbell about Opus’s symptoms, then examined the dog. His skin infection wasn’t responding to the antibiotic she’d put him on three weeks ago.
After informing Mr. Campbell of their options, she left the room and returned with a syringe of Convenia.
“Okay, Mr. Campbell, if I could have you hold Opus still . . .”
He did as she asked, grumbling all the while.
Madison picked up the syringe.
Cassidy burst through the door, her eyes a little wild. “Sorry to interrupt, Dr. McKinley, but I need to speak with you.”
Madison’s hand continued its path to Opus. “Be right with—”
Cassidy grabbed her hand. “Now. Please.”
Frowning, Madison set down the syringe and gave the owner an apologetic smile. “Excuse me, Mr. Campbell. This shouldn’t take long.”
He let out a loud sigh as Madison left the room. In the hall, Cassidy pulled her around the corner and whipped around. “Was that Convenia?”
“Yes, for a skin infection—”
Cassidy’s hand tightened on her arm. “Madison, that dog is allergic to cefovecin. He experienced anaphylaxis last year, remember? It’s on his chart.”
Madison’s thoughts tumbled. A dog allergic to cefovecin shouldn’t receive Convenia. She knew that.
“Are you sure? I didn’t see it.”
“I’m positive.”
Madison palmed her forehead. “I can’t believe I almost did that.”
Dr. Richards turned the corner and came up short. “What’s going on?”
Cassidy shifted in front of her. “I was just updating Madison on a patient’s chart.”
He ignored Cassidy, and his laser blue eyes zeroed in on Madison. “What did you almost do?”
Madison straightened. She’d nearly made a mistake that could’ve taken a beloved pet’s life. She wasn’t going to compound the infraction by lying.
“I must’ve missed an allergy on a chart. Fortunately, Cassidy caught it in time.”
He asked for the details of the case, including the previous allergic reaction, and Madison filled him in, leaving nothing out.
He looked between the women, his fatherly frown creasing his forehead. “I’ll finish the appointment, Madison. Please wait in my office.”
Cassidy shot her an apologetic look before scrambling down the hall. Madison took a seat in Dr. Richards’s office and let her head fall back against the chair. Her heart raced from her near mistake. She could’ve killed poor Opus. Mrs. Campbell would’ve been heartbroken.
How had she missed that allergy? Dr. Richards wasn’t going to let this pass, nor should he. It was inexcusable.
It was the fatigue. She knew how critical sleep was to brain function. She’d been having difficulty focusing, difficulty remembering things. Coffee beans only went so far.
It had been relatively small errors up until now. The last thing she wanted was to endanger animals. But she needed her job, and the clinic was the only game in town. What would she do if Dr. Richards fired her?
&nb
sp; Her nerves were frayed by the time Dr. Richards entered the office. He sat behind his desk and passed her the chart.
“As you can see, the allergy is noted clearly.”
It was right where it was supposed to be. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Richards. I looked at the chart . . . I don’t know how I missed it.”
“You’re normally very competent, Madison, as I said a couple months ago. I was hoping to see an improvement, but—”
“I know.”
“You continue to be unfocused and disorganized, and frankly, you look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“I’m having some personal problems, but I—”
He held his hand up to stop her. Madison’s mouth closed. She’d said it all before. What excuse did she have, when it came right down to it?
Dr. Richards removed his glasses and pressed his temple. “I want you to take a leave of absence.”
Leave of—but what about her patients? And what good would a leave do? She wasn’t going to suddenly start sleeping because she wasn’t working.
“If I could just—”
“Take some time. Do what you have to do to get your life together again. See a doctor, a therapist, whatever. I hate to do it, Madison, but I can’t have you jeopardizing the lives of our patients.”
A sinking sensation hit the center of her stomach. “No, of course not.”
“I can only do this alone for so long, you understand.”
“How long do I have?”
He shrugged his burly shoulders. “A month. Six weeks at most. You’re due two weeks’ paid vacation. I wish I could pay you beyond that, but . . .”
Madison looked at her hands, clenched in her lap. She’d never been fired. She wasn’t being fired now, but she may as well be.
“You’re a smart and sensible young woman. Get yourself together. But don’t come back until you’re ready.”
“I understand.” Unfortunately she did. She understood that nothing would get better in six weeks. She understood that he’d have to replace her and that there’d be no room for her in Chapel Springs once that happened.
“You go on home. I’ll cover your last appointment.”
Madison left his office and gathered her things. As she slipped out the back door, she had the overwhelming feeling she wouldn’t be back.
Barefoot Summer Page 19
