“Can you imagine this being your room? Your own swimming pool and everything? Damn. And look, see how it all starts here,” she said, her finger following the line of the canopy that went to the house. “The cascading lines follow all the way down to that staircase to the water, to make it look like the waterfall.”
“Hence the name Fallingwater.”
That earned me another pinch. It was worth it. The ninety bucks. The five-hour car ride. The absolute undiluted joy on her face was worth it all.
“C’mon, I want to see it from the front again.” She skipped off ahead of me.
I caught up to her and we walked toward a vantage point where a group of people were taking a picture.
“Your turn,” I said, pulling out my phone.
Madison posed with the house behind her. First serious, then funny, then serious again.
“I can take a picture of the two of you if you like,” said an older gentleman who’d been waiting his turn to get a picture.
“Yes, c’mon, Jesse.”
I handed him the phone, already set to take a picture, and walked over to her.
“Don’t push me in,” I said.
She put an arm around my waist and pulled herself closer to me. I was sure the autofocus would zero in on my smile, clearly the biggest focal point. We thanked the guy for taking the picture.
“Okay, let’s leave, if I stay any longer we’ll be here until the sun goes down. I’m so starving I could eat a handful of that moss.”
“Now on to phase two.”
“Phase two?”
“Aunt Julia’s.”
SEVENTEEN
MADISON
MEXICAN HOT CHOCOLATE AND FRANK LLOYD Wright.
Jesse McMann was wooing me.
There was no other word for it. Probably the kind of word used when Rob Roys were the drink. And men wore smoking jackets. And there were weekend visitors who actually stayed at Fallingwater. He was wooing me.
And I was eating it up.
The day had been better than I ever could have imagined. The fact that Jesse planned this for me was almost too much to take in. This was a day I’d never forget, no matter what happened, if anything happened, between us. And now I had a clue as to what he might have been thinking about in that picture from the dance—it must have been something to do with his ex-girlfriend if she had been there. I wanted to know more about his family, about his breakup, about him.
We drove for a while through narrow winding roads with thick, dense forest on either side. The VW labored, puttering loudly uphill and chirping down. Finally there was a small clearing with a mailbox. Jess turned right, down an even narrower unpaved lane, which eventually widened into a large expanse of land. A few horses grazed in a fenced-in field. There were two corrals, and several large barns and a house that looked like a yuppie’s version of a log cabin. Three dogs of various sizes and breeds came rushing up to the car, tails wagging furiously. Jesse slowed down. My jaw may have actually dropped.
“This is where your aunt lives?”
“Yep, cool, huh?”
“Cool? How about magnificent? Incredible?”
He smiled, cutting the engine. “How about—wait till you see the inside.”
I looked out the window at our canine welcoming committee. Jess got out of the car first. The dogs ambushed him, hopping around and jumping up on hind legs as he made his way over to my side of the car. He knelt down and gave them each hearty scratches on the neck, going forehead to snout with the husky. A woman waved from the porch as two kids galloped down the stairs to greet Jesse. The dogs encircled all of them in a flurry of wagging tails and paws and lolling tongues as I stepped out of the car.
The small dog, a furball of a thing that looked like a cross between a fox and a miniature lion, came tearing toward me, yipping wildly.
“That’s Pepper. She won’t bite,” a young girl with a long ponytail said.
“Hey, Pepper,” I said, reaching out and running my fingers across the dog’s soft fur. Her coat reminded me of a pair of earmuffs I owned. She sniffed my hand and ran her little pink tongue across my fingers. I laughed and pulled my hand away.
“This is my cousin Sara. Sara, this is Madison,” Jesse said.
“Do you guys need help with your things?” she asked, scratching the dog behind the ear.
“Sure.” Jess pulled the bags out of the trunk. Sara grabbed mine.
“You don’t really have to do that,” I said.
“No one should carry their bags on their birthday.” She smiled and tromped off. I looked at Jesse.
“Does everyone know it’s my birthday?”
“Kind of,” he said.
We walked toward the house. Jesse’s aunt was still on the porch, smiling as we approached.
“Hey, about time you got here,” she said. “Charlie’s been asking for you since he woke up this morning.”
“Have not,” said the young blond boy.
“Hi,” I said, suddenly shy. I had the overwhelming desire for them to like me.
“Madison, this is my aunt Julia,” Jesse said. “And that guy over there is Charlie, the little Jack Russell is Max, and last but not least is Duke, the Alaskan husky.”
“And your uncle Vaughn, but he’s away at a trade show in Louisiana,” Aunt Julia said. “Happy birthday, Madison, we’re so happy to meet you.”
I widened my eyes at Jesse. Not the birthday thing again.
“How did you like Fallingwater?” she asked, leading us into the house.
“Oh it was amazing.” I stopped immediately after crossing the threshold. Jesse was right. If I’d thought the log cabin was impressive from the outside, it was nothing compared to the inside. My jaw dropped again as I took in the high ceiling of the great room. The first floor was one big open space from the sitting area near the fireplace to the kitchen. The kitchen was separated from the great room by a long counter, with stools for seating. One wall was completely floor-to-ceiling windows. The view of the hills and the sky was breathtaking.
“Why don’t you show Madison to her room, Sara,” Aunt Julia said.
Sara still had my bag slung over her shoulder. She waved for me to follow her down a long hall. If I had to guess I would have pegged her for eleven or twelve, but she was already a good two inches taller than me.
“Here it is,” she said, opening the door to a room that was twice the size of mine at home. Even though it was big, the dark wooden walls made it feel cozy. There was a large window that opened up to the same view as the great room. A wardrobe was on the far wall, and the bed frame was made from tree branches, the headboard a tangle of branches and vines, with a white gauzy dust ruffle. Sara tossed my bag on the bed, then sat beside it and proceeded to stare at me.
“How long have you and Jesse been together?” she asked.
“Oh, we’re not together, like that anyway—just friends.”
“Too bad, you seem really cool.”
I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling on a tuft behind my ear out of nervous habit. A flurry of clicking and panting rushed behind me as Pepper raced across the wooden floor and leapt up onto the bed next to Sara.
“Thanks.”
A knock on the door made us both turn.
“Sara, your mom wants you,” Jesse said.
“Later,” she said. With Pepper still in her arms, Sara skated in her socks across the floor and out of the room.
“Sorry if she was bothering you,” Jesse said. He stood there, hands in hoodie pockets, his hair sticking up in a charming way.
“No, not at all, I’m fine—just, you know, tired I guess,” I said. “I just want to maybe change or something, or check in with my mom.”
“Cool. I’m bunking with Charlie if you need me for anything. Hey, you know how to play Spoons?”
“Um, what?” I asked.
“The card game? Like Crazy Eights?”
I shook my head.
“I’ll teach you.” He smiled as he shut the door. I collapsed o
nto the bed, half expecting woodland creatures to appear and tuck me in. Could the place be any more enchanting? Before the road trip was over, I had the feeling I would know what it felt like to kiss Jesse McMann. Breathe, Maddie.
Dinner was a continuation of the complete and utter amazingness that had been my birth—um, special day. We made our own pizzas from scratch—well, the dough had been prepped beforehand, but Aunt Julia had put out all different ingredients in small bowls around the countertop. Charlie had so much pepperoni on his pizza it looked like shingles on a roof; both Aunt Julia and Sara made regular cheese and tomato sauce pies; I tried my hand at a margherita with fresh mozzarella and basil; and Jess surprised the heck out of me by making a Hawaiian, with pineapples and ham and cheese.
After dinner we sat near the fireplace and played Spoons, which involved matching cards and grabbing spoons, and I completely and utterly sucked at it and was the first one to spell out S-P-O-O-N. Charlie kicked everyone’s butt. Jesse disappeared and came back with an acoustic guitar.
“Well, that was fun. Time for some not-birthday cake?” Aunt Julia looked at me.
“What’s that for?” I motioned to Jesse and the guitar, anticipating another rousing version of the song I cringed over. He grinned and strummed.
“Mood music. I promise to get it right this time.” He laughed.
I collected the cards, making room for the not-birthday cake, which we were going to chow down on near the fireplace. Aunt Julia carried the cake into the great room, the dogs following at her heels.
“Can we sing?” Sara pleaded.
I was about to say sure—I mean, really, how could I refuse?—when Jesse cut in.
“We’ll do the version we sing to my dad—how’s that?”
They all looked so excited.
“Okay.”
Jesse strummed a few chords of the Beatles’ “Birthday” song, and they all started singing and clapping to it. I blew out the one candle I’d allowed them to put on the cake, and grinned.
The cake was some sort of triple-chocolate blackout cake, which made me weak in the knees after three forkfuls and a half glass of milk. Full and lazy, I never wanted to get up from the couch.
“Jess, play that song you played at your mom’s birthday party that time,” Sara said.
He shook his head, swallowing a mouthful of cake. “Nah.”
“Oh, come on, it’s so pretty,” Aunt Julia said.
“I’m eating,” he said, looking down.
“Madison, you should hear it, it’s . . . What was it?”
“‘Claire de Lune,’” Aunt Julia said. “He learned it as a gift to his mom.”
“Guys,” Jesse said. “No.”
“You play classical? Oh, you have to do it. It’s my birthday, I demand it.”
“You hate birthdays.”
“Doesn’t matter. Play,” I said, pointing at the guitar and waving my hand to order him around. Being the birthday girl did have privileges, after all. He narrowed his eyes at me as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. He picked up the guitar and sat down on the edge of the couch, strumming softly and fiddling with the tuning knobs at the end a few times.
“I have not played this since last summer,” he said. “So, you know, you’ve been warned.”
He plucked the strings slowly, stopped, then started again. At first he looked down at the neck of his guitar. Each note precise and sweet. The song was familiar, like something I would have heard in school, but the way Jess played, it felt more like a dream. Quickening at some parts, slowing down and lingering over other notes. He hit a sour note and winced, laughed a little, and looked at me while he continued.
I blinked, looked away.
There was something so intimate and raw about the way he played. He couldn’t help but be an open book when the guitar was in his hand. It had been the same way at Whiskey Business. It wasn’t the dark, or the crowd, it had been his music that revealed a part of him to me. When I looked back, his chin was up, eyes closed, mouth trembling like he was whispering to someone. His hair fell across his forehead and he flipped it back, not missing a note. The longer he played, the more it seemed like he was playing with his whole body, not just his hands.
His playing slowed. I savored each second, not wanting it to end. He sighed, plucking the final sound, a high note. We all sat still, letting the tone reverberate, mixing in with the crackling fire and the soft hush of our own breathing. Sara broke the spell by clapping.
“You didn’t hear those off-notes?” he asked.
“No, it was beautiful,” Aunt Julia said.
Charlie yawned, loud and long. Jesse looked at me.
“It was great.” Great seemed too brash and understated a word. Magnificent felt like overkill, but wow . . . I’d felt the song.
“Okay you two, time to get ready for bed.”
“But Mom, we haven’t played Clue yet,” Sara protested.
“It’s too late for Clue.”
Then it occurred to me this mass exodus was for my benefit. For mine and Jesse’s. To be alone.
So I did what any girl who’d been feted and pampered would do.
I freaked the hell out.
“I, um, wow, I’m beat, Jess.”
“Oh, yeah, me too.” He said it, but I didn’t believe him. “What time do you want to leave in the morning?”
I stretched. “I don’t know. Whenever. Not in a rush.”
“Ten-ish sound good?”
“Sure.”
We gathered up the dirty cake dishes and dumped them in the sink. I helped clean up the empty cups and brought the leftover cake to the counter.
“Thank you so much, for everything. This has been incredible.”
Jesse smiled, his eyes zeroed in on mine—asking me to linger.
With him.
“Good night,” I whispered, then bolted to my room.
Sleep would not indulge me.
I’d washed, changed into my fleece PJ bottoms, and even put on the fuzzy slipper socks I needed to have on so my feet wouldn’t get cold. My mind raced. I jammed my eyes shut again. Willing myself to Go. To. Sleep.
Nothing.
The comforter was down-filled, and hugged my body in a way that was heavy and light at the same time. The sheets were so soft and warm now, with a slight scent of lavender. The bed was a perfect, blissful sleep cocoon. There was no reason why I shouldn’t be able to fall asleep. Except . . .
The haunting melody of “Claire de Lune” kept dancing through my brain. Any time I closed my eyes, it was there, as was Jesse and that look on his face, the way his fingers moved up and down the neck of his guitar.
Breathe, Maddie.
I was falling for Jesse McMann.
How could I not?
Wasn’t that what this whole trip was about?
I felt mean thinking that way. None of it was calculated. It wasn’t like this trip was easy. A five-hour drive. A weekend off from work and band rehearsal, when the Battle of the Bands was two weeks away. He’d done it for me.
That was scary, uncertain ground. I thought about what Zach had said when we broke up—Maybe you’ll let him in. I didn’t know what he meant until now. I could always box Zach up—as fun guy, great kisser. And whenever things seemed like they were getting deeper—I’d shut off, or down, because it was easier to feel in control that way. I wasn’t in control now.
I tossed and turned a few more times before finally throwing off the cover and getting up with plans on raiding the kitchen for a glass of milk or something. Maybe another slice of blackout cake would put me into a blissful sugar coma and help me sleep. My door creaked, no matter how gently I tried to open it. I paused, waiting to hear any telltale clicking of little paws or feet. Nothing. I tiptoed quietly down the hall. The fire illuminated the great room, shadows expanding and flickering across the walls.
I froze mid-step, heart jumping into my throat. Jess was there, on the couch, staring into the fireplace. He nodded out for a moment, dozing.
St
op pretending, chica. You didn’t come out here for cake.
I moved toward him, cleared my throat so I wouldn’t completely freak him out. He jolted awake, sitting up when he saw me.
“Hey.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“Hi,” I said. His eyes moved across me, taking in my black fleece PJ bottoms with the fluorescent hearts, my thin white tee. I crossed my arms.
“You’re still up.” Um, duh, Mads.
“Barely.”
I flopped in the corner opposite him, curling my legs up underneath me. The fire made my skin feel tight, warm, and dry. The flames were hypnotic.
“I can’t stop thinking about the way you played that song,” I finally said.
He laughed. “You missed the clunker notes.”
“No, clunkers and all, it was . . . You were . . .”
He waited for me to say more, but I couldn’t find the words. Nothing could describe it.
“Where do you go?” I asked.
“Hmm?”
“When you play, when you close your eyes it looks like you’re whispering or something . . . you’re gone.” After I voiced it, the question sounded ridiculous. He stared into the fire, a small smile crossing his lips.
“C’mon,” he said, standing up.
“What?”
“Let me show you what it feels like.” For a moment I was disoriented. This was Stage Jesse, confident, holding out his hand to me, letting me in on his secret. What was he going to do? “Go get your boots on.”
Not what I’d expected.
I went back to my room, pulled on my boots, and met him by the front door, heart racing. Where were we headed? He had on his hoodie, a patchwork quilt slung over his shoulder.
“Here,” he said, handing me his leather jacket. I put it on, zipping it up to my chin this time, and followed him out into the frigid night.
My eyes finally adjusted to the dark, as we walked down a dirt path that cut between the barns. Soft whinnies echoed through the slats in the stalls; the sweet smell of hay and sting of manure made my nose itch. Aside from that, everything was still, peaceful, except for our feet scuffing against the hard road. Questions raced through my mind, but it felt like talking would interrupt something.
The Secrets of Attraction Page 19
