Across the yard, the white farmhouse sprawled over the oak-shaded knoll like a plump aunt, arms spread wide for a comforting embrace. Beyond the house, corn grew about half the year on two hundred forty acres of gently rolling farmland. Her dad, proud to be one of Indiana’s sixty-one thousand farmers, had never pressured the McKinley kids into filling his shoes, freeing them to find their own way. They were still working on that part.
Once they were seated, Dad said grace and they dug in. Grilled burgers, potato salad, green beans from last year’s garden, and of course corn. There was always corn at the McKinley house.
“How’s the planting going, Dad?” Ryan swatted a fly. “I can help next week if you want.”
“Sounds good. I could use the help.” Dad dished out a heaping spoonful of potato salad. “She wants to sail that old broken-down barnacle, Jo.”
Madison placed her napkin in her lap, her eyes glancing off Mom. Despite her mother’s perpetual smile, sadness had lingered in her blue eyes since Jade’s sudden departure.
“Is that so?” Mom’s look said more than her words. She knew Madison better than anyone. Knew the turmoil losing Michael still caused, even though Madison hadn’t shed a tear, even though she rarely spoke of it. A girl didn’t lose her twin brother without repercussions.
“For Michael.” Her family stilled, even PJ, and that didn’t happen often. “It’s important to me.”
Michael had been a capable sailor, though he hadn’t lived long enough to sail in the regatta. It had been his dream to be the youngest winner ever—the current record holder being twenty-seven. And with their twenty-seventh birthday around the corner, time was running out.
“And you think you can actually win in that thing?” Dad asked.
She hadn’t meant to blindside him. “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s a hunk of rotten wood.”
He was making it sound far worse than it was. “I’m going to restore it.”
Her dad breathed a laugh.
Okay, so it was in rough shape, but Michael had saved for it for two summers. On the doorstep of seventeen, he’d bought a boat instead of a car. She still remembered the look of pride on his face when he’d shown it to her.
“She’s all mine, Madders,” he’d said, running his hand along the flaking white paint at the bow. “I’m going to be the youngest winner ever, you’ll see.”
“In that thing?” she’d asked.
“It’s just cosmetic stuff. Her bones are good.”
“It’s still in the barn, honey,” Mom said now, setting her hand over Dad’s clenched fist.
“Thanks, Mom. It won’t be the fastest boat out there, but the race is handicapped, so I have a good shot.”
“She can’t swim, Jo.”
“That’s what life vests are for, Daddy,” PJ said gently.
Dad’s lips thinned. He was torn, Madison knew. Between wanting to support her and being afraid for her.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll take every precaution. I’m getting lessons, aren’t I?”
“Let me know if I can help,” Ryan said. “I can, you know, crew or whatever.”
PJ nudged him with her shoulder. “You wouldn’t know a sail from a bath sheet.”
“Oh, and you would?”
“Children. Eat your supper.”
A few minutes later PJ launched into a story about a soufflé disaster, lifting the mood. By the time Mom set the apple pie on the table, Dad’s expression had lightened, though Madison noticed that Daniel was quiet tonight. She caught him casting a look at the empty seat next to her. She understood. It seemed strange without Jade there.
After supper, Madison helped her mother with the dishes while the others played HORSE. She scrubbed the burger platter while Mom loaded the old brown dishwasher.
Madison loved the little house she rented—which until two weeks ago Jade had shared—but there was something comforting about her parents’ home. Something about the predictable squeaks in the old wood floor, the hourly chime from the grandfather clock, and the familiar scents of lemon and spray starch. She rinsed the platter. Even the ancient spray hose, which was more trickle than spray.
After the dishwasher had whirred into action, Mom leaned against the sink ledge. The pendant lights illuminated her face, settled into the laugh lines around her eyes.
“Are you sleeping okay, honey? You look tired lately.”
“I’m fine.” Madison had never told Mom about the nightmares, and she wasn’t about to worry her with them now.
Her mom gave her a long, knowing look. The kind that made Madison realize that she could shutter off her heart to the outside world, but Mom would still see right through.
“You know, Madison . . . if it’s peace you’re looking for, you won’t find it on the regatta course.”
Madison put the platter away, the old cupboard giving a familiar creak. Was that what she was after? Peace? Did a person ever find such a thing after losing someone they loved so much? Someone so innocent and undeserving of death?
The story continues in Barefoot Summer by Denise Hunter!
About the Author
Denise Hunter is the internationally published bestselling author of more than twenty books, including Dancing with Fireflies and The Convenient Groom. She has won the Holt Medallion Award, the Reader’s Choice Award, and the Foreword Book of the Year Award and is a RITA finalist. When Denise isn’t orchestrating love lives on the written page, she enjoys traveling with her family, drinking green tea, and playing drums. Denise makes her home in Indiana where she and her husband are raising three boys.
Learn more about Denise online!
DeniseHunterBooks.com
Facebook: authordenisehunter
Twitter: @DeniseAHunter
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