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Her name written in fancy script was the only thing on the outside of both envelopes. I started with the smaller one and skimmed it quickly. Anger roiled inside me. Damn straight she didn't deserve Maddy's forgiveness.
Taking care not to crumple it as I shoved it back into the envelope, I dropped it on the coffee table and opened the larger envelope. My breath caught when I got to the second paragraph. It seemed Charly was in some kind of trouble again. So why was she contacting Maddy? The skeptic in me doubted the sincerity of the apologies and excuses offered in both letters. Experience had taught me to go with my gut instincts, and I suspected Charly only had two possible reasons for making contact with her sister after all this time. One, she was genuinely sorry and was seeking absolution. Or two, and the more likely in my mind, she needed something, so she turned to the one person who had always been there for her.
I glanced at Maddy, who was staring back at me. She looked pale, making her beautiful eyes seem even larger on her face. I worried about the dark circles under her lashes, but for the first time I noticed something else - there was trust shining in her eyes.
Another chain around my heart broke. There was no way in hell I was going to let Charly or anyone else ever hurt her again. I hoped that whatever these new growing feelings between us were, they helped to release us from the prison of the past and didn't sentence either of us to more heartbreak. And the only way I could guarantee that was to fortify the guidelines to the new category I had created for Madelyn and her alone: friend.
24
Maddy
The week began as Holt had told me it would. He drove me to work, bid me goodbye as we got off the elevator, and drove me home at the end of the day. Despite his protests, I cooked dinner every night. I felt it was the least I could do for letting me stay. He thanked me for the meal, but every night he'd take his plate and disappear into his study and come out hours later when he knew I'd already gone to bed.
After he'd read my letters on Sunday night, he'd asked me some more questions about Paul and Charly. He looked dismayed when he realized the book and necklace I'd asked him about had such sentimental value. He vowed to go back in the daylight and search again.
But after he put the letters down, he didn't sit with me again, didn't hold my hand in support, nor offer any more comforting embraces. He was polite and friendly enough, but he seemed distracted. I finally bid him goodnight, and only then did he give me a hug and another forehead kiss, much like he'd given Carol and Sara when we'd left after Sunday dinner.
To say I felt confused was an understatement. Clearly he’d drawn some lines. Regardless, I didn't have any regrets about telling him everything. It was exhausting holding everything in, and finally confiding in him relieved a tremendous amount of stress. I trusted him. But I missed the affectionate side of him that vanished late Sunday night. I tried to analyze that what I felt for him was gratitude; that I was starved for any tender touch, and I misread his affection, even that I envied him of his family. But despite trying to rationalize my feelings, the truth was I cared about Holt. A lot. He'd never walked on tiptoes around me trying to spare my feelings. Rather, he'd stood up to me and forced me to see how jaded I'd become. Instead of turning me off, his honesty made me trust him.
The only exception to our routine came at the end of the week after a late evening at work. He came into the kitchen while I was stirring a wine-based gravy for the pork chops I was browning in another pan.
He turned off the burners and pulled me to the table that I'd already set. I'd put two place settings out, even though I knew he'd only scoop up the plate and glass and leave, but I wasn't going to make it easier for him to ignore me.
It seemed he'd done a little of his own place setting. On top of my plate was a large box wrapped in silver paper and a red bow.
"What's this?"
"It's on your plate. Why don't you open it?"
I picked up the box, which was kind of heavy, and shook it teasingly. He rolled his eyes and gestured with a twist of his finger to get on with it. I gingerly pulled the paper.
"Don't tell me you're one of those who try to unwrap a present without tearing the paper?"
I grinned. "Maybe." I didn't want to tell him that I hadn't had many gifts to practice unwrapping, so I was savoring this one.
Holt rolled his eyes again, but he remained smiling. I slid my finger under the final piece of tape.
"Oh!" The paper slid off to reveal a laptop computer; a new one, not an old one like I had been saving for. Regret filled me. "I can't accept this, Holt."
The smile fell from his face. "Why not?"
"It's...it's too much." Oh, but I wished I could. It would take me months to save for a new computer, especially now that I had so many things to replace after the fire.
"Maddy, please accept it. I know how much tutoring means to you, and since for now you're dependent on me for rides, you're also stuck with my schedule which means you can't commit to what days you can volunteer. This way you're free to work from here or work, or wherever we are. And I saw how good you were with Ethan. There're a lot of kids who need someone like you to help them."
I hesitated.
"Consider it my gift to the education of the future of America," he teased.
"I'll find a way to pay you back," I promised.
"You sort of miss the point of a gift, don't you?" He rubbed his stomach. "Besides, all these meals you insist on cooking are saving me a ton of money on carry out and restaurants. I still come out ahead in this deal."
"Thank you, Holt. This means a lot to me." Deciding to push him a little further, I pointed to his plate. "Maybe you could join me tonight?"
Something akin to discomfort flashed across his face before he quickly masked it. "Sure. Should I get some wine?"
"That would be nice." That was another thing Holt had introduced me to. I'd never drunk anything alcoholic before meeting him, partly because of the unavailability in prison, but also because I'd seen what it had done to my father. Even tho
