Chapter Six
OLIVER
T here’s a sharp stabbing in my temple as I pull into the car park. The headache has been brewing since last night, and I can’t seem to shake it off, no matter how much water I chug.
It probably doesn’t help that I haven’t slept all week. Instead, I spend my nights tossing and turning. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face. Every time I drift into something that resembles sleep, I dream of her legs wrapped around me. Madison haunts me.
Somewhere around three o’clock this morning I gave up trying. When I couldn’t focus on reading, I turned on my laptop. The bright blue light shone through my eyes as I scoured the internet for local charities. I never imagined it would be this hard to donate all my winnings, but I can’t find the right place.
Research centres are too focused. Pushing all their efforts into one single type of cancer or a terrible, but singular, disease. Charities raise money for specific groups of disadvantaged minorities, as though no one else has it tough. I want my money to go to everyone. Without discrimination.
At this stage, I’m ready to start throwing cash off the university roof.
I did find one thing in my search last night though, which is why I’m here. At the local community centre. A safe haven for all members of the community. The website boasted nursing services, community classes, food drives, career counselling, financial aid, library services, and a whole host of other outreach programs.
Something for everyone. Which means maybe, I’ve found my place.
The building has been left in the past, decades older than the new town homes surrounding it. Two potted lemon trees stand tall either side of the ramp that leads the way from the car park up to the bright teal door. Around the side of the building, a small playground is fenced off, and a veggie garden surrounds the car park.
It’s homely, nurturing and welcoming in a way that I wasn’t expecting.
A soft bell tinkles above the doorway as I enter, and a young man in an orange suit stands up from behind the desk.
“You must be Oliver.” His dark eyes meet mine and he smiles.
“I want to reiterate the importance of keeping this confidential.”
I shake his outstretched hand. He nods his agreement and gestures for me to enter a small office space. The walls are crowded with filing cabinets, but the window looks out over the playground.
“You mentioned wanting to make a donation?”
“Ten million dollars.”
The man freezes, his wide eyes blinking rapidly. Both hands find his chest and his mouth opens to speak. Flustered, he snaps his mouth shut and stumbles over to the chair by the desk.
“I don’t even know what we would do with that sort of money.” His voice is barely a whisper. Unsure if he was talking to me, or to himself, I choose not to respond.
My attention drifts to the window. Children squeal in delight as they fly down the rickety slide. From this angle, I can see how splintered the wooden structure is. The old plastic pieces might have once been red, but are now a faded, dirty shade of salmon. Sun bears down on the children, whose hats have been strewn about the bark chip that covers the ground.
“You could start by upgrading the playground?”
Mateo leaps out of the chair, as though he forgot I was in the room.
“Yes! Let me show you the centre.”
He hops from foot to foot until I nod, then grabs my arm to pull me back into the main room.
We wander through the centre, Mateo pointing out old light fixtures and broken furniture. Down the hallway, Mateo greets the local Mothers Group, and we poke our heads in on a study session for mature students. He points out the community calendar, outlining all the classes and events happening through the month. The community centre is a place for people from all backgrounds, and warmth spreads through me.
In the far back room, a floristry class is being held. Mateo drags me in to show me the kitchenette facilities the room offers. The laminate on the bench is peeling, and the tap sits at a precarious angle. Cupboards filled with mismatched crockery and glassware are missing doors.
Spinning to take in the rest of the room, I see her hair before I see her face. But I know it’s her. I know those golden strands with the gentle waves. I know the way they tangle in my fist, and how they look spread out on a pillow.
Madison double takes when she sees me. Like a child who can’t believe they are seeing their teacher outside of school. The thought is a firm punch to the temple, causing my headache to throb and a pit of nausea to bubble in my gut.
“Oli!”
Coming from anyone else’s mouth, I hate that nickname. But from Madison, it’s birdsong. I smile back at her as she places her bare stemmed flowers on the table in front of her. She holds up ten fingers, mouthing something that resembles ‘wait for me’. As though I had the power to walk away from her.
“I’ll speak with my financial planner about a cheque.” I tell Mateo once we are back in the closet sized room he calls his office.
He rattles my hand between his, bouncing on his toes as he shakes it up and down.
“We cannot thank you enough.”
“Confidentiality, remember.” I remind him. The last thing I need is for anybody to find out I gave away that much money.
A coffee van is parked outside, surrounded by the women from the Mothers Group. I join the queue, hands in my pockets as I wait. For coffee. For Madison.
She finds me sitting on the edge of one of the raised garden beds. My back is to the sun, but it’s heat spreads down my neck and under my dark t-shirt.
“Flowers?” She holds them out to me.
I never imagined it would feel this nice to be on the receiving end of a floral bouquet, no wonder women like it. Most of the flowers are white, but scattered between the puffy petals are some small yellow daisies.
“Thank you.”
Madison turns to rest next to me. Our thighs touch, tingles spread from the contact, making me shiver.
“So,” she starts as she nudges me, “why were you spending your Saturday morning on a tour of the community centre?”
I choke on my sip of coffee. I don’t know what to tell her. We started this with a lie that only served to get us into deep water, telling another lie doesn’t feel worth it.
“I have some money to donate. Why were you here?”
She grabs the flowers from my hand, whacking me on the head with them before returning them to my lap.
“Floristry class, dummy.”
“I thought your sister was the florist?”
“She is. We started coming to this class together. It was a way to know each other better. I did a florist class with her, she did a writing class with me.”
Her shoulders droop. Twiddling her thumbs and shuffling her feet, she hesitates before continuing.
“At least we did.”
Forgetting we aren’t meant to be together I wrap my arm around her and pull her close. She leans against me in a way that feels natural.
“Turns out I really enjoy playing with flowers. It makes me feel close to her even though she’s a plane away.”
“It’s normal to miss someone.”
She sighs into my shoulder.
“Is it normal to miss you?”
My heart acknowledges her admission first, but it spreads through my entire body like wildfire.
“I miss you too.”
The sound of cars coming and going from the car park fills the silence between us. We fall into one another, neither ready to move.
“So.” Tilting her head up, Madison’s mouth is so close to mine it hurts. My lips tingle, begging me to lean down and kiss her. To show her how far I’ve fallen. “Why are you donating money to the community centre?”
I don’t know why, but I tell her everything. About winning the money, about not wanting it, not deserving it. I tell her about the charities I’d researched and how none felt right . And I tell her how Mateo and the community centre needs the money, and how they deserve it more than I do.
“They help everyone , with whatever they need. Young adults learning to be parents, older adults struggling with technology, kids who need help with their schoolwork. There are no criteria, no boxes to tick before you can get help. They just help.”
My gaze drifts away from her to the faded brick building, and maybe it’s just the sun but the warm glow spreads through me again.
“Maybe it’s stupid to give away ten million dollars. But this feels right.”
To her credit, she doesn’t baulk or skip a beat when I admit how much money I’m donating.
“I think that’s beautiful. I love that you want to help.”
Leaning down, I give in to temptation. My lips find her mouth, brushing against her soft lips. I feel her body relax into mine. The kiss is tender and gentle, less ferocious than the ones we shared before. When we part, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes look moist.
“Will I ever not miss you?”
I brush away her tear with my thumb. I miss her too, and I doubt I’ll ever stop.