Pleasure in the Rain (3 page)

He pauses then, looks down at the podium in front of him, his struggle for composure clear. Behind me, I hear soft sobbing.

“This morning, dear friends,” he goes on, “I am with Case in the hope that when God is done with me here on this earth, I will see Beckley Phillips once again in a place far better than this.”

The pastor tips his head at Case and steps down from the podium.

Case stands, visibly weak, and walks to the chair placed next to the casket. John brings his guitar to him and, with gentle kindness, helps place the strap over his shoulder. He hands him a pick and then goes back to his seat to sit down.

Case doesn’t look up. I somehow know that if he does, he will never make it through this. He keeps his eyes on the guitar strings, his voice low and emotion-filled when he says, “Beck started playing this guitar at five years old. It was nearly bigger than he was then, but he was determined to master it, and he did. This was his favorite hymn, and if y’all don’t mind, I’d like to sing it to him today.”

He strums the chords to
Just as I Am,
the words coming out a little unsteady at first, building courage as he goes on. And by the time he reaches the chorus, it’s as if he’s singing to Beck and Beck alone, no one else in the room, a father to a son he will miss until the day he dies.

Tears fall down my cheeks.

I don’t wipe them away.

♪

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Holden

I hear the voices calling my name. I’m at the end of a long tunnel. Ahead, far, far ahead, I see a pinpoint of light.

I start toward it, but just as I do, the light moves away. I feel a weight press into my chest, like a concrete wall that has settled just above my rib cage. I realize the wall is frustration, me reaching out to the voices, trying to tell them I’m here, just behind the light. I can’t get close enough to make them hear me.

Now I hear CeCe crying. A soft broken sound that rips my heart in half. I need to get to her. I feel like I will choke on my own urgency, her torment coursing through me like the blood in my veins.

I struggle to get out from beneath the wall, but it’s useless. I’m too weak, my voice not loud enough to project that far. It’s like drowning, looking up to see the surface so close above you and yet not able to push yourself up high enough to break through.

I don’t have the strength left to fight the descent.

♪

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CeCe

The graveside service is simple and final. The sun smiles brightly at the crowd of people huddled together on a Tennessee hillside.

The cemetery is a private family spot on Case’s two hundred fifty acre farm. It’s enclosed with white board fencing and an enormous oak stands at the center of the spot. It has to be at least a century old. I’m grateful for the canopy of shade it drapes across us.

Mama is holding onto my elbow. For a moment, I wish I had taken her advice and let her get the wheelchair she’d rented for me out of the trunk of the car.

The pastor’s words here are brief and heartfelt. Case is sitting on the front row of chairs, bent over with his elbows on his knees, his shoulders visibly shaking with grief.

There is no music here, just the soft whistle of wind through the nearby trees. A cow lows for its calf in the distance. Other than that, silence.

Family members stand and drop flower petals across the top of the casket, each person filing out of the tent until only Case is left. I notice that Lauren isn’t here with him. I don’t know what to make of that.

Case lifts his head, his gaze locked on the petal-strewn casket, tears streaming silently down his face. He stands then, using a cane to right himself.

Next to me, Mama draws in a quick breath that sounds more like a sob. I’m afraid to look at her because I can barely contain my own sorrow.

Case reaches down to scoop a handful of petals from the pot next to the coffin. He gently scatters them in among the others. They fall like silent rain.

I see his shoulders droop, and he starts to drop back onto the chair. Mama moves so quickly that it takes me a moment to realize she’s right there beside him, helping him to sit without falling.

“It’s okay,” she says. “Just lean on me.”

He looks at her then, and the grief in his eyes is more than any human being could possibly know how to bear.

Tears stream from Mama’s eyes as well, and she takes his hand and clasps it between her own like a rudder righting a ship on an ocean’s staggering waves of sorrow.

♪

I DON’T WANT TO
go to the gathering at the house.

The thought of food still makes me feel sick, but even more, I can’t imagine winding my way through all of the guests who will be there. Forcing a smile to my face, a polite note to my voice. I can’t imagine smiling again or that the furnace of anger melting my very core can ever be snuffed out.

But Mama thinks I will regret it if I don’t go in. And since I’m too exhausted to put up much of a fight, I let her get the wheelchair out of the car. I sit down in it to the hope that it will lessen the number of times I actually have to meet eyes with the other people here today.

I see Nelda, the Phillips’s housekeeper standing at the entrance to the kitchen, her black dress formal in a way I’ve never seen her. She glances up, and as soon as her gaze falls across me, I hear the sob erupt from her chest.

She walks over to me, drops onto her knees and puts her arms around me. Her shoulders shake with the effort of trying to hold back the despair intent on breaking free from her. And I’m crying so hard that I can’t catch my breath. I feel like such an imposter here. All of these people loved Beck.

I cared for him, but I hurt him. If I could take back those last moments between us, if I could just reach through time and change the ending. . .

I can’t. And that is something I will have to live with.

I wonder if Nelda knows we had broken up. Would she be hugging me this way if she did?

“I am so sorry for what happened,” she says. “To all of you. It is so very wrong. . .such a waste.”

I nod, biting my lip.

“How are you?” she asks, brushing her hand across my cheek.

“I’m okay,” I say. But I’m not a good liar. I can see she doesn’t believe me.

“I have taken good care of your Hank Junior and Miss Patsy.”

“Thank you so much, Nelda. I’ve missed them.”

Case appears in the hallway, John at his elbow.

“CeCe,” he says, “could I speak to you and your Mama for a moment?”

I’m surprised by the question, my stomach doing a jolt of dread. I nod. Nelda gets to her feet and strokes her hand across my hair. “If you need anything, sweetie, anything at all.”

“Thank you, Nelda,” I say.

“Nelda, why don’t you get Hank Junior for her? And Patsy, too. We’ll be in here,” he says, nodding at the open door of the closest room.

She says of course and walks toward the stairs at the end of the hall. Mama pushes my wheelchair into the room. John helps Case to a nearby chair.

“Call if you need me, Case,” he says and leaves, closing the door behind him.

My mind is doing a kaleidoscope of possible reasons for why Case would want to see us. I can’t blame him if he’s angry with me. I think in a way I’d almost welcome it.

He rubs the palms of his hands against the knees of his pants and looks at me with his sorrow-filled eyes. “I hardly know what to say to you, CeCe,” he begins.

I brace myself for what is to come. I deserve every word of it.

Mama squeezes my shoulder as if she knows what I’m feeling.

“I’m so sorry, CeCe,” Case says.

I glance quickly up at his face, shaking my head in confusion. “For what?” I ask, the words barely audible.

“For everything. For the horror of what happened there that night. I’ve tried so many times to imagine what could have been done to prevent it.”

“Case,” I say, “you’re not to blame.”

“Not directly, I know,” he says. “But you learn pretty early on in this business that there’s resentment and sometimes envy, I guess.”

“If anyone is to blame, it’s me,” I say, looking down at my hands. “There’s something I need to tell you.” I struggle to put my words in some kind of logical order. “The guy. Jared. He was at one of the shows earlier in the tour. Kind of harassing me. But Holden was there and basically put a stop to it. And I don’t know,” I say, starting to cry, “I should have told someone else what happened. If I had, maybe none of this-”

“CeCe,” Case says, raising a hand to stop me. “And what would the charge against him have been if you had reported him that first time? Probably nothing, and he would have done what he planned to do anyway. That’s the truth of it, hard as it is for any of us to accept. Almost for sure, there’s nothing that we could have done.” He stops there and looks off out the window.

From here, we can see the top of the tall broad oak tree sheltering Beck’s gravesite.

“I just wish,” he finally says, “that it had been me.”

“Oh, Case,” Mama says, quickly and urgently as if she can’t stop herself from objecting. “You can’t wish that.”

He looks at her then. Really looks at her. They hold each other’s gaze for a long moment before she adds, “Your son wouldn’t want that.”

“He wouldn’t, but I do.”

I have to tell him now. I can’t keep it inside me any longer. I need for him to know. I fully expect him to hate me.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Case,” I say.

“What is it, honey?” he asks in his kind Southern voice. I wonder if that voice will ever again be free of the ragged edges of grief.

The words stick in my throat. I force them out one by one. “I. . .I broke up with Beck before the shooting.”

I sense his gaze on me, but I can’t make myself meet his eyes. I feel too awful, too horrible, and so I sit looking at my hands and waiting for him to rain down whatever ridicule I deserve.

“Aw, honey,” he says.

I jerk my gaze to his at the note of compassion in his voice. “I know about that.”

“You do?”

“CeCe. . .y’all are. . . .you are so young. And so was Beck,” he says, his name breaking off at the end. “Don’t let yourself feel guilty about things not working out between you. You and my son spent a lot of good time together. I think you made him want to live for some things that maybe he hadn’t been living for. You don’t need to waste any of your sadness worrying about me being angry at you for that.”

I bite my lower lip, trying to prevent the sob about to erupt from my throat. It does no good. I bend over with my arms anchored at my waist as a fresh wave of unbearable sadness flattens me.

My crying is not silent. I can’t make it so. I want it to stop, but it won’t.

Mama kneels down and wraps her arm around my shoulder, murmuring soothing words that I only wish could comfort.

Just then something warm and wet licks the side of my face. It’s my boy. Hank Junior.

He puts his head on my lap and whines a broken-hearted whine that tells me he’s had no idea where I’ve been or why I left him. His whole body shakes down to the tip of his tail. I lean over and hug him as tightly as I can, saying in his ear, “I will never leave you again.” And I mean it.

I hear the familiar plodding little footsteps and open my eyes to see Patsy wedge her way in next to Hank Junior. She wags her tail, looking up at me with her soft brown eyes. I can see she, too, has wondered where we’ve been. I reach out and rub her chin with the back of my hand, telling her how much I’ve missed them both.

Holden’s face comes to me so clearly then. I suddenly feel ashamed for not having the courage to go in and see him before leaving the hospital. I haven’t allowed myself to think of him, focusing only on getting through the trip home, the service today. I couldn’t face more than that, all of it like a mountain looming in front of me that I somehow had to find a way to climb.

But now, with Patsy in front of me, I let a little of my fear for Holden and Thomas in. It forms a crater in my stomach. I start to slip at its edges, barely able to prevent myself from tumbling in headfirst.

Mama reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it hard. “We’ll go back as soon as you’re a little stronger,” she says, reading my thoughts.

I don’t know why I’m still surprised at her ability to know what I’m thinking. I nod once, not trusting myself to speak.

Mama looks at Case and says, “Thank you so much for taking care of these two. Letting them stay during the tour.”

“They were good company for Nelda.”

“Thank you, Case,” I say.

“You’re welcome, honey.”

“We should probably go,” Mama says.

I barely recognize the note in her voice when she says to Case, “I hope you’ll take good care of yourself.”

He nods once, but I’m not convinced, and neither is Mama.

“Your son would want you, too,” she adds.

This registers with Case, and he gives her a deep, assessing look that doesn’t bother to hide his raw grief.

Mama walks over to him and puts her arms around him, hugging him with utter compassion. When she pulls back, I see the confusion in his face, and the moment when it fades to simple gratitude.

She wheels me to the door. “Just a moment,” I say, and she stops.

I look back at Case. “If you need us. . .for anything.”

He nods once.

We leave the room then. I wonder how he will ever survive the days ahead of him.

♪

AT THE FRONT
of the house, Mama waits for a kind-eyed man to open the front door before she rolls my chair out onto the walkway. I’m protesting that I’m okay to walk to the car when I hear a familiar voice say my name.

I glance up. Macey Canterwood stares at me with naked accusation. She’s wearing a black dress that might as well have couture stamped across the front. Her hair is pulled back in a severe ponytail, accentuating the anger in her expression.

“I’m surprised you’d have the nerve to come here today,” she says.