Softly and Tenderly (10 page)

Max leaned against his desk, arms and ankles crossed, waiting. Dad didn’t walk in here for a single purpose.

“I need advice.” Dad rotated toward Max.

“About Mom?”
Ah!
Max jumped up, pressing his hand against his thigh. The pain made his eyes water.

“Your back again?”

Max knelt slowly to the floor, anchoring his hand against one of the chairs, taking the pressure off his back.

“Son, do I need to call 9-1-1?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“You need some meds?” Dad stepped over to hold the chair as Max dragged himself up to sit. “I could—”

“In the closet. Top shelf, little toy safe in the back left corner.”

Dad retrieved the safe and tugged open the plastic door. He doled out two pills. “Is that enough?”

Max nodded, then swigged them down with warm Diet Coke.

“Toy safe. Clever.” Dad returned the stash to its hiding place and closed the closet door.

“You going to tell Mom?”

“About your pills or the court?” Dad sat in the wingback chair across from Max.

“The court.” Max regretted giving him an ace in the hole.

“The question is, should I just come clean about the affair? Let the hoopla die down in the press before the governor decides? I can meet with him privately. I’ve known Matt for years.”

“You realize you’re talking to me about my mother. And if you weren’t my father, I’d punch you in the face for what you did to her.” Max eyed his father with a hard-line gaze.

“I’ll talk with Clarence.” Rebel rose and headed for the door. Clarence was a senior partner at Benson Law and one of Dad’s oldest friends. “Don’t worry about your mom and me. We’ve endured forty-one years of marriage, infidelities and all.” He hesitated with his hand on the knob. “Think I’ll make it to the court?”

“Sure, why not?” Max closed his eyes. The meds were doing their thing. “You’re a Benson, one of the most enduring legal names in Tennessee.”

Dad left, and Max swigged the last of his coke, staring out his office window at downtown Chattanooga traffic. His father was a confessed adulterer and a state supreme court nominee.

Tossing his empty bottle in the recycle bin, Max’s gaze fell on the closet door. He was truly his father’s son.

His iPhone’s ring startled him. The tone was the one he’d assigned to Rice’s number. Wonder what she wanted?

“Rice?”

“No, son, it’s Gus McClure.”

“Gus, hello, how are you?” His voice faltered, sounding weak and far away.

“I have some news, Max, some terrible news.”

In the chilly March air, Jade waited for Max on the back porch swing, wrapped in her wool jacket, feet buried in a thick pair of socks Mae Plumb’s granddaughter had made.

When his Mercedes pulled into the garage, her heart skipped. She still loved when he came home at night, his tie loose around his neck, a shock of his dark hair freed from the morning’s gel and arching over his brow. His presence enveloped the house and filled her.

“Hey, handsome,” she said as he came up the back walk, his left heel skipping over the concrete.

From the ground luminaries trimming the walkway, and from the lily lights she’d strung along the porch roof, Jade detected heaviness in his posture.

“Anything to eat?” Max cleared the porch steps and bent to kiss Jade’s cheek.

“I thought we’d order pizza, watch a movie.” Jade entered the kitchen behind him, locking the door and shutting off the outside lights. “Are you okay? How was the meeting?” She brushed aside his bangs, trying to see into his eyes. “And didn’t you say you were getting a haircut?”

“Didn’t go to the meeting. Didn’t get a haircut.” He dropped his briefcase in the middle of the floor and jerked open the fridge door. “I thought you were going grocery shopping.”

“What’s wrong with you?” This was not the homecoming she’d anticipated. A grouchy Max. He loved the partner meetings. Always came home in a good mood, fired up about the firm’s plans and future, relaying all the stories and news from the partners. “Did something happen today? Why didn’t you go to the meeting? Where have you been?”

“Driving around. Stopped to talk to Tripp.” Max jerked his bag up to his shoulder and shoved past Jade as he left the kitchen. “Are you ordering pizza or not?”

“Yeah, sure.” Grouch. Ruiner of plans. While he was not in a meeting, not getting his hair cut, Jade had gone into Whisper Hollow pharmacy to pick up something for Mama. The ovulation kits were on sale. As Rod Stewart so eloquently sang, “Tonight’s the night.”

She’d hoped to keep the news to herself, woo him with her kisses, and let nature take its course. If she wasn’t pregnant next month, she’d be the only one to know.

“I don’t want pepperoni. Get veggie. No olives.”

“Max.” Jade cupped his shoulder. “What’s wrong? Look at me.”

He hesitated in the foyer, his jacket dragging over the marble. When he turned, she saw the watery redness of his eyes and the sallow texture to his skin.

“Pills. You’re taking pills again.”

“Rice is dead, Jade.” He moved toward the stairs. “Rice is dead.”

“No!” She ran after him. “What happened?” Rice was too young, too full of life to be dead.

“Gus called. She was flying her first cross-country solo. Hit a storm. Her plane went down, and . . .” His first step up emulated climbing a mountain. “Rice is dead.”

June picked at her chicken salad, unable to eat. The somber mood of the Thursday Club luncheon seemed to quell everyone’s appetite.

“More water, Mrs. Benson?” The server poised a pitcher over June’s glass.

“Yes, please.” The plop of ice and splash of water resounded in the Lilac Room.

The server filled Jade’s glass. “I loved the top you sold me the other day, Mrs. Benson.”

“Good, good. I’m glad. And you can call me Jade.”

The server moved around the table pouring water.

All the talk this afternoon was about Rice’s death. She’d been a friend, or a friend to the daughter or son, of every woman in the Lilac Room. Several of the older women had taught her in Sunday school or at Whisper Hollow High.

“Give us the scoop, Junie? You play cards with the McClures.” Penny Jo leaned over her lunch toward June. “Rice had a son? I was shocked. Did you know?”

“Penny Jo, eat your salad.” June speared at her own tomato and cube of chicken.

“All I want to know is the truth. Mercy, don’t get so defensive. We’re all hurting for Gus and Lorelai. Missing Rice. But what about her son? He’s what?” Penny Jo looked at Helen Brooks. “Eighteen months?”

“I heard he was two,” Helen said.

“Nineteen months,” June answered. “He’s nineteen months . . . Asa McClure.”

“So he has her last name.” Penny Jo raised her eyebrows and surveyed the other women at the table. “No father in the picture?”

“Rice is dead, Penny Jo.” June’s fork clattered against her plate. “Can we please respect her memory?”

Penny Jo made a big production of wiping the corner of her lips with her linen napkin. “I just couldn’t stop crying when I found out. And that poor boy.”

Shut up, Penny Jo
.

“I’ve been thinking, June. We should cancel the spring event. I’d feel like I was dancing on Gus and Lorelai’s grief.”

What was she doing? Stirring up trouble for nothing. On purpose. “The dance is a month away, Penny Jo. Rice’s funeral is this Saturday.”

The stately woman with red hair and a recent face-lift stood, determination in her brown eyes. “Ladies . . .” She tapped her water glass with the handle of her fork. “I know how much we all look to the spring dance to break off our winter doldrums, but how can we celebrate when our friends have suffered such a great loss? Most of us have served on a club or church committee with Lorelai. Our husbands golf with Gus.” Penny Jo strolled slowly between the center tables, gathering emotional support. “I move we cancel the spring cotillion. We’ll have the auction to raise money, but in deference to our friends the McClures, cancel the party.”

“Good idea. I second.” Lucy Parker stuck her hand in the air.

“Ladies, ladies.” June shoved away from the table and joined Penny Jo in the middle of the room. “We are all grieving, but we can’t just cancel the cotillion without discussion. We’ve paid deposits, ordered food and flowers.”

“Then let’s discuss.” Helen rose to her feet. “Personally, I’d feel like I was dancing on Rice’s grave.”

“My point exactly.” Penny Jo applauded with soft hand pats. “Where is our cotillion subchair, Claire Falcon, today?” Penny Jo’s gaze fell on June. Yes, she was doing this on purpose. “Wonder what she’s up to? She never misses Thursday lunch.”

“Is that the game you want to play, Penny Jo?”
Gloves off, girl. Dukes up
. June paced around the tables, catching glances before the women averted their eyes. “Let’s just go ahead and get it out on the table.”

Chairs squeaked. Silverware clinked.

“June, I was just funning.” Penny Jo tugged at her suit jacket. Laughing. Fake. “No need to get all serious on us. This is about Rice, and Gus and Lorelai.”

“June, come now.” Helen spoke low and tender. “No need to air dirty laundry on club luncheon day. Let’s just say we all knew Claire was gunning for some man to get revenge on what Walt did to her.”

“And what was your reason, Helen? I believe you know Rebel more intimately than you should.” June continued circling the room. Jade remained at their table, her expression somber. “Maybe some of you can get with Claire and form the Ex-Lovers of Rebel Benson Club. Helen, you can be president. Trudy, ducking down back there, how about vice president? And if I’m not mistaken, Annamarie, you can be secretary.” June worked her way back to her table. “Be sure to recruit Penny Jo. She’s wanted to be a member for a long time.”

“June Benson, that’s an out-and-out—”

“As for me.” June strolled back to her table and slung her new handbag over her shoulder. Her belly rumbled for a burger and shake from Froggers. “I resign from this club and the committee. Do what you want. I don’t care.”

A collective gasp rose in the room.

“June. You can’t quit.”

“I just did, Helen.” June motioned to Jade as she headed for the door. “One final thought, ladies. Shame on you for keeping my husband’s secrets while pretending to be my friends.” The smack of her heels against the tile was the perfect exclamation point.

“June.” Jade whooshed out of the Lilac Room after her. “That . . . was incredible.”

“Yes, incredibly stupid. I just exposed my husband to all those snippy—” June punched through the outer clubhouse doors. The mountain air cooled her hot skin.

“But they already knew.”

June paused under the magnolia tree. “I used to smoke . . . Virginia Slims. I’d come out here after a dance to cool off, have a cigarette.” She tipped her face toward the noon sun. “The stars would be out, floating across the night like dandelion pedals. That’s when I first caught him. Leaning against Lisa Thibodeaux.”

“And you never said anything?”

She shrugged. “I thought it was a harmless flirt. I thought I deserved . . . Well, what’s done is done.” June stepped off the sidewalk. “How about a burger at Froggers?”

Eight

The morning sunlight drifted through the stained glass of First Baptist Congregation and cast gauzy red, green, blue, and yellow veils over Rice’s casket.

From the pulpit, Reverend Girden spoke of life after death. “Can we be assured there is an afterlife? Yes. Jesus told us so. ‘I go to prepare a place for you.’”

Jade watched her husband with stealthy glances. He’d not said two sentences to her today. Grief, she understood, but shoving her out of his heart, she didn’t. When the funeral started, she slipped her hand into his, but after a few seconds he shifted and let go.

On the other side of Max, Mama stared straight ahead with glassy eyes. Jade whispered to Jesus that now would be a good time to awaken Mama to the reality of the afterlife. She whispered loud “amens” to Reverend Girden’s references to Jesus and heaven. This moment had to be hitting home for Mama.

“I’d like to take this time,” Reverend Girden said, stepping down from the stage to the main floor, “to invite Rice’s friends and family to share.” He smiled. “I think Rice is probably watching from heaven, waiting for this part.”