Softly and Tenderly

by Sara Evans

  “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 go
od 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.”

  A soft laughter of relief rippled through the sanctuary.

  “Are you going up?” Jade leaned against Max, whispering. Lines began to form on each side of the room.

  “No.” Flat, bordering on uncaring. Even angry.

  “Why not?” She slipped her arm through his, her heart burning in her chest. She felt weak. Blindsided. Burdened and helpless.

  “Because . . . Jade.” He jerked away, scooting forward and propping his elbows on the pew in front of him, resting his face in his hands.

  Stinging, Jade sat back. But she couldn’t hold her question inside. “Max, what’s wrong?”

  “Rice died. What do you think?” Jumping up, he stepped over her legs and marched down the aisle toward the doors.

  Mama stretched her hand to Jade. “Give him some space, Jade-o. Death hits each one differently.”

  Jade’s pulse surged though hot veins. He acted like she was somehow responsible for Rice’s death. For days she’d given him space. Ever since he came home with the news.

  In the meantime, she’d lost this month to conceive. Max was edgy and terse, disappearing at odd hours, pacing the front porch with his cell phone in his ear, ending the calls when she came around.

  And yesterday afternoon Jade battled with anxiety for the first time in well over a year. Was Max going to leave her? Was he back into drugs? Another woman?

  Up front, Rice’s best friend since first grade wept at the mic. “So we took the tadpole bowl and poured it into Mrs. Campbell’s McDonald’s cup during recess. She always came to school with a McDonald’s Coke.” The mourners laughed low. “So there she is, teaching math, and reaches down to take a drink—”

  The laughter rose from the mourners and rolled through the sanctuary. Jade swerved around to the back of the sanctuary, searching for Max. He stood by the doors talking to Rice’s cousin, Serena, who held Rice’s son. An electric tremble traveled across Jade’s torso. Her stomach constricted.

  Facing forward again, she tried to listen to the stories and memories of Rice. Her thoughts melded into her emotions, sinking, sinking, sinking into a mental mire.

  Burnt amber tainted her thoughts and swirled with purple ribbons. She felt loose, ungrounded, like she floated above the rhythm of her quickening pulse. Little by little, she faded from the room.

  Miniscule thoughts wandered over deep, wide doubts. Is God real? What if it’s all a lie and Rice is locked in a box, six feet under. Forever.

  Breathe. Think of something excellent. Praiseworthy. Good. Reverend Girden had taught her to use Scripture to battle the beast. Jade scrambled to remember, to align her thudding heart with the truth of the Word.

  Peace . . . of Jesus . . . guard my heart . . . my mind. Do not have a spirit of fear . . . do not have . . .

  The first-grade friend tiptoed past, catching Jade’s attention. Stopping, she leaned into the pew, wrinkling her brow. “I’m so glad Asa has Max. He’s going to need his daddy.” She squeezed Jade’s shoulder. “And you too, of course. More than ever now.”

  “W-what?” Jade’s sticky palms stuck to the wooden pew seat. The sanctuary air was thin and hot, burning her lungs. And a cold reality inched down her back.

  The woman’s light faded. “Asa. Max’s son. So sad about Rice.”

  Jade lurched forward, the burnt amber and purple swirl defiling her. Her heart crashed. Holding down the mounting scream, Jade gave Mama a pained glance before running down the aisle and bursting through the sanctuary doors, losing herself in the light and crisp mountain air.

  “Your son?” The grandfather clock in the hall chimed ten. Jade threw the bed pillow across the room, aiming at Max. He flinched and ducked. “You have a son? And I don’t?”

  “I can’t talk to you if you keep yelling.”

  “I’ll yell all I want.” Jade cupped her hands around her mouth and bent back. “My husband has a son!” She fired over to the dormer windows and shoved one open. “Hey, Begonia Valley Lane, Max Benson has a son, but his wife doesn’t!”

  Max jerked her away from the screen, into the room. “Stop, you’re being stupid.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were the stupid one in the room. The lying cheater.” Jade picked up the pillow and slammed it over his back. “Just like your father.”

  “I am not like my father.”

  Jade stared Max down. Her heart was numb. Her thoughts collided. Skin-tightening chills chased feverish sweats. The shades of burnt amber hovered in her mind. “When were you planning on telling me?”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing the past week? Trying to figure out when to tell you. How.”

  “Coward. You only sleep next to me every night.” Except when he fell asleep in the den watching ESPN. Which he’d done a lot since he brought home the news that Rice had died. “How? When?” She crossed her arms. “I want to know.”

  “Vegas.”

  “When did you go to Vegas with Rice?”

  “The bachelor party. Burl’s plane. His girlfriend and Rice went along—”

  “You took your ex-fiancée on your bachelor trip?” This wasn’t happening. No to the room. No to the chair under the angled wall. No to the curtains and shades. No to the night cloaking Whisper Hollow. No, no, no.

  Max was the man she had pledged to love, honor, cherish. She’d opened her hand and surrendered her heart.

  And he, with his sincere golden-brown eyes and kind voice, pledged to her the same. When he kissed her in front of five hundred wedding guests, sealing their deal, he’d pressed his hands into her back, holding her so close the heat of his body fused with hers and for a moment, she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. “I didn’t take her on the bachelor trip. I wouldn’t . . . But when Burl’s girlfriend—you remember her, Kim, the one with the cheerleader voice—found out we were going, she begged to go along. She was Rice’s roommate, and they decided to have a girls’ weekend. I didn’t even see Rice after we landed, Jade. They went one way; we went another. Then Burl decided to break the bachelor weekend rules and hook up with Kim. Rice was kicked out. She pounded on my door, looking for a place to sleep.”

  “And you let her in? She couldn’t get another room? Max, what did you think would happen?”

  “Nothing. I thought nothing would happen. I just wanted to go to sleep. But Rice was hungry, so she ordered pizza. We started talking. Watched a movie—”

  “Were you drunk?”

  Max hung his head, hand gripping the top of the bedpost. “No, we weren’t. I fell asleep during the movie. So did Rice. In the same bed. Jade, you have to trust me, I never intended—”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jade sank to the edge of the chaise. “Now I know why you came home so anxious to reaffirm our past being in the past. A week before our wedding. That’s why you met with Reverend Girden, making sure you could go the distance and be a faithful husband. And I bought it. Hook, line, and sinker.”

  “I tried to convince myself it didn’t happen. Rice didn’t even speak to me on the flight home.”

  “Well, that makes it all better, then.”

  “Jade, I hated myself for it. So did Rice.”

  “When did you find out about Asa?”

  Max’s expression darkened. “When he was born.”

  “Nineteen months ago? You’ve had nineteen months to tell me?” Jade wished the surreal atmosphere of their room would shatter. She spoke as if Max had simply overdrawn their checking account on a large boy-toy purchase. “We were supposed to be honest with each other, from our wedding on, Max. What happened to that pledge? Is that what the pills have been about?
”

  “Partly, I guess. I do have a bad back. But Rice wanted it this way, Jade. Me out of her life and his, you not knowing. She felt really bad about betraying you.”

  “Oh, well then.” Jade stood, hurling the pillow to the bed. “I’m so glad you did things Rice’s way. And what vows did you make to her before God and man, Max?”

  “You think I’ve liked knowing I had a son?”

  Her knees buckled. “I can’t do this anymore.” She wanted out of his sight, out of his house, away from the day-old scent of his cologne. Snatching her purse from the floor, Jade ran down the hall and down the stairs, bursting out the kitchen door, her bare feet thudding on the cold, paved path to the garage.

  Nine

  “Daphne, open up.” Jade trembled as she pounded on her college roommate’s door. Unit 502.

  She’d not planned to stop here, but she’d been driving around Chattanooga for several hours, weeping, wailing, sobbing, talking to her windshield, hammering her steering wheel, and finally reaching the end of her ability to process.

  “Daphneeeee . . .” She hammered the door with her fists. Please . . . Since she’d left Max standing in their bedroom, she’d been a cacophony of emotions— tears, words, cramps, burnt amber swirls, the shimmy of the pickup’s wheel under her palm. “Daph!”

  If she wasn’t home, she’d drive over to Margot’s, who was better than nothing, but the longer she’d practiced dentistry, the shorter and sharper her compassion. Taking advice from her hurt, like drilling a tooth without novocaine.

  “Jade.” Daphne wore a pair of faded orange Vols sweats. Her auburn hair was sleeked back and gathered in a ponytail. Green goop covered her face.

  “You look like that and opened the door?” Jade barged past her. “What if I was a Titans football player or Brad Paisley?”