Softly and Tenderly

by Sara Evans

“I did. Harlan and I bought a property down the road right after Jade was born. Forty acres with a house much like this one. He left when Jade was eight and I tried to hang on to the place, but it was too much for me. I sold it, put my tail between my legs, and moved back in with Mother and Paps. A real blow to my pride. Paps died two years later, and between the divorce, being a single mom, living with my own mother”—Beryl shuddered—“I had to escape or lose my mind. I hit the road. In the long run, I knew Mother would be better for the kids than me.”

  “And you met Mike, when?”

  “A year or so later. Got pregnant with Willow after four months. Married him to give her a name. Some of Mother’s morals were getting to me, and I wanted to set a good example for Aiden and Jade, give them a grid for relationships. Kids need grids.”

  “What was he like?”

  “Mike Ayers?” The tip of Beryl’s lip twitched. “Sexy.”

  June balked at her confession, then laughed. “I suppose that’s a good enough reason to marry.”

  “I thought so, but we only lasted two years.”

  “Rebel was sexy, but he had this commanding way about him.” June stopped, her mind filling with images of her husband. “I knew he would make life good for whomever he married.”

  “Marriage wasn’t on my agenda. Then I met Harlan.” Beryl laughed softly. “I didn’t know I could love someone so much. Once I accepted his proposal”— she shook her head at the memory—“I never wanted to look back. Sounds square coming from a summer-of-love flower child.”

  “Sounds tender and sincere.”

  “I’ve done many things I’m not proud of, June, but my kids . . . I’m proud of them.”

  “Max always has been my pride and joy,” June said. “Mercy, I had to fight the urge to smother the boy to death with my affection. It’s hard with only one child. There’s no way to divide up all the love and attention.”

  “Did you want more children?” Beryl spoke softly, eyes closed.

  “We did, but—”

  “You can relate to Jade’s struggle.”

  “In some ways.” June brushed her hand over the quilt’s Jacob’s Ladder pattern. “In some ways.”

  Beryl drew in a slow, fought-for breath and closed her eyes. “Bacon, coffee, toast . . . is it weird I can still smell Mother’s breakfast cooking?”

  “My mother’s kitchen smelled like garlic.” June breathed in, but the fragrance on the edge of her nose was old, warm wood and dusty curtains.

  Beryl stretched for June’s hand, her chest rattling, her lungs wheezing. “I admire you, staying with Rebel for Max. Never catch me with a cheater. My third husband stepped out on me with a groupie, and—”

  “The musician? Please, don’t tell me you expected him to be faithful.”

  “He said he was, so I believed him.” Beryl’s short laugh faded to a rattling cough.

  “I knew Reb flirted. Caught him at the club a few times, talking a mite too cozy to a woman in the parking lot. But the first time I knew he cheated, Max was about five or so. I overheard a couple of women on my Fall Festival committee talking, in detail, about another committee member who’d recently resigned. Rebel’s name was never mentioned, but every word they whispered to each other rang so familiar to me. When and where this woman had gone with her secret lover, things he’d said and done. And I knew.”

  “Our souls know what our minds refuse to believe.”

  “’Tis true, Beryl. Listening to those women, I knew I’d ignored all the signs, and the truth hit me like a belly flop into the club’s icy pool. My husband had an affair.”

  “Did you give it to him?”

  “Confront Rebel Benson, a lawyer with a reputation for tough cross-examination, with club committee gossip? He’d slice and dice my argument in two seconds. No, with Reb I had to learn how to present my case. Truth be told, I needed room to doubt.”

  She couldn’t doubt now, could she? “Well, I’d better get to these dishes.” June moved off the bed, reaching for Beryl’s cup and plate.

  “Jade-o here yet?” Beryl muttered, her words heavy with sleep, the congestion in her chest making her work for air.

  “She’ll be along,” June said, then tiptoed down the back stairs to the kitchen to wait for Jade to arrive. Beryl needed to get to the doctor as soon as possible.

  In the comfort of the rental car, June had found her inner Steve McQueen and made good time to Prairie City. She’d wanted Beryl home and in her bed. The handyman, Linc, had been waiting for them on the front porch and carried in their luggage, practically carried in Beryl, then returned the rental. Nice boy, that Linc.

  June set the dishes in the sink and peered out the window. The afternoon was giving way to the power of twilight. Jade had called a few hours ago to say progress was slow with the broken top catching big gulps of highway breeze.

  June snickered, shaking her head. What a sight. Jade trying to explain how the Caddy became mangled under her wrath.

  Filling the sink with hot water, June searched the cupboard for dish soap. She’d told Beryl more of her story than she’d told her closest Whisper Hollow friends. Lisa Thibodeaux had been a long time ago. But it was the beginning of an avalanche.

  But only one knew the whole truth. Rebel. And he subtly reminded her every chance he got.

  “The Thibodeauxs?” June tossed the decorative pillows from the bed to the floor. “Why?”

  “Woody and I play golf, June. He suggested we get the wives together for some cards. Hearts or pinochle.” At the closet, Rebel slipped his tie from under his collar.

  “Absolutely not.” She’d never out-and-out defied Rebel before.

  He glimpsed over his shoulder. “Why not? You’re on a half-dozen committees with Lisa.”

  “Are you doing this to me on purpose?” June walked around the end of the bed, the hem of her satin pajamas bottoms sweeping across the carpet. “I won’t have her in my house, Reb. How dare you ask.”

  “June . . .” Rebel crooned as he unbuttoned his shirt, pulling the tail free from his slacks. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know darn well what I’m talking about.” June jumped on the bed to match his stature. “You and Lisa Thibodeaux? The gossip is hotter than a Fourth of July firecracker.”

  “Keep your voice down.” Snapping off his watch, he stepped near the bed and placed it on his nightstand, along with his Duke class ring. “Max will hear you.”

  “I won’t keep my voice down, Rebel Beauregard Benson. I’m not stupid.” June grabbed his shoulders, then pinched his chin between her fingers. “Your sweet nothings like ‘cute as a speckled pup’ and ‘soft as a spring rose’ were as corny when you whispered them to me as they are now when you’re wooing your paramours. But at least they were sweet and original when you were twenty-two.”

  Rebel walked over to the bedroom door and gazed down the hall before easing the door closed. “You want Max to hear you? The kid has ears like a bat.”

  “Are you ashamed, Rebel? Don’t want your five-year-old son to know about your exploits?”

  “We were discreet, June. No one knows.”

  “Discreet? Rebel, everyone knows.”

  “They know Lisa had an affair, not with whom.” Rebel eased out of his slacks, folding them in quarters before dropping them in the dry-cleaning hamper.

  “And how do you know?”

  “A few well-asked questions. Eavesdropping on a few conversations.”

  “Well then, phew!” June brushed her hand across her forehead. “That’s one disaster avoided. I can sleep now.” From the edge of the mattress, June swung at Rebel when he walked past. “Woody is one of your best friends.”

  “He wasn’t when the whole thing started.” He took out a clean pair of pajamas, examined them in the light, then stepped into the legs. “Besides, it’s over.”

  How could he be so callous, distant, and unrepentant? Confessing he’d slept with another woman in the same tone he discussed their weekend schedule?

&nbs
p; “I want to know why, Reb.” June dropped off the bed to the floor.

  “You know why.” He turned for the bathroom.

  Shaking, wrapping her arms around her waist, June stared at the floor. “Is that it, then?”

  He didn’t answer for a long time, quiet on the other side of the bathroom door. Finally, he peered into the room. “June.”

  She looked up.

  “That’s it, then.” Rebel stepped back into the bathroom and eased the door closed.

  Her phone rang. June shook the water and suds from her hands, snatched a paper towel from the new roll on the rack, and hurried to the living room for her handbag.

  Ringing, ringing, from her Birkin she’d left in the living room. “Hold your horses.” A spot on the hardwood snagged her stockings.

  On the last ring she answered. The area code was Tennessee, but the number was unfamiliar. “June Benson.”

  “Is this Mrs. Rebel Benson?”

  “And who is this?” She didn’t have the time or desire to mess around.

  “This is Carissa McCown from the Knoxville News Sentinel.” Her introduction painted a firm go-getter with a hint of charm.

  “I’m a bit busy right now . . .” June walked back to the kitchen, shoulders stiff and postured for a debate.

  “I understand completely. I’d just like to ask a few questions. I’ll take as little of your time as possible.”

  “Questions about what?”

  “Your husband has been nominated to the state supreme court.”

  “Rebel will do the court justice.” She held down the quiver in her chest. Reb finally made the court? Oh my . . .

  Carissa laughed a sporty laugh. “Do the court justice . . . Can I quote you?”

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny, Miss—”

  “McCown. Carissa McCown. You have a great sense of humor, Mrs. Benson.”

  “I’m married to a lawyer.” June walked to the sink, sank her hands into the dishwater, and pulled out the plug.

  “Do you see your separation as a hindrance to his career? Mr. Benson is considered the more conservative, family values candidate.”

  “I’m away with my daughter-in-law. I would hardly call it a separation.”

  “Did you see the press release?”

  The drain drank down the soapy water. Press release? “Like I said, I’m away with my daughter-in-law.”

  “Here, let me read it to you. ‘Mr. Benson announced today that he and his wife of forty-one years have temporarily separated, but he expected this development to have no impact on his candidacy for the supreme court.’”

  June fell against the counter. Water slowly trickled from the tips of her fingers.

  “Mrs. Benson?”

  She cleared her throat. “Yes, um, so, what can I do for you, Carissa?”

  “I’d like a quote from you for my article.”

  “Why don’t you just use the quote I already gave you?” June hung her head. Oh, Rebel. Does it all mean so much to you? Your name, your fame?

  “About being married to a lawyer requires a sense of humor? I’d like a bit more. Why the separation, Mrs. Benson?”

  “Are you married, Miss McCown?”

  “Engaged.”

  “Do you ever fight with your fiancé?”

  She hesitated. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “What do you fight about?”

  “I don’t know . . . stuff. What’s your point, Mrs. Benson?”

  “Well, I’d like the details to post on my blog.” June had dealt with reporters before. Mostly on charity issues, occasionally on a high-profile case the firm might be handling. “Did you fight over a burnt dinner? Spending too much money? Flirting at a party with another man?”

  “Mrs. Benson, my fiancé is not about to take a seat on the state supreme court.”

  “Perhaps not, but every day his life touches another. He gives a directive, offers an opinion. Because he’s imperfect doesn’t negate his ability to make wise decisions. Rebel knows the law, and he decides accordingly. Not by his own experience or beliefs.”

  “Did you catch him with another woman, Mrs. Benson?”

  June hit End and tossed her phone onto the old Formica. The court, if he’s chosen, might take Rebel further than he wanted to go and reveal more than he wanted revealed.

  Sixteen

  The sight of lamps glowing in the old farmhouse windows welcomed Jade home. The melody of gravel crackling under the car tires was like singing “Rocky Top” at a UT game or “My Old Kentucky Home” at the Derby.

  Eleven p.m. Jade had expected Mama and June to be asleep with the lights out. It was an old reflex from growing up with Granny. Curfew was at ten thirty, and if Jade or Aiden missed it, Granny locked the doors and switched off all the lights.

  Even the barn was lit with the doors shoved open. Thank you, Linc. Jade parked alongside Paps’s old International pickup, very much like her baby back home.

  Stopped, foot on the brake, Jade pried her frozen fingers from the wheel. Oh, pain.

  Three Wal-Mart stops, six layers of clothes, eight cups of coffee, and two hours thawing by the fireplace at the Peoria Cracker Barrel, she’d made it home.

  Her joints ached as she cut the engine and exited the car. Her stomach churned. There was such a thing as too much coffee.

  “Jade-o, you’re home.” Linc came around the corner, his strawberry blond hair loose about his angular face.

  “You’re on the job late.” Jade gave him a stiff and sore embrace.

  “Nice hat,” he said, tugging on the earflap strings of her Wal-Mart ski toque. She’d found an ugly green one in a clearance basket. Fifty cents.

  “Cold drive.”

  The light in Linc’s eyes sparked as he stepped back, hands tucked underneath his arms. “What’d you do to the top?”

  “What makes you think I did anything to the top?”

  Linc laughed and jostled the bent canvas frame. “You broke her good.”

  “Tomorrow, when I’m not a human popsicle, we can talk about where to get it fixed.”

  “I know somebody right here in PC. I’ll give him a call.”

  “In Prairie City?” Jade regretted her question. She was too tired for Linc’s descriptive and lengthy explanations. “Never mind. I’m going inside to take the hottest bath possible, for as long as possible, and then crawl into bed.” Jade inched toward the house. “There’s a twenty in it for you if you bring in my luggage.”

  Didn’t have to ask Linc twice.

  Max was out of hands. Couldn’t catch one more of the fly balls popped his way even if he wanted. He was back-against-the-wall.

  Gus and Lorelai were suing for custody of Asa. The other night they were to deliver his son, but instead Max opened the door to find the grim-faced McClures on his front porch, arms empty, without Asa. In a flat tone, Gus announced he and Lorelai were keeping their daughter’s son and raising him as their own.

  Facing his office window, Max watched the raindrops hit the pane, tapping out an erratic rhythm. As angry as he was, he couldn’t shake grief ’s vacant look in Gus’s eyes.

  “Gus, this is the grief talking. You’re hurting, I understand, but Asa is my son. You and Lorelai can see him anytime you want.”

  The porch light had given Gus’s skin a ghostly aura. Lorelai had leaned against him as if she couldn’t stand on her own.

  “It’s not the grief, Max; it’s what’s right. You don’t know your own son. You abandoned him.”

  “Rice insisted on raising him on her own.”

  How many times had he gone over their conversation? Pieces of it invaded his sleep. He felt for the McClures. Asa was all they had left of their only child, and Max had given up rights to him for nineteen months. But while the circumstances were extraordinarily sad, he’d not deny his son again.

  Gus and Lorelai could just live with it.

  Max walked over to his desk. Two o’clock. What the heck was taking Cara so long? The Benson Law senior partner had left at ten
o’clock for a meeting with Bradley Richardson, the McClures’ lawyer. If Cara didn’t show up in a half hour, he’d call her to make sure that sleazeball Richardson didn’t ambush her.

  Sharp and spicy Cara Peters could take him if he played by the rules. But Richardson rarely did.

  “All right, here’s what we got.”

  Max whirled around as Cara stormed into his office, slipping off her suit jacket and tossing her dossier onto a chair.

  “Where have you been? How bad was Bradley?”

  “Arrogant, licking his chops over the idea of besting you.”

  “It’s going to get ugly, isn’t it?”

  “It’s already ugly.” Cara paced in a small circle, rubbing her forehead, then peered long and hard at Max. “Bradley laughed when I told him we wanted to settle out of court.”

  Max sighed. Figures. Could he confess his loathing for the man right now? He dug up dirt even God didn’t care about—like unreturned library books, or a 7-Eleven candy bar heist.

  “I thought, hoped, he’d be reasonable. After all, an innocent child is involved. But no, he played his jerk card first round. We need to lawyer up, Max, get our strategy hammered out and airtight. Bradley is going to go for the jugular, especially because this particular vein is throbbing beneath the skin of a Benson lawyer.”

  “If he can dish it, I can take it. Cara, this is an easy case. Gus and Lorelai are the grandparents. I’m his father. They are trying to keep their daughter alive through her son.” Max twitched, and a sudden craving for meds slithered beneath his skin and overshadowed his thoughts. But this morning Max had cleaned the office of all meds. Not even an aspirin remained.

  “You can rationalize all you want, but the McClures want that boy and Bradley is going to make sure they get him. He’s drawn the long sword, Max, and is poised to plunge it deep.” Cara leaned toward him, her expression grim. “You know I have to run all this by Rebel. Any case that’s got press written all over it.”

  “I’m aware.” Max sat and rocked back in his chair. The motion eased the pressure on his back. For a moment. “Let’s file a motion for me to at least get custody. See if we can file under seal, try to keep this quiet.”