Softly and Tenderly (19 page)

“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?

“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.”

Cara laughed. “Seal? With Bradley Richardson? Are you kidding? He’d block that motion before you could say hut one, hut two. This is a civil case, Max, come on, and there’s nothing confidential enough for a seal. We won’t get a sealed ruling. What we can do is pull a few strings and get this worked out in chambers rather than open court.”

“And Bradley will be pulling a few strings to have the proceeding on the courthouse lawn with Channel 9 filming.” He’d seen Bradley do it dozens of times.

“I have to tell you, Max, he practically sang your list of faults. Add music and he could’ve played on Broadway. He wants this in the public eye.”

Max rubbed his tired eyes with his fingers. Sleep had not been his friend the last few nights. “I just want this to be over.”

“I’m going to talk to Judge Howard today, see if she’ll go ahead and grant custody to you. She’s pro fathers, so we’ll win this one. But, Max, how far do you want to go?” Cara sat forward, resting her arms on her knees. “The McClures are offering
nothing
. Not even visitation. I countered Bradley with, ‘No way.’”

“No way? That’s your brilliant rebuttal? Did he cave right away or did you have to repeat yourself?”

“Don’t get smart with me. I’m on your team.”

He growled, then gave her a soft gaze. “I’m sorry, Cara. Just upset, that’s all. How far should we go? I want my son. Do what it takes.” Overriding the grief in Gus and Lorelai’s eyes was the vulnerability and innocence of one small, towheaded boy. Max needed to protect and love his son.

“We’ll win this, Max, but are you prepared for all your problems to come to public light?” Cara’s steel glare drove the words home. “Because they will. You need to be forming answers as to why you didn’t meet Asa for the first time until he was nineteen months old. Even with a father-friendly judge, that’s a hard sell, child support payments aside. You need to be prepared to explain your drug problem. Max, you’re my friend and colleague. I support you, you know that, but when the facts are laid out, you’re not the ideal dad. The McClures, on the other hand, appear to be Santa and Mrs. Claus with the Easter Bunny thrown in. By the way, you should consider hiring an investigator.”