Softly and Tenderly (26 page)

Breathing deep and exhaling as far as his lungs would allow, Max stumbled up the stairs, gripping the banister.

Three more screams. Would he ever get to the room?

On the landing, Max wobbled, letting the black-and-blue spots fade before starting down the hall to his son’s room.

Asa was in his crib, naked and covered in feces—his face, his hair, the rungs of the crib, and the wall. “Asa?” Max’s step landed in something warm, wet, and mushy. He lifted his socked foot. And on the carpet.

Max reached for his screaming son. “Asa, Asa, here buddy.” But the baby was stuck. His wail rocketed to the ceiling, shattered, and rained down on Max.

Oh man, somehow Asa had wedged his leg between the crib rungs, his knee bent around one rod while his foot hooked another.

This time with tenderness, Max eased his son’s leg free. His screams eased, but tears ran down the boy’s flushed cheeks and terror lit his sloppy brown eyes.

Max patted his back, trying to clear his own head while figuring out how in the world the kid wedged his leg like that while painting the room in poop.

Asa shuddered as he sucked up his sobs. “Mess,” he said.

“I’ll say.”

The room had the aroma of a sewer. Max ripped off his soiled sock and dropped it into the crib. Then shutting the door behind him, he carried Asa to his room.

“Let’s get cleaned up.” And cleared up. Max stripped Asa, then himself, and climbed in the shower.

How many Percocets had he taken? Dad’s announcement about Clarence taking over the firm hit harder than he wanted to admit. When he got home he popped a couple, chasing them down with bourbon. He was flying high most of the night. Until he crashed.

Warm water washed over father and son. Asa shivered with a ghost sob, then patted the water with his pink, pudgy palm.

Lathering up his washcloth with soap, Max bathed Asa, who squirmed and tried to drink from the shower. When Max set him down on the tile, he saw the angry, brooding bruise forming on the trapped leg.

“Asa, I’m so sorry.” Max cradled him in his arms to examine the purple and brown flesh. Dread flowed over him along with the warm water. Had he not heard Asa’s scream?

Max collapsed against the wet shower floor, his stomach filling with disgust. He was a man with everything, yet possessed nothing. Once again, he was becoming an addict.

Everyone knew the walls of Granny’s old house were onion-paper thin. Except Rebel and June.

Gripping the wheel of Paps’s truck, Jade traveled along Old 163 toward the Colters’.

She’d slipped down the stairs and out the front door when Mama went to sleep. And after June and Rebel settled into a silent routine in the kitchen. Looked like he was on his BlackBerry while June stirred something at the stove.

Jade had tried not to listen, but hushed tones traveled faster and louder through the walls and thin paned windows.

So it all started with June. Complicated by Rebel’s doubts. Who was Max’s real father? June’s pledge to Rebel didn’t convince Jade one bit.

And what was that comment from Reb about the McClures suing Max for custody? That must have been what Max was trying to tell her the other night.

The news burned her with frustration. What did she have to do with any of it? She resented being a Benson dumping ground. Jesus help her, but she’d longed to marry into a strong, healthy family where she, the daughter of a hippie, could dump and disguise her gunk like weeds along the backyard fence.

Instead, she’d married into Oz. Nothing was as it appeared. Where were the Lord’s faithful and righteous?

What Jade had was a
Melrose Place
script. Granny had watched that show, munching popcorn, shouting at the TV, “Don’t do it . . . ah, I said, don’t do it!”

Cheating husbands, an illegitimate son, a supreme court justice, a barren wife, secrets and suits.

A house appeared on the horizon as Jade rounded the bend, its golden light luring her in. Every window was aglow. Downshifting, she made the left into the Colters’ drive, bouncing and bobbing over the winter-washed drive toward the back.

The barn doors were swung wide, the walls framing a square of yellow light. Jade cut the ignition and set the brake. What was she doing here?

Since Dustin’s hospital visit, she’d not seen or talked to him. But then Mama brought up the story of her sixteenth birthday party and she couldn’t
stop
thinking about him. He’d danced with her that night. And at 11:59, Dustin Colter gave Jade her first kiss.

At the moment, she wanted to be near his familiar warmth, to hear his laugh, to forget about death and infidelity.

She wanted to feel sixteen again.

Jade wrapped her fingers around the door handle.
God, if I shouldn’t be
here, tell me now
. After a second’s hesitation, she jerked the chrome lever and stepped out on the gravel ground.

The rhythm of an air tool
zrrp, zrrp, zrrping
was the song in the air. Jade peered through the opened doors as the late evening breeze nipped at her cheeks and nose.

Dustin worked on a stripped-down car that might have been a Camaro in another life. His faded jeans, with holes at the knees, were his trademark.

He exuded a certain kind of laid-back charm infused with confidence. Like he could handle any crisis or surprise thrown his way. Nothing was worth getting ruffled over.

Dustin caught her watching and did a double take. He grinned. “Come to watch a master craftsman at work? See how
they
do it?”

She laughed, but her heart stumbled a bit at the reverie in his tone. “Before you get famous and lose all my calls and messages.”

His quick smile accented the curve of his jaw and reminded Jade of the many reasons she fell in love with him in the first place.

“Dustin, I think—” Carla Colter popped out from behind the Camaro’s open hood dressed in coveralls and ball cap. “Jade, honey, what are you doing here? Is everything all right? How’s Beryl?”

“Fine, fine.” Jade cleared the lie from her throat, shifting her eyes from Dustin to Carla, who shoved her curls away from her face, exposing her kind expression. “Mama’s fine.”

“Listen.” Carla walked over and cupped her hands around Jade’s face. “I’m here for you. Call if you need me. I am so sorry about your mama. She’s become a good friend.”

Jade nodded, keeping her posture stiff. If she spoke, she’d crumble into the woman’s arms.

Carla kissed Jade’s forehead as if she belonged to her, to the old barn, to the family. Her touch seeped clean to Jade’s bones and calmed the storm brewing beneath her chest.

“How about a pop? Jade? Dustin?”

Carla tugged open the old fridge in the shop’s corner. Dustin hugged Jade with his eyes. For that moment, she was sixteen, secretly married and waiting for Carla to leave so they could make love in the loft.

She was home. She belonged.

“This is my best batch of root beer yet.” Carla handed Jade a cold, opened bottle of her homemade soda pop.

“I remember these.” Jade’s vision blurred with tears as she took a long, deep drink. “Oh, sweet sassafras.”

“Used the actual root this time, not an extract.”

“Best yet, Mom,” Dustin said, lifting his bottle to his lips while keeping his eyes on Jade.

“Are you holding up, Jade?” Carla leaned against the Camaro and crossed her ankles. She had a youthful air about her, not one of a woman widowed.

“It’s hard. Lots of things are hard right now.” Jade raised her bottle. “But I’m holding up, Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.”

“Your husband is doing well?” Carla barreled right past the N
O
T
RESPASSING
sign.

“He’s got some issues, Carla.” Home was where a girl could bear her heart, right? Find comfort, peace, and wisdom.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Jade. I’ll pray for him.” Carla shook her head, gazing toward the far wall. “I’ve so learned the value of prayer. You can do more by talking to God about folks, than talking to folks about God.” Carla patted the Camaro. “So, Jade, how do you like my car?”

“
Your
car?” Jade walked around it, whistling low.

“Mom decided to join the family business,” Dustin said. “Wanted to build her own car. I found a beat-up ’68 Camaro, and well . . .” He gestured to the work in progress.

“I’m slow, but learning.”

“I told you, Mom, you’re a talented mechanic.” Dustin winked at Jade. “She’s good.”

“I’m not surprised. Look at her son.” Jade stopped a few feet from him, wrestling with the urge to fall into him.

“This baby’s going to be fast with a 383 stroker engine.”

“Whatever that means.” Jade smiled and leaned against the workbench next to Dustin.

“It means I like my cars like my men, with some muscle.” Carla laughed and jutted out her hip. Dustin’s cheeks tinged pink.

“Yeah, okay, Mom. I told you, I don’t want to hear about your love life.”

“At least I have one.” Carla held her eyes on her son as she swigged her pop.

“Isn’t it time for you go inside? Watch the news or something?” Dustin shuffled his feet, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Call your boyfriend?”

“Fine, I know when I’m not wanted.” Carla tapped her son on the shoulder before gripping Jade’s shoulders. “And you, hang in there. I mean it, you need anything, call night or day.” She kissed her again before disappearing into the shadows beyond the garage light.

“Your mom, she—” Jade couldn’t speak. She’d lose her last ounce of composure.

“Yeah, she is. I’m proud of her. After Dad died, she was really lost, but she found herself and the meaning of life again. Church. Faith. Love God. Love others. Moving home helped too.” Dustin eased his pop bottle into a bottle crate at the end of the worktable. “So what’s up, Green Eyes?” He touched the tip of her chin.

She shrugged, searching for words, noticing the pink Cadillac in the other bay. “How’s the old girl?”

“Good. They shipped the wrong top, so we had to send it back. The new one should be here in a few days. I installed the new hydraulic and motor.” He ruffled her hair, then gave her a side hug. “Next time, no jumping on the top if the motor freezes.”

“Next time? There better not be a next time.” Jade swigged the last of her pop and set her empty one in the crate next to Dustin’s.

The floating, burnt amber sensation hit out of nowhere. Zaps of anxiety taunted her insides. Her abs tightened as her pulse fired. Dark purple dread attached itself to Jade’s thoughts.

What was she doing here?
Run
. But she kept her feet planted and concentrated on Dustin’s voice.

June’s car . . . White, custom leather seats . . . Pink paint job . . . in-dash
GPS .
. .

The amber faded. The purple swirls let go. Jade breathed in deep.

“Jade?” Dustin gripped her arms. “Are you all right?”

She peered into his eyes. “Oh, Dustin.” Jade collapsed against him. “It’s all screwed up.”

“Shh, shh, Jade, babe, it’s going to be all right.” He embraced her, fitting her to the contours of his lean torso and brawny arms. His familiar hands moved around her familiar curves. “Nothing can be
that
screwed up.”

“Y-you don’t know. I married into a Southern soap opera.” She didn’t mean to cry, but the combination of weariness, hurt, loneliness, and remorse had taken its toll. Dustin was the wall she needed. But this far and no more.

“Tell me, what’s going on?” His lips were soft and warm against her ear. Gently, he rocked her side to side.

“What’s
not
going on?” Jade wiped her face with her fingers and cradled her head against his chest. “Do you have a tissue?”

“Here.” Dustin grabbed her hand and walked her to the back of the barn. “Bathroom’s in there. Jade,”—he trailed his finger along the hairline around her face—“it’s going to be all right.”

“Promise?” She looked around a boarded-up stall. “In the cow stall?”

He grinned, winked, and her belly flip-flopped. “The cow stall with a sink and toilet.” The fire of his wink traveled all the way to her toes.

The floor was carpeted with hay, but the toilet and sink were porcelain, the shower constructed of tile, glass, and brass.

“Glass and brass? Out here?” she called. “A bit nice for a barn.”

“Hartline has connections.”

Splashing water in her face, Jade reached for the thick cotton towel and studied her reflection in the mirror. What was she doing here, crying in Dustin’s arms at ten o’clock at night? She was married. And way too emotional to be drifting down this river.

She leaned against the sink and spoke to the mirror. “You need to go home, Jade Benson.”

When she came out Dustin was at the stainless steel worktable, putting his tools away.

“Why’d you come here, Jade?” His blue eyes pierced right through to her core as if he read her private emotions. Seems he’d wised up during the bathroom break.

She stared at the floor. “No place else to go, I guess. Just so much craziness.”

“What’d he do?” Dustin began to wipe down the table. “Max?”

Jade wound the strap of her handbag around her fingers, letting it dangle against her leg. “He—he has a son.”

“A son?”