Secrets over Sweet Tea (19 page)

She marched to the French doors and jerked one open. The only thing they could hear as she left was the weight of her steps as she stalked to the door. They listened as it opened and closed.

Zach set his glass down and stood. “We can’t just let her leave like that.”

“Why not?”

“She’s serious, Jackson. She’s not coming back. She thought you were saying this wasn’t my fault.”

“Is it all your fault, Zach?”

“Of course it is. I did it. How could it not be my fault?”

“The affair was your fault, Zach. I never argued that. But you and Caroline both had a role to play in how your marriage got to this point.”

Zach stared at him. “Even if that’s true, you could have worked that in gradually.”

Jackson nodded. “Maybe you’re right. Though I’m thinking that with Caroline we might never have gotten there. With Caroline, you need to cut right to the chase.”

“Well, you certainly did that. Now
I’m
thinking I need to find an apartment.”

Jackson nodded again. “I’ll help you.”

Zach raised his hand. “No, that will be enough. You have helped entirely enough.” He took the same exit Caroline had used. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be back.

Zach hit Caroline’s number on his iPhone as he got into his car and drove the three short blocks to the parking lot behind his office building. She sent him straight to voice mail—ten times. This wasn’t how he’d wanted their talk to go, not at all. Jackson had no business taking the conversation there. Caroline had every right to blame him for everything—including that “counseling” session. He’d been stupid, thoughtless. He let her know this on nine of the ten voice mails.

Then came a call from his friend Tommy Wilson, another divorce attorney in Franklin. He knew. Which meant other people around the city knew. Which meant judges knew. Which meant potential clients knew. Which meant . . . God alone knew what all that meant.

Zach dodged cicadas as he climbed the steps to his office. For the first time, the impact of his decisions and the reality of his life bore down on him with all of their weight. He leaned against the wall because his legs felt too unsteady to hold him up. And there in the stairwell Zach Craig came face-to-face with what his options were. Just like this stairwell, his life offered two directions. The choice was his.

He could walk back down these stairs, go straight to Caroline, and give her whatever she wanted, just to make peace and return to normal. He considered that choice with the intense desire of a thirsty man in a desert.

Then his eyes moved upward. His other choice was to fight—for his home, his marriage, his children, his own life. But fighting would take energy, energy he wasn’t sure he had. Energy that, even if expended, might not get him what he was
fighting for. He could do everything he needed to do and still come up empty-handed. Years of being a divorce attorney had taught him that lesson many times over.

He leaned his head against the wall and breathed a prayer. Emotion that had been bottled up for years followed quickly. “I don’t know what to do. Nothing feels worth it.”

The words bounced through the empty, narrow stairwell. He didn’t move. He wasn’t sure he could. He closed his eyes. And then, as if heaven itself were about to open, he sensed a warmth, a light. He waited, hoping heaven would speak. Something. Anything.

“Zach, are you okay?”

That didn’t sound like heaven. And he figured heaven would already know if he was okay or not. He cracked one eye open and saw Darlene’s figure illuminated in the open doorway of the offices above him, the sun from the front windows bright behind her.

Well, that wasn’t what he’d been hoping for. He didn’t try to hide the disappointment. It was pretty much what he had come to expect from his prayers.

Darlene scurried down the stairs, her elegant heels clacking on the concrete. Why was she wearing those shoes on a Saturday, anyway?

“Are you okay?” she asked again. “Come on up here. You look horrible.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked as she tugged him upward. He was thinking the downward idea looked better and better.

“I’m going to a wedding this afternoon, and I left the present
on my desk. Looks like this is where I was supposed to be anyway. Sit.”

She sat him down on the sofa across from her desk and left for the kitchen. In a minute she returned with a bottle of water—ice-cold, just the way he liked it.

He smiled. “You know what I like more than my own wife does.” He unscrewed the white plastic top, feeling the click as the top separated.

She sat beside him. “That’s not true.”

“It is true. Some days I don’t know if Caroline knows my name.”

“Have you talked to her? Since . . . I mean . . .” Her voice trailed off.

He stretched an arm across the back of the sofa and crossed one leg over the other. “I’ve talked to her voice mail. And I’ve been talked at by her. But no, Caroline and I have not really talked.”

“She’s hurting, Zach. And she’s angry. She’s all those things.”

“I know. I know. I understand all of that.”

Darlene pressed her left shoulder back into the couch and crossed her hands in her lap. Zach was grateful for her. She offered him what his mother would have if she were still living—a soft and comforting presence. “But you’re hurting too. And you need to give yourself permission to feel it.”

“I don’t deserve to feel anything but shame. I don’t deserve anything but for her to leave me. That is what I deserve.”

She smiled at him—a knowing, understanding smile. “Yes, you deserve all of that. We all do. But shame isn’t where we’re called to live.”

“Well, I might have to live there. Caroline’s not going to let
me come home.” He heard the peevish, childish tone in his own voice, and he didn’t care. He
felt
peevish and childish.

“Zach, I’m going to tell you something.” Her voice took on an authoritative tone—another side to her mothering ways. “Look at me.”

He raised his head and looked into her sympathetic hazel eyes.

“This isn’t just about your marriage,” she said. “It’s about who you are. Because you’re not going to be any good to anybody until you figure out what happened to Zach. I mean it. You are not the man you once were. When I first started working for you, you were
alive
. You walked through these offices with such energy and zeal. Such ambition. And I have watched over these last seven years as you have turned into a shell of a man.”

She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “I love Caroline and the girls. I want your marriage to work. I do. But that isn’t what matters most right now. What is most important right now is deciding what you’re going to do about you. You’ve got to fight for what you’ve allowed to be stolen.

“Now . . .” She raised her petite frame from the sofa, then went to her desk and picked up her package. He watched as those high heels on her sixty-nine-year-old feet made a graceful exit toward the door. She waved a hand over her shoulder at him. “That is all I will say about it.”

He looked up. “They’re talking about me out there, Darlene.”

She turned toward him, one hand on her hip. “Yes, they are. And they will continue to talk until something else happens. But trust me, something else always happens, so that’s going to blow over. And you can get all pitiful if you want, but that won’t
get you anywhere. What you need to do is get started on the hunt for the Zach Craig you used to be.” She turned again, the package under her arm. “I will see you on Monday.”

And with that she walked out the door. He sat motionless, watching as it closed behind her. Her words clamored through him, seeming to bounce from one gaping hole in his soul to another.

That was what his prayer had been about, hadn’t it? Up or down? What to do? Had Darlene heard him? He didn’t think so.

He took another long swig from the water and swiped at his mouth. Heaven had listened. And it had sent him an angel.

A sixty-nine-year-old angel in high heels.

Scarlett Jo sat at a table by a window of the Franklin Mercantile Deli. The air-conditioning and shabby-chic atmosphere brought delight to this suffocating day in late July. Summer had brought with it a shift of routine for Scarlett Jo and given her the opportunity to do more one-on-one things with the boys. And summer was almost over. So this morning it was all about Rhett.

Of all the eating places in downtown Franklin, she loved this one the best. Besides the mismatched chairs and quaint atmosphere, it was the hash brown casserole that got her. Anything with cheese and potatoes came straight from the throne of God as far as she was concerned. So she had ordered the Mercantile breakfast with a double scoop of hash browns.

Rhett sat across from her, digging into his French toast.

“You do know we could have gotten a few more minutes of shut-eye, don’t you?” she told him. The child thought sunrise meant everyone in the house should be greeting the day. “That’s what summers are for. Children sleep in so their mommies and daddies can have the mornings to get done what they need to get done before you guys wake up and mess up the day.”

He stabbed his fork into the syrup-soaked bread, sending up small puffs of powdered sugar. “Mommy, you’re funny.”

She laughed. “I’m joking, buddy. Mommy was so looking forward to spending this morning with you.”

“I know. Me too.” Rhett put his fork down and took a long sip of orange juice. “Me and Forrest might be camping out tonight with Dad. And he said that if we do, we can pee outside.”

She nodded. “Of course he did.”

“Jack says that’s what men were created to do. Pee outside.”

“He said that, did he?”

He furrowed his brow and took another stab at his French toast. “Yeah. It’s what guys do. We sleep in tents and pee outside. And burp. And—”

“That’s enough, baby. I get the picture.”

She knew it was true. She had raised four boys before him and married one who considered all these things appropriate for boys. There were days when she was grateful no little girl had been forced to endure the sounds, smells, and sights that little boys could produce. “Sounds like a great adventure.”

“Yep, and we’re going to tell ghost stories,” he added, his speech slurred by the mass of egg-and-syrup-coated bread in his
mouth. “I mean scary, scream-like-a-sissy-girl ghost stories.” He squinted his eyes as he relayed the message he’d obviously gotten from his older brothers.

Rhett could be scared more easily than any seven-year-old she knew. He’d be in her bed before it got good and dark. “Well,” she said, “y’all have fun with that. I’ll use it as a chance to catch up on my television shows and paint my toenails.”

He scrunched up his nose. “Ew . . . girl stuff.”

“I am a girl, buddy.”

He shook his head. “No, you’re not. You’re a mom.”

She laughed. He had her there. “Yes, I am. Yours. Now quit talking with your mouth—”

The bell on the restaurant door chimed, and Scarlett Jo looked up to see Caroline Craig enter the room. She hadn’t seen her or heard from her since Caroline stormed from her house that Saturday afternoon in June.

“Excuse Mommy for a minute.” She pulled the napkin from her canary-yellow lap, then stood and made a beeline for the door. “Caroline, honey, so good to see you. I haven’t seen you since that afternoon you left in such a rush. And you haven’t returned my calls, so I’d love to know how you’re doing.”

The smile that spread across Caroline’s face was about as real as the artificial daisy adorning Scarlett Jo’s headband. “Oh, I’m fine. The girls and I are just fine. Thank you. We’ve been traveling a lot this summer. You know how teenagers are. They don’t seem to want to stay put.”

“Did you get my calls?” No need to beat around the bush.

“Um, I’m not sure, Scarlett Jo. You know, with everything that has happened in the last couple of months I haven’t been able to keep track of things the way I usually do. Please forgive
me that I haven’t gotten back with you.” Her shoulders slumped slightly as she spoke. A moment of vulnerability.

Scarlett Jo saw weariness in Caroline’s eyes, even though the Botox kept her brow from showing it. “Oh, honey, that’s okay,” she said. “I just wanted you to know that Jackson and I care about you. And Zach.”

Caroline’s expression shifted when she heard her husband’s name. Her plastic smile returned. “Thank you, but we’re fine. Really, everyone is doing exceptionally well, considering.”

“That’s good, because if my husband had cheated on me and I’d caught him red-handed, the last thing in the world I’d be is fine. What I’d be is out-of-my-mind mad. And trying to figure out who I was going to shoot with my 12-gauge. I’d have my kids in deep therapy, and I’d be there right along with them. So that you’re doing fine is amazing to me. You must be one strong woman, Caroline.”

Caroline didn’t hesitate. “I come from good stock.”

“Yes, you do. I’ve met your mother. She is always so put-together and gracious. Just a real Southern grace about her.”

Caroline looked at her phone as if willing it to ring. “Listen, I don’t mean to scoot, but I’ve got to grab some breakfast before I open the store this morning. So good to see you.”

“You too. I’ve got to scoot too. Please know you’re always welcome to call. You can use that phone right there.” Scarlett Jo let out a snorted laugh as she pointed at Caroline’s cell.

Caroline raised her phone and shook it slightly. “I’ll remember that. Thanks.” She moved quickly to place her order at the counter.

Scarlett Jo returned to find Rhett leaned back in his chair, plate empty, juice drained. He patted his belly as she passed.
“That’ll get me through our adventure tonight, just in case we don’t get a kill we can cook on our campfire.” He giggled. “Dad says we can always grill us some cicadas.”

She grabbed him by the arm and tugged. “Ooh, I hate those things.” She shivered. “Now, come on, Daniel Boone. Let’s get you home so you can have the supreme joy of peeing in the woods. Goodness knows I wouldn’t want you to miss that. Might even join you.”

He looked at her as they walked down the street. “Mommy, that is just gross.”

She wrapped her arm around him and roughed the top of his head. “I know, baby. Mommy isn’t always known for her couth, is she?”

He nodded that she wasn’t, though she knew he had no idea what
couth
even meant.

“That’s it?” Grace clutched her damp wad of tissue and looked at Zach.

He nodded.

“Ten years of marriage, and now the world is going to pretend it never happened.”

He touched her arm. The soft fabric of her white linen jacket pressed against her skin. “I’m so sorry, Grace.”

Rachel put an arm around her friend, and her mom and dad pulled in close on the other side. Grace could sense their grief. Apparently Scarlett Jo could too because she threw an arm over Lydia’s shoulder.

“At least you’re leaving with what you wanted.” Zach was
obviously trying to encourage her. “You and Tyler worked things out without going to trial. And now you are free.”

“Free.” The word escaped her lips like something from another language. She batted her eyes to prevent more tears from falling. She had barely been able to answer the judge’s questions because of the knot lodged in her throat.

She reached out to shake his hand. “Thank you, Zach. Thank you for everything.”

“Thank you for trusting me.”

“I’ll see you around, I’m sure.”

“I have no doubt.”

Rachel took her by the arm and led her toward the staircase. They all walked down to the bottom floor of the Williamson County courthouse. Rain pelted them as they hurried between the big white columns toward the parking lot.

“What an appropriate conclusion,” Grace murmured, looking up. “Even heaven is crying.” But she was grateful for the early August rain that hid her tears and even more grateful that Tyler had honored her request and not shown up. That she could not have handled.

Grace beeped her car open, and she and Rachel and her mother piled in. She didn’t know why she’d insisted that Rachel ride with her this morning. Her friend was certainly capable of driving herself to the courthouse. But Grace had wanted to pick her up. And she had quit making apologies for the way she wanted to do this divorce.

The last two months had been filled with a strong sense of how things needed to be done, even when those things were incredibly hard. She kept the car radio tuned to a country station and refused to change it when a love song came on, even
if she cried through the entire piece. She made herself spend Saturday mornings in bed with the paper and a glass of sweet tea, just as she used to with Tyler. And she made a point of still eating at Pancho’s after church on Sundays. Sometimes she’d only make it through five chips and half a soft drink before she had to leave. Other times she ate every last bite on her plate. But she did it. Giving up was not an option.

Her resolve grew out of a kind of righteous anger that struck the first week after she filed for divorce. She had allowed so many years of her life to be stolen. Tyler hadn’t taken them from her. She had given them up voluntarily. By her fear. By her avoidance. She had just handed over her heart as if it held no value.

But no longer. She woke up one morning determined that nothing else would be stolen from her. She had made a kind of pact with her own soul:
You will go through. You won’t go around. You won’t go under. You won’t wish this away. You are going to walk through whatever horrible moment you have to, and you are going to get to the other side.
And for the most part, in the last two months, she had done just that.

Her father drove behind them the few blocks home with Scarlett Jo in his passenger seat. Grace hadn’t wanted him to ride alone. Grace pulled into the driveway and turned off the wipers. Through the deluge, they could see Rachel’s husband, Jason, sitting in his car in front of the house, waiting to take her home.

Grace’s mother turned toward Rachel. “I’m so glad Jason’s here to drive you, sweetie. I’d hate for you to have to drive yourself home in this mess.”

Grace knew her mother’s words were spoken out of parental
concern and care, but they settled on her like daggers ripping through flesh. She gripped the steering wheel with all her might. Rachel leaned up and gave her a kiss on the cheek, told her how proud she was of her and that she would call later that evening. Grace gave her a stiff nod. But once Rachel exited the car and closed the door behind her, the deluge that had been held back by metal and glass found its way inside to leather and chrome. And Grace didn’t try to hold it in.

The wails came from a deep place, a place so deep that once it released its pain, you weren’t sure you’d ever return to what you were. She wept in frantic, manic bursts. “He’ll never drive me anywhere again!” Her words shouted recognition of the finality and magnitude of this moment. “I’m going to drive myself everywhere!”

Her mother reached over the console and stroked Grace’s hair. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s my reality. I’m going to drive myself everywhere. I’m going to be alone everywhere I go. People are going to look at me like I’m half of something. I hate this!” Her hands pounded the faux wood on the steering column. “I hate all of this. It shouldn’t be this way, Mom. It shouldn’t be this way.”

Now her mother was crying too. “I know. It shouldn’t. It should not be this way at all.”

Grace’s body heaved with racking sobs. This morning she had woken up just as alone, but it hadn’t been final. Not legal. Not forever. Now it was all of that. And it hurt. In the deepest places where hurt could settle and ache and gnaw, it was there. It was all in there. And she didn’t want to hurt like that. She
so
didn’t want to hurt.