Softly and Tenderly (30 page)
“I’m sure. I was already pregnant, barely, when I went to meet Bill. Maybe that’s why I was so repulsed by our affair. The life in me was already speaking.”
Jade stared out at the field. A redbird sat about ten yards past the edge, its brilliant feathers a stark contrast to the dark chocolate dirt.
“When I met Max, he was a knight on a white steed. He took away my fear of falling in love. So I gave my heart. All of it. Then I discovered he had a secret. A love affair with pain meds. I could weather that, help him through. But it also scared me. I saw how weak he was—not in a manageable, everyday way, but in a ‘this could cost us everything’ way.”
“Max relies so much on his capabilities he’s unaware when he’s about to drive off a cliff.”
“I don’t want to be riding with him if he does. I’m sorry if that sounds mean. I can’t trust him, June. I can’t. I search my heart, tell myself I should go home. I do love him. But the one thing that holds me back? I can’t trust him.”
“If you sleep with Dustin, you’ll despise yourself, and him, like I did Bill. Right now, he’s a good friend. A place to feel wanted. Believe me, I know.”
“I’m not going to have an affair.”
June’s touch was light on Jade’s shoulder. “Shug, wake up. You’ve already started down the path.”
Asa screamed the last one hundred miles to Prairie City. Nothing Max tossed at him satisfied—juice, French fries, chicken nuggets, toys, books, DVD. Nothing.
The noise jabbed Max’s skin like a million pinpricks. The phrase “getting on my last nerve” took on a whole new meaning.
The last ten miles, he just gunned the gas, set his jaw, and aimed straight for Beryl’s place. Upping the radio volume, he zoomed in on the lyrics and bass beat.
He’d been resisting the urge to swallow a couple of Percs until he got Asa to a safe place. But sooner or later he’d have to deal with the shakes and vomiting. Detox would come later.
Once he signed on the dotted line to go to the Outpost, he felt relieved, a blend of peace and trepidation.
No fooling around this time. If he failed there? He shook off the idea.
God,
what’s it going to take for me to get serious about You, about my life?
The prayer whispered across his soul, panic hit his heart, a certain dread and trembling.
The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom
. But Max remained this side of stupid.
As he breached Prairie City’s town limit, he slowed down, looking for the turn off to the old farmstead. Shouldn’t be too hard to find. A white clapboard dwelling rising up from the budding Iowa prairie, situated beneath blue clouds, nestled between coffee-colored fields.
A half hour outside Prairie City, Asa finally fell asleep, spilling over the side of his car seat like a sack of bricks. Max exhaled. At last, peace.
When the house came into view, doubt stood front and center. Thirteen hours on the road, he’d not called Jade to warn her. If she said no, he didn’t know what he’d do. While he deserved to be told no, he couldn’t accept the answer. He had six days to convince her, if he had any power of persuasion.
He’d spent most of the drive time talking to God and musing on what he wanted to say to Jade, taking phone calls from his colleagues who’d agreed to handle his cases. Dad declared Max’s move to be too dramatic and drastic. He rumbled and spouted, even hinted Max might not have a place at Benson Law when he returned. What kind of respect could Max command if he constantly ran when his problems became too large?
Dad could be really obtuse.
Nine hundred miles, six hours of sleep at a roadside motel, six McDonald’s stops, twelve cups of coffee, and Max still had no idea what he wanted to say to Jade.
Except
please
.
The driveway gravel popped under the Mercedes’ tires as Max pulled even with the house and parked. The place looked good, kept up, recently painted.
After parking and taking a moment to stretch and reckon with anticipation, Max opened the door and stooped for his son. “Come on, Asa.” He unbuckled the sleeping boy from the car seat and flopped him over his shoulder.
His little OshKosh jeans were stained and at the moment, soaked through. Max hadn’t changed him since breakfast. Hey, why’d he pay top dollar for the fancy diapers if they couldn’t do the job? As he flung the diaper bag over his shoulder and reached for Asa’s bear, the boy woke with a jerk, screaming. How did he do that?
“Hey, son, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Taking the porch steps, the door opened before Max could ring the bell.
Jade stood on the other side. Man, she was a sight for sore eyes. “What are you doing here?” She stood aside for him to enter as Asa continued squirming and screaming. “Is he sick? Are you all right?”
“We’re fine, other than a very long car trip.” Max slipped the bag from his shoulder to the floor.
“What is going on in here?” Mom came in from the kitchen. “Max, what in the world?” She reached for Asa without pause or question. “He’s soaking wet.” She glared at her son and picked up the diaper bag, murmuring to the little boy, “Let Grandma take care of things.”
Mom disappeared upstairs, cooing and soothing her grandson. And Max was left alone with his wife. It’d been, what, eight days since he’d seen her, but it felt like a year. He yearned for her with a power that took his breath.
“You look like crap.” Jade stood on the other side of the coffee table, arms folded, her posture defensive.
“Good. Matches how I feel.” The living room welcomed him with a worn wingback chair facing the TV, a loosely crocheted afghan over the back of a mohair sofa, the aroma of coffee, seasoned lumber, and soap permeating the air. “And it’s good to see you too.” He collapsed in the chair, his back spasming as the tension released.
“Max, when did you feed him last?” Mom called down the stairs. “And what did you feed him?”
“Four hours ago, maybe? French fries.” He bent over the chair’s arm to see to the top of the stairs. She
tsk, tsk, tsked
him.
Jade slipped her hands into her jeans pockets. She looked to him like she’d lost a little bit of weight. “D-do you want some coffee?”
“Coffee? No.” Max pressed his hand over his belly. His stomach burned at the sound of the word. “Water, please, a big glass. And food? Real food.”
“Mama’s friends have filled the kitchen with all kinds of stuff. There’s homemade soup.”
“Sounds good. Thank you.” He appreciated her civility. He followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the ’50s looking red-ice table. “We should get one of these,” he said, smoothing his hand over the surface.
“I have one. Right there.” She peered back at him as she lit a fire under a large soup pot.
“I mean at our house.”
“Max, why are you here? Why didn’t you call?” She opened a drawer for a stir spoon. “Your eyes are glassy and bloodshot. How many?”
“Ten, maybe twelve a day.” Their eyes met. “I have a lot to tell you.”
She stirred the soup, not prodding for information. “Willow and Aiden are on their way. Mama’s dying.”
“Babe, I’m sorry.” His hand shook as he lifted the mason jar of water to his lips.
Jade’s back was to him, but he watched her wipe her cheeks with her hand. “She sees Jesus. On a donkey.” Her shoulders rounded forward, shaking.
Max didn’t care if she was angry with him; he pushed away from the table and gently touched her back. She turned and was in his arms, weeping.
“I’m so tired,” Jade said.
He wrapped his arms around her back and kissed her forehead. He stroked her hair and exhaled past his first barrier. Holding her. The situation with Beryl was going to make what he had to say even harder.
“Anyone home?” The kitchen door shoved open, and Dustin Colter stepped inside.
Jade jerked out of Max’s arms, her face red and wet. “Dustin, hey, come in.”
His eyes locked onto her, then slithered over to Max. “Dustin Colter.” He offered his hand. “You must be Max?”
Max’s palm slapped against Dustin’s. “Yes, I’m Jade’s husband.”
Dustin held his gaze for a long moment, then looked toward Jade. “I brought the Cadillac back.” He dropped the keys to the table. “Good as new. The bill is taped to the wheel. She can pay us whenever she’s ready.”
“Actually, it’s my bill. I’ll bring the check around later, Dustin. Thanks.”
The tenderness of her tone hardened in Max’s gut. “What happened to Mom’s car?”
Jade exchanged a glance with Dustin.
What? Did they joyride in it? Wreck
while stealing a kiss?
“The top broke. I’ll explain later.”
“See you, Jade.”
“Bye, Dustin.”
The battle for Jade just entered a new plane, and Max rode into battle wounded, his hands tied by his own cords of sin.
Mama sat up in bed Monday afternoon, smiling, her green eyes alive for the first time since she’d come home from the hospital. “My babies are here.”
With Aiden’s arrival a few hours ago, Jade noticed a change in her countenance. She was happy. But she was letting go. Jade felt it.
“Beryl.” Willow sat cross-legged in the middle of the room amid a pile of pictures, the floor lamp burning light over her shoulder. “There are no pictures of me until I’m like . . . graduating from high school.”
“You’re crazy, Wills.” Aiden leaned over her shoulder. “I took a bunch of pictures on your first birthday.”
“Really? You mean this one?” Willow handed a picture to her big brother. “The one where my hair is long enough for ponytails? I know age is relative to a man, but even you have to admit this is
not
me at age one.”
“You choose to see what you want to see.” Aiden landed on the floor next to her, reaching for a handful of pictures. “Look, here’s one.”
“I have braces. What is wrong with you?”
Jade perched on the end of Mama’s bed, watching, grinning. Aiden showed Willow a picture of her as a baby, and she intentionally looked at one of her as a girl or preteen.
Aiden was lean and pale from a winter in Alaska. His coal-colored hair covered his ears and dipped into the collar of his pullover. He looked . . . like a hippie. A brother of the earth.
On the other hand, Willow was brown from the Guatemalan sun. She’d cut her long, sandy curls into short waves and Mama claimed she looked like Mia Farrow—the Sinatra years. Her eyes peered out from under her brow like evenly cut amber stones. The lucky girl had inherited Granny’s aristocratic bone structure.
Jade ran her thumb over her dull, boring Tennessee-Iowa hued skin, proof of her lack of adventure, her enslavement to fear, that she was of the if-it-ain’t-broke-don’t-fix-it mold.
Take a closer look, Jade-o. Things are broken. Very broken
.
She sighed. Aiden and Willow glanced up at the same time. “Nothing,” she said.
“When are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?” Willow handed over a pile of pictures to Aiden, bored already.
See, this is why there
aren’t many pictures of her. She never sits still long enough
.
“Wh-what elephant?” Jade made a face as Willow hopped onto the bed next to her.
“The gorgeous one with a son.” In an uncharacteristic move, Willow had kept her trap shut—mostly shut—about Max having a son. Instead, she played with Asa and taught him how to give high fives and “skin” and to thump his thigh with his fist and say, “Darn it.”
Picturing him made Jade smile. Hearing his little voice, seeing his funny face—wrinkled brow, pooched lips—and his skinny butt sticking out as he pounded his leg.
“Darn it
.”
“What’s the story?” Aiden closed the sewing box lid and stood, hands in the pockets of his cargo pants. “I take it you didn’t know about him.”
“Do I look like I knew? I just found out about two weeks ago. Rice is . . . was his mother. She was killed in a plane crash.”
Aiden nodded, absorbing it all. He was like Dustin that way. A rock. Willow whistled and gasped, made a big show.
That
was her way. “Rice was killed. I can’t believe it.” She inhaled with a hand over her mouth. “Oh my gosh, Jade. Vegas. Did it happen in Vegas?”
“You knew?” Jade gaped and popped her leg with the back of her hand.
“I didn’t
know
know. I just overheard Rice talking to her parents during the reception about being in Vegas over the weekend. And I knew Max was there for his bachelor trip . . .”
Oh boy. Webs and lies . . . weaving. What if Willow had mentioned it? None of this might have happened. No, forget it. Jade would’ve never confronted Max.
“Aiden,” Mama suddenly piped up, “I’d like some pictures.”
“Pictures?” His expression remained serious and contemplative.
“Yes, of you, me, the girls, June, Max, the family.”
Mama, what are you up to?
“I’ll get my camera.” He left the room without another word, but Jade heard him sniff and cough down the hall.
“Pictures? Are you sure?” Jade preferred to remember Mama as young, vibrant and free, sitting on the Indian mound with her face to the sun, the breeze braiding her long strawberry hair behind her.
Instead, her cheeks were sunken under sallow skin, and her narrow frame barely showed beneath her clothes.
