Softly and Tenderly (22 page)
“Can you tell me about Bill Novak?”
A gray veil dropped over June’s mind. A cold chill slithered down her torso. “I—I have no idea?”
“What was your relationship to Bill Novak, Mrs. Benson?”
Linc moved past her, heading out for a second load of wood. June rammed the phone at him.
“What? Mrs. Benson, I—”
“There’s a woman on the other end. Talk to her.”
He wrinkled his brow. After a second, he put the phone to his ear. “Lincoln here, who’s this?” He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat. “A reporter? You don’t say.”
June smashed through the back door, striding across the yard to the woodpile. Yanking the ax free from the tip of a round, stubby log, she stood the piece on end, raised the ax, and swung down hard—tennis elbow be darned. “Here’s to you, Rebel Benson.”
She whacked the piece again. Bill Novak. And again.
How could he?
Thick, ragged splinters hit the air around her. This time Rebel had gone too far.
He’d been summoned. To the wide corner office on the west side of the tenth floor. Max worked his way through the maze of offices and cubicles, hearing blips of strategy and planning by associates, most of it about lunch and the weekend.
Passing Cara’s office, he poked his head inside and gave her a thumbs-up. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she called after him.
She’d worked her magic and got Judge Howard to kick an injunction filed by Bradley to give the McClures temporary custody of Asa. He was awarded sole custody. For now.
“How’s the nanny?”
Max stepped into Cara’s office. The old man could wait a few minutes. “Mrs. Tobias? Great. A true Mrs. Doubtfire.” Max had spent the last twenty-four hours hiring a nanny and buying a crib, unloading Asa’s clothes and toys.
“And your first night with your son?”
“Rough. I’d never changed a diaper before. Asa kept looking at me like,
Get
it right, dude
. When Mrs. Tobias arrived, he took right to her, so I think he’ll have a good day.”
“I heard you were summoned to The Corner.” She tipped her head toward his dad’s office. “What do you think he wants?”
“Probably wants to make sure I’m ready to take over when the governor appoints him to the court. Do I have a nanny? Am I working on getting Jade home? All his little fix-it details.”
“You think he’s going to get the court?”
Max started for the door. “I think he’s done everything in his power to make sure he gets the court. Even sending out the press release.”
“Your mother’s too classy not to come back.”
“Classy, yes. But this time, I think she’s adding smart.”
As Max approached his dad’s office, he straightened his tie and made sure his shirttail was tucked in tight.
Bring your A game, bring your A game
.
Max rapped lightly on the door under the nameplate Rebel Benson and then entered. Dad waved him in from the other side of his desk, phone to his ear.
“Art, I need to run. We’ll talk soon.”
Max reclined in the chair by the desk. He looked forward to moving in here. Two walls of windows, wet bar, shower, law library, sitting area. Mom’s classic taste in art and color graced every nuance of the room.
“How goes it?” Dad rose from his mocha-colored leather chair, smoothing his tie and buttoning his coat as if he were about to address a judge and jury.
“Hired a nanny. Asa seems to like her. Changed my first diaper.”
“Got to watch the boys; they’ll get you.” Rebel moved his finger in a spouting motion as he leaned against the edge of his desk.
“So I heard.” But Max knew his dad didn’t call him in to give parenting advice.
“What’s up with the McClures?”
“Just getting started. You know how these things go. It’ll take months to bring to trial if we even get that far. I’m hoping they’ll get tired of the process and let it go.”
“Not if they’re listening to Bradley Richardson.”
Max shifted forward. “We hired an investigator. Meanwhile, I have my son.” The words
my son
still felt foreign even though he’d known for nineteen months. Even though Rice called once in a while to let him know how Asa fared. Man, he’d forgotten about those talks. If he confessed to Jade, she’d have another valid weapon in her arsenal of mistrust. “You might want to stop by one night and meet your grandson, Dad.”
He nodded while gazing at the floor, distracted. “I’m sorry you’re going through this, son.”
“You didn’t call me in here to talk about my situation with Asa.” Max had watched his father charm unsuspecting witnesses, gain their confidence, then tear them apart like a hungry bear emerging after a long winter. The tactic came with a certain aura, a foreboding that now stirred in Max’s gut.
“No way to put this gentle, son.” Rebel glared hard at him. “I’m going to turn the firm over to Clarence Chambers when, if, I get the appointment to the court.”
“Excuse me?” Max leaned forward. “For what reason? This is my firm, the family firm.”
“And I’m still in charge.”
“Not if you go to the court. The partnership agreement states if you leave the firm or die, the next Benson in line assumes control.” For seventy-five years the rules had been ironclad. Father to son, father to son, father to son. No outsider ever ran Benson Law. “I can run this place with my eyes closed.”
“I’ve got the executive management behind me on this, Max.”
Max stood, Dad’s confession sinking through him, stinging all the way down. “And what’s your reasoning?” He kept his tone even. Calm and cool was the best strategy with Dad.
“Simple. You’re not ready, Max. You just said you could run this place with your eyes closed.” Dad walked over to the wet bar and set out two glasses. “That’s exactly what I’m concerned you’ll do. You live by the seat of your pants, not looking before you leap, finding shortcuts, looking for the easy way. Because you’re good at just about everything, your methods have worked. For you. Right now, everything around you is in upheaval. I won’t let the firm move under your umbrella.”
Dad dropped ice in the glasses and splashed them with Diet Coke. Pain, phantom or real, gripped Max’s back. “You’re taking away your own son’s inheritance.”
“Temporarily. Until you work through all your private battles. I assume you’ve considered what this case with the McClures could do to your reputation, as well as the family and the firm.” Dad slid one of the glasses to the end of the bar for Max.
“What do you suggest I do? Not fight for my son? Give in to Gus and Lorelai?”
“Fight for your son, Max. But not while running Benson Law. I’d bet money that Gus is counting on you choosing the firm and your reputation over Asa.”
Max picked up his glass, but he wasn’t thirsty. “I won’t abandon him.”
“You need to learn from this, son.” Dad sipped his soda. “Always carry condoms.”
Max peered at his dad. Was he serious with that remark? “I’m married. Unlike you, I’m not going to cheat on my wife.”
“Hear what I’m saying to you, son. Think ahead, plan, cover yourself.”
More left-handed advice. “Like you did with Claire?” Max tossed back his soda with one gulp.
Dad refilled his glass. “Our clients need to know that they are valued and that the firm is looking after their interests. The future of the firm, our employees, our livelihood, depends on it. Clarence can do that well.”
Max shoved the chair aside and confronted his dad. “When has my private life ever interfered with this firm?”
“Last fall when you had to leave a million-dollar case to spend a week in the hospital detoxing.” Dad’s steely gaze never wavered. “You don’t handle stress well. Work on that.” He slowly raised his glass to his lips. “Clarence will retire in a few years. You’ll be ready then.”
Max set his glass on the bar. “How are you going to announce it?”
“No big hoopla. Low-key. Give a call to all our major accounts. Clarence is on board, ready to go if the governor calls.”
“Rebel?” A knock sounded before the door eased open. Gina peered inside. “The governor’s on the phone.”
“Well, what do you know?” Rebel checked Max visually. “Are you on the team?”
“Yeah.” Max aimed for the door.
For now
.
The closet’s naked lightbulb dropped a hard glare over Jade’s shoulders and cast her silhouette over the old sewing box of photos.
Sitting cross-legged on the old shag carpet in Mama’s closet, Jade held a black-and-white photo in her hand of Mama with long blonde hair wearing a headband and fatigue jacket. Just like the hitchhiker. Jade put the picture in her pile of things to take home with her. Her pile of one . . . so far.
Dr. Meadows called earlier to say Mama could go home in the morning. Jade had run upstairs to get clothes for her to wear home, and while digging around in the closet, she’d stumbled upon an anthology of Mama’s past.
Inside the sewing box of pictures were shots of Mama with Aiden and Jade as babies, though most of the images were from Mama’s commune and hitchhiking days. Jade only recognized two people, Mama’s friends Carlisle and Eclipse. Then she found a stunner. Mama sitting two feet from a smiling George Harrison, sitting cross-legged, playing his guitar. Oh, June had to see this one.
Jade thought of the perfect frame she had at the Blue Umbrella. She’d hang George and Mama in the shop.
Next she found a portfolio of mint-condition, original show prints of bands who played San Francisco’s Fillmore Auditorium between ’66 and ’67.
Turning over one poster advertising the Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane, Jade found an inscription on the back.
To Beryl, with love, Wes Wilson
.
Signed by the artist. This was an amazing find. Jade set it in the pile. How did Mama know these people? How had her experiences with them impacted her life? She guessed the poster to be worth a good bit of money. But she’d frame it and hang it on the wall next to the ex-Beatle.
In a leather suitcase, Mama had folded up several muumuu-type dresses, miniskirts and tops, and a tattered pair of moccasins. In a banged-up shoe box, Jade discovered letters to and from Granny and Paps, from the Vietnam vet Mama had fallen for when she was seventeen, concert ticket stubs, and a variety of tarnished silver and turquoise jewelry.
Pulling a letter from an envelope stamped July 1967, Jade’s eyes scanned her mother’s young, determined handwriting.
Dear Mother,
I’m fine. Stop worrying. Marilyn and I have met some far-out people, having a groovy time. We go home to Aunt Lillith and Uncle Dave’s once a week for laundry and a square meal.
We have a cool crash pad right on Haight. Lots of the kids go there at night and it’s such a serene scene.
We help the Diggers serve breakfast in the morning, and I just started helping at the free clinic. It’s like I’m home, Mother. These people understand me. I understand them. This is the scene I was born to live in, I know it. I feel it.
I don’t think I’m coming for my senior year. Why do I need to graduate high school when our boys are fighting a useless war? The government is ripping off our generation and is going to kill us all if we don’t do something about it.
Jade laughed softly. Mama sipped a lot of the political Kool-Aid of her day. But Paps put an end to her plan to drop out of high school. He drove out to San Francisco and brought her home. Paps wasn’t a big man, but he was powerfully built with a gentle demeanor. Until pushed. Once he arrived in San Francisco, Jade knew Mama had no choice but to come home to Prairie City. Mama was lucky. She had Paps.
Jade folded the letter, missing her grandpa, her granny, and her innocent youth. She was only ten when Paps died, but she remembered the safety of his tree-trunk arms.
“There you are.” June stood in the closet doorway, her hands on her hips, her hair tied in a handkerchief. She wore flared slacks and a short-sleeved sweater-top. “Are these Beryl’s clothes for tomorrow?” June stooped to pick up the slacks and blouse.
“Yeah. They should fit.” Jade offered up the picture of Mama with George. “I found this stuff while going through her things. She really wanted to do something, be somebody.”
June stared at the picture for a long time. “We all want to leave our mark in the world, Jade. Especially when we’re young.”
“I was reading her letters, and she was such a combination of wisdom and unfocused zeal. One sentence she’s volunteering to feed the hungry. In the next, she announces she’s not going to finish high school because the country was at war.”
“That’s the way it was with our generation.” June settled on the closet floor by the box of pictures, curling her legs behind her. “Look, there you are, Jade. With your mama. Or is that Willow?”
“Me. My dad took these. Aiden found his Nikon when he was nine, and that’s how he got started in photography.”
“Hospice called.” June straightened and replaced the pictures. “They’ll be here in the morning.”
“Oh, here’s a good one.” Jade handed June a picture of Mama and Daddy. A rare find.
June motioned to the poster of Scott McKenzie. “I can still hear him singing, ‘If you’re going to San Francisco, be sure to wear flowers in your hair.’”
“It’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?” Jade shuffled through another stack of photos. “Calling hospice, discussing the details of Mama dying at home.”
