Marriage Seasons 04 - Winter Turns to Spring (17 page)

“Ashley, wait.” Cody leaped to his feet. “You need to do what I did when you told me about chicken livers. You need to sit down and get calm.”

He took her by the shoulders. “Sit on the couch here, because you are too upset to talk to anybody but me. I think I did a bad social skill or something like that. What did I do wrong?”

Ashley slumped on the sofa and shook her head. “Nothing. You didn’t do anything wrong, Cody. It’s all just a big wreck. I’ve messed up everything you could possibly mess up in a marriage. I have nothing to show for my life. I hate myself.”

Cody sat down next to Ashley and patted her on the back. He was so close she could smell the odor of paint thinner on his hands. “Do you really hate yourself, Ashley?”

“I’m a stupid, ugly girl with skinny legs and long red hair, and I barely graduated, and the one thing I thought I was doing right, I did completely wrong. I was so sure that Brad and I were perfect together. I just knew we would be happy forever and always love each other and have a whole bunch of chi-hi-hildren….”

Sobbing, she covered her face with her hands and bent over, afraid she was going to be ill. Her marriage crumbling was the worst thing in the world. How could it have happened? Had Jennifer fallen in love with Brad? Had Ashley’s husband betrayed her?

“I don’t think you’re stupid and ugly,” Cody said, continuing to pat, his hand making a heavy drumbeat on her back. “I think you’re like the wife that King Lemuel’s mother told him about, that’s who. But the trouble is that Brad is not like King Lemuel. The king’s mother told her son not to drink alcohol, because he would forget the law and pervert the judgment of the afflicted. And that is exactly what Brad did when he drank alcohol and forgot the law and ran his new truck into the ditch.”

“I’m not supposed to talk about the accident or the DWIs, Cody,” Ashley moaned. “I’m never to remind Brad what he did. He hates it when
anyone
mentions that stupid truck.”

“I know it’s not good to gossip, because Patsy says
never spread rumors
. But since you’re so upset, I will tell you something that might make you feel better.”

Cody stopped patting Ashley’s back. “Jennifer said she thinks Brad is a very smart person, even though he acts dumb. That’s what she told me.”

Ashley sucked down the lump in her throat. “Wait—Jennifer said that? After she and Brad were in the dark room together?” With a deep sniffle, she sat up. “Did Jen really say Brad was smart? Did she say he should be a good husband to me?”

“Yes. But she thinks he acts dumb.”

“Oh, I don’t believe it,” Ashley blurted out as relief swept through her. “Are you telling me that Jennifer is
not
attracted to my husband? You’re absolutely positive there’s nothing between them?”

“Nothing except talking. Jennifer said she was crying because she wants women to have good husbands, even her. I told her that I would be a very good husband, and I would like to marry her. But she didn’t say anything except we need more vinegar or we are never going to get these stains out.”

“Oh, thank goodness!”

“I don’t feel very thankful at all. I have just found out that I’m chicken livers to Jennifer, and I made you cry, and Brad probably hates me because I told him to leave Bless Your Hearth.”

“No, you’re sweet, Cody.” She rubbed her sleeve across her cheeks. “You try hard to do your best. I’m the loser here.”

Ashley felt unexpectedly awkward—sitting on her sofa with Cody Goss pressed up beside her as though the room were crowded with people. Though something inside Ashley rose to defend herself against the charge that she was a loser, her heart overcame it. She knew the truth.

You didn’t shove your naked husband out into the snow if you were perfect. You didn’t shout at him and call him names. You didn’t hate him. She had done all these things … and more.

Ashley let out her breath. “I guess you’d probably better go now, Cody. I feel better knowing Brad isn’t … because what I thought was happening isn’t happening after all. At least I don’t think it is.”

Cody rose from the sofa. “I’m happy that I fixed your door. Sorry if I did bad social skills.”

“Everything’s okay. I need to call Brad. I think if we talk … if we try harder … if we can somehow work on our problems, this is going to turn out all right. I haven’t been the best wife.”

“Jennifer thinks you’re a very good wife.”

“Jennifer doesn’t know me very well. I’m a barely good enough wife.”

“Okay.” Cody took his coat from the rack and slipped it on. “Well, call me again if you and Brad break something else. I’m a good fixer-upper.”

Without another word, Cody turned and strolled to the front door. Ashley felt the tension slide out of her as he stepped outside and shut it behind him. Though she had calmed down a lot, she knew her hands were still trembling.

Brad and Jennifer in the dark? Brad and Jennifer alone together? Why?

What if Jennifer had lied to Cody?

What if Brad was unfaithful?

What would Ashley do? How could a woman ever go on? It was Ashley’s greatest fear. Her worst nightmare.

What kind of a husband made his wife feel that way, constantly filled with dread? What sort of man hung out at a bar all hours of the night? And read a pornographic magazine? And failed to pay bills, wrecked his truck, bad-mouthed her parents?

Brad was a
terrible
husband. Ashley didn’t know why she put up with him. Had she ever really loved him … or had it just been some crazy mix of admiration, awe, wonder, and lust?

What was love really?

Ashley thought of Esther Moore. Mrs. Moore would have known the answer to that question. She could have explained it all. But now … now Mrs. Moore was dead. Just like that. Gone.

“Mail!” Cody sang out the word as he flung the door open and burst back into the living room. “You have lots of letters, Ashley. I saw the mailman putting them into your box, and I thought they must be Christmas cards. Brenda is always happy to get Christmas cards. She puts them in a basket on the table and shows them to Steve and Jennifer and me. Here you go! Merry Christmas!”

He held out a large stack of business-size white envelopes. Ashley recognized her own handwriting on most of them. “What are these? They’re not Christmas cards.”

She took them and set them on her lap. As realization slowly dawned, she tore one open. “These are my self-addressed stamped envelopes. I sent these out with my bead orders. Oh, Cody! This is a check. It’s money. It’s a lot of money. They’re paying me. My customers are really, truly paying me!”

“Wait till you hear this,” Cody said with a laugh. “I played a joke on you, Ashley. Here’s more! Lots more. I hid these envelopes in my pocket because I wanted to make a trick! How about that? Did I trick you? Are you surprised?”

As the envelopes fluttered around her like snowflakes, Ashley gasped. “This is wonderful!”

“Ha-ha!” Cody slapped his thighs. “I knew it! I made a great trick. Merry Christmas, Ashley Hanes. Merry Christmas to you!”

CHAPTER TEN

B
rad sat up on the edge of the bed and switched off the alarm clock. How long had it been buzzing, he wondered as he rubbed his eyes. The morning of Christmas Eve—and he was going to be late to work.

The snow had all melted before he got home the night before, so he would have no excuse today. He’d have to shower quickly and then grab a breakfast wrap from the Pop-In on his way to the construction site. Bitty Sondheim was in California visiting her family, but she had asked her cook to keep the little restaurant open for its faithful customers. That included Brad, and he was already looking forward to his usual scrambled egg, bacon, and cheese in a biscuit-dough wrap.

As he stood, Brad glanced down at the woman sprawled across the rumpled sheets. Ashley had never shared a bed with a sibling, so she usually yanked off most of the covers and flopped around all night like a dying fish. This morning, in the half-light of dawn, he could see that she was wearing her favorite ugly old flannel gown and the pair of warm gray socks her grandmother had knitted. She hadn’t bothered to unbraid her hair. It looked like a frayed auburn rope lying across the pillow. He didn’t remember hearing her come home.

In the shower, he reviewed the previous day. It had begun with him being shoved out into the snow by his wife. Next, he had bashed in their front door with his foot. Miranda Finley, their psycho neighbor, had watched the whole episode through her dining room window and obviously thought it was pretty funny. He failed to see the humor.

Toweling off, Brad recalled the many times during the day that he had taken out his phone and considered calling Ashley to apologize. He wasn’t a bad man—the sort of guy who beat his wife or tore the house apart in a drunken rage. How had it even happened that he had become so angry with her? What had Ashley said? What had he done? Something was always simmering between them, collecting beneath the surface and waiting to erupt. Ashley had mentioned his drinking, he remembered. And she had found his magazine. Yappy had gotten mixed up in it too, vanishing into the snow and scaring them half to death. It had been a bad day.

He let out a deep breath and stepped back into the bedroom. Trying to be as quiet as he could, he pulled on his shorts and a pair of jeans. As he was slipping into his T-shirt, he felt a tug on his pant leg.

“Rrrrf! Rrf-rrf!”

“Hush!” he whispered, scooping up the puppy. “Be quiet. I’ll take you out in a second.”

“I’ll do it.” Ashley rolled into a sitting position. Cross-legged, she stared at him. Wisps of hair fanned out around her head. “I can take Yappy outside.”

“Thanks.” He pulled on a plaid flannel shirt and began to button it. “I’m late.”

“Are you working a full day?” Her voice was softer than usual. “It’s Christmas Eve, you know.”

He wanted to repair the damage between them, but he was in a hurry. He didn’t even know how to begin. How could he make things better with his wife? How could he show her that he still cared? Did he?

“We don’t have much work left to do on this unit,” he told her, wondering if they might have time to go out to dinner that night. Even a meal at home together would be good. “We’ll get off early. How about you?”

“A churchful of Christmas carolers booked the whole restaurant. They’re coming to the club to eat before they go out and sing. I’ll probably be late.”

Brad nodded. That figured. With his job, a holiday usually meant time off. With Ashley’s, it meant extra customers and longer hours. Another point to add to the growing list of reasons why nothing between them was working.

Ashley stepped onto the floor and reached for the puppy. As she gathered Yappy into her arms, Brad felt her warm skin touch his. She looked up at him, her brown eyes deep.

“Brad, I’m sorry,” she began. For a moment, she didn’t speak. She moistened her lips and swallowed hard. “Sorry I … sorry I didn’t decorate the house for Christmas. I helped my mom put up their tree a couple of days ago, but I didn’t know if we had the money to buy one. I wasn’t sure how you felt about … about Christmas … or anything. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He turned away, looking for his boots. Why hadn’t she apologized for what really mattered? for shoving him out into the snow? That would have been a start.

Frustration welled up in his chest. No doubt Ashley expected him to beg forgiveness for his girlie magazine. Maybe he shouldn’t have had it, but there wasn’t time to talk through all that now.

“Have you seen my boots?” he asked.

“By the couch.”

She had set Yappy down and was pulling on her coat. He grabbed his heavy jacket, still trying to think of some way to ease the resentment between them.

“You working tomorrow?” he asked.

“I’m off. I have seniority.” She squared her shoulders. “I got to choose my vacation days before the rest of the staff. Jay let me pick first.”

Brad had to refrain from snapping out a smart retort about this
Jay
guy who seemed to have invaded their marriage. If Jay was so wonderful, why didn’t Ashley just spend Christmas with him?

No, that was unkind. Brad knew he should keep his mouth shut. If he wanted to say something to Ashley, he needed to make it polite. Something positive.

A thought struck him.

“Mom is expecting us at the house by noon tomorrow,” he told her, reaching for the doorknob. “She’s got a ham this year. A big one.”

Ashley stiffened. “But my mom invited us too.”

“
Your
mom?” That possibility hadn’t occurred to him. “What did you tell her?”

“I said yes, of course. You never told me your family wanted us to go over there. This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“You didn’t tell me either. And my mom has a ham. That’s a huge deal for her. We don’t have ham every year.”

“Brad, my parents are expecting us.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m not eating foot-long chili cheese dogs for Christmas dinner.”

“My mother won’t make that!”

“That’s all she knows how to cook, Ash.” He let out a hot breath. “Look, I don’t have time to argue. I’m the husband, and I say we’re going to
my
parents’ house.”

“Go ahead. I’ll be eating at my house.”

“
This
is supposed to be your house!” he bellowed, surprising himself with the sudden rage that flamed inside him. He jabbed an index finger at the floor. “
This
is where you live. This is the place you’re supposed to put up Christmas decorations. This is where the presents are supposed to be. Right here—under
our
tree. We’re married, in case you forgot.”

“Married? What’s that? Two people who never see each other? who fight all the time? A husband who would rather read a porn magazine than—”

“Stop!” He caught her by the wrist. “Stop talking about the magazine.”

“Oh? Is it like all the other things I’m not supposed to talk about? Let’s see, so far we’ve got your truck, your DWIs—”

“Ashley!” He gave her arm a squeeze. “Stop. Stop mocking me. You put me down all the time. You belittle me. I’m sick of it. All I want from you is some respect, okay? I know I’m not perfect. I know I’ve disappointed you. But you could at least try to find one nice thing to say about me once in a while.”