Marriage Seasons 04 - Winter Turns to Spring (19 page)

“Oh, Patsy, I’m so sorry.”

Within moments, Derek had headed out the door and Jennifer was returning to the living room with the sheet cake Patsy had baked that morning.

“It was for my first Christmas dinner with Pete,” she said, mourning the beautiful decorative star she had created out of whole pecans.

“That cake and the peas. I guess since I’m already wearing the peas, we might as well go ahead and cut the cake. I want a big piece, too. Comfort food. Whoever said that was a bad thing?”

As Jennifer dipped a knife into the cake, Patsy saw the bathroom door swing open to reveal Cody’s silhouette. Like a duck to water, she thought.

“Come on out, honey,” she called. With a sip of water, she downed the two over-the-counter painkillers Jennifer had brought. “Nobody’s mad at you. Let’s all have cake and talk about something nice.”

“Christmas?” Cody said hopefully. He crept out and settled on the edge of a chair near the sofa. With a glance at her knees and swollen ankle, he appeared to tear up again. But Jennifer pressed a plate of cake into his hands, and Cody cheered up immediately.

“Do you have a theme?” he asked Patsy. “At Jennifer’s house, the theme is purple and gold.”

“On the Christmas tree,” Jennifer clarified.

Patsy eyed the scraggly artificial pine she’d had since childhood. “Love,” she said. “I guess that’s my theme. Those ornaments came down to me from my parents, and theirs, and who knows how far back. Every year, they come out of their boxes, and we hang them on the tree so we can remember all the love in our family. So next Christmas—if Pete and I are married by then—we’ll hang those very same ornaments on our own tree.”

“You haven’t set a wedding date yet, have you?” Jennifer asked. “Patsy, it’s been a month since Pete proposed. What are you waiting for?”

“I don’t think we’re waiting for anything. We just haven’t gotten around to talking about it much.”

“Because they like to kiss instead of talk,” Cody inserted.

“What do you know about Pete and me?” Patsy reached out with her good foot and tapped him on the knee. “You’d better not be peeking in any windows.”

“I don’t peek in windows. I think kissing is what people do when they’re in love.” Cody slid a glance at Jennifer. “But if they’re not … if they think the other person is chicken livers, then they don’t want to kiss them, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Or if you’re married already, but you hate each other like Brad and Ashley and push each other out in the snow without any clothes on, which is what Mrs. Miranda Finley told me Ashley did to Brad, then you probably don’t want to kiss. But otherwise, I think that’s what you do.”

Patsy and Jennifer looked at each other. This one was going to take some time.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

B
rad scrolled through the names stored on his phone and wondered what Mr. Moore was doing this Christmas Eve. The lights inside Larry’s Lake Lounge were turned down low, and it was pitch-dark outside. Yvonne Ratcliff had already sung two sets. One was a collection of her usual country numbers. She could cover the most popular hits very well, in Brad’s opinion. The other set had been Christmas songs full of words like
jolly, merry
, and
joyful
. The folks gathered at Larry’s didn’t appear to have much happiness to spare. Still … with a small rotating tree in one corner of the bar and silver garlands taped to the ceiling, it was better than being at home alone.

“Don’t call her,” Mack said, gesturing at Brad’s phone. “She’s workin’, anyhow. No point in getting yourself all riled up.”

“I wasn’t thinking about Ashley.” Brad knew that was a lie. He had been thinking about her all night. But he didn’t correct his untruth as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. “You know the guy who helped me with my remodeling—Charlie Moore?” he asked Mack. “He’s in California. Went out there to see his son. I was just wondering what he’s up to tonight.”

Mack took a swig. Brad eyed his own empty mug. The two of them had downed more than usual, but why not? This was a holiday. Celebrate. Whoopee.

“Probably puttin’ together a bike for his son,” Mack said and then laughed. “Does anybody do that these days? You know, like in them old movies when the father was down in the basement tryin’ to build his daughter a dollhouse and finish assembling his son’s bicycle before midnight? The mother would come down in her ruffled white apron and ask him how he was getting along, and he was always havin’ trouble. I’ll tell you what. My mama didn’t wear no apron, and my daddy sure never put a bike together for me. I stole the only one I ever had.”

“Mr. Moore’s son is an adult,” Brad told him. “He doesn’t need a bicycle for Christmas. They’re probably sitting around the fireplace singing carols.”

“In California? Do they have fireplaces there?”

“Maybe not. I’ll bet Mr. Moore is missing his wife, though. She died right before Thanksgiving. They were married nearly fifty years.”

“Rah, rah, rah.” Mack lifted his mug and waved it back and forth as he cheered. “Fifty years of bondage!”

“Shut up, you idiot.”

“What’s the matter, boys?” Yvonne slid onto the bar stool next to Brad. She had on tight black suede pants and a red sweater that hugged her curves. Red and green earrings in the shape of tree lights dangled around her shoulders. “Don’t tell me you’re having an argument on Christmas Eve.”

“Brad’s in mourning,” Mack told her. “His marriage died.”

“Really?” Yvonne’s voice sounded way too perky for this hour of the night.

“Kaput,” Mack pronounced.

“Awww.” Yvonne leaned against Brad. “Too bad, honey. It happens to the best of us. But on Christmas Eve? Now that’s a rotten deal. What happened?”

Brad studied the foam drying on his mug. What
had
happened? He hardly knew. He remembered so well the day he had spotted Ashley making a milk shake at her parents’ snack shop. Her back was to him, and he was amazed at that lava flow of flaming hair that ran down her back. Rumples and waves, it fell all the way to her unbelievably perfect little hips. She was tall, slender, and standing at the milk shake machine with the kind of slouch that set up a roar inside his chest.

No way could this creature be as beautiful from the front as she was from the back, he had thought. But then she had turned and looked right at him with those big brown eyes. On seeing him, her cheeks had flushed a pretty pink, and his heart stumbled.

“Hey,”
she had greeted him.
“Aren’t you Brad Hanes? You used to play quarterback for the Lakers. Your team won State.”

All he’d been able to do was stare at her. Where had she been during his high school years? Why hadn’t he ever noticed her?

She twined her index finger through a long strand of beads looped around her neck.
“What do you want?”
she had asked him.

“You,”
he almost blurted out.
“You, you, you, and nobody else. For the rest of my life.”

That’s how he had felt on seeing Ashley, and he hadn’t stopped feeling that way right through the engagement, the wedding, and the first few months of the marriage. Nothing and nobody could satisfy him like his wife.

He would do anything to please her. Starting right after their first date, he never gave another woman a second look. He had bought Ashley a whopping big diamond ring—spent most of his savings on it. Within a couple months of their meeting, he was looking for a house to put her in after he made her his wife. She was as sweet, pretty, smart, and supportive as he could have dreamed possible.

And there was something extra, too. Ashley was spicy. Her long red hair drove him crazy, and he loved the way she dressed in funky skirts and beaded necklaces. She always surprised him with her creativity and imagination, and he couldn’t believe his good luck.

That whole time, she had been focused completely on him. They couldn’t see anything but each other. Ashley raved about everything he had done in the past and everything he did after meeting her. She adored all that he was, constantly reminded him of all that he meant in her life. They dreamed and planned their future until it took on a reality of its own. And he wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms from dusk till dawn.

What had happened?

“Brad don’t feel much like talkin’,” Mack told Yvonne. “I reckon he needs a refill. Hey, Bub! How about another brewski for ol’ Brad here? He’s singin’ the blues tonight.”

Bartender Bubba Jones, grandson of Opal Jones, made a face. “Who’s driving him home? You sure ain’t fit to be on the road, Mack.”

“I’ll take care of him,” Yvonne said, edging closer. She leaned up and pressed her soft lips to Brad’s cheek. “This boy’s in good hands tonight.”

“Awright!” Mack chuckled. “I wish I could say the same.”

“You don’t try hard enough, Mack. Look at all the women in this place. It’s Christmas Eve, honey. Everyone’s lonely and wanting some comfort. Get over there and play a game of pool with Dixie and Brandy and them gals. You don’t have nothin’ to lose.”

Mack took another swig. “Naw, I ain’t fallin’ for that, Yvonne. Dixie and them are like sisters to me—I see ’em here every night.”

“You’re just a big chicken, Mack.” She ran her fingertips through Brad’s hair. “You don’t see
me
as a sister, do you, sweetie?”

Brad swallowed. Red flags waved inside him.
Don’t do this. Don’t let her come on to you that way. Go home, fool. You can patch things up with Ashley
.

But he couldn’t. He knew that. He didn’t have a clue how to fix the mess they’d made. Ashley had flat out told him she hated him. She didn’t need him anymore.

What hope could you have when your wife said something like that? What reason could he possibly have for denying his own need? He was lonely. Hurt. Angry. Frustrated. And yeah, Mack had spoken the truth. Brad was in mourning. The marriage he had dreamed about was dead, and he might as well accept it.

Swallowing down the pain, he leaned over. “I never felt this way about any of my sisters,” he murmured in Yvonne’s ear.

With a giggle, she nuzzled up and slipped her arm around his neck. “My kid’s with his daddy tonight. You got any reason to go home?”

Brad knew what Yvonne wanted. No doubt about that.

He thought about the bed he and Ashley had purchased on credit just before they moved into their new house. That and everything else they owned would probably be repossessed or pawned.

“Yappy,” he told her, gazing at her lips through the fog in his head. “The puppy’s at home.”

“You’d turn down my Christmas present for a dog?”

Recalling the night he had found Yappy, Brad realized how much had changed. On that evening, he had resisted the allure of the bar and the long-haired, sexy singer. Though he and Ashley had been having a fair amount of trouble even then, on that cold winter evening, saving the dog had allowed him to resist the siren call of temptation.

But tonight, Yappy was warm and well fed. Ashley would be home in time to let him out. Or clean up the mess. Brad had nothing to hold him back.

“Nah,” he whispered, slipping his arm around her waist. “I got nothing. Nothing but you, honey.”

Ashley bit her lower lip as she steered her car toward Deepwater Cove. To everyone’s surprise, the church Christmas carolers had eaten quickly and left the restaurant much earlier than expected. It hadn’t taken long to bus the tables, set them up again, and clock out. Even the dishwashers had it easy. Jay from customer service dropped by to wish everyone a merry Christmas and hand out bonus checks, and then the dining room and kitchen staff were free to go home.

Home
.

The word sent a lump into Ashley’s throat. Would Brad be there? Would he have seen what she’d done in his absence that day—her valiant effort to salvage their marriage? Would he understand what her gesture had meant?

Surely he would. He must.

Dear God, please let Brad see that I don’t hate him!
she pleaded in silence.

Though she hadn’t been brought up in church, Ashley had decided long ago that there must be a God worth praying to. Did maples just happen to turn brilliant red every autumn? Blue herons stood like soldiers on the docks at dusk. Had they decided to grow long legs, beaks, and curved necks—perfect for plucking fish from the lake?

Someone must have designed it all. Such miracles didn’t just happen. If God had made all these things, surely He cared at least a little bit about Ashley and Brad. Surely He could do something to heal a broken marriage.

Trying to concentrate on the narrow road, Ashley continued in silent prayer to the Creator. He knitted torn skin and broken bones. He sealed the bark on a tree that had been struck by lightning. He brought flowers out of thorny rosebushes. Surely He could do something to fix this terrible mess.

Please! Please help us!

Approaching Tranquility, Ashley couldn’t help but glance at the site of her greatest rival for Brad’s time and attention. Larry’s Lake Lounge sat in darkness except for the icicle lights that hung glittering from the roofline. The parking lot was empty.

Empty except for one car.

Her breath catching, Ashley suddenly swerved into the driveway pockmarked with potholes. Yes, that was Brad’s car.