Marriage Seasons 04 - Winter Turns to Spring (20 page)

What was it doing there by itself? Was he still in the bar? Had everyone gone home and shut the place down with one lone drunk passed out inside?

Ashley pulled her car to a stop beside Brad’s and stepped out into the chilly breeze. Peering through the window, she saw that his old car was empty. She tried the door. Locked.

Dread and confusion gathering in her chest, she stepped to the front door of the bar. It, too, was locked. And then the icicle lights went out overhead.

Someone was still here.

“Brad?” she called.

Ashley jogged around to the back of the building. In the moonlight, she could make out the figure of a man emptying trash into the large metal Dumpster. She thought she recognized him.

“Bubba Jones?” She stepped nearer.

“That’s me. What do you need?”

“Bubba, it’s Ashley Hanes. I live near your grandma in Deepwater Cove. Have you seen Brad? Brad Hanes?”

Setting the trash can on the ground, he shook his head. “What are you doing out at this time of night on Christmas Eve, kid?”

“I’m looking for my husband.”

As she reached him, she could see the weary expression on his face, the resignation in his eyes. “Brad’s gone. I’ve locked up for the night.”

“But his car is still here.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat. “I was on my way home from work, and I saw it sitting in your parking lot. He must be inside.”

Bubba heaved a sigh. “Nope. I checked her out like I do every night. The place is empty.”

“Did you see Brad leave? Did Mack drive him home?”

“Mack left with Dixie Barnes.” Bubba picked up the can again. “Why don’t you go on home? He’ll probably show up after a while.”

“Bubba, where is my husband?”

The man lifted his cap and studied the streetlight in the distance. “I’m just the bartender, you know. I don’t even own the place. And I’ve gotta get home.”

As he turned toward the tavern’s back door, Ashley caught his arm. “Bubba, tell me where Brad went. Please. I have to know.”

“There’s a lot of things I hate about my job. Rowdy drunks. Bad singing. Cussing. This is one of them.”

Ashley went cold and stiff. “Is he with that singer? That Yvonne woman? Where does she live?”

She could read the answer in his eyes as he pointed a finger over her shoulder. “Yvonne Ratcliff. She lives right down the road behind the bar. There’s a fourplex. First door on the left. Black door.”

Unable to accept what she was hearing, Ashley clung to the man’s arm. “Are you sure?”

“I didn’t tell you nothin’. You never even saw me tonight. That’s how it goes.”

Brusquely drawing away from her, he carried the trash can back inside and shut the door behind him.

Ashley sucked down a sob.

No
.

It couldn’t be true. Brad wouldn’t do that. He was her husband. He had made a vow in church. He had loved her, and he promised to stay with her throughout his whole life.

Aching, she returned to her car and sat in silence for a moment. They had spoken such harsh words over the past months. Words filled with venom and malice. They had spat their hatred, anger, disgust at each other that morning. She had truly felt all those things she said to him—every one.

But did that mean the end? Had Brad left her? Had he gone with the bar singer? Could it be possible that their marriage really was over?

Ashley turned the key in the ignition. In a daze, she drove behind the bar, found the narrow road, pulled up in front of the run-down fourplex.

Again, she sat. Unable to move. The lights in the apartment on the lower floor were off. Four cars lined the parking area. The one nearest the door was a battered Honda with too many bumper stickers.

Mechanically, Ashley pushed open her car door and stepped out. So this was what you did when marriages died. This was how you knew. This was it, in the worst possible way.

She knocked on the black door. Muffled voices sounded inside, and the dead bolt slid open. The door opened a crack, and a woman with tousled brown hair peered out.

“I’m Ashley Hanes.” She spoke quietly. “Is Brad in there?”

The woman wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She unchained the door, swung it open, and flicked on the overhead light. “I’m not sure, honey. He told me he was Santa Claus.”

Brad sat up on the couch—a lumpy sofa bed with grayed sheets. Clothing lay scattered across the floor. A red sweater. His jeans.

“Ashley?” he muttered, confusion narrowing his brow. His blue eyes clouded. Then he yanked a sheet up over his bare chest. “Shut the door, Yvonne!”

To the sound of his cursing, the woman flicked a length of brown hair over her shoulder. “Night-night, sweetie,” she said. One dark eyebrow lifted and a smile flitted across her lips. “Maybe you can find yourself an elf.”

Ashley turned away and heard the door click shut. She swallowed. So. This was adultery, that mysterious word she had never quite understood.

This was it.

The end.

Robotic, she returned to her car. Opened the door. Sat down. Closed the door. Turned the key. Put the car in reverse. Backed out of the parking lot.

The yellow lines on the road slid by. Somehow she arrived in front of the little house in Deepwater Cove. The house with the newly built room—a nursery for a baby, she had dreamed once. The house where so much was supposed to have happened but now never would.

Ashley left the car, entered the house, stood staring. Yappy burst out past her, racing for his favorite spot in the yard. Leaving the front door standing wide, she walked into the bedroom she had shared with her husband for ten months. Not even a year. Not even one year.

She opened the closet and dragged out a stack of empty plastic laundry baskets. Pink, the color of romance, she had thought when she bought them. Now these would hold everything she owned. Setting them out on the bed, she began to pull dresses off hangers.

As she folded the first one and put it in a basket, Yappy raced into the room and leaped onto the bed. Muddy paws marking a pattern of excitement, he sniffed all over. Then he jumped into the basket and let out a high-pitched yip. His tail wagged as he sat down and looked at her with a quizzical tilt of the head.

“I see you, Yappy,” Ashley said. “You’re a good boy for waiting so long to go out. And now it’s time for us to pack. That’s what people do at the end. They pack their things and leave. So, we’ll do that together. We’ll put my clothes, my necklaces, my beads, and maybe some silverware and a pan or two into these baskets. We’ll put your food and bowl in the car. And then we’ll go.”

“Wow!”
The puppy stood up in the basket and turned in a circle.
“Wow-wow!”

Ashley rubbed his long ears as her tears began to fall.

CHAPTER TWELVE

H
ow about another piece of chocolate cake, sugar? Would that help?”

“No, I’m stuffed to the gills. Oh, I feel awful.” Fighting the pain in her ankle as well as the disappointment in her heart, Patsy ran her gaze over the large man seated at the end of her sofa.

Pete was trying his best to be of comfort. On learning about her tumble the day before, he had baked a ham, whipped up some mashed potatoes and gravy, put together a green bean casserole, and tossed a beautiful salad for their Christmas lunch. After the meal—which he brought to Patsy on a tray—he covered her with an afghan and propped her sock-clad feet on his leg. Then he began to massage the uninjured ankle.

“I’ll call Kim Finley,” he suggested. “She works for Dr. Groene. I bet she’s got some dandy painkillers over at her house.”

“Dr. Groene is a dentist, Pete.”

“That’s my point. Who dishes out more pain than a dentist? Dr. Groene probably prescribes narcotics left and right. Or maybe Kim could call and get him to order something for you.”

“Oh, hush, you silly goober. I’m fine. I know it’s just a sprain and I’m being a big baby. But honestly, this has put such a damper on my Christmas.” “You didn’t like the sweater I got you?”

“I love
you
, Pete honey. And the sweater is so bright and cheerful … isn’t it, Ashley?”

Patsy looked across the room at the young woman who had appeared on her doorstep in the middle of the night. Truth to tell, the sweater Pete had selected and wrapped in bright gold paper hardly had a redeeming feature. Not to mention that it was a couple of sizes too small. Patsy would have to take it back to the outlet mall, and the chances of finding the same sweater in her size were next to zero. Fortunately.

“I like the neckline.”

Ashley finally produced something positive. She was seated across from the sofa, her eyes hollow. Her little dog dozed on her lap. Patsy knew the poor girl hadn’t slept a wink. Between the pain in her ankle and her worry about Ashley, Patsy hadn’t slept much either.

“Yes, it does have a pretty neckline,” Patsy agreed. “I’m griping because I hate being stuck on this couch. I feel so bad that you had to cook all the food, Pete. Yesterday we ruined the frozen peas. And we dug into the Christmas star pecan-chocolate cake. I didn’t get your present wrapped, either. And poor Ashley … well, it hasn’t been the best of times.”

“Do you want me to leave, Patsy?” At the sound of Ashley’s plaintive voice, the puppy lifted his head. He fixed his dark eyes on the young woman as she continued. “I could move in with my parents. They wouldn’t mind.”

“No, I think you did the right thing to come to my house. We’ll let Brad spend a little time wondering where you are. That will give him the opportunity to think things over.”

“I’d like to give Brad a punch in the nose,” Pete muttered.

“Listen to you, Mr. Perfect.” Patsy reached for her fiancé’s hand. “You remember what Jesus told the men who wanted to kill that woman they’d caught breaking the law? Let the person who is without sin cast the first stone.”

“I know I’m not perfect,” Pete acknowledged. “But there’s no excuse for what Brad did.”

“Of course not.” Patsy squeezed his hand. “I can’t think of anything worse. It was terribly wrong, and I’m sure Brad knows that.”

Pete shrugged. “You’re right, Patsy. But still … I think a black eye would suit him right about now.”

“Or Yvonne Ratcliff,” Ashley spoke up. “I’m not sure which of them I hate more.”

Patsy tried to think of the right response. How did one discuss such an incident? The very idea of finding one’s husband in bed with another woman was enough to make her shudder. If Pete ever did anything like that … well, Patsy couldn’t imagine how she would react.

“I don’t even know what to tell you, Ashley,” she admitted finally. “I can’t think of anything that will fix this situation. All I can do is make sure you know I love you, and I’m here for you. You can stay with me as long as you like.”

The barest hint of a smile crossed Ashley’s face. “Thank you for not trying to make it better by saying dumb things, Patsy. Like when Mrs. Moore died and people said, ‘Well, she lived a long, happy life.’ Or, ‘Well, it must have been her time to go.’ That stuff doesn’t help at all. Nothing can change how I feel. Right now I just want to disappear.”

“You’ve done that for sure,” Pete told her. “With your car parked in Patsy’s garage, no one will have any idea you’re here. But don’t you think you ought to call your folks? They’ll be worried.”

“I don’t want to talk to them. All those questions. I’m not up to answering anything. I need to hide for a while. Maybe forever.”

“People are going to find out eventually.” Pete focused on Patsy. “There’s no way you can keep a secret in Deepwater Cove.”

Patsy thought for a moment. It was true that Ashley would have to face reality again soon enough. But maybe there was a way to let the young woman rest in silence for a little while longer.

“I have an idea,” she said. “It’s worth a try.”

She picked up the phone and dialed. When Brenda Hansen’s voice came on, Patsy greeted her friend and then asked to speak to Cody. “Merry Christmas, punkin! Did you open your present from me yet?”

“Hey, Patsy! You gave me five boxes of chocolate cake mix and five cans of chocolate icing and one sheet cake pan and also a knife. But, Patsy, you forgot that I don’t know how to bake.”

“You’ll learn. That’s the whole point of my present. I bet Brenda or Jennifer will help you turn one of those mixes into a cake. After you learn how, you can make your own any time.”

“Thank you, Patsy. And guess what. Jennifer gave me a set of watercolors. I’m painting a picture of her right now. The paper is getting very soggy.”

Knowing Cody could talk about his own interests for hours, Patsy changed the subject. “Pete came over to my house. I couldn’t stand up to cook, so he made our lunch. We’re having a great time this afternoon. We opened presents and sang carols and ate some more of that cake with the pecan star on top. Ashley Hanes is doing pretty well, and we all feel so stuffed we hardly know what to do with ourselves. Did you have a nice meal?”

“I ate a whole turkey leg.”

“All by yourself?”

“Yep. But nobody made cake over here.”

“Well, ask Jennifer to help you use one of your new mixes. Maybe even this afternoon. How about that?”

“Okay.”

“Merry Christmas, then. I sure love you, Cody.”

“I love you too.”

As she hung up, Patsy grinned. “Just you wait. Our curly-haired neighborhood telegram service will soon spread that news around—including the little tidbit I put in about Ashley.”

“Patsy, you’re nuts if you think Cody can keep a secret,” Pete said. “People are going to figure out she’s staying here with you.”

“You know how Cody mixes up details—and I didn’t really say Ashley was here. We’ll let him do his thing and see how it turns out. It’s all going to be fine.”

Having made such an optimistic statement, Patsy couldn’t help but glance at Ashley. The pretty young redhead was staring out the window. She looked as though her world had come to an end. And it had.

“I miss Mrs. Moore,” she murmured. “I wonder what she would have told me to do.”

“We could call Charlie and ask him,” Patsy offered. “He’s in California, but I’ve got his number.”

“I don’t want to bother him. The last thing he’ll want to do on Christmas Day is think about his wife being gone. Being dead.” A sniffle betrayed Ashley’s heart. “Who wants to talk about a totally wrecked marriage anyway?”