Marriage Seasons 04 - Winter Turns to Spring (26 page)

“Cody, we were talking about my wedding, not Renoir!” Patsy told him a little more emphatically than she had intended. How on earth could she gloss over his pointed comment about Brad? Flustered, she plunged ahead, focusing on the others at the table. “You see, I want to get married in church and have all our friends there, but Pete isn’t so sure. And, Cody, my wedding has nothing to do with Renoir.”

“I thought you were finished with that topic,” Cody returned. “And I wanted to tell about Reenor.”

“I want to know about the beer cans,” Ashley said. “Was Brad really throwing his beer into the lake?”

“One can at a time and also crying. When I walked over and started talking, he knocked me down. But it turned out okay.”

“Brad cried?” Ashley’s pale face suddenly flushed with two pink spots on her cheeks. “What about?”

“About you, because you ran away and hid just like I did after someone was mean to me. He was very sad about losing you.”

Patsy swallowed as she watched Ashley carefully. The younger woman’s cheeks had gone from pink to red, and now her eyes brimmed with tears.

Suddenly Ashley stood.

“I’m going to get a cup of tea.”

“There’s fresh Earl Grey,” Patsy called after her. Then she turned to Cody. “Listen here, Buster Brown, this is a public place and you’d better watch what you say. Brad and Ashley are having a very hard time. The last thing they need is for you to spill the beans about their problems.”

Cody’s jaw dropped. “Patsy, you are speaking sternly.”

“I think this is okay, Patsy. I really do.” Jennifer hooked her arm around Cody’s. “Ashley needs to hear that Brad is upset. Do you have any idea where she’s been staying?”

Just then, Ashley arrived back at the table with her teacup. “You might as well know my situation,” she said softly as she sat down. “I can’t pretend it’s a big secret. Everyone knows Brad drinks too much. Mrs. Finley saw him kick our door down, as I’m sure you all heard. We’re separated now. I’m sure there aren’t any secrets. Especially with Cody around.”

“Me?” Cody blinked. “Did I do another bad social skill?”

Ashley shrugged. “Everyone has flaws, Cody. If I didn’t know that before, I sure do now.”

She lifted her cup and took a sip of tea. Patsy studied each face around the table. Miranda Finley hadn’t returned, but everyone else was gazing at Ashley with great sympathy.

Patsy had been worrying about her own future marriage more than usual. The prospect of ever ending up as miserable as Ashley made her question her sanity in agreeing to wed Pete. They got along fairly well—when they weren’t arguing. Fussing. Disagreeing on one thing or another.

Pete liked to provoke Patsy. And she had trouble keeping her criticisms about him to herself. How many times had she called him a big hairy bear or a shaggy sheepdog? What if they started to get on each other’s nerves too much? What if one day Patsy found herself seated forlornly at the tea table, knowing everyone’s eyes were on her, realizing she had made the biggest mistake in her life?

“Speaking of flaws, Ashley,” Pete spoke up, “I’ll admit I’ve made more than my share of mistakes. I hope I’ve learned a thing or two from them, because I want Patsy and me to be able to work through our hard times.”

Patsy’s mouth opened in surprise. She knew Pete had his opinions, but he’d never been much of a talker. This public confession was a side of him she had rarely seen.

“What have you learned, honey?” she asked.

He slipped his arm around her. “Well, you can’t focus on a person’s bad side too much. If you do, after a while, that’s all you’ll see. Ashley, your husband is just a kid. He’s messed up one thing after another. But he’s got some positive qualities too.”

“Like building,” Cody remarked. “Brad and Mr. Moore built a nice room together. And Brad is also smart.”

“He’s a good athlete,” Jennifer said. “Isn’t he, Ash?”

“See there,” Pete said. “I sure hope Patsy doesn’t keep a record of my flaws, because if she does, I’ll feel lower than a snake in a wagon rut. I did so much wrong that I didn’t believe I could ever work my way past it. Still do wrong things, sometimes. But I believe my sweet Patsy will try her best to love me the way God does. Instead of writing down my failures in a logbook, she’ll see how hard I’m trying, and she’ll forgive me.”

By now, it was all Patsy could do to keep from throwing her arms around Pete and kissing him up one side and down the other. “Of course I will, sweetie pie,” she managed to say around the lump of love in her throat.

“My, my, what do we have here?” Miranda set her teacup down on the table and took an empty chair. “This sounds a little too sugary for my taste!”

“Nothing can be too sugary,” Cody told her firmly. “This conversation is not about chicken livers or snakes in the road. We are talking about marriage and love and being nice to each other.”

“Please!” She raised her hands in mock horror. “Everyone knows success in marriage is a matter of good luck—which is exactly why I haven’t tried it again. And it certainly helps if your husband is a magazine photographer who’s gone more than half the year, like mine was.”

As she laughed, Patsy spoke up. “I don’t think luck has anything to do with it. Faith strengthens us—”

“Hey!” Cody blurted out. “Look who just came in the front door. It’s Brad.”

The acrid tang of nail polish and permanent curling solution hit Brad full in the face as he stepped into Just As I Am.

Crossing the salon, he could feel the eyes of the women in their swivel chairs as they watched him. He tried not to look around. It was bad enough to get his hair trimmed in the midst of all that spray and gel and blow-dryers. No man could remain inconspicuous in such a place. Today—in his dusty jeans, flannel shirt, and heavy leather work boots—he knew he stuck out like a flat tire on a boat trailer.

Focusing ahead, Brad searched the tea area for a single shade of red-gold. How well he knew that color. Long ago, he had memorized it, engraving the coppery hue onto his heart.

Not ten minutes ago, Miranda Finley had called him to say that Ashley was at the meeting of the Tea Lovers’ Club. Bill Walters—unexpectedly generous after learning of Brad’s problems—had agreed to let the young man take an hour off in the middle of the workday. Personal time, Bill had called it.

Driving down the highway from the condo project, Brad knew that nothing in Deepwater Cove was truly private. As he approached the salon filled with people, he had wondered at his sanity. But Mrs. Finley had told him Ashley had emerged from hiding at last. What else could he do but go in search of her?

There
.

He spotted Ashley seated at a table. Lips parted, she stared at him. Her large brown eyes were deeply set into dark hollows in her pale face. As realization dawned, she sucked in a deep breath.

“Hey,” he addressed the group awkwardly. Ashley flinched at the sound of his voice.

“Sit down, Brad.” Cody reached for an empty chair.

“No, thanks.”

“Don’t you want to be a member of the TLC? You could be our … one, two, three … our third member who is a man. It would be me, Pete, and you.”

Ashley suddenly let out the breath she’d been holding. “Excuse me, everyone. I have to go.”

She rose and broke from the group as though fleeing a swarm of bees. Without a glance at Brad, she started through the salon at a fast walk. And in a moment, she was running.

“Did I do another bad social skill?”

Cody’s voice echoed remorsefully as Brad swung around and dashed after Ashley. Ahead of him, she pushed open the salon door. It didn’t have time to swing shut before he had exited the building too.

“Ashley!” he called as she ran toward her car. “Ashley, wait!”

She was fumbling with her keys when he caught her arm. As she turned, he could see the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Leave me alone,” she gasped through her sobs. She jerked her arm away. “Let go of me. Don’t touch me ever again.”

“We need to talk. Please, can you just give me a minute?”

“I have nothing to say. Nothing.”

Ashley’s key finally found the lock, and she turned it. As she flung herself into the driver’s seat, he stepped between the open door and the car. In order to back out of the parking space, she would have to knock him down. Seeing the tormented expression on her face, he didn’t doubt she would.

“Ashley, please listen to me,” he pleaded. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I did to you. I’m sorry I hurt you. Please forgive me.”

Brushing a strand of red hair from her cheek, she leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. “I hate you. I told you that before, and I meant it. I mean it even more now.”

“You don’t hate me. You’re mad at me, but you don’t hate me. We love each other, remember? We fell in love, and we got married. Please, just give me a chance to explain.”

“Explain?” Her eyes flashed as she turned on him. “Explain what? That you spent the first Christmas Eve of our marriage in another woman’s bed? That you woke up on our first Christmas morning with Yvonne Ratcliff by your side instead of your own wife? How can you possibly explain that?”

“I was drunk. I was totally drunk—”

“And that’s supposed to be an excuse? That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“No, of course not. But if I hadn’t been drinking—”

“But you
were
drinking, Bradley Hanes. You were drinking just like you’ve been drinking every single day of our entire marriage.”

“I’ve stopped. Cold turkey. I swear. I haven’t touched a drop since New Year’s Eve. I’m clean, Ash. I’m clean.”

“You’re filthy! You’re disgusting and dirty. You’re nothing but a big pile of smut!”

He tried not to react to the malice in Ashley’s voice. For a moment, he struggled to keep his temper. But he had to accept the truth. He had hungered for his wife’s words of admiration once, and now he deserved her contempt.

“I got rid of everything,” he confessed. “It’s gone. The beer, the magazine. All of it. I’m telling you, I’m clean.”

“Clean? How can you even say that? You’re the man who … who took off Yvonne Ratcliff’s red sweater. You’re the man whose jeans were … were lying crumpled on her floor.”

“Ashley,” he said, reaching for her hand but missing as she shrugged away from him. At the memory of what she had seen, she began to cry even harder. He bowed his head, feeling shamed.

“Don’t ever say that name again, Ash. Please. She left town, and I’m glad. It was all a mistake.”

“A mistake is when I fill a saltshaker with sugar at the country club,” she choked out. “A mistake is when I drop a tray of plates. Those are mistakes. Having sex with a woman who isn’t your wife is a
choice
. You made a decision to do what you did.”

“But I was drunk. I—”

“No, Brad! Stop trying to defend yourself. Now get out of the way before I back over you.”

As she reached to pull her car door shut, Brad finally was able to take her hand. “Ashley, please listen to me. I’m not trying to excuse what I did. I know it was wrong. And yes, it was a deliberate act. Driving to Larry’s was deliberate. Drinking too much was deliberate. What I did was … was …”

He couldn’t hold back his own tears any longer.

“I don’t know what happened to us,” he said, his voice husky. He knelt on the parking lot and wove his fingers through hers. “I loved you so much, Ash. I still love you. I don’t know how things got so bad. I don’t understand it, but I’m sure most of it was my fault. I was lonely after work, so I went to Larry’s. I drank too much, even at home. I know I did, and I didn’t try to stop myself. I bought the truck. I crashed it. And that magazine … I didn’t know it would upset you so much.”

“You probably thought I’d be happy about it.”

“Okay, I’m stupid. I’ve done a lot of stupid things, and I’m telling you I’m sorry.”

For a moment, they fell silent. Brad wiped his cheek with the heel of his hand. Ashley was sniffling. He sensed movement around them, people opening the salon door and stepping outside, chatting, whispering, walking by the car, their shoes crunching on the gravel of the parking lot.

Looking at Ashley’s hand, he realized how much he loved those long fingers and beautifully manicured nails. She always kept her hands perfect, and they had tantalized him from the start. How could he ever win her back?

“You don’t know, do you?” she asked finally.

“Know what?” He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “Tell  me.”

She pulled her hand away. “Things have changed so much, Brad. Everything has changed forever—and you haven’t even figured that  out.”

“Don’t say that. Listen, we could find a counselor, or talk to the preacher at Mr. Moore’s church. I’d be glad to. I know I messed up. I admit it. I love you, Ash, and I think we can make our marriage work if we try.”

“Why would I want to try?” She shook her head. “Move out of the way, Brad. I have to go check on Yappy.”

As he stood and stepped back from the car, Brad fought tears. “How is he? How’s Yappy doing?”

“He’s fine. He doesn’t miss you. I don’t think he remembers you.”

She pulled the door shut. Before leaving the parking space, she lowered her window. “You haven’t taken down the Christmas tree yet. It’s time to do that. Then you’ll know how I feel.”