Marriage Seasons 04 - Winter Turns to Spring (22 page)

“Yes, sir.” Brad rubbed his face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Moore.”

“I’ll tell you one thing before I let you go. If you quit on this marriage, you won’t ever be trading up. Ashley’s not that different from any other woman. They love to jabber, they’ve got moods coming and going till you can’t keep up, and they don’t want you grabbing at them unless you’ve spent some time being nice first. You’re not going to find a wife
better
than Ashley. You might find one who’s a little
different
, but not much.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Then make up your mind, act like a man, and quit being so doggone foolish. Go over to the church and visit with Pastor Andrew. He’s a smart fellow. Start attending the men’s Bible study at Rods-N-Ends. Talk to Steve Hansen and Derek Finley. They’ve been married longer than you, and they’ll help you out. Most of all, you’ve got to do everything possible to win back your wife’s heart. You got that?”

“Yes, Mr. Moore.”

“Are you sober right now?”

“Yes.”

“Well, drowning your sorrows isn’t going to make this any better. Stay clearheaded, you hear?”

“All right.”

“And, Brad? I love you, and I’ll be praying for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

As he slipped the phone back into his pocket, Brad gazed at the Christmas tree across the room. There were no presents under it, but that was okay. The tree was enough.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

B
rad paced the floor from the living room into the kitchen and back again. It was the first morning of the new year, and he had a vicious hangover.

The day after Christmas, Brad had called in sick with what he thought was a bad cold. When the fever, chills, headache, and nausea continued day after day, he decided he must have the flu. And he knew he deserved it.

Not until New Year’s Eve had he begun to feel halfway human. Mack had shown up that night with a cooler full of beer. Brad declined at first, recalling Charlie Moore’s admonitions, then gave in to Mack’s urging to drink just one. Many hours, many beers, and many tears over women later, the two men had toasted in the new year.

Now, rummaging through a kitchen cabinet for an aspirin, the ridiculousness of his situation struck Brad. He had been sicker than a dog for days. Then just as he was finally starting to feel better, he had gotten drunk and made himself sick again.

Jerking open the fridge door, he began grabbing cans of beer and throwing them into an empty paper bag. One by one, he filled the bag to the brim. Then he opened the pantry door and took out the imported six-pack he had bought the week before. Hefting both into his arms, he crossed the living room.

As he tugged open the front door, he thought of Yappy. The pup hadn’t lived there long, but Brad was accustomed to hearing the skitter of tiny toenails on the tile as he left the house. He missed his dog’s voice—and no one could deny that Yappy had a voice. The yowls, yaps, wows, browfs, and other vocalizations charmed everyone who met the little fur ball.

But Ashley had taken Yappy away, and rightly so. Brad didn’t deserve either the joy or the responsibility of owning a dog. Berating himself for leaving the puppy alone while he whiled away Christmas Eve at Larry’s and then broke his marriage vows in Yvonne’s apartment, Brad carried the six-pack and the bag of beer down to the lake.

As he reached the shoreline, he set them on the bank, grabbed a can, and flung it as far out into the water as he could. He knew people would frown on finding it floating in the lake, but he didn’t care. He’d been a quarterback, and this was what he did best.

“This is for you, Camdenton Lakers football,” Brad growled as he launched another can. “Good-for-nothing sport.”

Another sailed across the water. “What am I supposed to do with my quarterback fame now?” he shouted as it made a splash. “What’s that total yardage record done for me lately? Can anyone tell me that?”

His anger turned to a lump in his throat as Brad thought of his fleeting popularity and empty pride. What did high school honors matter in real life?

“Nothing!” he snarled as he threw another can beyond the rippling circles left from the previous one. He bent down and tore open the six-pack, flinging bottles now as the tears fell and his voice cried out.

“Take that, 4.0 GPA!”
Splash.

“And here’s one for you, Mack, good buddy!”
Splash.

“Yvonne!”
Splash.

“Drywall!”
Splash.

“Ten bucks an hour! Whoopee!”
Splash.

“New truck!”
Splash.

He had emptied the six-pack, so he returned to the paper bag.

“Spare room! Larry’s! Bubba!”
Splash, splash, splash.

“Hey there.”

The voice behind Brad startled him. He swung around to find Cody Goss standing on the bank. In a denim jacket and jeans, the guy looked almost normal. But Brad knew all about the homeless nut-job who had turned up in Deepwater Cove that spring.

“Get away from me, you idiot,” he ground out. “Leave me alone.”

Cody swallowed. “You know, every year at the spring cleanup, they find refrigerators and foam and glass bottles and all kinds of things by the lake. We’re not supposed to throw stuff in the water.”

“Shut up, you stupid creep.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. It’s not polite.”

“Polite?”
Brad stalked toward Cody and gave his shoulder a shove. “Polite is leaving people alone when they ask you to.”

“I could hear you yelling all the way over at the Hansens’ house, and Brenda said—”

“Can you hear me
now
?” Brad shouted, his face an inch from Cody’s. “I said
get
.”

“I thought I should check on you, because—”

“Stop!” Brad threw a shoulder into Cody’s chest. Cody flung out his arms as if he could stop himself in midair. Then he hit the ground, sprawling across the stiff brown grass and lying still, his blue eyes wide.

Brad dropped to one knee and grabbed Cody by the collar of his jacket, then jerked him into a sitting position. “I told you to shut up. Just shut up and leave me alone.”

“You are not being reasonable,” Cody managed to huff out.

“What?”
Brad let go and pushed Cody back to the ground.

“Reasonable.” Cody blinked at tears that filled his eyes. His voice came out in a whispery croak. “It’s not good social skills to litter. Or knock people down.”

“What do you know about social skills, weirdo? What do you know about anything?”

“I know that you and I are both crying. I’m crying because I’m a little bit scared of you. I think you’re crying about Ashley.”

Breathing hard, Brad stared down at the figure splayed out on the ground. Half of him wanted to beat the guy into a pulp. The other half wanted to … what?

What on earth could Brad possibly do that would change anything? Unexpected sobs welled up past the lump in his throat. He sank down onto the ground beside Cody, covered his face with his hands, and wept. Rough, hoarse wails heaved up through his chest and emerged from his mouth.

“Brad?” Cody touched him on the arm.

“Buzz off, jerk.” Brad swung his arm randomly, barely getting the words out.

“Mr. Moore is coming back home from California in two days,” Cody said, his tone subdued. “He’ll be glad to know that you threw away your beer.”

Charlie Moore’s advice on the phone filtered back into Brad’s mind. “Mr. Moore doesn’t get it. He’s too old. I’m a young guy. That’s what we do. My friends and I, we drink.”

“I’m a young guy, and I don’t drink. You know why? Because Steve Hansen said, ‘Cody, alcohol can get you into all kinds of trouble.’ Derek Finley said, ‘Cody, we have had nine people drown in the lake this year, and every one of them was drunk. Do not drink.’ And Pete Roberts told me that he used to be an alcoholic and go to alcoholic meetings and then fall off a wagon and go to more meetings and then fall off
another
wagon until he finally decided it is not worth it to even taste the stuff. He said, ‘Cody, it is the devil’s poison.’”

Brad wiped his face with the back of his hand. “You’re the weirdest kid I’ve ever met, you know that?”

Cody was silent for a moment. “At least I don’t break down my own front door and leave my wife and her weird friend—which is
me
—to put it back up again.”

“You fixed our door?”

“Yes.” Cody elbowed himself up into a sitting position. “And you’re welcome, even though you didn’t say thank you.”

“Well … yeah, thanks.”

“Okay.”

The two sat side by side, looking out over the water. “Ashley’s gone,” Brad said finally. “She left me.”

“But she’s all right. She’s fine.”

Brad turned. “How do you know? Have you seen her? Where is she?”

Cody winced. “I’m not sure. There have been lots of people talking to me, and somebody said Ashley Hanes is doing pretty well. I don’t remember who said it. It has been a very talkative time lately.”

Rubbing his hands over his eyes, Brad shook his head. “Her mother said she didn’t show up at home on Christmas Day.”

“Ashley’s home is right over there with you.”

Together they studied the small house with its newly added room tacked onto the side. Brad felt the lump trying to form in his throat again, so he took a can from the paper bag and rifled it out into the lake.

“Litterbug.” Cody looked over, a smirk on his face.

“Weirdo.”

“Litterbug.”

Brad couldn’t hold back the trace of a smile that sneaked past the hard lump. “You’re not so weird, Cody. At least you have a life. I wrecked mine. Now I don’t have a clue what to do.”

“I think Ashley ran away because you did something bad with another lady. You’re that kind of man. I can tell, because when women see me, they say, ‘Oh hi, Cody. How are you, sweetie pie?’ When they see you, they giggle and turn pink.”

“Not Ashley. Not anymore. She took her stuff and our dog, and she left.”

“You need to ask forgiveness from God. Then maybe you will have a chance to be forgiven by Ashley.”

“I quit religion a long time ago, man. I don’t go to church.”

“God doesn’t live in a church. He lives in people. You can apologize to Him anywhere. Don’t you know that?”

Brad checked the paper sack and noted a single remaining can. Fighting the urge to take a drink, he could feel Cody’s eyes on him.

“Hey, quit looking at me like I’m some kind of doofus. For your information, I earned a 4.0 in school.”

“I don’t know what a 4.0 is, but I know what Exodus 20:14 is—‘Thou shalt not commit adultery.’ That is what I think you did wrong, Brad. Also drinking too much. And breaking your door.”

“Okay, I get the picture.” Brad pushed his fingers back through his hair. “Sheesh. What did you do when you were a kid—memorize the whole Bible or something?”

“My daddy taught me lots of it. I didn’t go to school. The Bible is my 4.0.” Cody stood. “Well, I’ll go now. I’m getting cold.”

Still seated on the hard ground, Brad looked out across the lake. Flat and glassy, it had gone silver in the waning light. “What made you say that about me—the adultery stuff?” he asked in a low voice. “What do you know?”

“I know you’re like me when my daddy put me out on the side of the road and drove away. I was alone and lost before I found the road to Deepwater Cove. I could have been happier a lot sooner if I had known which direction to go. I think you know which direction to go, Brad Hanes.”

Reaching down into the paper sack, Cody picked up the last can. Rearing back, he hurled it toward the lake in a glimmering silver arc. Far in the distance, it splashed into the water, leaving a circle of ripples.

“Happy New Year,” he said as he turned away.

Brad watched Cody cross the sloped lawn beside the docks and head toward the Hansens’ house.

“Pete thinks I’ve lost my mind spending hard-earned money on paint and curtains.” Patsy gingerly stepped into the living room carrying a tray of sliced caramel apples and cups of hot spiced cider for herself and Ashley. “He reminded me it wasn’t so long ago I painted the tearoom that beautiful shade of purple.”

Ashley had offered to help, but Patsy said she had a special way of making cider and would prepare it herself. Ashley didn’t mind waiting. Though she had taken a week off from work, she felt exhausted all the time. Patsy, too, was tired. She had worked late New Year’s Eve—hobbling around on her sore ankle while fixing hair and polishing nails for partygoers. This first morning of the new year the two women had risen late and eaten a lazy breakfast.

Now Ashley took a handful of popcorn from the bowl in her lap and tossed a piece to the floor for Yappy. The air in the room smelled of cinnamon, cloves, and pine-scented candles. Reflections from a crackling fire lit the walls and danced on the chair cushions that cradled her.

Dropping onto the nearby sofa, Patsy let out a breath. “Did you know Esther Moore was the one who suggested I paint the tea area purple? Oh, how I miss that woman.”

“Me too.”

“She’d be thrilled about Brenda’s new shop. It sets a different tone—makes the whole strip seem more genteel and high-class.”

“Yeah,” Ashley murmured. “Tranquility is starting to feel like a quaint little town instead of a pit stop for gas and tackle.”