Marriage Seasons 04 - Winter Turns to Spring (30 page)

Brad followed. He flipped on the light, an excruciating glare above their bed. “Mr. Moore told me that if you and I don’t forgive each other, the bitterness will eat us up. He said I have to admit my sin to you, and I am. I confess it right here. I … I committed adultery.”

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. When the words came again, they were forced out through a throat tight with anguish. “I’m trying to figure out how to forgive myself, because I know what I did was so wrong. I know I hurt you, and I hurt myself, and I … I know I’ve destroyed our marriage. But, Ashley, please don’t leave this house without forgiving me. Please.”

She stood opposite him across the king-size mattress they had bought. “Why should I forgive you?” she spat. “So you can feel better? I would never give you that satisfaction. I hate you! I hate what you did to me. I hate what you did to. … to us. You ruined it. You ruined everything.”

Her face began to crumple. “Leave me alone! Get out of this house, Brad. I mean it! I’ll call the police.”

“Forgive me so the bitterness inside you will go away,” he pleaded. “I know I killed your love. I know I ruined our marriage. But I don’t want to have ruined
you
. I can’t stand the thought of you living the rest of your life with this wound inside, Ashley. I can’t live with myself if—”

“Fine,” she cut in. “If that will shut you up, fine. I forgive you.”

At that moment, ice on a power line at the edge of Deepwater Cove snapped the cable from its supporting pole. The furnace shut down. The water well stopped pumping. And the lights went out.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A
shley froze in the utter blackness. As always in the dark, she felt like a child again—alone, lost, uncertain where to turn. The urge to cry out for help rose inside her, but she stifled it.

No. She wouldn’t say a word. In moments, the power would return. It always did.

Glancing toward the window, she could see no light through the curtains. No moon. No streetlamp. Nothing.

Where was Brad? Moments ago, he had been standing at a distance from her—a king-size mattress away. She had felt safe. But now, in the stillness, she saw and heard nothing. He might be anywhere. He might be very close.

She shut her eyes.

Something brushed against her leg, and she gasped.

“Ashley?” Across the room, Brad’s voice was deep. “Are you all right?”

“Wow! Barooo!”

Yappy
. Letting out a breath, Ashley bent down and felt for the puppy’s soft head. “Come here, boy. It’s all right.”

Gathering the dog in her arms, she sat on the edge of the bed.
Wait
, she told herself.
Just wait in silence. Don’t say another word.

The lights would come back on soon, and then Brad would leave. If he didn’t go, she would call the police to force him out of her life. First, though, she had to find her purse to get at her phone. Where could she have left it, and what would she tell the police when they arrived?
This man committed adultery. He broke my heart.
They wouldn’t take a person to jail for that.

But one of them had to go. Ashley and Brad couldn’t stay in this house together. This was the night before Valentine’s Day. Tomorrow would be their first anniversary. She had to get away from him.

Laying her cheek on Yappy’s warm head, she tried not to cry. It was bad enough to see the man she had loved so desperately. But to hear his apologies all over again. To listen to his confession. To know he was trying to change himself. Somehow it was too much to bear.

Ashley wanted her anger. Forgiveness would soften her, and then she would hurt even more. If she forgave Brad, how could she move on? Rage and hurt had propelled her to find an apartment, to quit her job, to hire Jennifer. She needed the fury that had kept her going through the long weeks of separation.

“Do you know if we have any candles in the house?”

Brad again.

She wouldn’t answer his question, Ashley decided. It was the perfect example of why she despised him so much. How long had they lived in this house? Nearly a year—and he’d never once noticed the candles she had clustered in each room. Sometimes she put fresh wildflowers around them. Other times, she displayed the candles with framed photos of herself and Brad. This past fall, she had surrounded them with small pinecones and berries. She regularly lit them to freshen the air and provide a welcoming atmosphere.

But Brad would walk in the house, sniff the enticing aromas, and ask what she was cooking for dinner.

They’re candles, you dummy
, she had wanted to say.
Can’t you see anything?

“Ash?”

His voice again. It used to make her shiver.

“Hey, Ashley, could you just answer me about the candles?”

“No,” she told him.

“All right, but if I can’t see, I’m going to stand here all night.”

“The power will come back on. Just wait.”

She could hear him let out a breath of frustration. Good. Maybe Brad would snap out of this repentance stunt he was trying to pull and turn back into himself. He would order her to answer him about the candles. He would stomp around and mutter, and then he would yell at her.

She waited.

“So, Ashley, how’ve you been?”

His large shape materialized beside her in the darkness, his weight sinking into the mattress. His hand brushed hers as he reached for the dog.

“Get up, Brad,” she snarled, pushing at him. “Get away from me.” It was like trying to move a block of concrete. He didn’t budge. She scooted along the bed toward the pillow. They were on
his
side, she realized, and suddenly she could smell the scent of the man on the sheets and blankets. Yappy bounded off her lap and began snuffling around the pillows.

“I wanted to tell you something,” Brad said. “I quit drinking.”

Knowing this already, Ashley refused to respond. He was still too close, but she couldn’t find the bedroom door in the darkness without stumbling over his big feet or his knees.

“Mr. Moore played a part in it.” His voice was low. “There was no way I could deny that alcohol had been part of our problem, not to him. He wouldn’t let me get away with anything. Finally I stopped denying what it had done to me. Staying dry has been harder than I expected. I go to AA meetings with Pete Roberts.”

“That’s nice. Now move.”

“I go right after work, when I would have headed for Larry’s. The people in my group help. We’re all in the same boat. Even Pete, and he hasn’t had a drop in years.”

Ashley put her hand back to brace herself and accidentally touched Brad’s pillow. It was soft, and for a moment, she ran her palm across its cotton surface.

AA meetings. Maybe Brad was serious.

But she couldn’t let herself care. She
didn’t
care. She pulled back from the pillow and knotted her fingers together in her lap.

He spoke again. “Mr. Moore and I have been doing a little painting over at his house. He wanted to change the walls to white because the purple was making him miss his wife so much he couldn’t take it. We talk a lot. I’ve got to hand it to Mr. Moore. For an old guy, he understands me better than you might think.”

For the first time in months, Ashley heard a gentleness in Brad’s voice. Long ago, he had talked to her this way. Loving. Kind. Respectful.

“Now I can understand why you were so upset when Mrs. Moore died,” he went on. “I know a lot more about her from hanging out with Mr. Moore. Plus … well, he’s become a good friend to me now. If he died, I would feel really bad. He’s a little out of touch, but he’s still pretty feisty.”

He paused, and Ashley could hear the hint of a smile in his voice.

“Feisty?” she asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think he kind of has a little thing for Bitty Sondheim. You know they went to California together over Christmas.”

“Bitty, the wrap lady?” Ashley was stunned. “But what about his wife? How can he have any feelings for Bitty Sondheim? The Moores were married all those years. They loved each other. That’s terrible! What would Mrs. Moore think if she knew?”

“Hold on, Ashley.” Brad shifted on the bed. “Bitty’s just a friend. She encourages Mr. Moore, that’s all. They’re remodeling her restaurant, and I think he’s having fun. No one will ever take Mrs. Moore’s place in his heart. It’s good for him to find some happiness, though.”

Ashley couldn’t agree. Charlie Moore should mourn Esther for the rest of his life. Certainly
she
would never get over the loss of her friend.

“There’s a man for you,” she muttered. “Out with the old, in with the new.”

“Aw, you know Mr. Moore is a good guy.” Somehow in the utter blackness of the night, his finger found her rib. “Come on, Ash. Stop taking it so hard.”

“Don’t you dare touch me!” She slapped his hand away and moved farther down the bed. “I thought you were going. Why don’t you get out of here?”

“I’m not leaving you here alone in the dark. The furnace has shut down, and it’s already getting cold in this room. Our well pump is off too, so there won’t be any water.”

“I don’t need water. I’m not staying. Once I find my purse, I’m calling my dad.”

Brad fell silent. Ashley hugged herself. It
was
getting chilly. She knew the leaky old windows would let in enough air to make the place a refrigerator in no time. The last thing she had expected to be doing on this night was sitting on the bed talking to Brad. That definitely was
not
in the plan.

This event was supposed to have gone quickly. She would breeze in, move the furniture, and beat a hurried retreat before Valentine’s Day—with all it had meant to her—could begin. But Pete and Cody had delayed her by having a discussion about Patsy. At the house, the living room chairs had been almost too heavy to maneuver. She’d forgotten that the old oak table wouldn’t fit through the door. So she and Cody had dismantled it, a nightmare of legs and hidden leaves and mysterious joinery. Then they had tried to lift the sofa.

“I’ve gone to church a few times too.”

Brad’s voice from the darkness startled her all over again. Why hadn’t the power come back on? This was ridiculous. It always returned right away. Surely the electric co-op had backup generators.

“Pastor Andrew is a good guy. At first, I didn’t think I would like him. He’s so scrawny, and he has that big Adam’s apple. He looks kind of weird. Turns out he’s smart. He knows the Bible better than Cody.”

Ashley leaned back against Brad’s pillow and closed her eyes. To keep from listening to him, she tried to picture her future apartment. Jennifer would help her clean the place and get the business organized. They would set out the beads in cups. While on one of her many shopping ventures, Miranda Finley had purchased a tray to spread the beads on. It would be easier to thread a necklace.

“Anyway, bottom line—you probably won’t believe me, and maybe you’ll think it sounds dumb, but I’m a Christian now.”

Brad’s announcement lifted the hair on Ashley’s arms. He’d said that as a child he hated church. Organized religion was not for him.

“It happened the day I found your ring under the Christmas tree,” he continued. “I … well, basically I just apologized to God, and He forgave me.”

“How do you know that?” she scoffed.

“Forgiveness is what He does. I didn’t learn much in church, but I learned that. Praying isn’t what I thought either. The way the men in the Bible study group do it, they’re just talking to God. Mr. Moore says he prays pretty much all the time. No matter what he’s doing, he’s weighing it out with God. Asking for help. Confessing. He gave me a Bible. It belonged to Mrs. Moore.”

“It did?” Ashley hadn’t intended to speak again. But this was all too much. Brad kneeling on the floor? Praying? Reading Mrs. Moore’s Bible?

“Yeah, I guess she had quite a few. This one is purple.” He chuckled. “You’d probably be more comfortable carrying it around. But I don’t give a flip what people say about me anymore. I used to want approval. It was like I needed people to compliment me and tell me what a great job I was doing. I ate that up. It was part of what I loved about you. You loved me. So I loved you back.”

Unable to respond, Ashley picked up Brad’s pillow. Hugging it tightly, she pressed her face into it. He could
not
hear her crying. She would never allow that.

“I’m still the same Brad Hanes,” he went on. “You’re right about that. People stay who they are. But I’m way different, too, Ash.”

“Yeah, right.” She could hear her own disbelief muffled in the softness of Brad’s pillow.

“I know you don’t believe me,” he said gently. “And I can’t blame you. I’m sure you don’t trust me.”

“No, I don’t,” she said. “I never will, either. No matter what you do, I can’t trust you. You broke your vow, Brad. We can’t ever go back to where we were before.”

He was silent for a moment, as if her rejection was finally sinking in. But when he spoke again, it was to dispute her. “We can’t go back, but Mr. Moore told me that it’s possible to start over. I think we could.”

Patsy’s message of encouragement rose inside Ashley. She squelched it. “Sorry, but I don’t believe that. What’s broken is broken.”

“Let me try to repair the break, Ashley.” Brad’s words held a note of confidence she hadn’t heard before. “I want to try to win back my wife. I want your trust … and I want your love.”

“No way,” she murmured. It sounded as ludicrous as Patsy gluing together the shards of her broken teacups.

“I’ve been thinking this over for a long time. And if you’ll let me, I will make you a new wedding vow tonight. I will promise never to drink again. I’ll never even set foot inside a bar. I swear I’ll be faithful to you as long as I live.”

Ashley frowned. What nonsense. It was much too late for Brad to make such empty promises.

But he wasn’t done. “And I have an idea about how it could work too. To prove I’m keeping my promises this time, I’ll turn my life into an open book. You can check on me any time you want. Scan my cell phone to see who I’ve called. Take my checkbook and credit cards. Go through my wallet. Look into our bank accounts. Whatever you need to do to be sure of me, Ash, just do it. I want you to. I won’t get mad.”