Marriage Seasons 04 - Winter Turns to Spring (5 page)

Patsy gave Miranda’s hair a final shot of spray and clamped the lid back onto the can with more vigor than was necessary. This was taking things too far, and she couldn’t simply stand there and listen to such nonsense. Client or not, Miranda had no right to say such things about Patsy’s dear friend.

“If Esther Moore had a choice in what she was to become,” Patsy informed Miranda, “it wouldn’t be a dog. Sure, she loved Boofer, their old pooch who rides around in Charlie’s golf cart. But why on earth would she want to turn into a half-frozen muddy little puppy?”

“To rescue her friend, of course.” Miranda stood up, making no effort to speak quietly. “Ashley and Brad are obviously having marital problems. I’m right next door, but anyone can see it. That puppy might just be their salvation, Patsy. If Esther could bring that about, I have no doubt she would do it.”

With that, she strode toward the cash register. Patsy had a feeling she wouldn’t be getting her usual generous tip, and she didn’t care. Miranda was an attractive woman, a good friend, and a kind grandmother, and she had done her best to become a part of the Deepwater Cove community. But her big city ways and her ideas about religion regularly caught folks off guard.

Evidently there were plenty of people out in the world who believed in spiritual essences, reincarnation, soul regeneration, and things like that. They thought morality and virtuous values would reap eternal rewards. But how anyone could think that Esther Moore—sweet, kind, genuinely fun, and a good Christian to boot—might have turned into a tangle-haired mutt was beyond Patsy.

Miranda left the salon, her hair lovely but her nose a little out of joint. She didn’t leave a tip, either. That was all right with Patsy. The chance to sit down in the tea area and sip a cup of Earl Grey sounded like the perfect tonic for her bleak humor at the end of a long, trying day.

On her way to the hot water urn, Patsy greeted several regular clients who were conversing over steaming cups and nibbling sweets from the dessert counter in the tea alcove. The large plate glass windows fronting the street let in a warm late-afternoon light that gilded the round tables and chairs.

Ever since the Tea Lovers’ Club had formed that spring, so many lovely memories had been created in the cozy space. Most of them included Esther Moore. But other loved ones, too, filled the room in Patsy’s imagination, including Miranda Finley with her serene daughter-in-law. Pregnant with a second set of twins, Kim Finley looked happier and more rosy than Patsy had ever seen her. Brenda Hansen and her beautiful daughters, Jennifer and Jessica, would be discussing the upcoming wedding—

“Hey, Patsy, I was thinking about borrowing your car and driving it around the parking lot to see if maybe I won’t bump into something this time. What do you say about that idea?”

Slipping out of her reverie and straight back into reality, Patsy noted the handsome, curly-haired young man who had taken a chair beside her.

“Cody Goss, you are not about to take my car or anyone else’s for a joyride,” Patsy replied. “I could not believe Jennifer let you borrow her car in the first place. Just be glad all you dented was her license plate when you hit that lamppost. You know good and well that you have to study the driving manual, pass the test, and earn your learner’s permit before you’re allowed to get behind a steering wheel. And even then, you have to have a licensed driver in the car with you. At this rate, you’ll be lucky to find anyone brave enough for the job.”

“That driving book is the most boring thing I have ever read, Patsy. It’s not about impressionist art or parliamentary procedure or living on a mountainside or anything interesting. It’s mostly numbers.”

“Yes, it is, because numbers are part of driving.” Trying to calm herself, Patsy took a sip of tea. Poor Cody never intended to upset anyone with his awkward questions and strange comments. In fact, he was probably the most good-hearted and sincere human being she had ever met. But there were times when he just about drove Patsy to drink.

“I don’t like numbers,” Cody said. “They don’t stay inside my head.”

“I realize this is difficult, honey. But if you want to get your driver’s license, you have to memorize speed limits and how many feet to stay away from another car and all that. You’ve made it through a lot worse in your life. I know you can do this. Just keep trying.”

Cody looked down at the table. He had been eating chocolate cake a little earlier, and crumbs were stuck to the part of his mustache he’d missed while shaving that morning. Patsy’s heart softened as she reached out and brushed off the crumbs. The young man did try so hard at everything.

“I have an idea,” she said, laying her hand over his. “How about if we ask someone to work with you on memorizing the numbers in your driving book?”

“If that someone is Jennifer, I already tried. She won’t. She’s on vacation from her missionary school, but she stays in her room and doesn’t come out. When she does, she tells me she’s in there
thinking
. I tell her that I’m thinking too, and I’m thinking that she needs to get out of her bedroom.”

“She will when she’s ready, Cody.”

“I really love Jennifer, Patsy. I love her with my whole heart. But sometimes I don’t understand her even one little bit.”

“Welcome to the world of men, buddy.” Pete Roberts clapped a hand on Cody’s back, gave Patsy’s cheek a kiss, and settled into a chair at their table. The second male to join the Tea Lovers’ Club after Cody, Pete had made a habit of visiting the alcove in Patsy’s salon about this time every afternoon.

“Women are a mystery,” he informed Cody. “Just when you’re sure you know what they’re thinking, you find out you are dead wrong. You’d better give Jennifer a little more space, Cody. She had a hard time in Mexico. Those thugs that roughed up her missionary group ought to be taken out and horsewhipped.”

“Nothing bad would have happened if I’d been with her,” Cody insisted. “I would never let anyone knock down Jennifer and her friends and steal their purses and their watches and rings. I could protect Jennifer. I would rather let somebody kill me than hurt her.”

“Aw, Cody,” Patsy said, rumpling his curly brown hair. “You’re too good.”

He scowled. “I could be bad if I had to, Patsy. ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.’ That’s John 15:13, and ‘lay down your life’ means to die.”

“But no one could bear for you to be killed,” Patsy protested.

“I would lay down my life for Jennifer, and if I did get killed by thugs, I would not turn into a dog, that’s for sure, which is exactly what I have told Miranda Finley.”

Patsy glanced at Pete. He was looking at her as if he’d just had his brains scrambled like a batch of raw eggs. She slipped her arm around her future husband’s beefy biceps and leaned against his large, comforting shoulder.

“Cody, were you eavesdropping on Miranda and me?” she asked.

“No, I was listening to you talk.”

“That’s the same as eavesdropping. Miranda and I were having a private conversation.”

“Yeah, a conversation about Mrs. Moore dying and turning into Brad and Ashley’s dog. What if Mr. Moore ever finds out that the lady whose house he is working on thinks Yappy is his wife? He will either get angry or drop over of a heart attack.”

“Well, you shouldn’t eavesdrop in the first place. It’s bad social skills.”

“Okay.” Cody looked away for a moment. But his remorse was quickly replaced by determination. “There are worse things than bad social skills, Patsy.”

He held up his hand and began to tick off the points with his fingers. “The number-one bad thing is telling people that Mrs. Moore might be a dog. Number two is being a thug and scaring Jennifer, who won’t talk to me anymore. Three is telling the salon ladies that Brad and Ashley are having trouble in their marriage, even if everyone already knows. And four is writing a driver’s license book full of numbers that some people can’t memorize because their brains don’t work that way.”

“Wait, now.” Pete gave Patsy a worried look. “Someone thinks Esther Moore turned into a dog? The Hanes kids are having marriage problems? Am I the only one around here who doesn’t have a clue?”

“I’ll explain later,” Patsy told him.

Cody stood. “I’m going to start mopping,” he told her. “And in case Mrs. Finley doesn’t know, Mrs. Moore never had fleas.”

CHAPTER THREE

A
shley slid a plastic tray across the table toward her work area. As she sorted through the collection of beads it held, she swallowed hard against the flood of sorrow that surged up inside her. Only a month ago, she realized as she fingered them gently, Esther Moore had arranged these beads in their little compartments. Before Esther’s stroke, the Moores had volunteered to help out with Ashley’s wildly growing jewelry business. Each afternoon the couple sat together on their porch and picked through the sacks of beads she had given them.

When Charlie returned the plastic trays one morning after his wife’s death, he told Ashley that some of the beads might be in the wrong compartments. Esther had gotten more and more confused in her final days, he recalled. Charlie also blamed himself for not trying harder to persuade his wife to have a medical procedure that might have prolonged her life. Ashley reminded him that the doctor had insisted nothing could have saved Esther, and Charlie shouldn’t feel guilty.

Sniffling, Ashley noted that Charlie had been right about the bead trays. This one was something of a disaster. Blue beads had gotten mixed with purple ones, and red beads were in the pink beads’ compartment. But the inconvenience hardly bothered Ashley. She was so sick of stringing necklaces and bracelets that she hardly cared what colors she used.

“Are you all right?” The soft voice came from the stairway that led up from the walk-out basement. “I thought I heard someone crying.”

Ashley brushed at her cheek as she turned to find Jennifer Hansen standing on the last step. The two had known each other for years. Ashley had been in the same grade in school as Jennifer’s younger sister, Jessica. The three girls were friendly in high school, but as they got older, Ashley started working at her parents’ snack shop in the afternoons. Jessica usually made the social rounds, while Jennifer buried herself in homework. It had been difficult to spend time together, and the three had grown apart.

“I’m okay,” Ashley told the lovely young blonde. “Just tired, I guess.”

“Do you still work at your parents’ place near the school?”

“Not unless there’s an emergency. I waitress at the country club now.”

Ashley noted that Jennifer was drifting toward the worktable, and she desperately wanted to be left alone. She regretted having to work on her beads in the Hansens’ basement craft room. Her own home was far too small to accommodate the thriving enterprise, and that meant spending hours feeling as though she had invaded the family’s privacy.

Ashley wished Jennifer would go back upstairs. The two young women had nothing in common anymore. Ashley wouldn’t even know how to begin talking to someone who had decided to be a missionary. Frankly, that sounded like the weirdest thing in the world.

“My parents go to the country club fairly often,” Jennifer remarked. “They like the food. Dad told me they meet his real estate clients or Mom’s interior design customers for dinner there.”

“Yeah, I see them a lot.” Ashley returned to threading a length of clear monofilament through a set of red beads that a customer in St. Louis had ordered for Christmas.

“So, essentially you’re holding down two jobs.” Jennifer slipped onto the stool across from Ashley and leaned her elbows on the worktable. “My mom says you’ve been working on the beads day and night since you set up your Web site.”

“Miranda Finley set it up. She made my business cards, too.”

“She designed some for Cody—for his faux painting business. I guess she wants to encourage everyone.” Jennifer fell silent for a moment, watching Ashley string beads. “But maybe not everyone wants so much encouragement.”

Ashley pushed a thick strand of red hair behind one ear and didn’t look up. “Well, this takes a lot of time, but I’m glad to be bringing in some money. At least … I’ll be glad once people start paying me. So far, it’s been me mailing beads and invoices and hardly anyone sending back a check.”

“Maybe you should make people pay first.”

Glancing up, Ashley fought the irritation that comment provoked. What did Jennifer Hansen know about business anyway? She had never been forced to do a lick of work in her life. Her father owned one of the most successful real estate agencies at the lake. Her mother had just opened a decor and gift boutique in Tranquility. Jennifer drove a new car and had graduated from college. Now she was attending a religious seminary and planning to go off into the jungle and preach to the natives.

Focusing on the necklace again, Ashley admitted she might be feeling a little too critical. Jennifer’s trip to Mexico hadn’t gone well, but did that give her the right to hide in her room and pout? If such a thing had happened to Ashley, she would be expected to clock in at the country club that same night. She’d have several dozen necklace orders to fill too.

“I don’t know anything about business,” Jennifer said, echoing Ashley’s thoughts. “I majored in anthropology. I’m sure you were right to send the beads first and then trust that the money would come in. I know I couldn’t run a company.”

“If you had Miranda Finley pushing you from behind, you could. The woman never lets up.”

Jennifer smiled. “I heard she got all her St. Louis friends to place orders.”

“And they told all their Kansas City friends, their New York friends, their Los Angeles friends….” She huffed out a breath. “It’s crazy. I mean, these are just
beads
. What’s the big deal? I never wanted to run a business anyway. I used to think I’d be a kindergarten teacher, you know? Any five-year-old could make these stupid things.”

With that, Ashley threw a bead onto the table. It ricocheted past Jennifer and hit the wall. Dropping her head into her hands, Ashley gave up trying to hold in her grief. What was the point in acting so self-assured? she wondered, as tears spilled down her cheeks. Her life was in tatters anyway. None of it fit together or worked the way it was supposed to. The whole thing was a big joke.