Marriage Seasons 01 - It Happens Every Spring (11 page)

Warming toward her husband for the first time in weeks,
Brenda had told Steve she would bake lasagna for their dinner
tonight. She knew he loved her lasagna, and Steve hoped this signaled an end to the hostile attitude she had been clinging to all this
time. Brenda said she planned to serve dinner in the dining room
instead of the kitchen-another sure sign of a thaw in her antagonism. Before leaving the office this evening, Steve had put a sticky
note on his dashboard, reminding himself to take a look at the
progress on the basement, make a few nice comments about the plaid chairs she had painted, and remark on the matching place
mats she had sewn.

"The torque is 535 feet per pound at 6,000 RPM for those
trucks, you know," Pete was saying as he rang up Steve's gas sale.
"That means the engine can produce horsepower in the range of
750 at 8,000 RPM. Now that's something to see."

"I guess so," Steve said.

"You and Brenda ever been to a stock-car race?"

"Never have."

"It's the number-one spectator sport in the country. Bet you
didn't know that."

"Well, that does surprise me." Steve gave a nod as he pushed his
credit card back into his wallet. "Maybe I can talk Brenda into it
one of these days."

"I doubt you'll have much convincing to do. She's a live wire,
that woman. In and out of here at least once a day having me
sharpen her scissors, fill up her gas tank, or load her down with hot
dogs and sodas. She nearly bought out all my coolers to store the
kids' trophies, medals, and ribbons. Said they'd be better protected
in coolers than in plain old plastic boxes from the discount store.
In fact, Brenda was here when the transporter drove through. Said
she'd love to go to a race."

"My Brenda?"

"Yep. I don't know the last time I saw a woman with so much
energy. That must be quite a basement you've got over there in
Deepwater Cove."

Steve stared blankly at Pete. Never in a million years would he
have described his cold, silent wife as a "live wire" full of energy.
Lately when she spoke to her husband at all, it was to say something bitter and resentful. Most of the time, though, Brenda stayed
withdrawn into the chilly little igloo she had built around herself.

Not knowing how to respond, Steve pushed his hands down
into the pockets of his khaki slacks and turned to gaze out the front
windows of the shop. He couldn't imagine that Brenda presented herself to the world as a warm, happy, interested participant in lake
life-willing to go to a stock-car race, for heaven's sake!-when
she never gave her husband anything but a cold shoulder.

Brenda reserved her bouncy zest for a tackle-shop manager and
a stock-car trailer!

Icy anger flooded through Steve's chest as he thought about all
he had done and given and meant to her. What was he getting in
return? Zero.

Clearly there was a problem, but it wasn't him. It was Brenda. If
this dinner tonight didn't produce some changes in her behavior,
Steve had decided to tell his wife she needed to make an appointment to talk to their minister. Pastor Andrew might recommend a
doctor or a counselor who would be able to help her. For all Steve
knew, this difficulty grew out of her starting menopause. Or having a midlife crisis. Whatever the cause, Brenda's attitude was the
effect. And Steve was sick to death of it.

"Here's your receipt," Pete said, handing him a scrap of curled
paper. "You know, if you and the wife want to make an outing of it
sometime, just let me know. I've been thinking about asking Patsy
Pringle to the races. We could all go together."

It took a moment before Pete's words sank in. "I don't think
Patsy is the NASCAR type," Steve said, glancing at the wall that
divided the bait shop from the beauty salon next door. "Besides,
Pete, I'm a little surprised you think Patsy would go out with you.
Last time I was over there for a haircut, you started up a weed
whacker, and she nearly scalped me. She didn't have a lot of kind
words for you. I get a feeling she thinks you irritate her on purpose.

Chuckling wryly, Pete shook his head. "Women! Can't live with
'em, can't live without 'em."

"That fits my Brenda to a tee." Steve started for the door, then
hesitated as he recalled the original reason for his visit to the store.
He had been hoping to clear up some information and make sure that Pete and Patsy were both in agreement with him on the situation.

"Say, Pete," Steve said, turning back, "there's a rumor that's
been floating around the lake these past couple of weeks."

"A rumor?" Pete's ruddy complexion suddenly paled. "About
... about Brenda?"

"No, about the strip mall. I hear someone has rented the empty
space next door to the beauty parlor."

"Oh, that!" Pete blew out a breath. "Yeah, I heard a fellow was
putting in a movie-rental place."

"Adult movies. Triple-X videos, pornographic magazines, and
other kinds of trash."

"Triple-X?" Pete's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

"That's what I've been hearing. How do you feel about a business like that moving into Tranquility?"

"I can tell you right off the bat-I don't like the idea. We have
enough trouble with the bar up the road. Fellows start drinking
around three o'clock every afternoon. Sometimes they come over
here for gas, and it's all I can do to let them drive home. Don't get
me wrong. I know how it is-been there myself, and I'll be the last
one to sit in judgment. But that bar is not good for the area. If we
start having the kind of creeps a porn shop would bring in ... well,
it would just set a tone. You know what I mean?"

"I agree completely, and I'm sure Patsy would go along with you
on that."

"At least there's one thing we could see eye to eye on!"

"I know Dr. Hedges wants nothing to do with an adult-movie
business anywhere near his chiropractic clinic. I'm not even sure
the tattoo people would want pornography around."

"You can't count on that, Steve." Pete stroked his thick beard.
"Tell you what ... I'll talk to Patsy and see what she thinks. But you
know the laws around here better than any of us. Would we have
any say in who moves into the strip mall?"

"It's private property," Steve told him. "The owners can rent to
anyone they choose."

"Even if the rest of us don't want them?"

"If you got together as a group, you'd have some influence, I'm
sure." He paused for a moment. "You know, I've heard the strip
mall could be for sale to the right buyer. If an upstanding person
bought it, then he could keep the undesirable businesses out."

"That won't be me," Pete said. "I'm trying to be upstanding and
all, but I barely make my rent. I know Patsy Pringle doesn't like me
doing small-engine repair next door to her tearoom, but sometimes that's all that carries me over from week to week. I'm hoping
business picks up during the summer, or I won't last through the
year.

"You'll do great with your bait and tackle once the weather
warms up. People will be flocking here for gas, too. No question
about that."

"Maybe you can find a buyer for the mall," Pete suggested. "That
would be a great idea-make you a bundle on the commission,
too. You have anyone in mind?"

Steve shrugged as he lifted a hand in farewell. "I'm not sure. I
guess we'll just have to see, won't we?"

As he headed toward his car, Steve glanced back over his shoulder at the row of storefront windows glittering in the setting sun. If
things went well tonight ... if life took a turn for the better ... well,
he just might have someone in mind after all.

Brenda slid the lasagna out of the oven just as Steve's car pulled
into the garage. Good. For once, he had followed through on his
plan to come home.

All day she had been expecting her husband to call with one
excuse or another. A potential client wanted to show him a milliondollar home that he might want to list with Steve. Or he had forgotten a last-minute meeting with a termite inspector. Something like that. At six, the phone had rung, and her heart sank. But
Steve was only calling to say he had stopped at Pete's for some gas
and would be there shortly.

The thought of having Justin and Jessica home for a whole week
thrilled Brenda, and she was eager to talk to Steve about it. Working on the basement had helped her begin to feel almost like she
used to-eager to make plans for the family, excited about projects
they could do together, hopeful that the kids would have a wonderful time and would want to come back more often.

Jessica used to come home on weekends. But because of a new
boyfriend, she had come home only once since Christmas break.
Justin rarely called or visited. He had made new friends, a new life,
and-as he enjoyed telling his parents-a new home there in
Springfield. And as for Jennifer, she was a short-term missionary in
Africa. Other than the occasional e-mail, she might as well be a
stranger to her parents.

"Smells great!" Steve said as he stepped into the kitchen from
the garage. "I've been thinking about that lasagna all day."

Despite her best intentions, a retort flew into Brenda's mind.
I'm surprised you didn't prefer to have dinner with one of your clients
at the country club.

But she managed to bite her tongue. Thank God!

All day Brenda had been praying that she and Steve could have a
civil, even amiable, evening together. As she and Nick LeClair
painted the basement walls, she had tried to keep her thoughts on
her husband and her children. She was a good wife, Brenda
reminded herself. A loving mother. A faithful Christian. A kind
neighbor. She and Steve had been married so many years that
surely they could weather this unpleasant chilly spell between
them.

"Just the way you like it," she said, forcing a cheerful tone to her
voice as she hung the hot pads on their hook. "Extra ricotta cheese
and loads of meat sauce."

"Thanks, honey." He paused and looked at her. His eyes went
soft as he reached out and ran one hand down her arm. "You look
beautiful."

She tried not to shrink from his touch. "I've lost nearly ten
pounds."

"How'd you manage that?"

"I'm not hungry these days. So busy, you know."

"Pete Roberts told me you're always in and out of his place buying hot dogs and sodas."

Bristling, she turned away. "That's not all I buy from him. I got
storage containers from Rods-n-Ends for the kids' trophies and art
projects. The hot dogs are for Nick."

"The basement guy?"

She took a large bowl of tossed salad from the refrigerator.
"Nick loves the rotisserie hot dogs from Pete's place. I usually buy
him a couple on my way back from the hardware store. Seems like I
have to run to town for supplies nearly every day. Nick has gotten
so used to me bringing him hot dogs, he doesn't even carry his
lunch from home anymore. He likes my chocolate cake, too."

"He does? Huh." Sounding slightly befuddled, Steve wandered
over to the hall closet, where he hung up his jacket and set down his
briefcase.

Brenda carried the salad bowl into the dining room. The garlic
bread would be just about warm by now, and she hoped Steve
would wash up without her having to tell him. Sometimes the man
stood around like a little kid, expecting her to do everything for
him and give him basic instructions for managing the world. Well,
she wasn't his servant. Or his mother. She had her own life.

"Have you seen anything of that other fellow who liked your
cake?" Steve asked, following her into the dining room like a puppy
at her heels. "The guy who slept on our porch for a few nights last
month?"

"Cody. Patsy Pringle told me that people have said they saw him
down in the woods or across the lake. But he hasn't been back to Deepwater Cove. I've worried a lot about him. I even asked at
church if Cody had dropped by the Good Samaritan closet to get a
coat or some food. But Pastor Andrew said he hadn't seen anyone
of that description."

"I'm sorry, Brenda," Steve said, closing in behind her. "I know
you really cared about him."

She stiffened as he took her shoulders. "You're glad he's gone.
Don't deny it, Steve."

His hands froze. "I didn't want anything bad to happen to him."

"No, of course not." She stepped away from him and headed
back to the kitchen. "Nick tells me that people like Cody can survive in the woods even through a cold winter. They have instincts,
he says. They find warm places, and they know how to get food.
Nick lived in his car once, so he ought to know. He insists it's not as
bad as people might think. Of course, Nick is very different from
Cody. Nick is brilliant, and Cody wasn't even sure of his own last
name.

"Nick is brilliant?" Steve asked, padding after her into the
kitchen. "You talked to him about Cody?"

"Of course I did. What do you think I do around here all day?
Talk to myself?"

That had come out much harsher than she intended. Brenda
shook her head, swallowed down the regret, and lifted the lasagna
from the stove top. "Go wash up, honey," she said gently. "The
bread is hot. We'll talk while we eat."