Marriage Seasons 01 - It Happens Every Spring (6 page)

The tension began to slide out of Steve's shoulders. He could tell
right away that this fellow was neither drunk nor criminal. He was
just simple, that's all. Childlike. Still, you couldn't be sure he was
harmless. Pete Roberts at Rods-n-Ends had been right to call
Brenda good-hearted. She was kind to help out a hungry person.
But she never should have opened the door without Steve around,
and what was she thinking-buying a cooler and filling it with
soup and sandwiches?

"Brenda," he said, "could I talk to you inside for a minute?"

She lifted her chin, stared straight at him, and said, "I'm visiting
with Cody. Sorry."

A flood of icy rage spread through Steve's chest. "I see."

"We're chatting. You can go on back in and watch your TV
show."

Steve sucked down a deep breath. "Brenda, I want to talk to you
inside the house. Now."

She shrugged. "Did you try a sandwich, Cody? They're turkey
and cheese. I think you ought to have one tonight. And keep the lid
on your cooler. You don't want to let all the cold air out."

Steve stared at his wife. He felt like she'd stabbed him through
the gut with an icicle. Did he deserve this kind of disrespect? this
contempt? What had he done but work hard and give her everything she could want? Now she was sitting on the porch swing
feeding a bushy-haired stranger and treating her own husband like
a pesky gnat buzzing around her head.

"Where do you live, Cody?" Steve barked out. "Do you have a
house around here?"

Cody spoke through a bite of turkey sandwich. "My daddy told
me it's time to make my way. `Make your way, Cody.' That's what
he told me."

"Where's your daddy now?"

The young man hung his head. "Well ... it's time to make my
way.

"Cody's not sure where his father is," Brenda explained, her voice gentler toward Steve for the first time in days. "I think he's
been wandering around for a while. He told me his daddy used to
make him shave, but they haven't been together lately. Judging by
his beard, I'd say it's been a long time since Cody last saw his
father."

The whole time she talked, Brenda looked at Cody instead of at
her husband. Steve felt invisible. "I've put a few blankets and a pillow in a backpack for Cody," she continued. "I told him he's welcome to sleep here on the porch swing if he wants, or he can go
camp somewhere. At least he'll be warm."

With that, she stood and patted the young man on the shoulder.
"Good night, Cody. I hope you sleep well."

"Thank you." Cody stood up. "What's your name? I forgot
again."

"Brenda."

"Thank you, Brenda. You're forty-five years old."

"That's exactly right." She smiled. "And how old are you?"

"Twenty-one," he blurted out, as if surprised to hear it himself.
"My daddy said, `You're twenty-one, Cody. Time to make your
way.

"Well, what do you know?" Brenda said. She glanced at Steve as
she passed him. "Cody is twenty-one years old."

The front door shut behind her, and Steve stifled an impulse to
throw the bum off his porch. A decent family couldn't have a
vagrant lolling around all night. Maybe Cody was slow, but he was
an adult, and he needed to go to a homeless shelter or something.
Steve didn't have to put up with this. He ought to just run the guy
off and get back to his evening routine.

"Wow," Cody said from the porch swing. "This is the best soup I
ever ate in all my life. And look! Chocolate cake too. Brenda is a
Christian, because she gave it to me. I love chocolate cake."

Disgusted with himself, Brenda, and even Cody, Steve turned
on his heel and stomped back into the house. He shut and locked
the door. This was great. Steve could just hear Charlie Moore chatting with the neighbors as he made the rounds on his golf cart:
"There's a bum sleeping on the Hansens' frontporch. He's there every
night. Brenda feeds him, and Steve puts up with it. Can you believe
that?"

Nobody in Deepwater Cove would want a simpleminded bum
loitering around. People felt safe in their little neighborhood. They
enjoyed being able to leave their doors unlocked by day and their
windows open at night. The low crime rate at Lake of the Ozarks
was part of what drew so many people to buy second homes there.
Million-dollar homes. You just couldn't have a hairy, unwashed
nut job wandering around the place.

"Brenda?" Steve walked into the bedroom. She was in the
adjoining bathroom. He knocked on the door. "Brenda? I want to
talk to you right this minute."

She threw open the door, stepped out, and stalked to the bed.
"I'm tired," she announced over her shoulder. "Good night."

"Tired? Tired from what?" In disbelief, Steve watched her pull
back the comforter and slide into bed. "What have you done today
besides make soup and sandwiches for a bum?"

Brenda's eyes narrowed. "The only bum I know is standing in
my bedroom."

"What? Now you're calling me a bum? How many bums do you
know who can buy a house like this ... put kids through college .. .
and leave you at home to do as you please?"

Brenda switched off the light beside her bed. Turning away from
him, she drew the comforter up to her neck. "Good night, bum."

"Brenda, listen ... I don't know what's going on with you, but
things had better start changing around here." He crossed to her
side of the bed and switched her light back on. "You can't just shut
me out like this. There's a stranger on our front porch, and if you
think you can-"

"The only stranger around here is you, Steve Hansen," she said,
sitting up in bed. Her eyes glittered with an ice-cold green light. "I
never see you. I don't even know who you are anymore. And if you want something to change, well, your wish is about to come true.
You know what's changing? Me. I called a carpenter, and he's coming over next week to give me a bid on remodeling the basement.
I'm feeding a poor, cold, hungry man who doesn't know where he
is, and I plan to keep on feeding him until someone shows up to
claim him or he figures out what to do with himself. I got my hair
cut today, and I washed the cat, and I finished painting the
dining-room chairs. And guess what else is different? I don't need
you. I don't need anyone or anything. I'm fine by myself, so just
leave me alone, and don't you dare touch me. This discussion is
over.

With that, she snapped off the light again. Steve stood in the
darkness and stared down at the lumpy shape that used to be his
wife.

At the salon a few days later, Patsy Pringle was putting the finishing touches on a beautiful manicure. Young Ashley Hanes had the
prettiest hands in Deepwater Cove, and she enjoyed drawing
attention to her new wedding ring. Patsy couldn't imagine how
Brad Hanes had paid for that glittering one-carat rock on his wife's
finger, but maybe the construction business was more profitable
than a person might think. Summer was on its way, and new
houses would be going up left and right. With Ashley working as a
waitress at one of the country clubs and Brad on the building crew
for a big home just the other side of Tranquility, they might be
pulling in a fair amount of cash.

"What did you call this color?" Ashley asked, gazing at her
hands. "Rose something-or-other?"

"Tea rose." Patsy leaned back and admired her work. "It's a
pretty shade on you. Flattering."

"Brad loves my long nails," Ashley said. She gave a shy giggle.
"He thinks they're hot."

"I wouldn't know about that. But if Brad likes something, then
you better take good care of it."

"Were you ever married, Patsy?" Ashley asked suddenly.

For a split second, Patsy considered retorting that such a thing
was no one's business but her own. Then she thought about the
ladies chatting over in the tea area, the stylists primping and cooing
along with their clients, and the Christian music playing softly in
the salon. At Just As I Am, no one could claim privacy. If a subject
came up that was a matter of interest to others in the cozy little
salon, you simply had to talk.

"Never have found a husband," Patsy replied with a sigh. "I
guess I still could-I'm still this side of forty-but Mr. Right hasn't
come through the door yet. When I was closer to the marrying age,
I was busy taking care of my mother and her Alzheimer's disease. I
was going to cosmetology college and working long hours over in
Osage Beach. Even if a man had been interested in me, I didn't
have time to date, much less get serious with anyone."

"I wish you could have found a guy like Brad," Ashley said. Her
brown eyes reminded Patsy of pots of melted chocolate. "He is
awesome. It's like being married to my best friend. Every morning
I wake up next to him, and I'm just so shocked, you know? Brad
Hanes is really my husband! I actually married him! And when his
truck pulls up to the house at night, I practically shiver. I never
thought marriage would be this wonderful. Brad is the greatest
thing that ever happened to me."

Patsy smiled. "I'm glad you're so happy, sweetheart. I remember
you coming into the salon with your mother when you were a little
girl, and I thought to myself, that child deserves a good life."

Beaming, Ashley held her nails under the dryer. "Brad and I are
talking about having a baby," she said in a low voice. "Don't tell."

"My lips are sealed," Patsy assured her. She studied Ashley for a
moment, feeling a warm glow radiating from the young beauty
with her auburn hair and lovely smile and graceful hands. It was
like watching a rose bloom. Or an exquisite fern leaf uncurl.

Brad Hanes had come into the salon a few days earlier for his
once-a-month haircut, and Patsy sensed she was in the presence of a young buck in the springtime. Brad was just full of himself-face
tanned from working outdoors, shoulders broad and strong, blue
eyes glowing. He acted as though marrying Ashley had crowned
him king of the world. Every time her name came up in conversation, he smiled slyly, as if he were the only man in the universe to
discover the joys of marital bliss.

The young couple was talking about remodeling their little
house on the second tier at Deepwater Cove, Brad had confided to
Patsy. He said Ashley wanted to take some college classes and
become a kindergarten teacher. Brad had bought himself a new
truck. And now they were hoping for children.

"You just enjoy that husband of yours," Patsy said, giving
Ashley's shoulder a pat. "Brad is a good man, and he's going to
make you a very happy woman."

"I know," Ashley sighed. "Look at my ring. Can you believe he
bought this for me? And we have our own home and the truck.
We're way ahead of most of my friends. But I'll tell you something.
..." She leaned across the manicure table. "Brad's not thrilled with
the situation over at the Hansens' house. That creepy guy, you
know? With the beard?"

"I know," Patsy said. Did she ever.

"They say he's been sleeping on the Hansens' porch. I heard that
Steve wanted to call the sheriff, but Brenda wouldn't let him. Brad
told me he was walking down to the lake a couple of evenings ago,
and he saw Steve and Brenda in their backyard so upset they were
practically yelling at each other. Can you imagine that? I always
thought they were the perfect couple. Their house is so pretty ... all
that work they've done on it. And the flowers, too. Did you know
Brenda's been feeding that homeless guy?"

"I suspect he's hungry."

"Brad doesn't like having a stranger in the neighborhood. He
won't let me take my ring off when I'm doing dishes, and he locks
the truck up tight every night, including the toolbox. We bolt all
the doors, too."

Patsy sensed the conversation had crossed the line from concerned discussion to outright gossip. "Charlie Moore told Esther
the fellow was just simple in the head," she assured Ashley. "I don't
think you and Brad have a thing to worry about."

"Maybe not." The young woman studied her nails again. "Tea
rose. It's a pretty color. I hope I can keep from banging them up.
Being a waitress is not easy on a manicure; that's for sure."

Patsy began to clean up the nail station. She had a client coming
in for a perm in a few minutes, and it was always hard to find time
to keep the floor swept, the counters cleaned, and the windows
washed. All that hair spray!

Working more than fifty hours a week left Patsy on the verge of
exhaustion, but what choice did she have? To her, just As I Am was
more than a beauty salon. It was a ministry. She had labored long
and hard to buy a place of her own and build a loyal clientele-and
God had blessed her beyond measure.

As Patsy grabbed a broom and went to work on the floor, Ashley
laid her manicure money on the front desk and sauntered over to
the tea area. The young woman did most of her waitressing at
night. That gave her time to relax and visit while she was at Just As I
Am. A wave of gratitude welled up inside Patsy as she covertly
studied the women sipping cups of Earl Grey tea and nibbling
shortbread cookies. Never in her wildest dreams had Patsy imagined having a tearoom, but it had become one of the most profitable parts of her business.