Falling for You Again

by Catherine Palmer

  “I’ve got you scheduled for your set-and-style next Friday,” Patsy told her.

  “Oh, I won’t be able to go out by then. I’m a wreck.”

  “How about if we move your appointment up to Tuesday? You’ll feel so much better once we do your hair.”

  “I don’t know.” Esther waved her hand. “It’s not that important to me now.”

  “But you’ve always loved getting your set-and-style,” Patsy protested. “And what on earth are you doing in your bathrobe at this hour of the day, honey? We need you back in action.”

  “That’s right, Mrs. Moore,” Cody said. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but Ashley Hanes does not know how to do minutes at the TLC. She doesn’t care a bit about parliamentary procedure. I bet she hasn’t even read Robert’s Rules of Order. She did new business first, you know. Then she said she wasn’t going to read old business because we were smart enough to remember it—which might be true, but all the same, it’s not right. You better come next week, or the TLC will go straight to pot.”

  When Esther didn’t speak, everyone turned to Charlie. Looking bemused, he shrugged. “In the last few days, we’ve talked till we’re blue in the face. If anyone knows how to talk things through, it’s Esther and me. She’s tried to tell me how she feels, but I still don’t understand why she’s so worn-out. The doctor said nothing was broken, and her bruises are nearly gone. She’s as healthy as a horse except for an occasional headache, but Esther seems to think she’s on her deathbed.”

  “Who can think about death when there’s so much to live for?” Jessica asked.

  The younger of the two girls, she had been Camdenton High School’s homecoming queen her senior year. Patsy had styled her hair for the big event. Though she didn’t like to brag, Patsy felt it was one of her best updos ever.

  “Mrs. Moore,” Jessica continued, her voice rising in animation. “I was hoping I could count on you to serve drinks at my reception. The punch will be raspberry flavored with apricot sherbet balls floating in it. And we’re having a chocolate fountain, too! Have you ever seen one? Melted chocolate pours out of the fountain just like water, and you dip strawberries or bananas or whatever you want into it! We’re putting a huge apricot bow with apricot carnations at the end of every pew too. The church is going to be gorgeous!”

  For a moment, no one responded. Jessica’s face sobered, and she glanced uncomfortably at her older sister.

  Then Esther spoke up.

  “Sherbet balls?” she queried. “In the punch? Those are going to melt in the first five minutes, Jessica. You’ll be left with a bowl full of apricot goo.”

  “Really? I never thought of that.”

  “You need to find something you can freeze good and solid. That way it’ll keep its shape the whole way through the reception. And have you given any consideration as to what to do with the punch cups? If you invite as many guests as you mentioned, you’ll have empty punch cups sitting all over the place. I think we’re going to need someone to keep the fellowship hall tidied up. How about if we put the Finley twins to work? They’d look so cute roaming around with silver trays.”

  “What a great idea! We could dress them both in apricot!”

  “I doubt you’ll get Luke into anything apricot, but you can try. He’s as cute as a bug’s ear.”

  “I’ll talk to Kim about it at church tomorrow. I’ve been reading all the bridal magazines, Mrs. Moore, but there are so many things to plan. I’m scared I’ll forget something really important. Do you want to know the main problem I’m having right now?”

  Esther leaned forward. “What is it, sugar?”

  “The guest book. Do you think an ostrich quill pen is too over-the-top? It seems like it would be so pretty, but I’m just not sure.”

  As Esther gave her opinions on the topic of ostrich quill pens, Patsy looked across the living room at Charlie. For the first time since they’d entered the house, he was smiling.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Come on, Boofer. I mean it now.”

  Charlie pulled his golf cart into the carport and turned off the motor. As usual, his loyal traveling companion refused to budge. The plump little black mutt viewed the golf cart as a magic carpet that would take him to foreign lands where he could view vistas heretofore unknown. Who would want to leave such wonders?

  Though Charlie drove the same path around the Deepwater Cove neighborhood two or three times a day, the experience thrilled Boofer as if he’d never seen the place in his life. Each smell, each dashing squirrel, each gust of breeze delighted and amazed the dog, who literally grinned the entire way along the road. By the time Charlie had stopped the cart to chat with neighbors, surveyed the lake, picked up the mail, and accomplished whatever other tasks he’d assigned himself, he was ready to head into the house for a while.

  Not Boofer.

  He sat firmly adhered to the golf cart’s vinyl seat, refusing to move, until finally Charlie pretended he was abandoning the stubborn dog. “Well, have it your way, Boof,” Charlie said, as he did every day. “I … guess I’ll go see what’s on the stove for dinner.”

  The moment he opened the screen door that led into the house, Charlie heard Boofer leap from the cart and scamper toward him, tiny black claws skittering on the cement carport floor. Before the man could set one foot inside, the dog had hurtled past him and was racing around the house, looking for Esther.

  This evening, Charlie’s wife was once again a queen in her realm. Esther had returned to her kitchen.

  But things were not as they once had been. True, Esther still rose every morning to make Charlie’s breakfast, and she prepared their sandwiches for lunch. But that was about it. Women from the church still regularly brought casseroles or pot roasts to the house. And nearly every afternoon at around three o’clock, Ashley Hanes showed up to help Esther start putting dinner together.

  Sometimes the young woman dropped by earlier in the day to string necklaces while Esther sorted and organized beads. Though Charlie liked Ashley well enough, it often startled or even distressed him to find her inside the house. It was his private haven, the cocoon he withdrew into for rest and refreshment. On the other hand, Ashley’s presence was about the only thing that perked up Esther’s spirits. The pair of them chattered so much that it became a verifiable hen party.

  Two weeks had passed since the accident, and Charlie had expected his wife to be back to her same old self. But just about every day Esther announced that she felt frail. Or weak. Or tired. Her hips, her back, her neck, her eyes, even her skin—something was always out of whack. Once in a while she told her husband she was feeling “goofy,” to which Charlie had silently replied, “So what else is new?”

  “Where’ve you been, sugar?” Esther called over her shoulder as Charlie hung his jacket in the closet by the door. “Ashley and I are in a bind. The other day, Cody broke the can opener, and we need you to open these beans or we’ll never get them into the pot in time.”

  “You broke the can opener, honey,” Charlie gently reminded his wife.

  “I did not. Why would you say that?”

  “You put the blame thing in the dishwasher, Esther. An electric can opener. I still can’t figure out what you were thinking. Ruined the motor. Honestly! Nobody puts an electric can opener in the dishwasher.”

  “Oh well,” she said, brushing him off with a wave of her hand. “Come over here and help us—my knuckles have been aching all day. It’s the weather, I suppose. You know what the cold does to my joints.”

  “Yup,” Charlie said. Another ailment to add to her collection.

  “Ashley tells me she’s never even seen the nonelectric kind of can opener,” Esther went on. “Can you believe it? That’s modern technology for you—good old tools lie in a drawer unused and forgotten. It’s a throwaway world, Ashley, and don’t ever let anyone tell you different.”

  With a sigh, Charlie stepped up to the counter. “Evening, Ashley,” he said, hooking the hand-turned opener onto the lid of the can of
beans. “How’s the necklace business these days?”

  “I’m swamped.” She glanced at him, her big brown eyes framed by masses of long red hair. “Mrs. Finley—Miranda, not Kim—gets the credit for a lot of my sales. She and the twins made up brochures and sent them to friends in the social clubs she used to belong to in St. Louis. Those women are ordering necklaces so fast I can hardly keep up. Seems like I’m always down in the Hansens’ basement craft room making beads or printing out orders from my computer or running to the post office with a bunch of boxes to mail. I really do appreciate all the work you and Mrs. Moore have done sorting beads for me. It’s been a huge help.”

  “No problem.” Charlie gave the can opener a final twist, and the lid popped open. Truth to tell, if he never saw another bead in his life, it wouldn’t bother him a bit. He handed Ashley the can. “Watch the edge of that, now. It’s sharp.”

  “Wow, you’re right, Mrs. Moore,” Ashley said, dumping the contents into a saucepan. “These beans aren’t nearly as green and pretty as the ones from your garden.”

  “Nothing beats fresh vegetables, right, Charlie?” Esther flashed her husband a pretty smile. “If someone had troubled himself to plant enough beans this summer, we wouldn’t need to be opening cans. We’d have bags of beans from our own garden sitting in the freezer.”

  Choosing not to remind Esther that it was she who had urged him to limit the number of rows in his garden this year, Charlie set off toward the laundry room. Esther had said she was tired of cleaning and freezing vegetables, he recalled. “Why not just open a can from the grocery store?” she asked him. “It’s much simpler, and the beans are almost as good.”

  As usual, he had done his wife’s bidding. Now he was paying the price. He had conceded her original point. The garden was too big, and it took a lot of time and work.

  Charlie loved his garden, though. Since Esther wasn’t interested in buying a motor home, taking a cruise, or even venturing out of state to see the grandkids, he knew he’d be stuck at home again next summer. He might as well take his garden back to its previous size, no matter what Esther said.

  Hearing Ashley’s voice in the kitchen reminded Charlie of something that nagged at him every time he made a round in his golf cart. Back in the summer, Brad Hanes had begun building an addition onto the couple’s small house. The young man had informed Charlie that it was to be a garage for his new truck. But Ashley had told Esther the room would be a nursery for the baby she was hoping to have one of these days.

  Either way, not long after Brad erected the frame and put on a semblance of a roof, construction ceased. Now the Hanes property—never much to look at in the first place—had become an eyesore. Charlie had done some investigating. He learned that not only had Brad failed to obtain a building permit, but he hadn’t gotten construction permission from the subdivision’s governing board. To top it off, debris lay scattered everywhere—piles of flagstone, heaps of dirt, stacks of shingles, and several moldering cardboard boxes filled with vinyl siding.

  Halting on his way to the laundry room, Charlie looked back toward the kitchen. “Say, how’s that addition coming along, Ashley?” he said over his shoulder. “I don’t believe I’ve seen Brad working on it for a while.”

  A moment of silence was followed by Esther’s voice. “Charles Moore, if you don’t stop griping about Ashley’s new room, I’m going to give you a good chewing out. Leave her and Brad alone. They’ll finish it when they have time—which is a scarce commodity when you’re young.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Charlie muttered under his breath. Surely in four months the Hanes kids could have found a few hours to straighten up the clutter. If there was one thing Charlie couldn’t stand, it was a mess.

  He ambled into the laundry room, opened the dryer, and began folding clothes—a new activity he’d undertaken in recent days. Charlie hadn’t signed on for this job when he married Esther. But life had changed since her accident—in more ways than one. He laid one of his undershirts on the dryer and smoothed it out with his palms. As he began to fold, he could hear the women still jabbering away in the kitchen.

  “I don’t think Brad’s ready,” Ashley was saying. “At least, he tells me he wants to wait awhile—till we’re more settled, you know.”

  “How much more settled can a couple be?” Esther asked. “You’ve both got good jobs, and you own a lovely home. Most of all, you have empty arms and a heart hungry for the sweet babble of a baby.”

  Sweet babble? Charlie thought, recalling the two babies he’d helped raise to adulthood. Howl was more like it. Wail. Scream. Screech until the roof raised a good foot or two.

  He chuckled at the memory of himself and Esther—practically kids themselves—frantically racing around trying to figure out how to stop the babies from squalling. Charlie sighed and began to match and roll the white cotton socks Esther had taken to wearing in bed a few years back. Time sure went by fast. Their two children were adults now, one of them with offspring of his own.

  Over the years, he and Esther had matured into adults, and then—slowly and insidiously—they had begun to fall apart. Joints began to ache. Backs went out. Hair thinned, and so did bones. Even though Pastor Andrew had offered up a rosy picture of the afterlife, Charlie didn’t like to think about it. He enjoyed his wife and the marriage they’d built. It was impossible to imagine an end to their summertime of gentle breezes, sweet fragrances, and love beyond measure.

  “Our jobs are the problem.” Ashley’s voice was plaintive as Charlie carried a wicker basket of clothing toward the bedroom. “If I could work days like Brad, then we’d be together in the evenings. But with me waitressing at the country club almost every night, he’s left at home alone. Days and weekends, I’m working on my beads all the time. Brad says he doesn’t like to sit around and watch TV by himself. I can’t blame him, but I wish he wouldn’t go over to Larry’s.”

  Charlie grunted. Larry’s Lake Lounge was a popular local tavern. Brad Hanes’s pickup was usually parked outside it every afternoon by four. Charlie couldn’t be sure how long the young man stayed there playing pool and drinking beer with his buddies, but two DWIs on his record didn’t bode well.

  That kind of thing had never been a problem between him and Esther, Charlie reflected as he arranged his clean clothes in the chest of drawers near his side of their double bed. After a day on his feet delivering mail, he had wanted nothing more than to head for his home, his family, and one of Esther’s delicious meals. Usually he and Charles Jr. had played catch in the backyard until Esther called them inside. After dinner, he often pulled both kids onto his lap and read them stories until bedtime. Those had been golden years.

  Opening the top drawer in Esther’s dresser, Charlie discovered that the space was neatly divided into little boxes filled with Esther’s jewelry. Bemused, he realized he had no idea where his wife kept her lingerie. Another thing he’d failed to notice. The second drawer down held scarves and the girdles Esther had stopped wearing years ago. Charlie pulled out a girdle and held it up to the light. Studying the web of elastic and the dangling stocking clips, he shook his head. Amazing contraption.

  He pushed the drawer shut. Didn’t Esther use her dresser for clothing? Pulling open the bottom drawer, he noted stacks of old Christmas cards tied with faded ribbons. Into each collection Esther had slipped a piece of paper noting the year the cards had arrived. Here were birthday cards and letters from the kids too. A small white leather Bible lay on a pair of white silk gloves. Where had that come from?

  Charlie lifted the Bible, opened it, and read the inscription. To my beloved Esther on our wedding day. Charles Edgar Moore.

  Well, how about that? He didn’t even remember giving the Bible to Esther, and here she had kept it all these years. Maybe she had worn the gloves that special day too. Charlie drew them out and fingered them gently. Such fine, pale fabric. He thought back on the afternoon of their wedding—and the surprise, embarrassed confusion, and eventual joy of the ensuing night. Now
that had been quite an event for both of them.

  Smiling as he replaced the Bible and gloves, Charlie noticed a large manila envelope with Esther’s name and the address of their first apartment scrawled in a hand he didn’t recognize. Feeling a little sheepish for snooping, he slid the envelope out from under the stacks of Christmas cards. Was this something else he had given Esther and forgotten? He certainly had no memory of the envelope, but then he hadn’t recognized the Bible either.

  Reaching inside the manila packet, he drew out a sheet of paper on which someone had penciled a sketch. Not a sketch exactly—better than that. It was a full-blown portrait. A woman with dark hair; intense eyes; and a warm, beautiful smile gazed back at him.

  It was Esther.

  A shiver of recognition racing down his spine, Charlie stared at the portrait. But this wasn’t Esther Jennings, the cute brunette he’d met in high school and married shortly after graduation. This was a curly-haired, doe-eyed, seductive dream girl.

  Sure, it was Esther. But—wow. Somehow the artist had captured a side of her that Charlie had never seen. If he’d been anywhere near this Esther, he surely would have remembered it.

  Swallowing, he dropped his focus to the signature at the bottom of the sketch. George Snyder, it read. And beneath the name, a short phrase had been penciled: I will always love you, Esther.

  “Did you know Ashley has never made gravy from scratch in her entire life?”

  Esther’s voice echoing along the hall startled Charlie. Quickly he slid the portrait back into the envelope, slipped it under the old white Bible, and pushed the drawer shut.

  “Can you imagine that, honey?” Esther’s head appeared around the doorframe just as Charlie dropped down onto the bed beside the laundry basket. His wife was giggling as she spoke. “I had to come tell you so I could watch your reaction. Not once. Not a single time. Do you believe it?”

  “Nope. I don’t believe it.” Charlie feigned an expression of wonderment and shook his head. Though he had no idea what Esther was talking about, he felt pretty sure he would agree with her no matter what. Hoping she would hurry back to the kitchen, he leaned over the wicker basket and began reorganizing the folded clothing. Who was George Snyder? Why had he sketched Esther? And when?