Falling for You Again

by Catherine Palmer

  Esther could see her husband staring at her through his trifocals. She had forgotten what they were talking about to begin with—a sudden brain glitch that was happening regularly these days. She had no idea how they got off on the subject of snow globes. Charlie could dredge up the craziest things.

  “I’m going to run my bath,” she announced. “I’m so tired, and you just run me ragged around here. It doesn’t matter what kind of pain or suffering I’ve been through; I still have to take care of you as though you were a little boy. I can’t imagine how I used to have the energy to cook, wash, iron, and look after the kids—plus satisfy your needs.”

  This time she actually intended to stand, but Charlie caught her arm. “Esther, sit down,” he said. “I’m not finished with this conversation.”

  She heaved an exaggerated sigh. Couldn’t he see she wanted her bath? “What do you want to know?”

  Charlie looked at the TV, staring at the black screen as if he, too, had forgotten the subject of their discussion. Then he turned to her. “It’s about our marriage. Back in the beginning when we lived in that little apartment. I finally remembered George Snyder.”

  Esther’s heart skipped a couple of beats. “George? The man who lived down the hall?”

  “Did you talk to him much?”

  “I suppose I did. You don’t just walk past a neighbor without speaking. Honestly, Charlie, first you drag out the snow globe and now you’ve brought up someone from who knows when. I can’t imagine what on earth you’re getting at, but I’m starting to wonder if your arteries are clogging up too. Which reminds me … the doctor’s office called from Springfield today. The receptionist wanted to schedule my plaque cleanup, and I decided right then I didn’t want anyone fiddling around with me like that. So I told her to strike my name from the list. I figure if I’ve lived with it this long, I can go on for a few more years just fine.”

  This time it was Charlie who sat up straight. He dropped the footrest and leaned forward on his recliner. “What do you mean you cancelled? You can’t back out of a procedure like that, Esther. Your carotid artery is halfway plugged. The doctor has to take care of it.”

  “No, he doesn’t. It’s my artery, and I’ll decide whether anyone messes with it. Besides, I have a perfectly fine one on the other side of my neck.”

  “One is not enough!”

  Now Charlie was agitated, and Esther began to wish she hadn’t mentioned the phone call. Still, it took his mind off George Snyder.

  “Listen to me, Charles Moore,” she said. “I am not having that doctor stick a balloon into my artery. And I’m certainly not going to let him scrape off any plaque. Do you know how small these arteries are? Right here, take a look at this. Would you want someone putting a balloon into your vein? I didn’t think so. You’ve opened many a clogged kitchen drain for me, and you know how that works. The dirty old gunk has to go somewhere. After you’ve run the snake through the pipe, that glop moves right on into the sewer system.”

  “We’re not talking about plumbing, Esther. These arteries carry your blood supply.”

  “It’s the same thing. The doctor could loosen a piece of plaque and have it float straight into my brain. Both of us know what that means. Do you want me to have a stroke, Charlie? Now think about it honestly. Would you really want me to suffer something as devastating as that? Even if I lived through it, there would be all that rehabilitation and physical therapy, just like with my mother. You’d run out of patience, and so would I. So no thanks. That’s what I said today, and that’s what I meant. Don’t even bring up the subject again, or we’ll have another spat.”

  Rising, she brushed his hand away as he tried to reach for her. Without letting him speak again, she padded toward the bathroom. She truly hated having these little quarrels with Charlie.

  Some issues came up frequently, and even after almost fifty years, they had never been resolved. Esther hadn’t been fond of her husband’s parents, for example. They didn’t think she was raising the children right. When Ellie got into trouble with drugs and alcohol, that gave them the trump card. Oh, they had looked so superior when they came over to the house to discuss what should be done with their granddaughter. Not even their deaths had erased the problem. Every now and then, Charlie would mention his dear mother or his sweet old dad. It was all Esther could do to bite her tongue—and sometimes she didn’t bother to try.

  She closed the drain in the tub and started the water running. Then she poured in a capful of fragrant bath salts. As she swished them around, she began to think of one thing after another that her husband did to annoy her. He left his big wet snow boots right in front of the door. He forgot to fill the birdbath. He was always watching those crazy talk shows or yelling out answers on game shows—as if he were a real contestant. And no matter how old he got, the man was forever after her to “make whoopee,” as he put it. Didn’t he have a clue what the word osteoporosis meant?

  It was a wonder Esther bothered to encourage Ashley Hanes in her marriage. Charlie had been so difficult all these years, and Brad Hanes sounded ten times worse.

  As she stepped into the tub and eased down into the warm water, Esther felt her nerves begin to relax at last. A husband could be such a trial. But really, when she thought about it, not too much more difficult than a dog. Boofer was always wanting to go outside. Then he would turn right around and bark to get back in. He’d had fleas and allergies and worms. The money they had spent on veterinary bills was downright obscene. And that didn’t even take into account the dog’s occasional accidents on the living room carpet or the kitchen tile.

  Well, at least Boofer didn’t bring home snow globes with gas pumps inside. Or ask irritating questions. What was bothering Charlie so much that he had to keep bringing up George Snyder? Let bygones be bygones—that was Esther’s motto. And if it was up to her, the name of the artist down the hall would never come up again.

  “You know who I was thinking about today?” Pete asked as he and Patsy sat side by side in the darkened, empty movie theater at the outlet mall in Osage Beach. “Esther and Charlie Moore.”

  “Esther came to the salon yesterday for her regular set-and-style,” Patsy said. “It’s good having her back. The TLC wasn’t the same without her, and I missed seeing her in my chair every Friday afternoon. What made you think of them?”

  Patsy had managed to fit into her pencil skirt, a warm nubby sweater, and a pair of knee-high leather boots. She had curled her blonde hair, redone her nails, and stuck on a set of false eyelashes. They were the wispy kind that looked natural enough to fool Pete. In her mind’s eye, she imagined herself as a long, lean lioness prowling the savanna. But she felt like a sausage stuffed way too tight inside its casing. She was going to have to quit eating at the Pop-In or pretty soon she would start popping out.

  “Charlie bought a tank of gas this morning,” Pete told her. “We talked about the usual things—weather, fishing, football. He said the insurance company decided that Esther’s car had been totaled in the wreck. He’s not planning to buy another one.”

  “I’m happy to hear that. Esther told the TLC about both of them falling asleep on their drive home from seeing the doctor in Springfield. It was funny in a way. But when you think about what could have happened …”

  Though Patsy had second-guessed her decision to go out with Pete, she felt fairly at ease after all. He sure looked handsome with that shaved jaw and combed hair. Pete had actually put on a real button-down oxford shirt instead of his usual T-shirt. He had tucked it into his jeans and was wearing a belt. Patsy couldn’t remember ever seeing Pete in a belt. All in all, he didn’t look half bad. The way he normally dressed, he came across as paunchy and haphazard. But tonight, she decided, he could better be described as stocky. His big shoulders filled the back of the theater chair from one side to the other. He had long, well-muscled legs, too. Good legs, if you could say that about a man.

  “Crazy driving is never amusing to me,” Pete said. “I’m a big NASCAR f
an, and I’ve heard people complain about the number of wrecks. But let me tell you, Patsy, those drivers know exactly what they’re doing. They take a lot of safety precautions, too. I think Charlie’s wise to keep Esther in the passenger seat. Why risk another mishap?”

  The local advertising on the big screen had ended, and now the trailers for new movies began. The lights went down until the theater was completely black. Behind them, someone dropped an open bag of Skittles, and the candies rolled down the floor toward the front of the room. The aroma of popcorn and nacho cheese drifted through the air. That’s when Pete reached over the back of Patsy’s seat and put his arm around her.

  The moment Pete folded her into the protection of those big muscles, Patsy lost track of what was on the screen. Wow, did this man smell good. She recognized a piney-smelling aftershave she had always liked. His hand cupped her shoulder, and he tugged her a little closer.

  “You know what I was thinking about the Moores?” Pete murmured against Patsy’s ear. “I was thinking how well they fit together. Kind of like us.”

  “Us?” That single pronoun was all she managed to croak out before the feature film began.

  Pete had chosen the movie, and Patsy tried to concentrate on the car chases; gun battles; and frequent loud, fiery explosions. But all she could think about were Pete’s words. Did he and Patsy fit together? Were they anything at all like the long-married Esther and Charlie Moore?

  From the moment Patsy had met her next-door neighbor in the Tranquility shopping strip, she had been able to see only their differences. He was noisy. She was quiet. He was so messy and disheveled that she often referred to him as a shaggy sheepdog or a big, hulking bear. Patsy loved fashionable outfits, pretty cosmetics, manicured nails, and expensive perfume. While she constantly updated her hair—experimenting with color and style, trying always to look her best—Pete rarely bothered to get his cut. It grew long and scraggly around his ears and neck. Until she objected, he wore an untrimmed beard.

  As for their pasts, they couldn’t be more opposite. Though Patsy’s family had been poor, they knew the importance of good morals and strong values. Her parents’ devotion to Christ and to each other had provided a firm foundation for her childhood. After her father died and her mother became ill, Patsy essentially gave up her social life to care for the woman who had raised her.

  Pete, on the other hand, had grown up without the influence of religion or any other kind of virtuous principles. He’d been a heavy drinker. By his own admission he was a lousy husband to two wives. He’d even done jail time for driving while intoxicated. A stint in rehab and a few college business courses had set him on a better track. But only after moving to Lake of the Ozarks had he started attending church and holding down a regular job.

  As some poor fellow on the screen got shot about eight times, Patsy decided Pete was totally wrong for her. They didn’t fit together well at all. There was no us.

  Just when she had settled her mind on this subject and started to figure out who was trying to kill whom in the movie, Pete leaned close and kissed her gently on the cheek.

  “You sure do smell good tonight, Patsy,” he murmured. “I’m glad you agreed to see a show with me.”

  Every single building block of reason and good sense in Patsy’s mind tumbled down all at once. Thanking God that the theater was all but empty, she closed her eyes as he kissed her again. Why oh why did she feel this tangle of desire and yearning at the touch of his lips on her skin?

  Patsy focused on forming a prayer for help. Surely the good Lord wouldn’t allow her to succumb to a man just for the pure pleasure of it. Hadn’t God helped her erect a strong barrier against that sort of thing? Her brain was nearly as full of Bible verses as Cody’s. She knew it would be unwise to get involved with a man who didn’t share her faith. Good relationships were founded on spiritual unity, friendship, mutual caring, and not … not…

  Oh, that kiss sure was sweet. Now Pete’s lips pressed against hers, and Patsy turned and slipped her arms around him. He cuddled her close and kissed her again. And then again. She touched his hair, discovering it was soft on her fingertips. So unlike his chin as it grazed hers.

  My goodness, it felt wonderful to have Pete surrounding her with his man-smell and his man-muscles and his man-skin. So much of Patsy’s life had been spent around women. But Pete was all male, and she didn’t know if she could ever get enough.

  “I’d like to kiss you forever,” he whispered. “You’re as sweet as maple sugar, girl.”

  “One more time,” she murmured back.

  He was more than happy to oblige, and Patsy realized she felt the same way. Forever. She wanted to be in this man’s arms for the rest of her life. It had been too many years since anyone had brought her this much satisfaction and joy—and it had all happened in the length of time it took for a few car crashes and gun battles to kill off most of the characters in the movie.

  No, that wasn’t quite right. This whirlwind of emotion had been building between them for a long time. Over the months, they had fought and argued and stopped speaking to each other. They had laughed, teased, and flirted. But they had kept a careful distance, making sure not to reveal too much or act too confident about their feelings. Until this night, in this theater, in the dark.

  “I love you, Patsy,” Pete said against her ear. “I love you so much I don’t hardly believe it myself. I’ve been feeling it for a while now, but I didn’t trust it. With you here tonight, though, I don’t have any more doubts. I love you, and that’s all there is to it.”

  It would have been enough if he had only spoken the first three words. But Pete’s confession of initial doubt and eventual certainty melted Patsy’s heart. Like a block of paraffin softening in the manicure section of her salon, her own qualms, hesitations, and fears warmed and dissolved. Pete Roberts loved her. Truly loved her. And she loved him, too.

  Swallowing back unexpected tears, Patsy watched the movie screen as a group of panting, bloodied men with torn clothes and smoke-blackened faces hugged each other and then strolled off into a jungle sunset. The music swelled, the screen went black, and the list of directors, producers, actors, and crew began to roll.

  What on earth had happened? Most important—what next? Patsy could barely stand as Pete pushed himself up from the theater seat and took her hand. Her pencil skirt had managed to walk its way at least six inches up from her knees, and she tugged on the hem to lower it. Clutching her purse to her chest like a barricade, she stepped out from the row of seats and accompanied Pete up the aisle and into the lobby.

  “Hey, Patsy and Pete!”

  Cody’s voice instantly brought Patsy to full alert, and she spotted the young man seated on a bench near the concession stand.

  He stood and waved. “I didn’t know you were here,” he called. “I’m here too. How about that?”

  “Were you in the theater just now?” Pete asked. “The one with the war movie?”

  “No, we’re getting ready to go in. But not that one. We’re seeing a movie about chickens.”

  Patsy scanned the posters lining the wall for something that resembled Cody’s description. “Who did you come with?” she asked.

  Just then, Jennifer Hansen walked out of the ladies’ room. Patsy could have dropped over dead. The young blonde, dressed in khaki slacks and a pale blue sweater, smiled when she saw them. Clearly trying to banish a coy grin, she joined the group.

  “Hey,” she said. “You two been having fun?”

  Pete shrugged. “We saw that war movie. Pretty intense.”

  “Lots of shooting,” Patsy added.

  The whole time they spoke, Patsy was looking back and forth between the two young people. Was it possible? Had Cody asked Jennifer out on a real date? Had she agreed to go with him? What could this mean?

  “Cody said you’re seeing a movie about chickens,” Patsy said. “Is it a cartoon?”

  Jennifer glanced at Cody. Then she laughed and elbowed him. “Oh, it’s a chick fli
ck! That’s what he means.”

  “Chickens,” Cody repeated. He leaned over as if to confide in Patsy. “This movie is for girls, but I’m going to watch it anyway.”

  Patsy chuckled. He certainly looked handsome in a jacket, slacks, and a clean white shirt. His curly hair was the perfect length. Maybe Jennifer Hansen—with her generous, Christlike heart—was willing to overlook some of Cody’s more unusual attributes in favor of sharing a friendship with the young man. Cody was not only good-looking, but like Jennifer, he was gentle, kind, and always sincere. Patsy hoped Jennifer knew what she was doing.

  “Oh, there they are!” Jennifer sang out. “Jessica and her fiancé came up for the weekend. We decided at the last minute to throw a group together and see this show. Look, Cody, there are the other kids from church. Everyone’s got snacks now.” She smiled again at the older couple. “Sorry, but we’ve gotta run. Come on, Cody.” Jennifer took his hand and hurried them off.

  As they neared the others, Cody turned and called over his shoulder, “Patsy, you and Pete need to wash your faces. You have got lipstick everywhere.”

  With a gasp, Patsy turned to the man beside her. Pete Roberts’ mouth and cheeks were smeared with Razzmatazz Raspberry lip gloss.

  Pete studied her for a moment in silence. Then he shook his head and guffawed. “Heavens to betsy, girl,” he chortled as he wiped his face with the back of his hand. “We make quite a pair, don’t we?”

  “I guess we do,” she told him. Hurrying toward the restroom, she added to herself, We fit together pretty well, Pete Roberts.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Esther assessed herself in the salon mirror. Patsy was busy sorting out curls with a pick, and she didn’t seem to notice as her client’s head tilted one way and then another. Definitely old, Esther decided. There could be no other way to describe herself. The face staring back at her was old. Crow’s feet fanned out from her eyes, and empty silk purses sat beneath them. Age had carved a set of parentheses around her mouth and a matched pair of exclamation points between her eyebrows.