Falling for You Again

by Catherine Palmer

  Esther was in the process of thanking the good Lord for that when she noticed the salon’s front door swinging open.

  “Oh, look,” she said loudly enough that Patsy and Jennifer both turned in her direction. “Here comes Charlie to pick me up. And wearing that awful green sweater. What is wrong with the man?”

  Charlie ambled over as Esther stood and did her usual twirl in front of him. “What do you think, sweetie pie?” she asked.

  “Pretty as the day I first laid eyes on you.”

  Charlie always said the same thing after her set-and-style. Esther slipped her arm through his and stood on tiptoe to peck his cheek. “Come on, you old goober. Let’s go home.”

  As they headed out the door, Patsy ran after them with Esther’s purse. She and Charlie stood chatting beside the car while Esther settled herself in the passenger seat. Esther didn’t like it that he wouldn’t even discuss buying her a new vehicle. But if there wasn’t enough money in the bank, what good would it do to complain?

  “Patsy sure did a great job on your hair,” Charlie said as he climbed in and started the engine. “Did you two have a nice visit?”

  Esther set her hands on her purse. For some reason, she couldn’t remember a thing she and Patsy had discussed, but wasn’t that the way it always was with women? You chatted and shared and poured out your heart, and then you went on your way—too busy with life to give anything else much thought.

  “We had a good talk,” she told her husband. “But honestly, Charlie, haven’t I told you a hundred times not to wear your green sweater with those pants? You are so forgetful these days.”

  Every Wednesday morning, Steve Hansen and a group of local men arrived at Rods-N-Ends for their weekly Bible study. Charlie never missed a meeting. In fact, of all the events that floated through his week, this was the anchor. Not even a trip to Aunt Mamie’s Good Food could beat the opportunity to get together with friends, drink a cup of steaming coffee, and talk things over in the storage area at the back of the bait-and-tackle shop.

  “Mornin’, Charlie,” Pete called out from the cash register.

  Pete was calculating change for a gas customer, so he couldn’t stop to chat. Charlie didn’t mind. He could see that Derek Finley had taken his usual spot already. Last week, the young Water Patrol officer had asked the group for prayer. He told the men that his mother was thinking about buying a house in Deepwater Cove. She had been looking at the small place beside Brad and Ashley Hanes’ property. It was far less grandiose than the home she had owned in St. Louis. No chandeliers or winding staircases or twelve-foot ceilings. No need for a maid or a yardman. But it stood only five houses away from the Finleys’ property, and Miranda wanted to live near her son and his family.

  The idea was all right with Derek. Kim had agreed to it too. The main thing, Derek told the Bible study group, was that for everyone’s sake, Miranda needed to get out on her own again. She had been helpful with the twins during the summer, but now too many toes were getting stepped on. A blended family was difficult enough without adding a mother-in-law to the mix.

  “Hey, Charlie.” Derek looked up from the open Bible he’d been reading. “How are you this morning?”

  “Couldn’t be better if I was twins.” Charlie eased himself down onto one of the cold metal folding chairs Pete had rounded up. Chilly autumn mornings made his joints ache a little more than usual. “Been keeping you in my prayers. Any news from the home front?”

  “Well, speaking of twins, Luke had a problem with his diabetes at school the other day. It wasn’t a major crisis, but it upset Lydia all over again. They put the kids in separate classrooms, which means she can’t keep an eye on him. She hates that—gripes about it all the time.”

  “I’ll bet she does. But the school is probably doing the right thing. This way, Luke has a little breathing room, and the teacher and the other children are forced to pay better attention to him. That’s how it should be. I imagine the separation doesn’t hurt Lydia’s concentration in class either. If she was always watching her brother, she’d never get anything done.”

  “You got that right,” Derek told him. “Kim and I are happy with the situation, though she worries about Luke all the time he’s out of her sight. You know women.”

  “I’d like to think I do.” Charlie chuckled. “That wife of mine keeps me hopping, though. Did I tell you the latest? Esther has refused to get her carotid artery cleaned out.”

  “You didn’t mention that. Charlie, you’d better make it a prayer request. Esther needs to get that taken care of. Angioplasty and carotid stenting are common procedures these days. Living with blocked arteries can lead to all kinds of problems.”

  “I know. That’s exactly what the doctor told her. But she’s afraid he’ll knock a piece of plaque loose and give her a stroke. She compared the surgery to unplugging a drain.”

  Derek grinned. “It’s a medical process, not a plumbing problem. Esther is more likely to have a stroke if she doesn’t get her artery opened up.”

  “You try telling her that.”

  “I will, if you want me to. I’ve seen too many heart attack and stroke victims out on the lake. It’s important for Esther to stay healthy as long as she can. She’s still young.”

  Charlie thought about that for a moment. “I guess we’re not as old as we think. Once in a while I feel the years, but staying busy keeps me young. I’m already itching to get back to my garden, and I’ve only just put it to bed. Spring is months away, but I can’t wait to get my hands down into the dirt again.”

  “I hear you’re going to help Brad Hanes finish that nursery he’s been building on the side of the house. Kim thinks it’s wonderful that you’ve volunteered your services.”

  “I’m not sure what I’ve gotten myself into, to tell you the truth.” Charlie scratched behind his ear. “That boy has some things he needs to figure out. Having a baby won’t make it any easier.”

  “You and Esther started out pretty young, didn’t you?”

  “Oh yeah, we were dumb kids too.”

  Charlie stood and went to the coffeemaker. The memory of those early years instantly brought the issue of George Snyder to mind. Every time Charlie decided to confront Esther about the sketch in her dresser drawer, something stopped him. One or the other of them was busy. Or visitors suddenly dropped by. Or he fell asleep in front of the TV before she went off to bed. He had never managed to get the question out of his mouth. And he was beginning to think maybe he really didn’t want to know the answer.

  “I waited a long time to marry,” Derek was saying. “If you ask me, it doesn’t matter what age you are. It’s never easy.”

  “Nope,” Charlie agreed as he stirred creamer into his cup. “Not easy … but it does get better as the years go by. Most of the time, anyhow. I guess after a while you stop thinking about whether your marriage is working or not. You’re doing it, and that’s all that counts. You’re working, taking care of kids, heading off on the occasional vacation. The way I see it, Esther’s there, same as always. Sometimes I can’t even remember when she wasn’t. I sure can’t imagine losing her.”

  Derek stuck a finger in his Bible and closed it as Charlie seated himself again. It seemed like the younger man had something he wanted to say, but now the other fellows in the group were entering the tackle shop, greeting Pete, and heading toward the Bible study area.

  “Listen, Charlie,” Derek said in a low voice, “you’ve got to get Esther back to the doctor. You’ve already had two driving incidents that could have turned out a lot worse. Kim says she’s worried about Esther. Evidently there have been a few times they’ve spoken—and once or twice at TLC meetings—when Esther seemed to have blanked out for a few moments. Kim’s concerned she might be having ministrokes.”

  Charlie sat up straight and sloshed a drop of hot coffee on his thumb. “Ministrokes?”

  “The technical name is transient ischemic attacks. We call them TIAs. I didn’t want to scare you, so I haven’t mentioned it
before. For quite a while, I’ve been feeling like I ought to say something, but I’d heard Esther was going to have the angioplasty and stent. Now that I know she refused treatment, I think I’d better be blunt.”

  Swallowing down the sudden fear that lodged in his throat, Charlie nodded. “Go ahead. Give it to me straight, Derek.”

  “You probably wouldn’t even have noticed these ministrokes, but they damage the brain’s cortex. That’s the area associated with learning, memory, and language. The lapses in Esther’s short-term recall and the driving problems she’s had could all be tied into it. This kind of memory loss—it’s known as vascular dementia—is degenerative.”

  “Dementia?” The word sounded like something out of a horror movie. Charlie didn’t even like to say it aloud.

  Derek wasn’t finished. “And when a person starts having TIAs, it’s common for a major stroke to follow eventually. You’ve got to get her back to the doctor, Charlie.”

  The other men were settling onto the chairs. They’d been discussing the weather and how it was affecting fishing. Crappie were biting well right now, Steve Hansen told the others. He had been out the evening before and caught a stringer full. One of the fellows launched into a tale about hooking into a big gar, a story that soon had the rest of them laughing.

  Charlie couldn’t move. Couldn’t focus on anything but the caramel-colored circle of coffee in his cup. Couldn’t even think beyond that one word.

  Dementia.

  Wasn’t it every person’s nightmare? To be physically fit yet unable to recall a loved one’s face or name would be worse than death, Charlie had always thought. He hated the idea so much, in fact, that he’d refused to give it the time of day. No one in his family had suffered from Alzheimer’s disease, and he kept his own brain sharp by dueling wits with game show contestants. That and filling in crossword puzzles, working out the measurements for a building project, planning his garden. He intended to stay mentally alert and healthy right up until the end of his days.

  It had never occurred to him that Esther might have a problem. Sure, she was forgetful, but who wasn’t occasionally? Just the other day, Charlie had gone to put a casserole in the oven, but he had opened the dishwasher door by mistake. Sometimes he couldn’t dredge up a name or a face. Once in a while, he couldn’t even come up with the simplest word—and right in the middle of a sentence. Brain lapses were common, weren’t they? Take George Snyder, for instance. How long had it taken Charlie to put that memory back together?

  No, it couldn’t be possible. Not Esther.

  All the same, Charlie intended to buckle her into the car and drive her back to the doctor in Springfield right away—no matter how much she protested. Esther could be nagging, irritable, angry, and even confused. But Charlie wasn’t about to lose her. No sir.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Cody was nowhere in sight when Esther entered the living room the following afternoon. She glanced at the dust on the coffee table, the scraps of dried leaves Boofer had dragged across the carpet, and the newspapers piled on the floor beside the couch. Not a single job done.

  “I ought to tan your hide, Cody Goss,” she grumbled. “Where have you gone off to now?”

  “I’m right here!” Cody’s head appeared in a space between the couch and the wall. Curly hair framed his bright blue eyes as he smiled at her. “You have dust bunnies, Mrs. Moore. I also found a pen. And part of a cracker. And this bone.”

  He held up the artifacts as he scooted backward into the open again. Before Esther could react, Cody had spread out the grimy objects—including the dust bunnies—on the coffee table as though they were jewels he had dug from a mine in Africa.

  “Put that nasty stuff into the trash,” she told the young man. “Don’t scatter it all over my nice furniture.” Cody slid his hands into his jeans pockets and studied the collection. “That’s Boofer’s bone, you know. He might want it. I don’t think I should throw it away.”

  “He’s finished with it, or it wouldn’t have been back there behind the couch. Honestly, Cody, you can be so frustrating. We hired you to dust, vacuum, and take the newspapers to the recycling bin. Instead, you go rooting around under the furniture.”

  Cody’s eyes filled with sympathy as he looked at Esther. “That is part of vacuuming,” he explained, gently patting her arm. “Jennifer told me to move all the furniture away from the wall, then pick up the dust bunnies, and then run the cleaner over the whole carpet—even the part under the couches and chairs. That’s how you’re supposed to do it, Mrs. Moore. Didn’t anyone ever teach you?”

  Esther shook her head in frustration. “You can’t do all that work every single time, Cody. I just want you to take care of this central area where everyone walks. See the leaves near the front door? And there’s a sock Boofer dragged out of the laundry. That’s all I need—a simple vacuuming.”

  “But, Mrs. Moore, I can do all that work every time,” Cody said solemnly. “I’m very strong. I know how to move things around without breaking them. Besides, you have so many dust bunnies that we might need to start a bunny farm. That’s a joke.”

  Lately the young man had been trying to learn how to kid around. Esther had noted from the beginning that Cody didn’t seem to understand humor, and he took most playful jests in all seriousness. Someone—probably Jennifer Hansen—had taken it upon herself to teach him about joke-telling. Clearly, her efforts had been in vain.

  “It’s funny because rabbits are very …” Cody paused, searching the ceiling. “Prolific. That means grown-up rabbits make lots of baby rabbits. I read about rabbits in one of the animal books I got at the library. Last Saturday, Mrs. Finley took me there with the twins, and I checked out all the animal books I could carry, which was a lot because, as I said, I’m very strong. So, anyhow, my joke was that if you had too many rabbits, you would need to put them on a farm. That’s why I said you might have to start a dust bunny farm. Get it?”

  Esther pursed her lips and gave Cody a hug. “Very funny. But if I’m going to pay you to clean this house, you’d better stop making jokes and start working. They always say women are big talkers, but you and Charlie chatter like a couple of chipmunks. He’s probably out there right now, rambling on and on to poor Brad Hanes, who only wants to get his new room built.”

  Picking up the objects he’d found behind the couch, Cody spoke again. “How come you’re always mad at Mr. Moore these days? Have you forgotten how nice he is? He’s the kindest man of all the old people in Deepwater Cove. When I went to Kansas to see my aunt, I used to think about Mr. Moore a lot. I decided he was one of my favorite friends.”

  Esther had been starting toward the kitchen, but at Cody’s words, she paused. “I’m not mad at Charlie. Whatever would make you say a thing like that? He’s my dear husband of almost fifty years, and I love him very much.”

  “You gripe at him.”

  “Everyone gripes now and then. No one can be in a good mood all the time. Besides, Charlie is a handful, let me tell you.”

  “A hand full of what?”

  “Of irritating comments and muttering and annoying behavior, that’s what.”

  “Are you sure? Because that’s not how I see him. He’s friendly to me. He stops and talks to me when he’s driving his golf cart with Boofer. He laughs at my jokes too, and he tells me new ones that I never heard before.”

  Remorseful that she hadn’t been more understanding about Cody’s efforts at humor, Esther let out a breath. “My husband is a wonderful man or I wouldn’t have married him. You know I love him, Cody. And Charlie knows it too.”

  “I think love is something you do more than something you know.” Cody took the vacuum cleaner from the entryway closet and plugged in the cord. “You shouldn’t gripe at Mr. Moore, because then he might think you don’t love him. People trust what you do more than what you say. That’s what I explained to Jennifer. She can see that I love her because I painted pictures of her on Patsy Pringle’s wall. Also because I listen to her when she’s t
alking about important things like taking the gospel to foreign lands. And on top of that, I buy hot dogs for her from Pete’s Rods-N-Ends. Jennifer likes hot dogs nearly as much as I do, and when I buy them with my own money, then she can see how much I love her. She doesn’t have to know it. She can see me doing it.”

  “Aha,” Esther murmured.

  She realized this afternoon’s housecleaning effort was going nowhere, and her feet were already killing her. She settled down on the sofa and curled up her legs. Might as well be comfortable if she was going to listen to Cody. The boy was a sweetheart, but my goodness, he could yammer on and on until Esther completely lost track of what he was talking about.

  She propped a pillow behind her back and settled in for a long conversation. “What did Jennifer say when you told her how much you love her?”

  Cody gave her an uncomfortable look and then turned on the vacuum cleaner. The loud whine obliterated any hope of a discussion. Obviously he didn’t want to talk about Jennifer’s reaction. Esther guessed that the young woman’s response must not have been what Cody was hoping to hear.

  She sat for a minute, watching as he worked the machine under and around Charlie’s big recliner. The boy was right about how strong he was. Cody could probably pick up the couch all by himself.

  But what about those things he had said earlier? Did Esther really gripe at her husband? In public? Surely not. Charlie could be troublesome all right, and she did have plenty to complain about. But if she was ever unhappy, she kept it to herself. Didn’t she?

  In the midst of Esther’s reflections, Cody turned off the vacuum. “You’ll have to get up now, Mrs. Moore. I need to clean under the couch. I could scoot it over, but you might fall off.”

  “Now you just sit down here a minute, Cody. And don’t turn that machine on again until we’re done talking.” She pointed at the chair across from the couch. “Tell me why you said I gripe at Charlie.”