“I said it because it’s true.” He perched on the edge of the seat, clearly reluctant to pause in his work. “When I first came to Deepwater Cove, you were happy all the time. You took strawberries to Brenda when she was feeling bad. You helped start the TLC, and you let me be the first and only male in the club. You said I was sweet and you called me punkin’. I thought you were the most cheerful person in the whole world.”
“I was—and I still am.”
“I’m sorry to disagree with you, but you’re grouchy now, Mrs. Moore. You blamed me for wrecking your car even though I didn’t. You wouldn’t let me come and clean your house because you thought I would break things. And every time I listen to you talking to somebody, I hear you complain about Mr. Moore. You have changed from who you were into someone different. That’s okay if it’s a good change, like me learning how to read and paint. But not if it turns you into a grump.”
Esther leaned back and regarded Cody. “A grump? Do you really mean that?”
“Mrs. Moore, why would I say something I didn’t mean? I always tell the truth.”
“Yes, you do, Cody.” She sighed. “Well, I’m just bumfoozled about this. Charlie said almost the exact same thing last night. We were sitting right here in the living room sorting Ashley’s beads, and all of a sudden he told me that he wants me to get back to the doctor before I have a stroke. And furthermore, he said I was forgetful, impatient, and irritable. He said I had changed.”
“I think Mr. Moore tells the truth too.” Cody fingered the vacuum cleaner button. “You are a grouch.”
“A grouch and a grump?” Esther frowned. She had always cherished the image of herself as a lighthearted sprite of a girl who laughed in the face of trouble and hard times.
“Grouch and grump are the same thing,” Cody informed her. “And it’s not good. I think you’re grouchy because Mr. Moore wants you to get your veins unclogged.”
“But I don’t want to have surgery,” Esther cried in frustration. “I just don’t! The idea of someone cutting into me is the most horrifying thing in the world. And do you know what that crazy doctor wants to do? He wants to slice open the top of my leg, float a balloon through my artery all the way up to my neck, and then blow up the balloon. He says the balloon will mash the plaque and open the artery. Then he’s going to push a piece of mesh up through my artery and leave it there. Right inside my neck. I’ll be walking around with a foreign object in my artery.”
“It’s a scary idea, Mrs. Moore,” Cody admitted. “But you should not be grouchy at Mr. Moore about it.”
“You’d be grouchy too if you were me. That surgery sounds like something doctors would have done in the olden days before they had figured out about medicine. I don’t see why I can’t simply take some pills to solve this problem.”
“Sometimes pills don’t work, Mrs. Moore. There is no pill for autism. If you’ve got it, you can’t get rid of it. I’m going to be autistic for the rest of my life until I die.”
“Well, at least you don’t have someone pestering you all the time. Charlie won’t hear of anything but putting me in the car and driving me to Springfield and making me have that surgery. Last night, we argued about it all the way from dinner through the talk shows—way past our bedtime. I said no, no, no. But Charlie would not give up. Can’t you see why he irritates the living daylights out of me? It’s my neck! I ought to be able to say what happens to it.”
“It’s your neck, but you are his wife. He wants you to get it fixed, and you should stop being grouchy—”
“Will you stop saying that word?” Esther stood and crossed her arms. “All right, maybe I have had a bad attitude lately. Maybe I have been negative and critical of Charlie.”
“There’s no maybe about it, Mrs. Moore. There are so many good things about your husband, but you’re looking at the bad ones. Everyone does irritating things. Even you.”
Esther stared at Cody. “Me?”
Cody nodded. “Definitely.”
“Oh, what would you know about it anyway?” Esther said. “I love you, Cody, but you certainly can be aggravating.”
“I love you, too, Mrs. Moore. And you certainly are a grump.”
They regarded each other in silence. Esther considered all the rebuttals she might make to Cody’s blunt analysis of her personality. But the fact was, Charlie had been getting on her nerves lately. Ever since the accident, she felt achy and tired and … yes, grumpy. A big part of it was this dark cloud around her head all the time. She couldn’t think straight. She lost track in the middle of conversations. She forgot what she’d been doing. It was so annoying, and it frightened her.
“I’m going to vacuum some more now,” Cody said.
“Hold on a minute there, young man.” Esther narrowed her eyes as she studied him. “You didn’t answer my question. You didn’t tell me what Jennifer said after you expressed your love for her the other day.”
The young man rolled his eyes and flopped back on the chair. “What does she always say, Mrs. Moore? ‘I love you, too, Cody. Everyone does.’ Jennifer loves me the same way you do. But I love her different from the way I love you. When you hug me, I don’t mind, even though I’m not crazy about people touching me. But when I get near Jennifer, I start to wish she would hug me. Kiss me too. I think I would like a kiss from Jennifer. A kiss from her would be a good thing.”
“But, Cody, you and Jennifer are poles apart, honeybunch. Can’t you see that? She was raised by Steve and Brenda in a lovely home, and she has a good education. A college degree! She’s studying to be a missionary because she feels God has called her to tell people about Jesus—people who live far away from Deepwater Cove.”
“I know all about Jennifer. And you didn’t even mention the main things that make me love her. She’s pretty and nice and honest.”
“Those are important, but not in the long run.” Esther paused. “Maybe some of them are. Well, maybe all of them are. In fact, maybe those things are more important than her upbringing and her education. Oh, never mind, Cody. Jennifer is truly a sweetheart in every way. She would make a wonderful girlfriend for you. Even a wife. She’d be a great wife.”
“I think so too.”
“But what about you?”
He shrugged. “I’m handsome. I’m nice and honest too. Everyone says so. I think Jennifer and I would live a very happy life together, especially because I love her so much.”
“But you and Jennifer are different, Cody.” Esther struggled with how to express her fears in a gentle way. The idea that Cody might be deeply hurt by love was almost more than she could bear. And yet, she didn’t want to injure him herself.
“I’m very different,” he was saying. “I haven’t met too many men my age, but I can tell you I’m nothing like them. I would never beat up someone or call them names the way those guys did to me before I came to Deepwater Cove. I’m very strong now, and I could protect myself and Jennifer. I also know how to earn money. I can keep a house clean and arrange flowers and paint pictures. I can say Scripture verses better than almost anyone. Plus, I’m autistic, which is definitely different. Most people don’t have that. God made me just the way He wanted me, and that is something special.”
Esther could feel the tears building. She was afraid they might start to roll down her cheeks and she would make a scene. All those fancy psychologists had labeled autism a disability. They called it abnormal—as if anyone in the world knew what normal really meant. But Cody thought autism was an exceptional gift from God! A blessing! Oh, how would he ever understand the harsh realities of this cruel, sinful world?
“Well, Cody,” she managed, “you are indeed a wonderful, amazing, and talented young man. It is my privilege to know you.”
“Even though I’m aggravating and you’re a grump, we’re good friends. That’s a great thing, Mrs. Moore. All the same, I think you should get your artery cleaned out. Every time I look at you, I think about your clogged-up neck vein. And to tell you the truth, it makes me want to
vomit.”
With that, he stood, turned on the vacuum cleaner, and headed for the television.
Nail gun in hand, Charlie climbed the ladder. Of all the foolish things he had done in his life, this had to rank among the top ten. What business did a man his age have climbing ladders, wielding compressor-driven nail guns, and power-sawing lumber? If Esther could see him now, she would have a fit. Any minute, he could lose his balance and topple to the ground, shattering every bone in his old, worn-out body.
“How’re you doing up there, Mr. Moore?” Brad Hanes called from below.
“Oh, fine. Just fine.” Charlie shot several nails into a two-by-four.
Each time the gun fired a nail, a burst of air nearly knocked his glasses off his nose. What had become of the good old days when a man used a bona fide hammer to pound in a nail? Well, come to think of it, Charlie probably wouldn’t be much use at that anymore, he realized. Way back when he was a young whippersnapper, hauling heavy mailbags around all day had given him bulging biceps, a trim physique, and plenty of stamina. But on this project, it was all he could do to keep up with his partner.
“The last of the insulation should be here tomorrow,” the younger man said. “I’ve had to buy it little by little when I had cash on hand. Ashley maxed out the credit cards again. The washing machine died the other day, and before I even got home from work, she had bought and installed a new one.”
“Ashley set it up?” Charlie tried to picture the tall, thin, beaded redhead muscling an old washer out of a house and hauling a new one into its place. “You mean she hooked up the plumbing?”
“Electricity, too. The whole nine yards. Didn’t ask for my help, even though that’s the kind of thing I do for living. I’m sure we could have gotten the old machine repaired. But no, she had to have a new one. Top-of-the-line stainless steel.”
Charlie descended gingerly from one rung to the next. When his feet finally touched the plywood floor of the new room, he let out a sigh of relief.
“Ashley said she’d pay down that credit card with her necklace money,” Brad was telling Charlie. “But so far, her little business venture has been nothing but a cash drain. She keeps saying the bead business is going to make a lot of money one of these days, but if you ask me, she sounds exactly like her dad.”
“Ashley’s father runs a snack shop, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah. He’s got that dinky little hot dog and ice cream shop in Camdenton. You know the one I mean? It’s over by the high school. Ashley worked there forever.”
“I believe I remember her telling Esther and me that the two of you met at her father’s little restaurant. She said you kept coming by for ice cream—even in the winter.”
“I may have. You do dumb things when you’re young.”
Charlie recalled the first moment he ever laid eyes on Esther—right down to her purple sweater and matching purse. Brad was so cynical and hardened, he wouldn’t even acknowledge courting Ashley. What a kid.
Though Charlie was ready to leave the job site and get on home, he had done quite a bit of praying that Brad would open up to him in a more personal way. Most days, the young man jabbered about his job or about tools, trucks, movies, and electronic games. Half the time Charlie had no idea what he was saying. So this afternoon when Brad began talking about his wife, Charlie put off his departure.
“I used to like Ashley’s father,” Brad said while he and Charlie gathered up tools and arranged the toolbox. “But these days he bugs me. Bottom line—the guy’s an idiot. I wouldn’t tell Ashley that, but it’s true. Her dad is always talking about how he wants to expand his business. He thinks he’s going to turn a huge profit with one of his crazy ideas. First he decided to install a frozen yogurt machine—it was the sure thing that would transform him into a millionaire. Next it was onion blossoms. Then it was jalapeño poppers. He has one get-rich scheme after another, so he invests in new equipment and all kinds of ingredients. Then he’s shocked when tax time rolls around and he hasn’t made any more money than he did the year before. I’m not going to stand by and let Ashley run us into the ground like that.”
“I’m sure Ashley’s father is no fool,” Charlie observed. “The food industry is very competitive, and he’s kept that shop going for a long time. Still, those schemes can cost a fellow. Maybe he ought to just stick with what sells.”
Rolling up a heavy-duty extension cord, Charlie began to wonder what Esther had made for dinner. All this talk of hot dogs, onion blossoms, and ice cream was making him hungry. They had finally eaten the last of the frozen casseroles that friends and neighbors had brought over after her car accident, and now she was back to creating meals from scratch.
“It’s feast or famine with Ashley’s family.” Brad spat tobacco juice on the floor of the new addition—a habit that had not endeared him to Charlie. But the kid kept talking, so Charlie kept listening.
“All summer, the hot dog place does a booming business with the tourists in town,” Brad said. “Then in the winter, Ashley’s father relies on high schoolers to stop by on their way home. Those kids don’t spend anywhere near what he makes in the summer. Ashley told me there were years when all the clothes and shoes she and her sisters wore came from the thrift shop. And even though the family owned a restaurant, her mom would have to go to a free food pantry to get enough for their own table. That’s pretty pathetic.”
“You may not care for the father,” Charlie said, “but it sounds like you care an awful lot about Ashley.”
“I married her, didn’t I?”
Brad said this with such contempt, sarcasm, and hopelessness that Charlie felt a strong urge to grab the kid by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. Ashley was sweet and innocent. It wasn’t her fault that her father had mismanaged his business. Didn’t Brad even remember why he had married the pretty redhead?
Charlie swallowed his ire and focused his eyes on the work the two had accomplished this afternoon. He couldn’t remember ever feeling as angry or frustrated with Esther as Brad was with Ashley. Charlie had always looked forward to coming home to her and the children each evening. Weekends were the best—days of laughter, games, picnics, and rest. What had come between the Hanes kids to cause such strife?
“I’d say we got a lot done today,” Charlie observed. When Brad didn’t respond, he added, “Ashley ought to be happy about all we’ve accomplished so far. Have you two decided whether we’re building a garage or a nursery?”
“It’s a spare room. I told her I didn’t want a baby right now. What’s the point? She doesn’t even like me half the time. I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring a kid into that kind of marriage.”
“You’re a wise man,” Charlie remarked. After a pause, he asked, “So why can’t you figure out what Ashley’s mad about these days?”
Brad shook his head. “If I ask her what’s wrong, she starts crying. Then she clams up. Then she talks and talks until I can’t stand to listen to another minute of it. I have no clue what her problem is. All I want is what every man wants, you know? A wife, three square meals, clean clothes. I thought we’d really like being married. Ashley used to be a lot of fun. Now … forget it.”
“You sound like a man from my generation, Brad. But you didn’t marry Susie Homemaker. You’ve got a wife who can set up a new washing machine all by herself. Ashley works full-time at the country club, and she’s doing her best to keep up with the bead orders that keep coming in. She’s got to send those necklaces and bracelets out before Christmas, you know. And you expect her to do all the cooking and laundry too? Don’t most young fellows help out with that kind of thing these days?”
“Not me. I’m no pansy. I work construction all day. Now I’m working on this project every afternoon. I’m not about to do the ironing or put dinner on the table. That’s Ashley’s job.”
“I see.” Charlie scratched his chin. He’d had pretty much the same idea about Esther throughout their marriage. Only Esther had never worked outside their home. Car
ing for the family and house was her chosen vocation, and she did it extremely well.
“You sure you’ve really talked this over with Ashley?” Charlie asked Brad. “Maybe you need to try a little harder to get everything out in the open. Tell her how you feel, and let her do the same. Nothing beats a good, honest conversation for resolving problems.”
A smirk on his face, Brad hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. “So, when is Mrs. Moore getting her artery cleaned out? Did you ever get that problem resolved?”
Charlie shook his head and had to laugh. “You’ve got me there, kid. No amount of talking can convince her to let the doctor operate. She won’t hear of it.”
“You know what I think, Mr. Moore? I think women only hear what they want to hear. And half of what they do hear, they imagine. Like, I’ll be sitting in the living room watching a football game, and Ashley will start crying and saying I ignore her. I’m not ignoring her. I’m just trying to watch the game. She imagines stuff. Totally dreams it up. Admit it, Mr. Moore. There’s no point in trying to talk to women, and there’s no use in listening to them either. If you’re married, you have to just do your own thing and hope you survive another day.”
With that, he spat another stream of tobacco juice on the floor.
Charlie thought about Esther for a moment. It certainly seemed like they’d had a good marriage. But she did tend to chatter on and on until he often lost interest—or found himself distracted. Listening to Esther could be a chore. And, now that Brad had brought it up, Charlie realized he hadn’t had much success in talking to his wife lately either. Esther had point-blank refused to hear another word about her artery. Come to think of it, Charlie had never been able to get her to discuss George Snyder and the sketch in her dresser drawer.
Had they been fooling themselves all these years? They had imagined themselves happily married … but in reality, had they been more like Brad and Ashley, simply doing their own thing and hoping to survive another day?
Falling for You Again Page 14