Summer Breeze

by Catherine Palmer

  Derek shrugged. “Something bigger and stronger than I am. Someone. I don’t know, Kim. I don’t have a name for it.”

  She dropped her head on her arms. “Oh, why did I marry you? You’re not even close to sharing my faith in God. Now here I am stuck with you and your mother. Both the same.”

  “My mother and I are not the—” As if suddenly aware of the vehemence in his voice, Derek cut himself off. He tightened his hands into fists again. “You feel like my mother and I are alike,” he said. “And that makes you angry.”

  Kim sniffled, knowing her tears were dripping onto the utility bill. But she couldn’t lift her head. “You know what’s worse? The twins now love her. The other day they told me they’re glad she’s moved in with us permanently. I can’t believe I’ll have to put up with Miranda and her criticisms, her weird pizza, her tai chi, her incense. I’m faced with this wicked presence infecting me and my children for the rest of my life. Grandma Finley, spouting her phony spirituality and influencing the family in ways that terrify me. And you … you just sit there.”

  This time his exhaled breath was shaky. “Okay, I hear you,” he whispered.

  “What do you hear?” she fired back at him, lifting her head. “What do you even think I’m saying, Derek?”

  He was quiet for a long moment. Kim was about to deride his silence when he spoke.

  “You’re saying you want a stronger, more influential male in the house. And you’re right to expect that. I’m so used to my mother’s ways that when she came here, I didn’t see how she was affecting us. I didn’t challenge her or stand up to her, because her presence felt normal to me, and I hoped the trouble with you would blow over. But I don’t want her to dominate our family. I don’t want her manipulating anyone—especially you or the kids. Or me.” He stood suddenly, scraping back the chair. “And I don’t want her bizarre …”

  Before he could finish his own sentence, Derek turned and pushed through the screen door, slamming it against the side of the house. He strode onto the deck and wrenched his mother’s small wooden altar from the corner under the eave where she had nailed it.

  Half frightened and half in shock, Kim hurried after her husband as he snatched up Miranda’s CD player, her incense burner, and her little statuettes. Cradling those objects in one arm, he reared back like a baseball pitcher and hurled the altar off the deck. The CD player and incense burner went next. Finally the statues and other items sailed one by one through the moonlight into the darkness beyond the deck.

  Kim leaned against the railing as she heard a series of splashes from the lake. Gripping the wood beam, she held her breath. What had just happened? What did this mean?

  “There,” Derek announced, dusting off his palms. His voice was almost jaunty when he spoke again. “Now, what else? What’s wrong, Kim, honey? Can you tell me that?”

  She searched her mind. Suddenly all the things she had piled up against him didn’t seem so huge. The gambling, the bank account, the twins, the family rules, even Miranda … they were crumbling, fragmenting into grains of sand as her broken husband mended and stood tall again.

  “Nothing,” she managed to whisper.

  “Then may I have your permission to spell out the list?”

  “Yes.”

  “Gambling,” he stated. “Can I tell you about that?”

  “Of course. I wish you would.”

  “I have to go to GA meetings. So, from now on, I’ll call and tell you what I’m doing, and then I’ll go. I’m eleven years clean, and I don’t expect to fall off the wagon. But GA is a part of my world, and I should have shared it with you. I’ll try to start doing that.”

  “Okay.”

  “Debt. There’s no way I can erase it. I made mistakes, and now I have to pay for them—literally. But I promise I’ll stop putting your money toward paying it down. Maybe one day we’ll inherit my mother’s estate, but until then—”

  “Use my money too, Derek,” she said suddenly. “If we can let this be a decision we make together, I won’t mind.”

  He eyed her for a moment. Then he nodded. “Church,” he said. “Another issue. From next Sunday forward, every time I’m working the late shift or have a free day, I’ll go with you. In fact, I’ll request Sundays off. I can’t promise to be good at doing church. I won’t say I know God the way you do. But … but I do believe He’s here … and He …” Suddenly Derek laughed. “Well, come to think of it, He came through for me tonight when I couldn’t think what else to do but pray.”

  “You prayed?”

  Spreading his arms, Derek looked into Kim’s eyes. “I love you, honey. I love you so much. I’m sorry I hurt you and lied to you. I don’t have any excuses. Just know that I’ll do my best … that I already am doing my best to be the man you want. The husband you deserve. Can you try to start trusting me again? Can you love me too? Even just a little?”

  Before she knew it, Kim had slipped into her husband’s embrace. His arms came around her, wrapping her tightly against him. She laid her cheek on his shoulder and let the tears fall. It wasn’t perfect, this marriage they had cobbled together. She saw the flimsy construction of their hastily built foundation all too clearly now. So the cracks had begun to show. Would the walls cave in next? Would the roof collapse?

  “What can I do, Derek?” she asked him as he rocked her gently. “How can I help make us better?”

  He fell quiet, and she trailed her fingers up and down his spine as he considered her question. Finally, when he spoke, his voice was low and throaty. “You could let me out of my shining armor. I’m a lot better at patrolling Party Cove than slaying dragons.”

  Kim nearly said something about his mother, but she decided against it. She would forever remember those distant splashes in the night—the definite sounds of a dragon’s death throes.

  “You might go to a Gam-Anon meeting,” he continued. “Gam-Anon is for families. Maybe if you met with other wives and husbands of gamblers, you could understand me a little better.”

  “Okay. I’ll go. What else?”

  “Try to accept our differences. Is it so bad that I’m a quiet man? that I don’t have a lot to tell you about my work each day? that my inner thoughts aren’t all that deep and profound? And isn’t it okay that I like to show I love you by telling you how beautiful you are? My compliments aren’t candy at a parade, Kim. They’re the truth. Maybe I don’t do loads of laundry or cook great meals to express my feelings. That’s your way. My way is to say that I think you’re the most wonderful, amazing, gorgeous creature on God’s green earth. And I mean that.”

  “Oh, Derek,” she said, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. Then she spoke the words she had been pondering for months now. “How about a baby? Would that help us?”

  To her surprise, he shook his head. “Let’s wait, Kim. You know how much I want another child. But we need some time right here. With my mother, Luke’s diabetes, this new honesty … we need to rebuild. I need to become a better fisherman.”

  “What does this have to do with fishing?” she asked, puzzled.

  “Talk to Charlie Moore sometime. Maybe he’ll let you in on the secret.”

  Kim tightened her arms around her husband’s chest. “I’m in the mood for rebuilding,” she told him. “Or fishing. Or whatever.”

  At that, she felt Derek’s biceps suddenly tighten. “Whatever?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she murmured.

  With a deep chuckle, he lowered his head and kissed her. “Whatever sounds great to me.”

  As Patsy finished spraying Esther Moore’s weekly set-and-style, she realized she did not have a good feeling about things in Deepwater Cove. Summer was winding to a close, and too many troublesome situations had been left hanging. Patsy wanted all her problems—and everyone else’s—tied up with neat little bows. But that just wasn’t happening.

  The most recent meeting of the Tea Lovers’ Club had confirmed that not a single woman had received a second letter from Cody Goss. Shortly after arrivi
ng in Kansas, he had written to nearly everyone in the neighborhood—with the exact same news in each letter. But that was it. Not another word. Patsy had considered asking Miranda Finley if she still had a phone number for Cody’s aunt.

  But the thought of Miranda brought up yet another issue. A big one. Derek’s mother was no longer a happy camper at the Finley house. She had moved in. Permanently. To complicate matters, Derek had decided that if his mother was moving in, some other things were moving out. Permanently.

  Charlie Moore had discovered one of those things washed up on the lakeshore a few mornings ago. He had taken the former altar home to Esther, who had placed the entire problem in Patsy’s lap.

  “Well, what do you think we should do?” Esther asked her for the fifteenth time that afternoon. “Should we return it? Or keep it? Or should we throw it away ourselves?”

  Patsy covered one of Esther’s ears and plastered a curlicue into place with megahold spray. She knew she’d hear no end of complaining if a single strand of that snowy halo wandered from its assigned position. A tornado could land on Esther Moore’s head and not a hair would budge.

  “The question is,” Patsy said, “how did the thing end up in the lake? Are you positive Derek is the culprit? Or could it have been Kim?”

  “Or maybe it was Jennifer Hansen,” Esther suggested with a little gasp. “You recall how she and Miranda argued about religion a few weeks back? Maybe she crept over to the Finley house under cover of darkness and threw everything over the side of their deck. She referred to the statues as idols, you’ll remember. At least, that’s what Brenda told me when she related the whole argument. I wasn’t a personal observer. Were you?”

  “I heard the two of them discussing matters of faith,” Patsy said. She used the end of a rat-tail comb to lift and define a few more of Esther’s silver curls. “But I don’t think that’s the sort of thing Jennifer would do. She’s such a sweet young woman.”

  “Oh, don’t we know it? Every time I come in here, I see her staring down at me from those portraits Cody painted. That boy was in love, Patsy. I’m telling you, he was truly besotted. How could he just go off and leave us the way he did?”

  Patsy gave the answer she had told herself over and over. “His aunt wanted him.”

  “I surely do miss him. In fact, I can see why Jennifer Hansen is so kind to him. He was a handsome fellow once we got him cleaned up. And he was learning so much with Brenda’s help. Did you see how clear and perfect his penmanship was in those letters he wrote us? Not to mention what a fine young Christian man he turned out to be. Well, to tell you the truth, Patsy, I was halfway to loving that boy like a son.”

  “Cody had us all wrapped around his little finger; that’s for sure.” To keep from crying, Patsy turned her thoughts to the other problem weighing on her heart. Esther’s use of the word halfway had reminded Patsy of her next-door neighbor in the strip of shops.

  Pete Roberts had been back to church since their spat over the Fourth of July lawn chair incident, but he didn’t seem to be one iota closer to the Lord than he’d ever been. He trudged to Bible study and worship service every Sunday morning, same as before. Then he and Patsy ate lunch at Aunt Mamie’s Good Food, and that appeared to be all Pete cared to do. In fact, she had a sneaking suspicion that he had figured out a way to sleep with his eyes open during the sermon. One time he even let out a thunderous snore that startled everyone for two rows around them.

  “I have to tell you that they did look like idols,” Esther was saying as she preened in front of the mirror. Once Patsy finished with the do, Esther liked to take a hand mirror and check all the way around to the back to make sure each curl was cemented into position.

  “During the party for Cody and the twins, I went over and took a closer look,” she continued, poking a finger at a stray wisp near her neck. “You know, the big one was made out of brass. But she also had a clay one, some pink silk flowers, a few sticks of incense, and some other things. The altar floated in and got caught on a piece of driftwood near the shore. Charlie thinks the brass statue is ten feet underwater, but we both saw it at the party. Which reminds me of Cody all over again. Oh, Patsy, how are we going to get that boy out of our hearts?”

  “Do we have a choice, Esther?”

  The older woman stood from the chair and removed the cape from her shoulders. “I do try to count my blessings, but right now, it’s all I can do to think of any. I guess we have the Labor Day barbecue to look forward to. And we can be grateful that young Luke is doing so much better managing his diabetes. I don’t suppose we’ll have another crisis like we did on the Fourth of July. I guess you heard that Ashley Hanes is going to have a necklace sale at the next event. That was Miranda’s idea, of course. She’s behind most of the strategy for selling Ashley’s beadwork. Or she was until her little religious items ended up in the lake. Charlie says he never sees her out on the deck doing her exercises, and you know how Charlie keeps an eye on things in the neighborhood.”

  “Yes, I certainly do,” Patsy said. She led Esther toward the cash register. “I hope Miranda is happy there at home despite losing her spiritual doodads. You know how one person’s mood can affect everyone else. When my mother had Alzheimer’s, sometimes it was all I could do to keep my spirits up.”

  “Bless your heart, sweetie pie. You did have a rough time taking care of her, didn’t you? Well, you’re on your own now, though I don’t know for how long. You and Pete look awfully cozy together on Sunday mornings.”

  “We’re just friends,” Patsy said.

  “Sure you are.” Esther gave a coy smile as she patted the back of her hair. “Oh, honey, nothing would make me happier than to see you get married. You have the biggest, best heart in all Missouri. And if Pete can win it, I say good for him!”

  Patsy slipped Esther’s usual tip into her pocket and walked with her to the door. “I don’t think Pete is trying to win my heart,” she said. “And I’m not at all confident that Miranda is doing the Finley family much good. But you know what upsets me the most?”

  Esther nodded. “Yes, I do.”

  At the same moment, the women hugged and whispered the word in each other’s ear.

  “Cody.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Kim placed a pitcher of lemonade and two ice-filled glasses on a tray. She reached into the cookie jar and set a couple of vanilla wafers on a plate for good measure. Through the sliding glass door, she could see Miranda sunning herself on the deck.

  Feeling like she was headed for the execution block, Kim lifted the tray and started toward the deck. The twins had gone boating with their stepfather that afternoon—a plot Kim and Derek had concocted together—and now it was time to do the dreaded deed. Ever since the night they had discussed their problems, Kim and Derek had felt better about their marriage. Not perfect, but better. At least they were speaking as they tried to work out the issues that had come between them.

  Miranda, on the other hand, had not taken the loss of her altar lightly. In fact, she was furious. She had stopped speaking to all of them and refused to leave her bedroom except for her daily sunbathing sessions.

  So it was now or never.

  Tray balanced on one arm, Kim opened the sliding glass door with her free hand and stepped onto the deck. While speaking with Charlie Moore the past Sunday after church, Kim had learned the significance of Derek’s “fishing” system. But in her mind, the technique could be boiled down to the simple word listening. She actually did it all the time.

  Kim believed that most women were pretty good at paying attention. Of course, she knew there was going to be one hard part—keeping her own mouth shut. That wouldn’t be easy, especially if Miranda began to criticize her. But Kim had promised Derek she would try fishing for her mother-in-law’s acceptance.

  “I brought us a pitcher of lemonade,” Kim began, setting the tray on a small, glass-topped table between the two reclining deck chairs. “Derek just phoned to say they’ll be home in about an hour. Lu
ke has caught three crappie, and Lydia hooked into a catfish that nearly pulled her overboard.”

  Eyes closed, Miranda continued basking in utter silence.

  Kim sat down, stretched out on the deck chair, and tried to imagine enduring the humidity for more than a few minutes. She poured lemonade into the glasses and offered one to her mother-in-law. “Something cold to drink, Miranda?”

  Not a word of response.

  Kim set the glass down on the tray again and took a sip of her own drink. The lake was quiet today, glassy and bright, a green-gray color that reminded her of polished steel. Not a single bird flew in the cloudless sky. Even the trees seemed exhausted by the heat, their leaves withered at the edges and their branches saggy.

  Recalling Derek’s repeated insistence that Kim begin her fishing session by using the right “bait,” she moistened her lips. Then she spoke the words her husband had told her to say. “What’s wrong, Miranda?”

  No answer.

  “Miranda? What’s bothering you?”

  Nothing.

  Forget that kind of bait, Kim thought. She already knew what was wrong. Miranda had made her feelings abundantly clear the other night. Kim decided that what might be best was a guaranteed “fishing” technique she liked to use in Dr. Groene’s office to locate the exact source of a problem. When a patient came in complaining about something aching and sore—jaw, tooth, gum, lip, tongue, even throat—she listened carefully. Then she repeated exactly what she believed the person had told her.

  She was often wrong.

  When people were in pain, Kim had learned, they mumbled and fumbled, pointed here and there, tried to describe the indescribable. Often they babbled about things that weren’t important—like where they had been when the trouble started, or how their cousin had diagnosed the problem as something he’d had years ago. It took lots of back and forth, with Kim doing her own poking, rephrasing, and echoing her patient’s words, before the real problem finally came to light.

  Maybe Miranda’s pain and anger would emerge the same way. Kim took another sip of lemonade and cast out her own form of bait.