It Happens Every Spring

by Gary Chapman; Catherine Palmer

  Anyone would have thought that so much Christianity floating around would keep the gossip to a minimum. But no. Every day, in walked the women buzzing about this, that, and the other. Young Ashley Hanes would arrive for her manicure and start jabbering about her husband’s buddies and all the trouble they were causing their wives. Kim Finley brought her twins in for haircuts and the next thing you knew, she was discussing the women in her office, sharing details from their lives. And then there was Esther Moore. It didn’t matter how old or how young they were, Patsy mused; these women took one step inside Just As I Am and started jabbering and squawking and fussing like a bunch of blue jays around a birdbath.

  Patsy had opened for business when she was twenty-five, and not too long after that, she had been just about ready to take down her sign and close the shop. Then one of her regulars mentioned how safe and comfortable she always felt at the salon. It was a place to unwind. A place to get things off your chest. A place where you could talk, and people would listen. More than that, at Just As I Am, you always knew someone would care. That had been ten years ago, and Patsy had come to tolerate—if not enjoy—the chatter.

  Today she gritted her teeth and concentrated on the French manicure she was applying while the women discussed this latest development in the neighborhood. They not only talked about the stranger and how his presence affected the area, but every woman wanted to offer an opinion as to what she would have done if he had stood on her front porch. There would have been calls to the sheriff, shotguns taken down from racks, and hostile dogs let out to run the fellow off. No one could imagine actually opening the door the way Brenda Hansen had. Or talking to him. Or, heaven forbid, feeding him.

  Only when the entire salon suddenly fell silent did Patsy look up to find that Brenda herself had walked in the front door. You would have thought it was the Easter bunny. Blow-dryers went dead, chatter ceased, and everyone turned to gawk.

  “Well, hey there, Brenda,” Patsy greeted her. She flipped on the dryer over her client’s wet nails. “I haven’t seen you in ages. Where’ve you been keeping yourself?”

  “I’ve been…busy.”

  Brenda was a quiet woman these days—not like when her kids had been at home. Cute, bouncy, spunky, she had always been the sort of woman people admired and sought out as a friend. She could do any kind of artsy-crafty thing, she loved children, and she kept her flower gardens so pretty that folks were always stopping by to compliment her. And sweet…she was so sweet that if you kissed her cheek, you’d taste sugar.

  But this past fall, Patsy had noticed that Brenda seemed to be dragging around as though something had let the wind out of her sails. Unlike in past years, she didn’t bother to rake up the leaves from her big maples and oaks. No one ever saw her sweeping the front porch anymore, and she hadn’t decorated her house with the usual Christmas zeal—no candy canes lining the driveway or strings of white lights in the bare tree branches.

  What troubled Patsy the most was that recently Brenda had kind of let herself go. Today she was wearing a pair of old faded jeans and a raggedy sweater. She hadn’t bothered with makeup, and her hair was downright shaggy.

  “You want a trim?” Patsy asked hopefully.

  “Could you work me in?”

  “Let me take a look at the book.” Patsy crossed to the desk where her stylists listed their appointments. She scanned her schedule for the day. “If you’ll give me ten minutes to finish these nails and tidy up my station, Brenda, I can do you myself. You want the usual?”

  “Yes, please.”

  As Brenda settled in the waiting area, Esther approached, carrying a teacup. Esther was a dear woman, Patsy knew, but she sure could pry.

  Wearing a motherly expression, Esther sat down beside Brenda. “Charlie said you had quite an adventure last night.”

  “I lost my electricity,” Brenda told her. “But I guess everyone did.”

  “It took Charlie forever to find his flashlight. I thought he never would get out to the golf cart to go check on the neighbors. He told me he was pretty worried about you.”

  “When the lightning hit, Ozzie jumped up and landed in a paint tray. I’m doing my dining-room chairs in a pink-and-yellow plaid.”

  Esther never missed a beat. “Yes, but what about that man? Charlie said the fellow like to scared him to death.”

  “That was Cody.” Brenda turned a page of the magazine in her lap. “He was wet and hungry.”

  “And you fed him?”

  “I heated some leftovers and gave him a piece of chocolate cake.”

  “Well, who on earth was he?”

  “Cody. That’s about all I know.”

  “What did Steve do after Charlie left your house?”

  Brenda’s face grew somber for a moment. Then she shrugged. “He went to bed. He works so hard, you know.”

  “Yes, but…but…” For once in her life Esther had run out of words.

  “You ready, Brenda?” Patsy asked. She had swept her station and put away the dryer and curling iron from her last customer. “Come on over.”

  Brenda stood, laid down her magazine, and then faced Esther. “Cody slept on our porch swing last night. And if he’s there again tonight, you can tell Charlie not to bother him. We don’t mind a bit.”

  With that, she lifted her chin and carried her purse over to Patsy’s station.

  Steve Hansen pulled his Honda Civic hybrid to a stop at the gas pump in front of Pete Roberts’s Rods-n-Ends. A month ago, the store next door to the beauty salon had reopened under new ownership, and everyone in Deepwater Cove had breathed a sigh of relief. Not only were the two gas pumps back in service, but Pete had stocked the shelves with lures, tackle, snacks, wakeboards, skis, sunscreen, coolers, minnow buckets, and even a few swimming suits and towels. If it could be used at the lake, Rods-n-Ends had it.

  A single wall separated Patsy Pringle’s small, glass-windowed tea area from Pete’s store. But that was as far as the similarities went. Lately Pete had been talking about selling pre-owned Jet Skis, johnboats, and even a few four-wheelers and motorcycles. He was already repairing small engines in his extra room, and he felt that fixing up and selling secondhand vehicles would keep him in business during the slow months. Steve agreed.

  At Lake of the Ozarks, multimillion-dollar homes, marinas, golf courses, and country clubs tended to overshadow the harsh reality faced by many of the area’s year-round residents. Mobile homes and sagging houses with leaky roofs hid in the woods along roads that led to high-end condominiums and gated communities. Parent-teacher night filled the local school’s parking lot with an odd mix of rusty old junkers and luxury sedans. Steve knew there wasn’t much of a middle class at the lake, and it was tough on those who tried to make a decent living.

  Bagnell Dam, built in the 1930s, had plugged up five rivers and created a body of water that now boasted 1,200 miles of shoreline. Restaurants, arcades, antiques shops, grocery stores, bars, and tattoo parlors proliferated, but these businesses failed at an alarming rate. Turnover in the strip mall at Tranquility was too high for comfort, Steve believed. He had been considering a move into commercial real estate—and keeping that little mall alive was one of his major goals.

  Congratulating himself once again for his wisdom in buying a hybrid, Steve ran his credit card through the slot on the gas pump. As he began to fill the tank, he saw Pete Roberts saunter out from the store.

  “Hey, Steve. How’s it going?” Pete wandered over and started washing the Honda’s windshield. “Sell any houses today?”

  “I’m closing on one next week, and I’ve got another that’s just about ready to go to contract. It’s a great market for both buyers and sellers right now.” He made his voice sound as cheerful as possible. “What’s new with you?”

  Pete Roberts, a newcomer to Deepwater Cove, might be a good-looking man, but it was hard to tell under his beard. If he really wanted his business to succeed, Steve thought, he needed to lose some of that beer belly, shave his beard, and put
on a pair of khakis. Old, worn-out jeans didn’t look professional. And he ought to wear a long-sleeved shirt to cover up those tattoos.

  “Folks have been in and out of the store all day,” Pete commented. He began wiping the streaks from the windshield. “Sold a lot of minnows and a fair number of worms. They say fishing’s been pretty good. You been out much?”

  “No time for fishing these days. The business keeps me going nonstop.”

  “Everybody’s talking about some fellow who showed up on your front porch last night in the storm,” Pete said. “You get a good look at him?”

  Steve grimaced. News traveled way too fast in Deepwater Cove. He recalled the heated discussion he and Brenda had gotten into the evening before. It seemed lately that was the only kind of talking they did.

  Brenda had once been bright, energetic, and fun. But she was growing more and more unpleasant, and the whole situation confused him.

  Just when she should have been her happiest, she had begun to turn sour and snappy. On top of that, she had lost so much weight that she looked downright haggard. Steve had always admired the soft curves and rounded femininity that Brenda bemoaned while gazing at herself in the mirror. “Look at these hips,” she would lament, but he loved them. A woman ought to be shapely, he thought, with gentle mounds and silky hollows in all the right places.

  It bothered Steve that his wife wasn’t eating right, taking care of herself, or looking at the sunny side of life. These days, entering their house felt like stepping into a chill wind off the lake. When Brenda emerged from the kitchen or the basement—her eyes distant and her hair straggly—he felt like he had come home to the Ice Queen.

  Last night Steve had been frustrated and worried. Why on earth had she thought it was safe to open the front door and hand a plate of food to a complete stranger?

  She had told him there was paint and mud all over the basement floor. Then she started crying.

  By that time, Steve was so upset with her that all he could do was go to bed and hope it blew over by the next day. He had left the house this morning before Brenda was up.

  “I saw the fellow on the porch,” Steve told Pete. “Pretty hard to miss. I figure he was just some homeless guy, cold and hungry. Brenda gave him a bite to eat, and he was gone this morning.”

  “You got yourself a fine wife there,” Pete observed. “Not too many women would be brave enough to do a kind deed like that.”

  Steve studied the bearded man for a moment. “You married, Pete?”

  “Twice. I’m single now. Quit drinking three years ago after one too many DUIs and a little jail time. I took a business class at the tech school in Springfield. Got things turned around pretty good now, but I’m not looking for another wife. I’m sure you’re grateful for yours, though. Brenda stopped in for gas today and bought a cooler, and I thought to myself, now that’s a good-hearted woman. And pretty, too.”

  “Yes, she sure is,” Steve agreed, picturing his wife’s tear-streaked cheeks and swollen nose from the night before. He handed Pete two dollar bills for the windshield. “Well, you have a good evening now.”

  Pete smiled and shook his head. “Glad to be of service,” he said. “You keep your money and come see me the next time you manage to empty that hybrid’s gas tank.”

  “It’ll be a while,” Steve said with a laugh.

  Pete was a decent sort of fellow, Steve thought as he pulled away from Rods-n-Ends. Passing the beauty shop next door, he saw that the lights were still on and Patsy Pringle was doing someone’s hair. It gave him a good feeling to envision people working in their stores and salons, building up the local economy, making life better for themselves and everyone around.

  As he drove away from the town of Tranquility toward Deepwater Cove, Steve reflected on the long journey of his own life. Growing up poor, marrying young, and having three kids—one right after the other—had forced him to abandon all thoughts of college. He had worked long and hard selling auto parts, coaching Little League teams, helping with the youth group at church. He had enjoyed his kids, and Brenda had done a great job with them. Steve wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Jennifer got married and went off to be a full-time missionary. Justin and Jessica were making progress in college, and Steve couldn’t be prouder.

  Best of all, Steve had come up with the idea to sell real estate on the side to defray the college expenses. He truly believed that God had given him that desire.

  As it turned out, his experience peddling auto parts had helped him become an outstanding salesman. He took a course on how to sell property and went to work for an agency in Tranquility. Before he knew it, he was making sufficient money to quit his regular job. Soon he was earning enough to pay for all three kids’ college and a couple of new cars. The next step had been to start an office of his own. And now he had a secretary and two sales associates.

  So why did he have to walk through the door and run smackdab into Brenda’s cold shoulder? Why couldn’t she be satisfied with her husband and glad to see him at the end of the day? As Steve pulled his car into the garage, he almost wished he could turn tail and run.

  Brenda used to greet her husband with “hello” and a kiss. Today she ignored him and kept stirring something on the stove. Steve hung his coat in the hall closet, kicked off his shoes, and went looking for the local newspaper. He liked to check the real-estate section and find out what his competition was up to. Settling into a recliner, he flicked on the TV and scanned the paper. He could hear Brenda in the kitchen banging pots and pans around. Well, if she didn’t want to talk, that was fine with him. A cop show was coming on in a few minutes, and he would watch that and then head for bed.

  Of course, Steve would have preferred if Brenda had come into the living room, sat down in his lap, and let him put his arms around her and tell her all about his day. About the couple who had discussed listing their big lakefront house near Tranquility with his agency. And the folks who had come by the office to see pictures of his highest-priced homes. And the lady whose dog had upchucked something green and nasty on the carpet in one of the condos he was showing her. It might have been nice if his wife had offered him a piece of her chocolate cake—which she knew he loved—and asked him how the new computerized record-keeping program was working out. But no, she was giving him the silent treatment.

  His cop show came on, and Steve got sleepy. He was just about to doze off when he heard Brenda open the front door. Glancing in that direction, he saw her heft a big white cooler with a blue lid out onto the porch. She pulled the door shut behind her and didn’t come back in.

  Steve frowned. It was one thing for Brenda to ignore him, but now she was acting strange. He eased out of the recliner and padded over to the door. Through the front window, he could see Brenda sitting on the porch swing. And she was talking to him.

  The stranger!

  His heart suddenly racing, Steve threw open the door and stepped outside. Bad enough to have a vagrant in the neighborhood, but this was too much.

  “Brenda?” he said.

  “Oh, Steve, it’s you.” Her voice was crisp, like a chill wind that cut right through to his bones. “Would you like to meet my new friend?”

  For a minute, Steve couldn’t make anything come out of his mouth. He stared at the skinny man, a young fellow with a tangled beard and long hair. The man stood with one of the Hansens’ stoneware bowls in his grimy hand.

  “Hi, I’m Cody!” he said, breaking into a grin. “I got some soup tonight. Lots of it. I’ve been hungry, but now look!”

  He bent and flipped open the cooler’s blue lid. Inside sat two stacks of full, lidded soup bowls; several Baggies of sandwiches; and a few boxes of fruit juice. “And chocolate cake!” Cody continued. “Because my daddy told me that anyone might give you food, but only a Christian would give you chocolate cake, too. That means she’s a Christian. What’s your name?”

  Steve managed to put on his best Realtor smile and held out his hand. “I’m Steve Hansen.”

  �
�How old are you?” Cody stuck out his left hand and awkwardly shook Steve’s right. “I’m getting older now, and my daddy told me it’s time to make my way. ‘Make your way, Cody.’ That’s what he told me. How old are you?”

  “I’m forty-five,” Steve said, glancing at Brenda.

  “Hey!” Cody plopped down on the swing. “Same as her! Forty-five years. What’s your name, lady? I forgot already.”

  “Brenda Hansen. I’m married to Steve.”

  “Okay.” Cody sipped a spoonful of soup. “Forty-five years. That’s pretty old. I’m not that old.”

  “How old are you?” Brenda asked in a soft voice.

  Cody studied her. “I’m not forty-five years.”

  “No, you’re younger.”

  “Okay. This sure is good soup. Look!” He flipped open the lid of the cooler again for Steve. “It’s full to the brim! You could eat it for forty-five years. She gave it to me, because I was hungry. And chocolate cake, too. Three pieces!”

  The tension began to slide out of Steve’s shoulders. He could tell right away that this fellow was neither drunk nor criminal. He was just simple, that’s all. Childlike. Still, you couldn’t be sure he was harmless. Pete Roberts at Rods-n-Ends had been right to call Brenda good-hearted. She was kind to help out a hungry person. But she never should have opened the door without Steve around, and what was she thinking—buying a cooler and filling it with soup and sandwiches?

  “Brenda,” he said, “could I talk to you inside for a minute?”

  She lifted her chin, stared straight at him, and said, “I’m visiting with Cody. Sorry.”

  A flood of icy rage spread through Steve’s chest. “I see.”

  “We’re chatting. You can go on back in and watch your TV show.”

  Steve sucked down a deep breath. “Brenda, I want to talk to you inside the house. Now.”

  She shrugged. “Did you try a sandwich, Cody? They’re turkey and cheese. I think you ought to have one tonight. And keep the lid on your cooler. You don’t want to let all the cold air out.”