Marriage Seasons 03 - Falling for You Again (20 page)

The dark cloud wrapped around her, and she saw Ellie, her darling daughter, looking haggard and alcoholic. She saw dusty picture frames and cobwebs on the ceiling, mocking her futile efforts at housekeeping. She saw cakes fallen in the middle, pies with runny meringue topping, burned gravy, and lumpy mashed potatoes. She saw weeds in her rose garden. Wrinkles on her face.

And now … now twenty cloves of garlic in her pot roast, their odor seeping through her house and out into the street so that all the neighbors would look at each other as if to say,
“Yes, we know what an awful cook that Esther Moore is. It’s a wonder Charlie has put up with her all these years.”

“There!” Charlie said triumphantly, as if announcing his superiority over his lowly failure of a wife. “I got the roast away from Boofer. And the vegetables are cleaned up too. Now all we need to do is run a mop over this floor, and we’ll be as good as new. We can eat that yummy-looking salad I saw in the refrigerator. A salad and a couple of hot rolls will do me up jim-dandy.”

Esther could hear Charlie fooling around with the plastic trash bag—no doubt taking her failed effort out to the Dumpster where it belonged. He turned on the water in the sink, getting it hot enough for his mopping job. He would make everything better, and the kitchen would look brand-new, and they would pretend that nothing bad had happened between them.

But Esther knew. She knew it now. She was losing her mind.

Charlie bit into a half-burned dinner roll and studied his wife across the table. Esther was still sniffling. It didn’t seem to matter that he had cleaned up the entire kitchen, mopped the floor, lit some scented candles, and set out the salad and bread.

It didn’t even register with her when he apologized for finding fault with her pot roast. He had considered reversing his declaration about the garlic cloves and declaring them to be pearl onions after all. But that was taking it too far. Apologizing was one thing. Flat-out lying in order to make peace was another.

“Esther,” he said, trying to get her attention for the umpteenth time, “did Ashley tell you that she and Brad have finally decided to turn the new addition into a room? Brad gave up on having a garage. I’m not sure it’s going to be a nursery, though. I don’t think he’s ready to become a father just yet.”

Head bent, Esther dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. Her perfect hair had somehow come apart. The shellacked coiffure seemed to have cracked open down the middle, and both sides had collapsed. Charlie could see her scalp, pale and ashen, and it made him realize all over again that she was aging and fragile … and that he loved her dearly.

“Esther, honey, please talk to me.” He rose from his chair, circled the table, and knelt on one knee beside her. “This isn’t a big deal, sweetheart. It’s nothing. Pearl onions or garlic cloves—who cares? We’re having a nice supper, and there’s plenty to eat.”

“Oh, Charlie!” With a sob, Esther threw herself onto his shoulder and began weeping as if her heart were broken. “I have Alzheimer’s. I know I do! How could I have thought those were pearl onions? They look and smell exactly like garlic. And I drove off the end of the carport. And I put the electric can opener in the dishwasher. And I fell asleep while I was driving. You should put me into a nursing home, lock the door, and never look at me again until I die!”

“Now, Esther.” Charlie rubbed her back, realizing how truly fragile her small body felt under his work-callused hand. “Do you remember what Derek Finley said about your blocked artery? This fogginess you’ve been having lately must be caused by that. You’re not getting enough blood to your brain. Let’s talk about that procedure again. I’ll bet if you have that done, you’ll be as good as new.”

“I can’t. I’m too scared. You remember what happened to my father, don’t you? He went into the hospital for pneumonia, and he never left again! He died right there in that awful steel bed with monitors and beepers and nurses all around him.”

“He was nearly ninety-two, Esther. That’s old enough, isn’t it?”

“But what about my brother? The doctor found a lump, and he died in the hospital too. And my cousin was only in there a couple of days—”

“God was ready to take them all home, Esther. But that doesn’t mean He’s ready for you. Going to the hospital isn’t a ticket to the cemetery. This procedure is supposed to help you stay well. By not having it done, you could get worse and worse.”

She cried out in exasperation and pushed up from the table, heading into the living room. Charlie followed, only to find that Boofer’s stomach had redirected most of the pot roast he’d wolfed down onto the carpet.

Seeing the mess, Esther wailed in despair and hurried for the bedroom. “I’ve probably killed him!” her voice echoed down the hall. “I’ve killed my dog by feeding him garlic roast beef, and I’ll be next. I’ll lose my mind and then die a terrible death in some nursing home.”

Clenching his teeth in frustration, Charlie spotted Boofer under the coffee table, a guilty—or was it queasy?—look on the poor pooch’s face. Unable to find words to express his emotions, he scooped up the mess, disposed of it, spot-cleaned the carpet, and coaxed the dog out into the open.

“Come here, Boof,” Charlie said. As he sank down on the sofa, the little dog bounded into his lap. Charlie stroked the long black fur. “What are we going to do with your mama, Boofer? Why don’t you go in there and talk her into letting the doctor put a balloon in her artery? Would you do that for me?”

The dog’s dark brown eyes gazed up at his master as if pleading to be released from such an onerous duty. For a few minutes, Charlie leaned back on a cushion and tried to let the tension seep out of his body. It had been a long day. Beading in the morning, building in the afternoon, and a pot roast fiasco to top off the whole deal. Many of the hours had been spent in service to Brad and Ashley Hanes. Maybe
they
could return the favor by convincing Esther to get her artery cleaned. He might just put the task to Ashley and see if Esther would listen to her young friend.

Charlie couldn’t deny he was worried about his wife. Esther had done plenty of crazy things while learning how to cook. But this garlic and onion snafu was the first major culinary mistake in many years.

What if she truly did have some sort of dementia? How would the two of them handle the coming years? Charlie couldn’t imagine putting his wife into a care center, but he wasn’t a medical professional by a long shot. He wouldn’t have a clue how to take care of Esther if her mental faculties declined too far. Just the thought of losing his sweet, silly wife to such a terrible fate sent a shudder through him.

After reassuring Boofer that everything was all right, Charlie rose and made his way down the hall to the bedroom. There he found Esther, fully clothed and lying on top of the bedspread, fast asleep. Now he would have to rouse and undress her, put her into a nightgown, and help her slip back into bed. Trouble was, he just didn’t know if he had the energy.

Sinking onto the edge of the bed, he stared at the dresser and tried to remember the vase that had so upset Esther that evening. He did recall the day he’d accidentally knocked it off that very same dresser onto the floor. But what did a broken vase have to do with a garlicky pot roast?

The vase incident had happened so long ago, almost at the start of their marriage. Esther had placed the trinket along with several other knickknacks on the dresser. Charlie had never even noticed the little collection until one winter morning when he was dressing in the half-light of an open curtain and hit the vase with his elbow. For days, all Esther could do was mourn that little French vase, until Charlie began to believe it must have held all her hopes and dreams. All those fantasies, like her vase, had been shattered by a clumsy husband who had no idea what the word
Limoges
even meant.

As the memory of that early, difficult time filtered into his mind, Charlie recalled something he had long ago dismissed as unimpor–- tant. On the day of the broken vase, he had returned to their apartment after walking his mail route and found Esther sitting in the living room with a neighbor. She had been crying—drinking cups of tea and weeping into her handkerchief. At her side on the sofa sat a golden-haired young fellow Charlie had seen once or twice in the hallway.

George Snyder.

At the time, Charlie hadn’t thought much of it. Esther said George had heard her crying and had knocked on the apartment door to see if she was all right. They’d discussed the morning’s events, and George understood both sides—how much the Limoges vase had meant to Esther and how easily it might have been broken by a man dressing in the dark. Charlie had thanked George for looking in on Esther, and the two men shook hands. In the following months, Charlie rarely saw him again and only at a distance.

Frowning, Charlie studied the bottom drawer of the dresser. What had George Snyder written on the bottom of that sketch?

All my love
…

Love always
…

Loving you forever
…

It was something like that, but Charlie had forgotten the exact wording. He glanced at Esther and found her still asleep. So he bent over, pulled open the drawer, and located the sketch. As he slid it out of the envelope, he was again captured by the beauty of the young woman depicted. She looked fresh and lively and full of eager anticipation. Her eyes sparkled. And her lips, parted just a little, almost begged to be kissed.

Was Charlie imagining things now? Or had George and Esther’s friendship gone far beyond a couple of chance meetings? Had there been a true romance between them? Had they had an affair?

At the thought of Esther in another man’s arms, Charlie winced. For nearly fifty years, he had believed Esther belonged only to him. She was his prize catch. His little woman. His darling wife. His better half. Esther was mother to his children, companion through good times and bad, and the only lover Charlie had ever known.

Could she have kept a dark secret from him these many years? Had there been a time in their marriage when her heart belonged to an unemployed artist with curly blond hair and an apartment two doors down?

“What are you looking at?”

Esther’s voice at Charlie’s shoulder startled him. He made a stab at stuffing the sketch back into the envelope, but she was already beside him, gazing down at the picture of herself. And there at the bottom were the words he had read earlier.

I will always love you, Esther.

Charlie held out the sketch so his wife could see it. “George Snyder drew this. That fellow down the hall.”

“Where did you find it? What were you doing in my dresser? You had no business rooting around there. That’s where I keep all my cards and letters and treasures. You should have asked me first.”

“Why did George Snyder sketch you, Esther?”

“He’s an artist. That’s what he does.”

Charlie looked at her. Her words made it sound as though they all still lived in the same apartment building. Was Esther lost back in time, or did she still stay in contact with the man? Were George Snyder’s letters among those tied in ribbons in her bottom drawer?

“When did he sketch this portrait of you?” Charlie asked.

“Well, when do you suppose? It certainly wasn’t yesterday. I haven’t looked like that in years.”

“So, did you sit for him? Did you pose?”

“It’s not a pose. When people pose, the life goes right out of them. That’s what George always said. Do I seem lifeless to you in this picture?” She took it from Charlie’s hand. “I think this is the best portrait of me ever made. George captured the real me, don’t you think? That’s what he said when he gave it to me. He said, ‘This is the true Esther. This is your beating heart put down on paper.’ I’ll never forget that. Those were the very words he used—
beating heart put down on paper
. George always said things like that. Doesn’t it sound wonderful and imaginative? In the portrait, that’s exactly the way he captured me. See? I’m young and alive and fresh. Oh, dear. How time does fly!”

She picked up the envelope and slipped the sketch inside. Then she slid the envelope back into the drawer and pushed it shut.

“That was such a long time ago, wasn’t it?” Esther leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’m just so sorry.”

Every muscle in Charlie’s body went rigid at her words. “Esther, what did you do?”

“All that garlic. I admit it. I truly believed those were pearl onions. I never should have argued with you about the pot roast, honey. And I shouldn’t have fought with you over the platter. You had to clean up the whole kitchen and then Boofer’s mess. All by yourself, you took care of everything. I didn’t help one bit. Can you ever forgive me?” Charlie let out a deep breath. “Of course I forgive you, Esther. Things like that don’t matter. You made a mistake, but who doesn’t?”

“It was such a silly blunder when you think about it.” She covered her mouth with her hand and giggled. “What if we’d eaten that roast, Charlie? What if you hadn’t noticed those pearl onions were really garlic? I can just see myself at the TLC, knocking everyone over with my breath while I read the minutes! And poor Brad. What would he think when you arrived to help him with the house addition? He’d probably fall off the ladder!”