Marriage Seasons 01 - It Happens Every Spring by Gary Chapman, Catherine Palmer

gossip
had been swirling around the lake like a nasty green oil spill. He
had heard rumors in Deepwater Cove, Tranquility, and even as far
away as Camdenton and Osage Beach. Steve figured if anyone
knew the true story it would be Pete Roberts.
    As the front doorbell tinkled, the burly man glanced up from a
table full of engine parts in his repair area. "Well, if it isn't Steve
Hansen, the king of real estate," he boomed. "How's it goin', my
friend? Did you finally run low on gas? I swear if you start a trend
with that hybrid of yours, you'll run me out of business in no time
flat."
    Steve worked up a smile. "No chance of that. Besides, you've got
boats, four-wheelers, and Jet Skis to fill."
    "Hey, did you hear the news?" Pete hopped up and made his
way toward the cash register.
    "I might have," Steve said. "Are you talking about the ... uh..."
    "I'm talking about the NASCAR hauler that stopped by here the
other day. I tell you what-you should have been here, Steve. It
was no ordinary trailer. It was a monster."
    "Is that right?" Steve tried to muster interest. NASCAR was a popular sport at the lake, and now that he recognized Pete's enthusiasm, he noted the display of calendars and photographs of
brightly colored, decal-covered stock cars on the tackle-shop walls.
Pete even had framed autographed pictures of various drivers
lined up in a row near his workbench.

    "It was an official NASCAR Craftsman Truck Series transporter," Pete went on, beaming as if Dale Earnhardt himself had
just stepped down from heaven for a visit to Rods-n-Ends. "The
driver let me have a look inside, and it was something else. In the
front, the crew has a private office with a TV and a sofa. Behind
that, in the upper level, I could see the two trucks sitting there like
royalty. Beautiful! Below them was storage for parts and tools, and
the crew even had a set of lockers. I don't think the president of the
United States gets as good care as a stock car. I would have given
my right arm for a look under the hood of one of those babies. You
ever seen a NASCAR engine? The trucks have cast-iron, 5.7-liter
V8 engines with aluminum cylinder heads. Each one has a maximum displacement of 358 cubic inches. Can you believe that?"
    "Pretty amazing," Steve said. He had begun to think stopping
at Rods-n-Ends had been a bad idea. Trying to repair the everwidening gulf with Brenda, he had volunteered to come home in
time for supper. She wanted to discuss activities and plans for the
upcoming spring-break vacation. Their two younger kids, Jessica
and Justin, would be home from college, and Brenda wanted to
make a special occasion of it.
    Warming toward her husband for the first time in weeks,
Brenda had told Steve she would bake lasagna for their dinner
tonight. She knew he loved her lasagna, and Steve hoped this signaled an end to the hostile attitude she had been clinging to all this
time. Brenda said she planned to serve dinner in the dining room
instead of the kitchen-another sure sign of a thaw in her antagonism. Before leaving the office this evening, Steve had put a sticky
note on his dashboard, reminding himself to take a look at the
progress on the basement, make a few nice comments about the plaid chairs she had painted, and remark on the matching place
mats she had sewn.

    "The torque is 535 feet per pound at 6,000 RPM for those
trucks, you know," Pete was saying as he rang up Steve's gas sale.
"That means the engine can produce horsepower in the range of
750 at 8,000 RPM. Now that's something to see."
    "I guess so," Steve said.
    "You and Brenda ever been to a stock-car race?"
    "Never have."
    "It's the number-one spectator sport in the country. Bet you
didn't know that."
    "Well, that does surprise me." Steve gave a nod as he pushed his
credit card back into his wallet. "Maybe I can talk Brenda into it
one of these days."
    "I doubt you'll have much convincing to do. She's a live wire,
that woman. In and out of here